Ok so here is the deal, the problem I see with breastfeeding is the complete lack of knowledge most of us have about it. Maybe not most of us, but at least me.
When I was pregnant I assumed of course, like many other women, that I would breastfeed with no issue. I never really put any thought into the pros and cons of breast over formula feeding, and admittedly even now I haven't done the research necessary to effectively comment on either method. However, I know the drill. I know the benefits of giving your baby the boobie juice, and why so many of us just blindly enter motherhood with the assumption that we'll be feeding our babes from the very body they were created and grown inside of. I attended a child birth class, which included 3 hours on breastfeeding and walked out of there thinking "obviously" and never thought any further.
And herein lies the problem. I, like many, assumed breastfeeding was a no brainer and I for one, was wrong. At least I was wrong for myself.
The thing is, I do not recall anyone at anytime ever telling me that I would need to have my child attached to my body for at LEAST 6 hours of every day, or in the case of my child closer to 9. I don't remember hearing about latching troubles, or the fact that those first few weeks would be excruciating while your nipples toughened up. I don't think anyone talked much to me about bleeding nipples, or rock hard breasts that shy away from the delicate shower spray. And I definitely know no one told me about the guilt, stress and fatigue 1 bad breastfeeding day would create.
Like I said, I went to 3 hours of breastfeeding class. I sat in a poorly lit community centre room, with photos circa 1967 spread across the walls of latched on chubby babies sucking happily from their mothers breast. Me, the hubs and 14 other sweaty soon to be families crammed into this room, to be enlightened about this thing they call breastfeeding. I listened to a hairy, crunchy woman excitedly detail every benefit of the boobie juice to us, while highlighting the bonding and loveyness that come from such an amazing time. I held a 4 ounce doll to my clothed breast, a doll who didn't move and didn't cry and didn't have a mind or insatiable hunger of her own, and practiced the different holds. I watched a video of 3 hour old babes bobbing their way over to their mothers breast and latching on like champs, just like that (I am now convinced they filmed 10,000 babies to get those 8 to do that so effortlessly, and just neglected to mention that part). I played a game in which we put a series of photos in order from start to finish, showing a successful feed. I got a pamphlet which showed me the holds again, and further reiterated why I am only a good mother if I feed from the breast.
That was all well and good. At 37 weeks pregnant, perhaps that was all I could handle, but the class was seriously misleading. What it didn't tell me was the challenge of getting a dopey newborn to open her mouth wide enough for me to shove my cantaloupe sized breast into it. It didn't talk too much about how to get a good latch, just briefly showed what one looked like...and that shit isn't easy my friends. They told me how if done properly, breastfeeding doesn't hurt, but they didn't tell me what to do when it hurt like someone was holding a hot fire poker against my nipple. They told me to buy nipple cream, in case my nipples cracked but they didn't tell me that by crack they may mean bleed so heavily it would cause my 5 day old baby to vomit green chunks (of partially digested blood, I later learned), and send us on a trip through the emergency room.
My point is this - those of us who choose and are able to feed from the breast need more than just support in the form of "it's good for your baby and your wallet", and more even than all the support we so desperately need to feed without ridicule in public. We need reality. We need lactation people at the hospital to come for a visit and show us what we're doing right and what we're doing wrong. Not just burnt out nurses who handle babies like pot roasts, latch them for you and move on. We need to hear how hard it is in the beginning, and how absolutely devastating it will feel when things aren't going the way they are "supposed to". We need to hear that breastfeeding a baby is a serious time commitment, which lasts around the clock and sometimes seems like it will never end.
I am infinitely lucky to be supported by an AMAZING group of people - men and women, on Twitter and through this blog who have been there with me, at 3am, when I'm crying and screaming and needing help, but not everyone has that. I've got friends who have chosen to formula feed for various reasons, from convenience through to a sheer and painful inability to produce enough milk, and I'm not going to lie lately, I've been a little envious. I shouldn't be I know it's not an easy choice, but I've got milk and a kid who wants to non-stop eat, so to me I have less reason to consider formula. I know I can make the switch at any time I like, and I would be lying if I said I hadn't considered it. But I'm stubborn, and poor and I truly do believe in the benefits of breast milk.
I've committed to 6 months, and I'm learning that I'll need to take that 1 day at a time. It isn't easy, and it isn't always hard but when your breasts are aching, your baby is fighting you and you have not slept more than a total of 6 hours in the last 15 days, things just seem impossible. When your baby screams at you in hunger, but refuses to latch on and looks at your with desperation, it seems like you will surely go crazy before you reach 6 weeks, let alone 6 months. When you sit lonely in the dark, trying to rationalize with a 2 week old infant that if she eats she can sleep, and if she sleeps she will feel better, makes you question if the craziness started around 6 days.
So to all of you who have fought the breastfeeding battle and won, I commend you. You are my inspiration and I thank you for your support. I think you are super women who have come through this challenge and truly done something wonderful for your children. I had no idea how hard it was, NO idea. I really thought I'd just put her on the boob and away we'd go. I want it to be easy, but right now it's still a struggle. My stubborn nature will ensure I keep on keeping on, at least a little bit longer. And I hope I am able to join you on the other side of this insanity as a successful breast feeder.
That said, to those of you who have formula fed out of necessity or sanity sake, I respect and commend you as well. Because I, like Mandy am a fan of feeding babies. And I don't think formula is evil. My niece and my BFF's daughter were both fed formula and are both two of the raddest kids EVER. I know now more than ever how hard breast feeding is, and like I said, I'm one of the lucky ones that this works for. I cannot imagine where I'd be if I had inverted nipples or a low supply or any of the other many things that plague many a breast feeding wanna be. Actually, that's not true, I know where I'd be. I'd be locked up somewhere with padded walls, crying over my inadequacy and feeling like a horrible person. And not because I should, but just because that it was happens more times than not.
So that's my piece on breastfeeding, from a 2 week veteran. Hardly as profound as what The Feminist Breeder posted, which broke the internets and was reposted, tweeted and Facebooked linked an unprecedented amount of times. Nor is it as heartfelt, candid and lets face it cute as that of Miss Mandy, who really just wants us to feed our babies and stop arguing about it. It's not even as Switzerland as Jill from Baby Rabies response to the above two ladies. But it's real, and it's coming from a new mom who is reeling and overwhelmed by all the insanity of late. And I hope it helps the rest of you mommy's to be know that it is effing HARD and you will feel like quitting, but if you want to do it, and you have your own reasons for it, you can! And if you don't want to do it or you simply cannot, then don't. And do not spend 1 minute feeling guilty about it, because it really won't get you anywhere and us new mommies? We have enough guilt about everything else without adding to it.
(As an aside, as I wrote this post this morning there was a knock on my door. And the hubs came back up the stairs with a small case, 6 cans, of Enfamil. Which the post man delivered especially for me. No pressure though, cause at 4am when the nips be burning and the babe be crying, I won't be tempted to just give it a shot).
Showing posts with label Stress. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stress. Show all posts
The 3pm Mother vs. The 3am Mother
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
My darling daughter is 2 weeks today, and I feel the fog starting to lift. I know I am supposed to post a big long poetic piece about how in love I am with her. I know I'm supposed to talk about the sparkle in her eye, how warm and fuzzy she is and how totally in love I am. I know I'm supposed to be beaming with new mother pride, viewing the world through rose tinted glasses and reveling in every poop that comes rocketing out of my daughters soft little cutesy bum.
And you know what? I am. I am so much in love with Everly it almost hurts. I cannot stop kissing her little face or staring at her while she sleeps. Even when I should be sleeping in the night, I get up to make sure she's breathing, and just to stare at her in wonderment. I cannot believe that only 2 short weeks ago, she was that faceless body that shook my belly all night long and made me have to pee every 15 mins. I cannot believe that she came from me and the hubs, that I grew that person from 2 pieces of DNA to a whole human, that she is part of us. I love her and I cannot get enough out of every single moment we spend together. She changes a bit every day and I feel as though time is already moving too fast. It really does happen, this instant love and I could not be more proud of my little girl. The love I feel for this child has shown me a kind of love I did not know existed, and my heart feels bigger and my life fuller just for having known her.
All of that said, there is a dark side to the first few weeks of motherhood that I am sure everyone experiences. And maybe I've ignored the warnings, maybe I didn't think they would happen to me, maybe I thought people over exaggerated. Or maybe, most new mothers out there experience what I have just gone through and the guilt and shame of the situation keeps them from speaking out or being honest.
It sounds like I going to confess a bunch of crazy thoughts full or rage and anxiety that I need to be medicated for. And I'm not. I have not felt the least bit angry this entire time, and at no point have I worried about my mental health or the safety of my child in my care. I have however sat, alone in the dark, while the hubs sleeps soundly, the baby fights me for a piece of the boob and I sob uncontrollably over her, tears streaking down and staining her precious new little head.
It's new mommy guilt and it hurts. I am sure this is equal parts sleep deprivation and hormonal imbalance, but as you're living it, you cannot rationalize. It's amazing how different 3pm can feel versus 3am. At 3pm, I am confident, I am with it, I am changing my daughter, she is eating like a champ and we're totally in a groove. At 3pm I am happy. I am beyond delighted with my new life and I can't wait to take my daughter out to experience the world. But at 3am, it is dark. I am alone and things are infinitely harder. It is at this time that the sleep deprivation has killed my ability to be rational. It's this time of the night, where my darling is crying out of hunger, but will not WILL NOT just latch on and eat, even though she's done it 15 times (literally) before that very same day. It's around this time where the pain in my back rivals the pain in my breasts and I wonder how people do this. It's around this time I'm on Twitter, screaming profanities and thankfully being talked down from the ledge by a collection of other mommy's doing the same thing.
This new mommy routine causes my chest to fill with tension and anxiety at 3am, to feel like I could scream, to look at my daughter and BEG her to just EAT like she's done so many times before. And this kicks in the guilt, which causes the tears, which exacerbates the guilt even further. How can I honestly expect my baby to do what I want, what I need? Life is about her now, and she deserves a kind mother, a patient mother, a mother who understands that she does not understand. And at 3pm, I am so that mother. We joke, I call her silly names and tell her she's being a goof when she's so busy cramming her hands in her mouth and screaming that I cannot get the boob in there. But the 3am mother, that's the one who feels like she failed. Who wonders what is wrong with her for being frustrated with a baby who is so perfectly innocent, who cries as her child eats and her husband sleeps.
The days spent in the hospital were completely sleepless. The hubs and I traded off 2 hours at a time through the night, but between the uncomfortable beds, my surgery, hospital staff coming in every hour to check us and tell us not to sleep with the baby in our beds, the heat in that place and the fear our daughter might just forget to breathe, we did not sleep. For 55 hours I laid trapped in that room, no window to the outside, not sleeping, not knowing what to do with this life form I was now responsible for. This does not set anyone up for having a good time when you get home.
Breastfeeding is by far one of the most challenging things I've done in my life. It hurts, it's difficult to hold her properly or to get her to latch on and stay on. I don't know if she's getting enough, if she's in the right position, if she's enjoying the bonding we're supposed to be having. It makes your mind swim with thoughts of failure. Am I doing this right? They say this shouldn't hurt? Aren't I supposed to enjoy this? How much longer is she going to feed for? What kind of mother rushes her child? At no point in my childbirth class did they touch on the stress and fatigue that comes from breastfeeding, or the innumerable ways you can fail at it. At no point did they tell me that being unable to properly nourish my child would feel like a ton of bricks crushing my chest, would make me want to scream out loud, would make me feel like less of a woman. And do you want to know what's scary? I'm not even really having that hard of a time in the grand scheme of things. I mean, it SEEMS hard to me, but I've got milk, my baby can latch 98% of the time and she is gaining weight like a champ. So if I feel this way, I cannot imagine what the women with real challenges feel like. Those like my sister, whose milk refused to come in, who spent hours pumping or trying to feed with no success. I think about her often when it's late and I cannot calm the stress I have over it. And I don't envy the decision she had to make to move onto formula, though I respect it more now that I ever could before. Sometimes you've got to do what's best for you and your child, and that includes feeding them without going completely crazy in the process.
And this is not the only challenge. When my daughter cries my heart breaks. I must have cried uncontrollably in the hospital at least 3 times when they came in to check her vitals, prick her heel or otherwise harass her and she cried. It hurts so much when I know she's hurting, and my eyes leak just as much as my nipples when she cries (yes, this really DOES happen). The helplessness that I felt the first few times she really cried is beyond anything I've ever felt. I wanted to comfort her, to make it all better, to stop the crying so I knew she felt safe, but you know what? In those first few days, your baby is still a stranger. You've carried her for 9 months, but it's been on your terms and you never had to hear her cry. In all the time she was in the womb, I assumed she was a happy little girl, and never felt the pain of knowing she wasn't. Thankfully, this is getting easier. She still cries, but she does it every time I change her, or she wakes up, or she decides she is bored and I'm getting much better at scooping her up and solving the problem than I used to be. I'm learning as much about her as she is about me, and our relationship is starting to work. But this is only in the last 2 days, before that it was still so overwhelming and still had me wondering what I was going to do.
Another thing I didn't anticipate was having a super zen husband, who could keep it together when I was losing it. This is a blessing beyond blessings. Partly it's because he sleeps more than I do, so his sleep deprivation isn't causing him to go as crazy. And partly he's not fighting the breastfeeding fight so the patience he has is better saved for other things, like those DAMN sleeper snaps you just CANNOT get done up properly when your eyes are burning and your kid is screaming and squirming. I never thought I'd have a moment in my life where I sat, crying helplessly as my husband soothed the child I once carried for 9 months. And this is another mommy guilt instigator.
Over the last 2 weeks things have gotten infinitely easier. We've all started to get to know each other. My husband is no longer a husband, but a father. I am no longer a wife, but a mother and our baby is no longer an internal human but a real live person, with a personality all her own.
I am enjoying the journey, it's rewarding and now that I am getting some confidence in my skills, it's getting better. Parts of it are harder than I thought, and parts of it are so much more wonderful than I could have imagined. But this is 3pm mom speaking. When 3am mom comes out, things get difficult and sometimes the tears flow. I am getting used to it though, and trying not to be so hard on myself. My friends, both real life and online, have helped me through this time. I am slowly trying to move past the guilt feelings and realize this is normal, that everyone must go through this, and that most of all, my daughter will never remember that I cried over her sweet little head over these first few days.
So to all mothers, new or old, give yourself a break. We're truly doing the best we can, and the pressure to be a stepford wife and the guilt you feel for needing a break doesn't help. I am telling this to myself as much as anyone else.
Now back to my silly baby who is cramming her fists into her mouth with such voracity, you'd never know she's already eaten a total of 15 times since midnight, for an astounding 4 hours and 27 minutes (thank-you iPhone app for your tracking awesomeness!)
And you know what? I am. I am so much in love with Everly it almost hurts. I cannot stop kissing her little face or staring at her while she sleeps. Even when I should be sleeping in the night, I get up to make sure she's breathing, and just to stare at her in wonderment. I cannot believe that only 2 short weeks ago, she was that faceless body that shook my belly all night long and made me have to pee every 15 mins. I cannot believe that she came from me and the hubs, that I grew that person from 2 pieces of DNA to a whole human, that she is part of us. I love her and I cannot get enough out of every single moment we spend together. She changes a bit every day and I feel as though time is already moving too fast. It really does happen, this instant love and I could not be more proud of my little girl. The love I feel for this child has shown me a kind of love I did not know existed, and my heart feels bigger and my life fuller just for having known her.
All of that said, there is a dark side to the first few weeks of motherhood that I am sure everyone experiences. And maybe I've ignored the warnings, maybe I didn't think they would happen to me, maybe I thought people over exaggerated. Or maybe, most new mothers out there experience what I have just gone through and the guilt and shame of the situation keeps them from speaking out or being honest.
It sounds like I going to confess a bunch of crazy thoughts full or rage and anxiety that I need to be medicated for. And I'm not. I have not felt the least bit angry this entire time, and at no point have I worried about my mental health or the safety of my child in my care. I have however sat, alone in the dark, while the hubs sleeps soundly, the baby fights me for a piece of the boob and I sob uncontrollably over her, tears streaking down and staining her precious new little head.
It's new mommy guilt and it hurts. I am sure this is equal parts sleep deprivation and hormonal imbalance, but as you're living it, you cannot rationalize. It's amazing how different 3pm can feel versus 3am. At 3pm, I am confident, I am with it, I am changing my daughter, she is eating like a champ and we're totally in a groove. At 3pm I am happy. I am beyond delighted with my new life and I can't wait to take my daughter out to experience the world. But at 3am, it is dark. I am alone and things are infinitely harder. It is at this time that the sleep deprivation has killed my ability to be rational. It's this time of the night, where my darling is crying out of hunger, but will not WILL NOT just latch on and eat, even though she's done it 15 times (literally) before that very same day. It's around this time where the pain in my back rivals the pain in my breasts and I wonder how people do this. It's around this time I'm on Twitter, screaming profanities and thankfully being talked down from the ledge by a collection of other mommy's doing the same thing.
This new mommy routine causes my chest to fill with tension and anxiety at 3am, to feel like I could scream, to look at my daughter and BEG her to just EAT like she's done so many times before. And this kicks in the guilt, which causes the tears, which exacerbates the guilt even further. How can I honestly expect my baby to do what I want, what I need? Life is about her now, and she deserves a kind mother, a patient mother, a mother who understands that she does not understand. And at 3pm, I am so that mother. We joke, I call her silly names and tell her she's being a goof when she's so busy cramming her hands in her mouth and screaming that I cannot get the boob in there. But the 3am mother, that's the one who feels like she failed. Who wonders what is wrong with her for being frustrated with a baby who is so perfectly innocent, who cries as her child eats and her husband sleeps.
The days spent in the hospital were completely sleepless. The hubs and I traded off 2 hours at a time through the night, but between the uncomfortable beds, my surgery, hospital staff coming in every hour to check us and tell us not to sleep with the baby in our beds, the heat in that place and the fear our daughter might just forget to breathe, we did not sleep. For 55 hours I laid trapped in that room, no window to the outside, not sleeping, not knowing what to do with this life form I was now responsible for. This does not set anyone up for having a good time when you get home.
And coming home from the hospital is the biggest shock I've ever had. Suddenly I am in my home, in a familiar place with an unfamiliar face. I'd done all the reading about the pregnancy, I was obsessive about my stats and literature. I read and studied up on labour and delivery for so long I bet I'd make a kick ass doula. I even researched enough on c-sections to be prepared to do the incision on my own, but I did not prepare myself to arrive home from the hospital. It was both terrifying and exhilarating. When we got home, I simply looked at my husband and said "now what?" And neither of us knew. And then the first night happened, where we couldn't sleep, where the baby wouldn't stop crying because she was hungry and where I could not get her to latch or eat. And so began the tears.
Breastfeeding is by far one of the most challenging things I've done in my life. It hurts, it's difficult to hold her properly or to get her to latch on and stay on. I don't know if she's getting enough, if she's in the right position, if she's enjoying the bonding we're supposed to be having. It makes your mind swim with thoughts of failure. Am I doing this right? They say this shouldn't hurt? Aren't I supposed to enjoy this? How much longer is she going to feed for? What kind of mother rushes her child? At no point in my childbirth class did they touch on the stress and fatigue that comes from breastfeeding, or the innumerable ways you can fail at it. At no point did they tell me that being unable to properly nourish my child would feel like a ton of bricks crushing my chest, would make me want to scream out loud, would make me feel like less of a woman. And do you want to know what's scary? I'm not even really having that hard of a time in the grand scheme of things. I mean, it SEEMS hard to me, but I've got milk, my baby can latch 98% of the time and she is gaining weight like a champ. So if I feel this way, I cannot imagine what the women with real challenges feel like. Those like my sister, whose milk refused to come in, who spent hours pumping or trying to feed with no success. I think about her often when it's late and I cannot calm the stress I have over it. And I don't envy the decision she had to make to move onto formula, though I respect it more now that I ever could before. Sometimes you've got to do what's best for you and your child, and that includes feeding them without going completely crazy in the process.
And this is not the only challenge. When my daughter cries my heart breaks. I must have cried uncontrollably in the hospital at least 3 times when they came in to check her vitals, prick her heel or otherwise harass her and she cried. It hurts so much when I know she's hurting, and my eyes leak just as much as my nipples when she cries (yes, this really DOES happen). The helplessness that I felt the first few times she really cried is beyond anything I've ever felt. I wanted to comfort her, to make it all better, to stop the crying so I knew she felt safe, but you know what? In those first few days, your baby is still a stranger. You've carried her for 9 months, but it's been on your terms and you never had to hear her cry. In all the time she was in the womb, I assumed she was a happy little girl, and never felt the pain of knowing she wasn't. Thankfully, this is getting easier. She still cries, but she does it every time I change her, or she wakes up, or she decides she is bored and I'm getting much better at scooping her up and solving the problem than I used to be. I'm learning as much about her as she is about me, and our relationship is starting to work. But this is only in the last 2 days, before that it was still so overwhelming and still had me wondering what I was going to do.
Another thing I didn't anticipate was having a super zen husband, who could keep it together when I was losing it. This is a blessing beyond blessings. Partly it's because he sleeps more than I do, so his sleep deprivation isn't causing him to go as crazy. And partly he's not fighting the breastfeeding fight so the patience he has is better saved for other things, like those DAMN sleeper snaps you just CANNOT get done up properly when your eyes are burning and your kid is screaming and squirming. I never thought I'd have a moment in my life where I sat, crying helplessly as my husband soothed the child I once carried for 9 months. And this is another mommy guilt instigator.
Over the last 2 weeks things have gotten infinitely easier. We've all started to get to know each other. My husband is no longer a husband, but a father. I am no longer a wife, but a mother and our baby is no longer an internal human but a real live person, with a personality all her own.
I am enjoying the journey, it's rewarding and now that I am getting some confidence in my skills, it's getting better. Parts of it are harder than I thought, and parts of it are so much more wonderful than I could have imagined. But this is 3pm mom speaking. When 3am mom comes out, things get difficult and sometimes the tears flow. I am getting used to it though, and trying not to be so hard on myself. My friends, both real life and online, have helped me through this time. I am slowly trying to move past the guilt feelings and realize this is normal, that everyone must go through this, and that most of all, my daughter will never remember that I cried over her sweet little head over these first few days.
So to all mothers, new or old, give yourself a break. We're truly doing the best we can, and the pressure to be a stepford wife and the guilt you feel for needing a break doesn't help. I am telling this to myself as much as anyone else.
Now back to my silly baby who is cramming her fists into her mouth with such voracity, you'd never know she's already eaten a total of 15 times since midnight, for an astounding 4 hours and 27 minutes (thank-you iPhone app for your tracking awesomeness!)
She didn't flip over, so I'm flipping out...
Monday, March 8, 2010
So the version was horrible, painful and didn't work. They laid me out on a bed, after having me to the hospital 1.5 hours earlier than I needed. The nurse was fantastic, and I was really happy with my care. Too bad that didn't eliminate the pain of the procedure. I knew it wasn't going to be good, and to be honest, it was no worse than I thought. But at the end of the day, it was awful.
I laid on a bed in a small room, and after being monitored for an hour, the doctor (who is awesome) arrived and jumped right in. After a failed IV attempt, where it popped out of my hand vein, and a re-insertion into my arm, we were under way. She was reconfirmed breech for the 47th time, and the doctor talked his resident through the procedure. They flipped the bed, so I was once again upside down (which I have been ALL weekend in the pool, doing handstands in hopes I could help her flip). Then they made a fluid pocket by pressing with enough pressure to make a diamond, directly above my pelvic bone and he began.
At first, we went right, She's been getting herself transverse this entire weekend so I thought it might be a good option. They pushed, the midwife and the hubs rubbed my legs and feet to distract me, and I felt immense pain and pressure in my abdomen. I tried to breathe through it. Closed my eyes and envisioned being on a warm Hawaiian beach with my baby. They told me to relax, and I really thought I was but apparently I was tensing up all my muscles, including the leg ones. I tried to stop, but it wasn't me doing it, it was my body.
Right didn't work. We took a break, they put something in my IV to relax my muscles. I began to feel like a jello version of my former self, and we tried to go left. Left wasn't working. One more shot to the right, because 3rd time is always the charm. Except, it wasn't.
I tried to stay calm. I tried to stay quiet. I tried not to let the tears welling up in my eyes stream down my cheeks, but I failed on all accounts. The doctor simply said "I don't think this is going to work, and I don't think we should keep trying". Fair enough, he is the expert. He is the man who has been called "the breech guru", he is the person I'm putting all my faith and trust into right now. And to be honest, the feeling that my stomach cavity was going to snap off in my body, or that they were going to break my poor sweet child's neck was far too much to bare. I conceded. I gave in. I gave up.
Up I went, back into a flat position, so I could lay for an hour while they monitored contractions and fetal heart rate to make sure they didn't do anything to either of us. Luckily, we are both fine. Her more so than I am. We talked to the midwives, we talked to the nurses, I laid there and waited and then it was time to go. My lovely nurse came back in to let me go, and gave me a rose she'd been given for International Women's Day. She said I was strong and that any decision I made would be the right one. She told me to listen to the baby, and not to feel guilty.
Now I'm at home. Resting. Sitting here pouring over statistics about cord compression and baby brain damage in vaginal breech delivery, and feeling an insane amount of guilt about potentially choosing the c-section route. I am also insanely petrified of the c-section.
I laid on a bed in a small room, and after being monitored for an hour, the doctor (who is awesome) arrived and jumped right in. After a failed IV attempt, where it popped out of my hand vein, and a re-insertion into my arm, we were under way. She was reconfirmed breech for the 47th time, and the doctor talked his resident through the procedure. They flipped the bed, so I was once again upside down (which I have been ALL weekend in the pool, doing handstands in hopes I could help her flip). Then they made a fluid pocket by pressing with enough pressure to make a diamond, directly above my pelvic bone and he began.
At first, we went right, She's been getting herself transverse this entire weekend so I thought it might be a good option. They pushed, the midwife and the hubs rubbed my legs and feet to distract me, and I felt immense pain and pressure in my abdomen. I tried to breathe through it. Closed my eyes and envisioned being on a warm Hawaiian beach with my baby. They told me to relax, and I really thought I was but apparently I was tensing up all my muscles, including the leg ones. I tried to stop, but it wasn't me doing it, it was my body.
Right didn't work. We took a break, they put something in my IV to relax my muscles. I began to feel like a jello version of my former self, and we tried to go left. Left wasn't working. One more shot to the right, because 3rd time is always the charm. Except, it wasn't.
I tried to stay calm. I tried to stay quiet. I tried not to let the tears welling up in my eyes stream down my cheeks, but I failed on all accounts. The doctor simply said "I don't think this is going to work, and I don't think we should keep trying". Fair enough, he is the expert. He is the man who has been called "the breech guru", he is the person I'm putting all my faith and trust into right now. And to be honest, the feeling that my stomach cavity was going to snap off in my body, or that they were going to break my poor sweet child's neck was far too much to bare. I conceded. I gave in. I gave up.
Up I went, back into a flat position, so I could lay for an hour while they monitored contractions and fetal heart rate to make sure they didn't do anything to either of us. Luckily, we are both fine. Her more so than I am. We talked to the midwives, we talked to the nurses, I laid there and waited and then it was time to go. My lovely nurse came back in to let me go, and gave me a rose she'd been given for International Women's Day. She said I was strong and that any decision I made would be the right one. She told me to listen to the baby, and not to feel guilty.
Now I'm at home. Resting. Sitting here pouring over statistics about cord compression and baby brain damage in vaginal breech delivery, and feeling an insane amount of guilt about potentially choosing the c-section route. I am also insanely petrified of the c-section.
I could rationalize being told I didn't have the option for vaginal breech, I could feel ok saying I had a 'medically required C-section', but having to CHOOSE to go this route is killing me.
I don't even know for sure what my hang up is entirely. I don't know WHY I am so adverse to the C/S but I can't feel good about choosing it. And it's making this all too hard.
I feel like I'm not going to be able to bond with her if she comes up via an incision. I feel like I am not going to be able to take care of her or my family after it's over, because I am going to be recovering from 'major abdominal surgery' and that makes me so angry. I take care of everyone here - the husband, the dog, the house and to have to let HIM do everything for my new baby will just drive me insane. Even now, they told me to rest following the version, and as I sit here, him taking care of everything, I want to cry. It's not at all that he's incapable, or disinterested in helping. Quite the opposite. He is keen to take it on (though I'm not sure he gets how much work it'll be, since I don't). But that's my job. I take care of people, I take care of my family and I am certainly the one who should be taking care of my new baby. Me, that's my job. I am the mama and I am supposed to be strong and fix it all.....and if I've been cut open, I really can't.
I'm afraid to be cut open. I am afraid to be awake, while they not only cut me open but remove a human from my body. I am afraid that my body will never be the same. I am a million times more afraid of a C-section than any form of vaginal birth.
But at the same time, there are some parts of this I cannot deny. There are risks of cord prolapse, which could result in my child suffering short-term brain damage, or worse, something permanent like cerebral palsy. And yes, the risks are low, but you know what? So were the chances she'd be breech at this stage, let alone TURN breech at 36 weeks. Odds are not in our favour apparently, and when your child's mental ability and quality of life is at stake, screwing around with probability is not acceptable.
I also need to think about my husband. He's willing and able to support me 100% in what I want to do. However, that's not to say he doesn't have a preference or fear. I know that for him, the pain and stress of watching me go through today was a lot. And that was a short couple of hours, and a relatively innocuous procedure. For him to participate in the birth of his child, when things are so uncertain and he's so nervous will eliminate any joy or gleeful anticipation. What was going to be a journey we took together to bring our daughter into the world, will now be fraught with fear, anxiety and probably terror.
At the end of the day, the birth I wanted, the birth we wanted, is no longer on the table. Of course no matter what, we always faced the chance that our plan would go sideways and things wouldn't end up the way we hoped in terms of our delivery. The difference there is the blissful ignorance going into the labour, which would have allowed us to believe it was possible. We know now that it's not. We cannot labour in the comfort of our home, with the support of the doula, until we're ready to go to the hospital. We cannot use the birth pool to tame the discomfort of the contractions, and I can not opt for minimal internal checks and limited or no monitoring. No, a vaginal breech delivery means heading to the hospital much earlier, and turning the birth into the medical intervention I was so heart set on avoiding. And if I'm going to do that, then perhaps I should just go all the way over to the other side, and consider this a procedure. A means to an end. And then, just maybe I won't feel so traumatized over the thought of what I'm losing, and finally be able to focus on the important part, what I'm gaining - a daughter.
I'm sitting on the fence, not knowing what to do, dying to simply fall off and have the decision made for me. But it's not going to happen. It's time I put on my big girl panties and did what is right, for me and for my family. At the end of the day, the only thing that's important here is the 3 of us. Everyone else's opinions and theory's about what we do to bring her into the world are irrelevant. We need to make a choice, we need to feel good about it, and we need to be prepared to face the consequences, good or bad.
I think when I settle on a decision, I am going to be in a much better head space. I don't tend to do well with uncertainty, and this is not the time to be so confused. The right choice is coming, I just need a little more time to process this all.
When right side up is upside down...
Thursday, March 4, 2010
36.6 weeks into this pregnancy, the hubs and I headed to our midwife appointment...blissfully unaware that things had changed with our baby girl. We sat, we talked, we covered the basics. How am I feeling, were we ready, and hey did you want to have a vaginal swab (GBS test)? Sure, what girl doesn't want a 6 inch swab up her vajay at 9:45am?!?!?!
All that was normal, and then the midwife did the heartbeat and position check, and my heart sort of sunk. Luckily her heart beat was clomping along like a little horsey at 130 bmp, so I knew she was ok. But the midwife was having a hard time verifying position. But hey, she's the student midwife so no problemo, let's get one of the pro's. Problem is, the pro couldn't tell baby girls head from her butt either. Egads!
Now we KNOW for a fact she's been head down for a long time. At 33.6 weeks, we confirmed she was head down. The midwife felt her "nestled perfectly in the pelvis. Head down ready to go". So I am not worried. No baby in their right mind would flip the wrong way this close to their birthday, that would be crazy, and stubborn and just plain difficult. Then again, this is my kid, who is already demonstrating just how much like me she is.
So I go for my "emergency ultrasound" at the most hilarious little clinic. It's in the heart of our Chinatown, on the 2nd floor of perhaps the most confused mall ever. Chinese food, herbs and cell phone providers all in one place... conveniently located next to the medical clinics of Wong and Wong. Whatever I'll take it, they had an appointment for me 2 short hours after the visit with the midwife. My darling friend G joined me, as the hubs was not able to, and waited patiently for me in the waiting room...
I was 100% sure the tiny little woman performing my scan would tell me that lump under my ribs was my kids bony butt and away we'd go. That was right up until she put the doppler on my lump and said "and that's her head".
"Excuse me, pardon, fuk the what, how stupid are you, did your degree come from a Fruit Loops box, you've gotta be wrong you insane women my kid would not flip like that" was sorta what went through my mind. There may have been a few more expletives involved.
As I lay there, choking back tears, sure this woman would not "get' why I was upset, I tried to wrap my head around this thought. My child is heads up, which is actually upside down in fetus world.
We left the appointment, I called the hubs and we stopped to get Chinese food, because really, when in Rome...
Back to the office me and my friend go, and I sit in my office the rest of the day, choking back the tears, whining incessantly on Twitter (but getting AMAZING support) and wondering what went wrong.
I also remembered back to the previous Thursday, when in retrospect is when the baby flipped. At 36 weeks 1 day, in the evening at my BFFs house, my baby flipped out. Literally. I had felt funny all afternoon. I'd been crampy, and feeling a tad on the nauseated side. I was starving by the time we put her daughter to bed and ate our dinner, and I knew something was going on. My belly had jetted out so far for a moment, on the opposite side that she'd ever been, that my bestie even commented. I felt crampy in my legs and even had a hard time walking back to my car when I left. It was certainly strange and I actually thought for a minute or 200 I might be going into labour. But it all went away and I thought nothing more of it. Now I know, that was her pulling a gymnastics move.
I spent the better part of Tuesday night crying uncontrollably. This is equal parts fear and confusion, and 9 month pregnant hormones. It is cruel and unusual punishment that your 10 months of sobriety has to end with a shit show of excess hormones. If a girl ever needed to slam back the better part of a bottle of wine, now is the time. I was just gearing up to get all excited about the arrival of my baby, and she threw me a curve ball. And I've never been a good catch.
I am ashamed to admit I felt a little anger towards her. Not really at her, but I just had this sense of "why NOW?" And I felt slightly less excited about her arrival. Not less excited to have her. I'm still just as excited to hold her in my arms, but I am now not looking forward to potentially going into labour. I am not looking forward to it because I don't want it to come unless she flips. Now there is a whole new sense of fear surrounding her arrival. Not the hopeful curious fear that comes with having no sweet clue what to expect, but a raw fear that exposed a nerve which is now perfectly poised to be struck repeatedly.
I've heard from everyone that no matter what, she will get here and I will love her. And I have no doubt about this. As long as she arrives happy and healthy, I will be ecstatic. I know it could be a lot worse, of course I am SO lucky that she's healthy in there, that she's made it to term and that my pregnancy has been complication free up until now. I know a c-section is not the end of the world, and that my life will not be ruined if I have to go that route. I know that bottom line, the most important thing is that soon, we will be a family of 3. But knowing all of this does not make me any less sad. My rational side is fully aware and happy, but my emotional side feels like I lost something.
There are 2 types of people - the ones who get how I feel and the ones who really don't. And I don't blame the ones who don't, because frankly, what is the big deal? And maybe somewhere the old me, the one that existed before my baby ate my rationality (thanks Mae for letting me know what happened!) agrees with them. It's not a big deal, who cares. I sometimes miss that girl. But let's face it, she was drunk a lot so probably shouldn't be trusted. This me, the one who has poured 9 months of heart and soul into researching birth stories, reading really motivating and empowering books about birth, and meeting with her midwives and doula with the excitement of a little girl getting her first dolly on Christmas, is crushed. I'm crushed because I'm not getting what I wanted, and maybe that is a lesson I should learn here. I think my times of living for me are over sooner than I thought. It's time to start living for my baby. This is not to say I appreciate her position right now, or am willing to concede to it. Just that there is probably a lesson in there somewhere.
All hope is not lost yet though, and this is how I stopped the tears. We've looking into all our options. I spent the better part of Tuesday and Wednesday evening inverted in some fashion or another. I've been trying to convince her that it will be better for HER if she flips. I know she's just a stubborn brat like me, and that is why she is going against the grain. So I need to appeal to her in the right way, in that this decision to flip has nothing to do with me and everything to do with making her life easier. And I've been trying to tell her that. But she's also a fetus, so I've promised her multiple pony's (and neglected to mention I mean of the "my little" kind). I've visited a chiropractor and started the Webster technique with her (2 more next week). This morning, I did an hour's worth of acupuncture and moxibustion. I will repeat this on Tuesday. Tonight I am going to go do handstands in my BFF's pool. I am going to try to keep calm and relaxed and hope that she chooses to flip back. And I'm about to go visit an OBGYN who specializes in both version techniques AND vaginal breech deliveries.If she doesn't flip back, then she wasn't meant to. And I will just have to accept that my kid is that darn special, even from -1 month old.
If it comes down to a C-section being the best and most safe way to bring her into this world, I will opt for it in a heart beat. But I will continue to seek out alternative this, and hope she flips naturally right up until the last milisecond before they cut me open.
All that was normal, and then the midwife did the heartbeat and position check, and my heart sort of sunk. Luckily her heart beat was clomping along like a little horsey at 130 bmp, so I knew she was ok. But the midwife was having a hard time verifying position. But hey, she's the student midwife so no problemo, let's get one of the pro's. Problem is, the pro couldn't tell baby girls head from her butt either. Egads!
Now we KNOW for a fact she's been head down for a long time. At 33.6 weeks, we confirmed she was head down. The midwife felt her "nestled perfectly in the pelvis. Head down ready to go". So I am not worried. No baby in their right mind would flip the wrong way this close to their birthday, that would be crazy, and stubborn and just plain difficult. Then again, this is my kid, who is already demonstrating just how much like me she is.
So I go for my "emergency ultrasound" at the most hilarious little clinic. It's in the heart of our Chinatown, on the 2nd floor of perhaps the most confused mall ever. Chinese food, herbs and cell phone providers all in one place... conveniently located next to the medical clinics of Wong and Wong. Whatever I'll take it, they had an appointment for me 2 short hours after the visit with the midwife. My darling friend G joined me, as the hubs was not able to, and waited patiently for me in the waiting room...
I was 100% sure the tiny little woman performing my scan would tell me that lump under my ribs was my kids bony butt and away we'd go. That was right up until she put the doppler on my lump and said "and that's her head".
"Excuse me, pardon, fuk the what, how stupid are you, did your degree come from a Fruit Loops box, you've gotta be wrong you insane women my kid would not flip like that" was sorta what went through my mind. There may have been a few more expletives involved.
As I lay there, choking back tears, sure this woman would not "get' why I was upset, I tried to wrap my head around this thought. My child is heads up, which is actually upside down in fetus world.
We left the appointment, I called the hubs and we stopped to get Chinese food, because really, when in Rome...
Back to the office me and my friend go, and I sit in my office the rest of the day, choking back the tears, whining incessantly on Twitter (but getting AMAZING support) and wondering what went wrong.
I also remembered back to the previous Thursday, when in retrospect is when the baby flipped. At 36 weeks 1 day, in the evening at my BFFs house, my baby flipped out. Literally. I had felt funny all afternoon. I'd been crampy, and feeling a tad on the nauseated side. I was starving by the time we put her daughter to bed and ate our dinner, and I knew something was going on. My belly had jetted out so far for a moment, on the opposite side that she'd ever been, that my bestie even commented. I felt crampy in my legs and even had a hard time walking back to my car when I left. It was certainly strange and I actually thought for a minute or 200 I might be going into labour. But it all went away and I thought nothing more of it. Now I know, that was her pulling a gymnastics move.
I spent the better part of Tuesday night crying uncontrollably. This is equal parts fear and confusion, and 9 month pregnant hormones. It is cruel and unusual punishment that your 10 months of sobriety has to end with a shit show of excess hormones. If a girl ever needed to slam back the better part of a bottle of wine, now is the time. I was just gearing up to get all excited about the arrival of my baby, and she threw me a curve ball. And I've never been a good catch.
I am ashamed to admit I felt a little anger towards her. Not really at her, but I just had this sense of "why NOW?" And I felt slightly less excited about her arrival. Not less excited to have her. I'm still just as excited to hold her in my arms, but I am now not looking forward to potentially going into labour. I am not looking forward to it because I don't want it to come unless she flips. Now there is a whole new sense of fear surrounding her arrival. Not the hopeful curious fear that comes with having no sweet clue what to expect, but a raw fear that exposed a nerve which is now perfectly poised to be struck repeatedly.
I've heard from everyone that no matter what, she will get here and I will love her. And I have no doubt about this. As long as she arrives happy and healthy, I will be ecstatic. I know it could be a lot worse, of course I am SO lucky that she's healthy in there, that she's made it to term and that my pregnancy has been complication free up until now. I know a c-section is not the end of the world, and that my life will not be ruined if I have to go that route. I know that bottom line, the most important thing is that soon, we will be a family of 3. But knowing all of this does not make me any less sad. My rational side is fully aware and happy, but my emotional side feels like I lost something.
There are 2 types of people - the ones who get how I feel and the ones who really don't. And I don't blame the ones who don't, because frankly, what is the big deal? And maybe somewhere the old me, the one that existed before my baby ate my rationality (thanks Mae for letting me know what happened!) agrees with them. It's not a big deal, who cares. I sometimes miss that girl. But let's face it, she was drunk a lot so probably shouldn't be trusted. This me, the one who has poured 9 months of heart and soul into researching birth stories, reading really motivating and empowering books about birth, and meeting with her midwives and doula with the excitement of a little girl getting her first dolly on Christmas, is crushed. I'm crushed because I'm not getting what I wanted, and maybe that is a lesson I should learn here. I think my times of living for me are over sooner than I thought. It's time to start living for my baby. This is not to say I appreciate her position right now, or am willing to concede to it. Just that there is probably a lesson in there somewhere.
All hope is not lost yet though, and this is how I stopped the tears. We've looking into all our options. I spent the better part of Tuesday and Wednesday evening inverted in some fashion or another. I've been trying to convince her that it will be better for HER if she flips. I know she's just a stubborn brat like me, and that is why she is going against the grain. So I need to appeal to her in the right way, in that this decision to flip has nothing to do with me and everything to do with making her life easier. And I've been trying to tell her that. But she's also a fetus, so I've promised her multiple pony's (and neglected to mention I mean of the "my little" kind). I've visited a chiropractor and started the Webster technique with her (2 more next week). This morning, I did an hour's worth of acupuncture and moxibustion. I will repeat this on Tuesday. Tonight I am going to go do handstands in my BFF's pool. I am going to try to keep calm and relaxed and hope that she chooses to flip back. And I'm about to go visit an OBGYN who specializes in both version techniques AND vaginal breech deliveries.If she doesn't flip back, then she wasn't meant to. And I will just have to accept that my kid is that darn special, even from -1 month old.
If it comes down to a C-section being the best and most safe way to bring her into this world, I will opt for it in a heart beat. But I will continue to seek out alternative this, and hope she flips naturally right up until the last milisecond before they cut me open.
Tomorrow I am 35 weeks, say WHAT NOW?
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Yes, exactly. How in the hell did that happen? I remember those excruciating first 12 weeks like they were yesterday. And really, it was only 7 weeks since I was 5 weeks 1 day when I peed on the stick that told me we had finally made a baby. And yet NOW, I'm almost 35 weeks?!?!?!?!? That's a mere 5 weeks from due date, and an entire 1 week PAST when my niece arrived. Translation? This baby could technically choose to vacate the ute at ANY TIME NOW.
Ok so I suppose that's always a possibility, but let's think about this for a minute. Some people are keeners. You know, those early rising types who say things like "I just love running at 530 in the morning, it's so calm and peaceful". Yes, of course it is you nutbar, you're the ONLY PERSON ON THE PLANET who willingly got out of bed at that time. Everyone else who is outside, it pretending to be awake, on their way somewhere they don't want to go, frantically looking for coffee. These are the kinds of people who consider "sleeping in" when their internal alarm clock (because these are also the people who don't need an alarm clock because they just "wake up naturally with the sun") has them sleeping past 8:00am on a Sunday. These are the people the hubs hates, and I don't wish to be.
Don't get me wrong. I will cease the day with the best of you, when there is something to be ceased. But I also enjoy those days where my internal clock can wake up, think "fuk fuk fuk I am late for work", then realize it's Saturday and I can roll over for another few hours. I still get up before noon, and generally in the single digit hours. The hubs on the other hand, he's the other end of the spectrum. He get's up in the single digit hours too, but they are not the ones that happen before noon.
Anyway, I digress as always. My point IS, my daughter may well be a keener, and think it's as good a time as any to be born. Carpe Diem and all that jazz. I mean, why not right? I am a go go go type. A never stop moving type. A "I can do it all and a bag of chips" type, who is always 10 seconds away from a completely overwhelmed breakdown, but who generally gets through things flawlessly and in good time. If she's got that streak, that part of her, that raging A-type side, there is nothing to say she won't channel it into a keener mentality, and decide to rocket out of my body ahead of schedule.
I am keenly aware of how not on a schedule a baby is, even from conception. And I realize that this "due date" is an arbitrary timeline put on me, so I have something concrete to obsess over. Obviously due dates are about norms and statistics, but of course, there are standard deviations in everything, and pregnancy is anything by normal. So I know that I am entering the grey area. That period of time where, fewer first time moms go into labour, but many second time and beyond moms do. The time where that pesky back ache or more intense Braxton Hicks may be something a little more serious. The time in which, my baby could decide she wants out. And there would be no reason to try to stop her.
In general, I am not scared of the prospect of having her in my arms. Petrified is probably a better word. Just kidding. While I am nervous about the first few moments of motherhood, I do strongly believe I possess the instincts that will allow me to keep her happy and healthy. And that's really all I can hope for at this point. Well adjusted and highly intelligent I will work out later. But just because I am not afraid does not mean I am prepared.
First of all, I am not DONE with pregnancy. Sure, I had a day last week where my feet swelled up to the size of tree trunks and I thought I may never walk normally again (I am now convinced the pregnancy waddle is not a result of widening hips, but of stumpy feet). Sleeping has started to become hit or miss. I have great sleeps still a lot of the time, but I also have nights where night sweats, bizarro dreams and burning excruciating hip pain join forces with needing to pee bi-hourly, to ensure I get a taste of newborn life in advance of her arrival. And sure, I am getting more and more comments about how huge I am, and the boys at work are starting to feel sorry for me for "carrying all that extra weight around". If only they knew HOW much. And maybe, between 33 weeks and 34 weeks, I gained an astonishing 4.5 POUNDS and almost passed OUT at the number, and have an insane amount of fear about what that scale will say tomorrow.And just perhaps I would enjoy a cold beer with my dinner, or a glass of wine before bed. However, with all these things going on, I am not done with being pregnant. I am still loving every moment of it. Even when she's got, from what I can tell, her big toe pushing out a rib and causing me pain, or she's practicing tai bo on my cervix, I enjoy it. Maybe I enjoy it less at that moment, but I still have not hit that wall of "I AM SO OVER BEING PREGNANT" yet. I attribute this in a large part to the fact I am not 8 months preggo in the summer. Those with summer babies, you've got an entirely different experience on your hands.
Second of all, I am still working. I did this on purpose after friend upon friend shared with me their experience of being 8 days past due, and so insanely bored and frustrated. Taking off from work too early just means that if you DO go passed the illusive due date, you will go fuking bananas. Leaving work at say, 35 weeks, would leave me with a possible 7 weeks off, and no baby to care for, so I've chosen to leave at 37.5. This is great for saving me from that long stretch of anticipation and waiting, but not great for me feeling ready and prepared for her to come. I need to finish training my replacements. Yes, there is an S there because, we have hired 2 people to fill 1 pair of my worky shoes. The same shoes I could have used last week when my stump feet had me calling the hubs to bring me some runners. And I need to mentally separate work me from mom me before she comes. I had NO idea I identified with my job so much before I contemplated leaving it for an ENTIRE YEAR (yes I am SOOOOOOOO lucky to live in Canada!!!), nor did I realize how hard it would be to walk away from all the hard work I've put in, and leave it up to someone else to carry on. So, I need to get to that point, that date I set of March 12, to put my career on hold and enter the world of mom. I need it mentally more than anything. It's a milestone in my mind, and I think it's the only way I can get through this transition with any semblance of sanity.
And finally, I need a little ME time before she comes, so I can be the best mom to her from the moment she arrives. I need to have a little time and space between shelving work me, and becoming mom me, where I can sleep in, wash her clothes, do prenatal yoga and take in my life as I currently know it. It might sound selfish, and maybe it is, but I don't care. I just want to have a breather between the insanity that is my daily work life, and the complete unknown that will become my mom life. I need to take a little time to centre myself, before embarking on a new adventure. I need to clean the floors and prep the foods, and sip a decaf latte at the speed in which it was intended to be enjoyed. I need to hover in that free space, where I almost don't belong anymore.
So no, I am not ready. And hitting 35 weeks is causing me some angst and discomfort in the chest region. And not just from these giant C-cups I'm suddenly sporting (uh ya, when you fake a B cup your entire life, a C cup IS a huge deal...just saying). I am sure if we fast forward to the post that will come in 3 weeks, it will be "GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME WHY WON'T SHE JUST BE BORN I AM SO DONE WITH PREGNANCY" and I will revisit this and think, 34.6 week me, what WERE you THINKING?!?!
But for now, I'm enjoying my pregnancy and I just want her to hold on, for 5 more weeks (but not 7, ok?).
Ok so I suppose that's always a possibility, but let's think about this for a minute. Some people are keeners. You know, those early rising types who say things like "I just love running at 530 in the morning, it's so calm and peaceful". Yes, of course it is you nutbar, you're the ONLY PERSON ON THE PLANET who willingly got out of bed at that time. Everyone else who is outside, it pretending to be awake, on their way somewhere they don't want to go, frantically looking for coffee. These are the kinds of people who consider "sleeping in" when their internal alarm clock (because these are also the people who don't need an alarm clock because they just "wake up naturally with the sun") has them sleeping past 8:00am on a Sunday. These are the people the hubs hates, and I don't wish to be.
Don't get me wrong. I will cease the day with the best of you, when there is something to be ceased. But I also enjoy those days where my internal clock can wake up, think "fuk fuk fuk I am late for work", then realize it's Saturday and I can roll over for another few hours. I still get up before noon, and generally in the single digit hours. The hubs on the other hand, he's the other end of the spectrum. He get's up in the single digit hours too, but they are not the ones that happen before noon.
Anyway, I digress as always. My point IS, my daughter may well be a keener, and think it's as good a time as any to be born. Carpe Diem and all that jazz. I mean, why not right? I am a go go go type. A never stop moving type. A "I can do it all and a bag of chips" type, who is always 10 seconds away from a completely overwhelmed breakdown, but who generally gets through things flawlessly and in good time. If she's got that streak, that part of her, that raging A-type side, there is nothing to say she won't channel it into a keener mentality, and decide to rocket out of my body ahead of schedule.
I am keenly aware of how not on a schedule a baby is, even from conception. And I realize that this "due date" is an arbitrary timeline put on me, so I have something concrete to obsess over. Obviously due dates are about norms and statistics, but of course, there are standard deviations in everything, and pregnancy is anything by normal. So I know that I am entering the grey area. That period of time where, fewer first time moms go into labour, but many second time and beyond moms do. The time where that pesky back ache or more intense Braxton Hicks may be something a little more serious. The time in which, my baby could decide she wants out. And there would be no reason to try to stop her.
In general, I am not scared of the prospect of having her in my arms. Petrified is probably a better word. Just kidding. While I am nervous about the first few moments of motherhood, I do strongly believe I possess the instincts that will allow me to keep her happy and healthy. And that's really all I can hope for at this point. Well adjusted and highly intelligent I will work out later. But just because I am not afraid does not mean I am prepared.
First of all, I am not DONE with pregnancy. Sure, I had a day last week where my feet swelled up to the size of tree trunks and I thought I may never walk normally again (I am now convinced the pregnancy waddle is not a result of widening hips, but of stumpy feet). Sleeping has started to become hit or miss. I have great sleeps still a lot of the time, but I also have nights where night sweats, bizarro dreams and burning excruciating hip pain join forces with needing to pee bi-hourly, to ensure I get a taste of newborn life in advance of her arrival. And sure, I am getting more and more comments about how huge I am, and the boys at work are starting to feel sorry for me for "carrying all that extra weight around". If only they knew HOW much. And maybe, between 33 weeks and 34 weeks, I gained an astonishing 4.5 POUNDS and almost passed OUT at the number, and have an insane amount of fear about what that scale will say tomorrow.And just perhaps I would enjoy a cold beer with my dinner, or a glass of wine before bed. However, with all these things going on, I am not done with being pregnant. I am still loving every moment of it. Even when she's got, from what I can tell, her big toe pushing out a rib and causing me pain, or she's practicing tai bo on my cervix, I enjoy it. Maybe I enjoy it less at that moment, but I still have not hit that wall of "I AM SO OVER BEING PREGNANT" yet. I attribute this in a large part to the fact I am not 8 months preggo in the summer. Those with summer babies, you've got an entirely different experience on your hands.
Second of all, I am still working. I did this on purpose after friend upon friend shared with me their experience of being 8 days past due, and so insanely bored and frustrated. Taking off from work too early just means that if you DO go passed the illusive due date, you will go fuking bananas. Leaving work at say, 35 weeks, would leave me with a possible 7 weeks off, and no baby to care for, so I've chosen to leave at 37.5. This is great for saving me from that long stretch of anticipation and waiting, but not great for me feeling ready and prepared for her to come. I need to finish training my replacements. Yes, there is an S there because, we have hired 2 people to fill 1 pair of my worky shoes. The same shoes I could have used last week when my stump feet had me calling the hubs to bring me some runners. And I need to mentally separate work me from mom me before she comes. I had NO idea I identified with my job so much before I contemplated leaving it for an ENTIRE YEAR (yes I am SOOOOOOOO lucky to live in Canada!!!), nor did I realize how hard it would be to walk away from all the hard work I've put in, and leave it up to someone else to carry on. So, I need to get to that point, that date I set of March 12, to put my career on hold and enter the world of mom. I need it mentally more than anything. It's a milestone in my mind, and I think it's the only way I can get through this transition with any semblance of sanity.
And finally, I need a little ME time before she comes, so I can be the best mom to her from the moment she arrives. I need to have a little time and space between shelving work me, and becoming mom me, where I can sleep in, wash her clothes, do prenatal yoga and take in my life as I currently know it. It might sound selfish, and maybe it is, but I don't care. I just want to have a breather between the insanity that is my daily work life, and the complete unknown that will become my mom life. I need to take a little time to centre myself, before embarking on a new adventure. I need to clean the floors and prep the foods, and sip a decaf latte at the speed in which it was intended to be enjoyed. I need to hover in that free space, where I almost don't belong anymore.
So no, I am not ready. And hitting 35 weeks is causing me some angst and discomfort in the chest region. And not just from these giant C-cups I'm suddenly sporting (uh ya, when you fake a B cup your entire life, a C cup IS a huge deal...just saying). I am sure if we fast forward to the post that will come in 3 weeks, it will be "GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME WHY WON'T SHE JUST BE BORN I AM SO DONE WITH PREGNANCY" and I will revisit this and think, 34.6 week me, what WERE you THINKING?!?!
But for now, I'm enjoying my pregnancy and I just want her to hold on, for 5 more weeks (but not 7, ok?).
Only on the hospital tour did I realize, I'm having a baby!
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Ok so it's been a week since I've been on here, and my last post was full of whiny nonsense. So I promise not to do that again for at least another week...who wants to read my whining, really? I've had some ideas for posting over the last few days, but a series of incidents have left me unable to oblige. Some of these things are personal and also, not that interesting so I won't make you endure hearing about things I don't think deserve my time. Most of these things are work and socializing related. The work part makes me angry, how dare it get in my way. The social part? Well that's ok. I have some great friends and spending time with them is something I not only crave, but truly enjoy.
As usual, I am making no sense and have no point.
On to what I did want to talk about, and that's the hospital tour I went on yesterday. Now, I know this tour is hardly a baby delivering necessity, and I really hadn't planned on having one at all. However, my doula is a relatively new doula, and having not delivered at that hospital before, her mentor (also know as her backup doula) wanted to give her the doulas eye view of how it works. And since I wanted to meet the backup doula, and help my doula out, I decided to go and be her first client tour. Plus, this woman is about to get quite intimate with all my lady parts, and watch me do things I can't yet imagine so, any extra time with her is considered a benefit. So ya, I get that you can have a baby without touring the hospital, but I thought, what the heck?
Now, the first thing we did was enter through admissions, view the assessment rooms, meet some nurses blah blah blah. I think this would be interesting and informative for MOST people, however, just a short 16 months ago, my mother and I camped out in that very area of that very hospital for oh, somewhere around 27 hours. You see, my niece came early, but not TOO early. Early enough that my sister was "high risk" and they would not let us into the regular delivery rooms, but not early enough that they would stop her labour. Early enough that they wouldn't let her get up and walk around in case she encouraged labour, and early enough that after 38 hours they were unwilling to give her anything to help her along. So we sat, and we waited, in the assessment area, for 27+ hours. Until they moved her into the high risk delivery area, because they were finally convinced she was in labour. Apparently she doesn't do labour like most, so they weren't sure....we didn't realize there was a preferred protocol, but that's another story.
And you might wonder why my mother and I found it necessary to stay there for the entire time, but that's probably because you don't really know me. That's just how my family works, well my mom, sister and I anyway. No way was I letting my baby sister sit there alone, scared or bored for one moment, and neither was my mother. That is not how we operate. So we hung out, let her husband have some much needed time off (to go home and feed the dog, take care of his diabetes, have a mental break so when the real work came he'd be ready). We played cards, ate crappy $12 sandwiches and learned how to watch the monitors and unhook them so my sister could pee. We sat on the concrete floor (ok I let my mama have the labour ball, and I sat on the floor) and I'm pretty sure my ass still has a flat spot. But we stayed, as long as we could (with a 1 nights break to gorge on pizza and get 3 hours sleep) and we waited. Waited until it was actual go time, then opted out of that part. That's not something she wanted us there for, and I thank her. I think labour is one thing, but delivery is something else. And it should be personal, and private.
All in all, it was a 38 hour hospital stint, but only 2.5 hours of active labour and a happy, healthy 6 week early baby girl.
So ya, to say I am familiar with that hospital is probably an understatement, but this time it's different. This time it's ME coming through those doors, panic stricken with a human trying to spring forth from my body and a dizzy husband running in circles. And this time, when I leave, I will not have a flat ass but I WILL have a small helpless life form who relies on me. So I figured a refresher can't hurt.
What I DIDN'T see before, were the actual birthing suits in the "you're having a pretty average labour" department upstairs. And of the 5 people I've known to have babies recently, 3 were born there but none were classic text book style, so I'm not sure anyone get into those rooms. And if they did, the rest of their labour was so complex that I've yet to ask them about their surroundings at the time. Instead I've just been forever grateful that all their daughters left that place in excellent condition...even if my friends left a little beat up. But hey, no one said labour was easy.
Back to the suites, they are quite luxe. With HUGE deep bathtubs, the kind that, if I had one in my house I might consider using, and showers, CD players, beds for me AND the hubs. If it wasn't for the beige colours and all the tubes and medicinal looking things around, it would almost feel like a sweet hotel room. There is a bassinet for the babe, and even a skylight. I could see being comfortable there. I mean, it's really not what I expected. I expected 4 walls, a bed and a toilet, and there is much more. And with the midwife and the doula, we can actually make it even BETTER, by adding some chosen music and turning down the lights.
Now, I said, I can see being comfortable there, and that's true. It's true in the "I anticipate this won't be the worst place ever" type way. And not in the, I can actually SEE myself there kind of way. I realized yesterday, I cannot see myself doing this at all.
I mean, she's got to come out. And I'd much prefer to deliver her as nature intended, rather than to have a c-section - chosen or emergency. But to actually envision ME in that room, her making her way out, is just unfathomable at this point. I assume (pray, hope, beg) that this will change, and that as things near I will be able to visualize it happening, so I can prepare myself. But for right now, I can't do it. Like I said, I've had many a friend do it. quite a few of which have done it in the last year or so, and they've all survived. And while they've given me infinite details about it, none of them have indicated it was not manageable or that they were in a great panic. And if they can do it (not to mention a bazillion other women over the course of the world), I must be able to.
I am not even that SCARED per se. I mean that's a lie, the anticipation is killing me and if I let myself think too much about the process itself, it causes a certain level of anxiety. But I am not scared that I will fail or that it will be too much, it's just such an unknown. And standing in that room yesterday, looking at the bed and listening to the doula go over all the things in the room, and what we can use them for, I realized that soon, like within 3 months soon, I'm going to actual have to be in there for real. And I about pooped my pants.
No, not literally, but we can add that to the list of things I've heard that can happen in labour, that are already freaking me out.
I just, it's becoming more real to me now. I am so much closer to delivery than I am to conception, so much closer to holding my daughter in my arms than in my womb, and so much closer to having to go through the entire labour process, than just through the pregnancy.
And I LOVE being pregnant. I know, I am still only just shy of being 7 months along and the last 4-6 weeks are supposed to be the hardest, but so far, it's been great. I love feeling her and knowing she's in there (and HATE when she get's all like her dad and lazes out for a day, causing me to poke at her incessantly until she hits me back). And I am a little sad about this ending. More so I'm excited to meet her, but there is this entire labour thing that stands in the way. And I just cannot visualize myself doing it.
The plan (loose, very loose, very very loose) plan is to try to do this naturally as well. And for the one person I know out there, who is reading this and thinking "well aren't you special, you think you're so tough" you can stuff it. This is not me sitting on my high horse (sorry to the rest of you peeps for my digression but you know, blogging gets you in hot water sometimes, mostly for no reason), this is me thinking why not give it a go. If it doesn't work, if it's worse than I can imagine, if the pain is unbearable and I want to be medicated, you better believe I'll do it. But after looking at the epidural information out there and learning about that, I've developed an unhealthy fear of epidurals. And I don't need anything else to be afraid of right now. I don't like the idea of a giant needle in my spine, and I don't like the idea of being paralyzed from the waist down, catheter in my pee hole, strapped to my bed. Everything I've read leads me away from using one, but hey this is now, and 4 contractions in I could be singing a WHOLE other tune...probably a loud one, riddled with the word fuk and noises best reserved for wildlife, but we'll see.
And I guess I shouldn't say I want it to be natural, because I think that's misleading. I don't want to go the epidural route if I can avoid it, but I suspect I'll be sucking down the laughing gas like it's oxygen. I mean, sure I'll avoid that TOO if I can, but let's not get crazy here and give it all up right away.
I still have a lot of learning to do. I have child birth classes to attend, DVDs to watch and my doula and midwives to talk to. I have to go through the plan with the hubs and make sure he's on board. I have to wrap my head around the physical power this is going to take, and start to really believe my body can do it. Because if I can't do that, I might as well give up right now.
But in all this thinking about it, the scary part is I STILL can't see myself doing it. And maybe this is one of those things, because I have absolutely no frame of reference, I can't envision. Maybe I won't ever be able to, and I'll just have to live it and experience it. Which is probably the case. Too bad I'm so A-Type that this in and of itself stresses me out. I want to plan, I want to prep, I want to know what I'm headed for. I want to imagine myself in labour, so I know what to expect. I want all these things but, I think I'm just going to have to suck it up. Because in all honesty, it might not be possible.
And maybe, just maybe, that's for the better...?
As usual, I am making no sense and have no point.
On to what I did want to talk about, and that's the hospital tour I went on yesterday. Now, I know this tour is hardly a baby delivering necessity, and I really hadn't planned on having one at all. However, my doula is a relatively new doula, and having not delivered at that hospital before, her mentor (also know as her backup doula) wanted to give her the doulas eye view of how it works. And since I wanted to meet the backup doula, and help my doula out, I decided to go and be her first client tour. Plus, this woman is about to get quite intimate with all my lady parts, and watch me do things I can't yet imagine so, any extra time with her is considered a benefit. So ya, I get that you can have a baby without touring the hospital, but I thought, what the heck?
Now, the first thing we did was enter through admissions, view the assessment rooms, meet some nurses blah blah blah. I think this would be interesting and informative for MOST people, however, just a short 16 months ago, my mother and I camped out in that very area of that very hospital for oh, somewhere around 27 hours. You see, my niece came early, but not TOO early. Early enough that my sister was "high risk" and they would not let us into the regular delivery rooms, but not early enough that they would stop her labour. Early enough that they wouldn't let her get up and walk around in case she encouraged labour, and early enough that after 38 hours they were unwilling to give her anything to help her along. So we sat, and we waited, in the assessment area, for 27+ hours. Until they moved her into the high risk delivery area, because they were finally convinced she was in labour. Apparently she doesn't do labour like most, so they weren't sure....we didn't realize there was a preferred protocol, but that's another story.
And you might wonder why my mother and I found it necessary to stay there for the entire time, but that's probably because you don't really know me. That's just how my family works, well my mom, sister and I anyway. No way was I letting my baby sister sit there alone, scared or bored for one moment, and neither was my mother. That is not how we operate. So we hung out, let her husband have some much needed time off (to go home and feed the dog, take care of his diabetes, have a mental break so when the real work came he'd be ready). We played cards, ate crappy $12 sandwiches and learned how to watch the monitors and unhook them so my sister could pee. We sat on the concrete floor (ok I let my mama have the labour ball, and I sat on the floor) and I'm pretty sure my ass still has a flat spot. But we stayed, as long as we could (with a 1 nights break to gorge on pizza and get 3 hours sleep) and we waited. Waited until it was actual go time, then opted out of that part. That's not something she wanted us there for, and I thank her. I think labour is one thing, but delivery is something else. And it should be personal, and private.
All in all, it was a 38 hour hospital stint, but only 2.5 hours of active labour and a happy, healthy 6 week early baby girl.
So ya, to say I am familiar with that hospital is probably an understatement, but this time it's different. This time it's ME coming through those doors, panic stricken with a human trying to spring forth from my body and a dizzy husband running in circles. And this time, when I leave, I will not have a flat ass but I WILL have a small helpless life form who relies on me. So I figured a refresher can't hurt.
What I DIDN'T see before, were the actual birthing suits in the "you're having a pretty average labour" department upstairs. And of the 5 people I've known to have babies recently, 3 were born there but none were classic text book style, so I'm not sure anyone get into those rooms. And if they did, the rest of their labour was so complex that I've yet to ask them about their surroundings at the time. Instead I've just been forever grateful that all their daughters left that place in excellent condition...even if my friends left a little beat up. But hey, no one said labour was easy.
Back to the suites, they are quite luxe. With HUGE deep bathtubs, the kind that, if I had one in my house I might consider using, and showers, CD players, beds for me AND the hubs. If it wasn't for the beige colours and all the tubes and medicinal looking things around, it would almost feel like a sweet hotel room. There is a bassinet for the babe, and even a skylight. I could see being comfortable there. I mean, it's really not what I expected. I expected 4 walls, a bed and a toilet, and there is much more. And with the midwife and the doula, we can actually make it even BETTER, by adding some chosen music and turning down the lights.
Now, I said, I can see being comfortable there, and that's true. It's true in the "I anticipate this won't be the worst place ever" type way. And not in the, I can actually SEE myself there kind of way. I realized yesterday, I cannot see myself doing this at all.
I mean, she's got to come out. And I'd much prefer to deliver her as nature intended, rather than to have a c-section - chosen or emergency. But to actually envision ME in that room, her making her way out, is just unfathomable at this point. I assume (pray, hope, beg) that this will change, and that as things near I will be able to visualize it happening, so I can prepare myself. But for right now, I can't do it. Like I said, I've had many a friend do it. quite a few of which have done it in the last year or so, and they've all survived. And while they've given me infinite details about it, none of them have indicated it was not manageable or that they were in a great panic. And if they can do it (not to mention a bazillion other women over the course of the world), I must be able to.
I am not even that SCARED per se. I mean that's a lie, the anticipation is killing me and if I let myself think too much about the process itself, it causes a certain level of anxiety. But I am not scared that I will fail or that it will be too much, it's just such an unknown. And standing in that room yesterday, looking at the bed and listening to the doula go over all the things in the room, and what we can use them for, I realized that soon, like within 3 months soon, I'm going to actual have to be in there for real. And I about pooped my pants.
No, not literally, but we can add that to the list of things I've heard that can happen in labour, that are already freaking me out.
I just, it's becoming more real to me now. I am so much closer to delivery than I am to conception, so much closer to holding my daughter in my arms than in my womb, and so much closer to having to go through the entire labour process, than just through the pregnancy.
And I LOVE being pregnant. I know, I am still only just shy of being 7 months along and the last 4-6 weeks are supposed to be the hardest, but so far, it's been great. I love feeling her and knowing she's in there (and HATE when she get's all like her dad and lazes out for a day, causing me to poke at her incessantly until she hits me back). And I am a little sad about this ending. More so I'm excited to meet her, but there is this entire labour thing that stands in the way. And I just cannot visualize myself doing it.
The plan (loose, very loose, very very loose) plan is to try to do this naturally as well. And for the one person I know out there, who is reading this and thinking "well aren't you special, you think you're so tough" you can stuff it. This is not me sitting on my high horse (sorry to the rest of you peeps for my digression but you know, blogging gets you in hot water sometimes, mostly for no reason), this is me thinking why not give it a go. If it doesn't work, if it's worse than I can imagine, if the pain is unbearable and I want to be medicated, you better believe I'll do it. But after looking at the epidural information out there and learning about that, I've developed an unhealthy fear of epidurals. And I don't need anything else to be afraid of right now. I don't like the idea of a giant needle in my spine, and I don't like the idea of being paralyzed from the waist down, catheter in my pee hole, strapped to my bed. Everything I've read leads me away from using one, but hey this is now, and 4 contractions in I could be singing a WHOLE other tune...probably a loud one, riddled with the word fuk and noises best reserved for wildlife, but we'll see.
And I guess I shouldn't say I want it to be natural, because I think that's misleading. I don't want to go the epidural route if I can avoid it, but I suspect I'll be sucking down the laughing gas like it's oxygen. I mean, sure I'll avoid that TOO if I can, but let's not get crazy here and give it all up right away.
I still have a lot of learning to do. I have child birth classes to attend, DVDs to watch and my doula and midwives to talk to. I have to go through the plan with the hubs and make sure he's on board. I have to wrap my head around the physical power this is going to take, and start to really believe my body can do it. Because if I can't do that, I might as well give up right now.
But in all this thinking about it, the scary part is I STILL can't see myself doing it. And maybe this is one of those things, because I have absolutely no frame of reference, I can't envision. Maybe I won't ever be able to, and I'll just have to live it and experience it. Which is probably the case. Too bad I'm so A-Type that this in and of itself stresses me out. I want to plan, I want to prep, I want to know what I'm headed for. I want to imagine myself in labour, so I know what to expect. I want all these things but, I think I'm just going to have to suck it up. Because in all honesty, it might not be possible.
And maybe, just maybe, that's for the better...?
My K9 has no canines, and other whiny pregnant ladyness...
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
I have had one of those days that just makes you want to give up. You know, pack your shit, check yourself into somewhere with padded walls, and resign yourself to eating tasteless broth and applesauce for the rest of your life, taking comfort in that fact that at the very least, you will be strongly medicated until you die. But this is the easy way out, and if I was going to take the easy way with anything you think I would have started by now.
It's not that today was particularly catastrophic. In fact, compared to a lot of other days I have, this one was a piece of cake. But something about being almost 7 months pregnant, and slowly losing my ability to do it all no matter what, is wearing heavy on my last nerve. And my eyelids. I swear I'm aging by the minute, and it pisses me off, because quite frankly I was convinced for a long time that I would remain that fresh faced 20 year old forever. I've seen old people, lots of them, and thought to myself "I bet she was pretty", followed by "I'm never going to look like that". I always KNEW I would, but when you're still all shiny and new, with a vacant uterus that's never seen more than the odd cyst, and no concept of the graphic nature of child birth, these things are easy to say. And then you get pregnant, and well, it's all down hill from there.
No not REALLY. I am sure I am going to LOVE being a mother, and will wear proudly the battle scars from becoming one. But right now, today, I'm exhausted and cranky, not to mention hormonal, so I'm allowed to whine about the havoc that's being wreaked on my body. Even if it's not the reason I've had such a day from all hell.
First off, it's the Hubs birthday today. And this does not make my day suck. In fact, it should be a great day full of love and gift showering and all the things I want and expect on my birthday. However, I did not get my post-Christmas self together fast enough to do any of that, and took a selfish pass on the whole thing. We will go out for dinner here shortly, and we are getting together with close friends on Friday to celebrate. But gift I do not have. For several reasons, the least of which is the fact that I have $23.97 in my bank until Friday, and he does not need any flashlight key chains from the dollar store. The other reason being, he wants a new laptop and I've given him the green light to use some of the joint savings to cover some of that cost. So I figure in a roundabout way, I'm contributing. And the biggest and most important reason is, of course, the small child currently jamming her foot into some organ I didn't know I had. I'm giving him the gift of life, see, so what if it'll be 3 months later than his birthday? I started creating this gift a whopping 6.5 months ago, so there. A soon to be crying, pooping, helpless little girl who will turn his hair grey and probably grow up to be just as sassy to him as I am. And I don't think there is a better gift around.
The second suckatacular reason for today's whinefest (and the Hubs lack of a gift) is that, my dog had dental surgery today. I don't know if you saw my post about the Top 10 Things that make me happy but, he's #1. So today, I took him to the vet, where they sedated him heavily and removed, not 1, not 2 but 6 teeth from his tiny little head. That's right, my crazy little monkey is SO hard on his teeth, what with hanging from tree branches and carrying driftwood larger than his mother around, that he's cracked, broken or otherwise damaged his teeth to epic proportions. He is no longer a dog as far as I can tell, because my K9 has no more canine teeth left. Yup, they took all 4, and a molar, and 2 incisors just for fun. Oh joy. This has relieved me both of guilt free puppy mamahood, and approximately $1200. I took him in this morning, hugged his happy little face so close, gave him a big kiss and bawled. I bawled because one time I read of another Boston Terrier, who was over sedated and died on the operating table, and it's all I can think about. Damn internets. I bawled like a crazy person and the little dude at the front desk must have thought I was insane. Too bad my winter coat covers up the bump, or maybe I could have passed it off as that? The good news is, he's awake and well, so despite putting me in the poor house, he's perfectly fine and I am VERY relieved.
Suckfest # 3 (and I am listing these in the order in which they occurred, and not which suckniess sucked more than the other suckinesses), is that we had to resume the epic office move from hell today. Shortly before Christmas (Dec 21 to be exact) we tried to move from one too small office to another slightly less than too small office. Packed we were, ready to go on the preceeding Friday, only to get a phone call that the new office had flooded. FLOODED, with POO water. Everywhere. POO WATER. Ugh. The saving grace being that we had no possessions to be ruined, the kick you in the shins shitfest being, we also had no office, no server and no ability to get mail or function. We also happen to have work for 57 people and 12 bodies to do it all, so no ability to simply throw our hands up and say "oh well it's the Holidays". So, we crammed an entire office into 1 room of this new office, and after 9 treacherous hours of moving crap, we were only part way done. You can imagine my joy when they told me we could move full in today, because that meant MORE office moving. Super duper. The entire thing has been fraught with insanity, from a lack of connections and phones (and if I cannot tweet from my desk about how annoying my movers smell, then how will I survive?) to the flood, to the bitchy other pregnant lady who works in the office next door, and is subletting this space to us. So ya, moving offices sucks. Period. The end.
So to top today off, I had to attend my grandmothers funeral. And while it may seem trite to put her at the end of this list of things that made today a tough one, it's simply because that was the last thing to happen today and because I have no bitching to do about her or her funeral. It did not ruin my day, and I do not resent having to go. I only resent not having more time, patience and energy to give her the me she deserved today. She died on Christmas day, after a short (well long if you count the fact this was her coming out of remission after 25 years) battle with lung cancer (thumbs up to the fuktards smoking outside at her wake, way to go geniuses). And because of the holidays, we have not buried her until now. My ragingly dysfunctional family (to give you some insight, she's my stepdad's step mother, and his two step brothers were there with their step children, so none of us are really technically related to anyone else), were out in fine form. And not even for one day, could they all suck it up, stop being so selfish and let her be buried in peace. We weren't always that close, grandma and I, but she took me in when I was 3 years old, her stepsons girlfriends daughter, and treated me like I was her own flesh and blood. And caring like that cannot go unrecognized. And today, she was laid to rest beside my grandfather, who passed 6 years ago. And I think, she's probably the happiest she's been in those 6 years to be with him again.
And that is the day I had today. I realize this is not exactly uplifting or too pregnancy specific, but I had to let it out somewhere. I promise to get back to my regularly scheduled insanity first thing tomorrow, when we hit 29 weeks and I try to see if I can put on my pre-preggo pants...you know, for shits and giggles :D I anticipate a lot of shits, and not so many giggles but, we shall see.
It's not that today was particularly catastrophic. In fact, compared to a lot of other days I have, this one was a piece of cake. But something about being almost 7 months pregnant, and slowly losing my ability to do it all no matter what, is wearing heavy on my last nerve. And my eyelids. I swear I'm aging by the minute, and it pisses me off, because quite frankly I was convinced for a long time that I would remain that fresh faced 20 year old forever. I've seen old people, lots of them, and thought to myself "I bet she was pretty", followed by "I'm never going to look like that". I always KNEW I would, but when you're still all shiny and new, with a vacant uterus that's never seen more than the odd cyst, and no concept of the graphic nature of child birth, these things are easy to say. And then you get pregnant, and well, it's all down hill from there.
No not REALLY. I am sure I am going to LOVE being a mother, and will wear proudly the battle scars from becoming one. But right now, today, I'm exhausted and cranky, not to mention hormonal, so I'm allowed to whine about the havoc that's being wreaked on my body. Even if it's not the reason I've had such a day from all hell.
First off, it's the Hubs birthday today. And this does not make my day suck. In fact, it should be a great day full of love and gift showering and all the things I want and expect on my birthday. However, I did not get my post-Christmas self together fast enough to do any of that, and took a selfish pass on the whole thing. We will go out for dinner here shortly, and we are getting together with close friends on Friday to celebrate. But gift I do not have. For several reasons, the least of which is the fact that I have $23.97 in my bank until Friday, and he does not need any flashlight key chains from the dollar store. The other reason being, he wants a new laptop and I've given him the green light to use some of the joint savings to cover some of that cost. So I figure in a roundabout way, I'm contributing. And the biggest and most important reason is, of course, the small child currently jamming her foot into some organ I didn't know I had. I'm giving him the gift of life, see, so what if it'll be 3 months later than his birthday? I started creating this gift a whopping 6.5 months ago, so there. A soon to be crying, pooping, helpless little girl who will turn his hair grey and probably grow up to be just as sassy to him as I am. And I don't think there is a better gift around.
The second suckatacular reason for today's whinefest (and the Hubs lack of a gift) is that, my dog had dental surgery today. I don't know if you saw my post about the Top 10 Things that make me happy but, he's #1. So today, I took him to the vet, where they sedated him heavily and removed, not 1, not 2 but 6 teeth from his tiny little head. That's right, my crazy little monkey is SO hard on his teeth, what with hanging from tree branches and carrying driftwood larger than his mother around, that he's cracked, broken or otherwise damaged his teeth to epic proportions. He is no longer a dog as far as I can tell, because my K9 has no more canine teeth left. Yup, they took all 4, and a molar, and 2 incisors just for fun. Oh joy. This has relieved me both of guilt free puppy mamahood, and approximately $1200. I took him in this morning, hugged his happy little face so close, gave him a big kiss and bawled. I bawled because one time I read of another Boston Terrier, who was over sedated and died on the operating table, and it's all I can think about. Damn internets. I bawled like a crazy person and the little dude at the front desk must have thought I was insane. Too bad my winter coat covers up the bump, or maybe I could have passed it off as that? The good news is, he's awake and well, so despite putting me in the poor house, he's perfectly fine and I am VERY relieved.
Suckfest # 3 (and I am listing these in the order in which they occurred, and not which suckniess sucked more than the other suckinesses), is that we had to resume the epic office move from hell today. Shortly before Christmas (Dec 21 to be exact) we tried to move from one too small office to another slightly less than too small office. Packed we were, ready to go on the preceeding Friday, only to get a phone call that the new office had flooded. FLOODED, with POO water. Everywhere. POO WATER. Ugh. The saving grace being that we had no possessions to be ruined, the kick you in the shins shitfest being, we also had no office, no server and no ability to get mail or function. We also happen to have work for 57 people and 12 bodies to do it all, so no ability to simply throw our hands up and say "oh well it's the Holidays". So, we crammed an entire office into 1 room of this new office, and after 9 treacherous hours of moving crap, we were only part way done. You can imagine my joy when they told me we could move full in today, because that meant MORE office moving. Super duper. The entire thing has been fraught with insanity, from a lack of connections and phones (and if I cannot tweet from my desk about how annoying my movers smell, then how will I survive?) to the flood, to the bitchy other pregnant lady who works in the office next door, and is subletting this space to us. So ya, moving offices sucks. Period. The end.
So to top today off, I had to attend my grandmothers funeral. And while it may seem trite to put her at the end of this list of things that made today a tough one, it's simply because that was the last thing to happen today and because I have no bitching to do about her or her funeral. It did not ruin my day, and I do not resent having to go. I only resent not having more time, patience and energy to give her the me she deserved today. She died on Christmas day, after a short (well long if you count the fact this was her coming out of remission after 25 years) battle with lung cancer (thumbs up to the fuktards smoking outside at her wake, way to go geniuses). And because of the holidays, we have not buried her until now. My ragingly dysfunctional family (to give you some insight, she's my stepdad's step mother, and his two step brothers were there with their step children, so none of us are really technically related to anyone else), were out in fine form. And not even for one day, could they all suck it up, stop being so selfish and let her be buried in peace. We weren't always that close, grandma and I, but she took me in when I was 3 years old, her stepsons girlfriends daughter, and treated me like I was her own flesh and blood. And caring like that cannot go unrecognized. And today, she was laid to rest beside my grandfather, who passed 6 years ago. And I think, she's probably the happiest she's been in those 6 years to be with him again.
And that is the day I had today. I realize this is not exactly uplifting or too pregnancy specific, but I had to let it out somewhere. I promise to get back to my regularly scheduled insanity first thing tomorrow, when we hit 29 weeks and I try to see if I can put on my pre-preggo pants...you know, for shits and giggles :D I anticipate a lot of shits, and not so many giggles but, we shall see.
Oh blog, how I've neglected you!
Monday, December 28, 2009
The fact of the matter is, I'm exhausted. The problem with being the hostess with the mostess, while also being 6 months pregnant and suffering a recurrence of exhaustion induced pregnancy rhinitis is, you get run the hell down at the site of overwhelming, and stay there for days. Buried under a pile of down comforter and tissue with lotion, only to emerge at the tail end of your blissful holidays, slightly less exhausted but still full of snot.
So here I am today. I've got a lot of blogness to catch up on. I've got feeds to read and comment on, a WHOLE list on the SITS site to peruse, and a few new bloggy commenters to stock read up on. It's a tall order, ESPECIALLY when the hubs is still on holidays and I'm required to participate in daily outings and entertain him. Not that I mind, I'm just not used to this. Lucky for me, he likes to sleep much later than I do (and I go to bed much earlier than he does so, it's a fair trade) so I can sit here this AM and entertain you all (nice of me to assume I'm at all entertaining) with my ramblings and whinings.
I'm a little bummed that the holidays are over, and I feel like I missed them in some stress induced amnesic fugue. We had 20 people, 2 babies and 2 dogs over for Christmas dinner (ok well, one was the resident dog and if you count children in utero, there were 3 babies). Christmas Eve was spent with me cleaning like a mad person, and making 2 types of potatoes, fresh cranberry sauce and 2 other types of vegetables. Then the hubs and I ran out to my mothers for the Christmas Eve festivities, which was AWESOME. Awesome because, I got to lay on the couch the entire time while my mother doted on me, and then went to bed at 10pm. It was fantastic, I so needed it. But then, up at 830am (not that that's EARLY but I'm sick yo!) and it was pandemonium after that. Present opening with my mom, step dad, sister, BIL and niece, brunch with them and my BILs parents then a mad dash home, to get ready for the guests.
And not that I mind but upon home arrival, I found my father and step mom hanging out and manning the turkey. I thought they were dropping it off and coming back later, but no. They were here, ready to get thier Christmas on. So mad dash some more. I threw on some make-up (it wasn't pretty, and I'm generally good at this make up biznas), and spot cleaned the bathrooms (so I left 1 chore for Christmas day, sue me) and then the hubs and I had to open our gifts...since we'd had NO time to do such things yet. Then it was right on into party time. Setting up tables, organizing food, trying to figure out how to get 10 dishes into the oven...the whole shebang.
Before I knew it, there were 20 people here (mom and step dad, sister and BIL, grandparents x 4 aunts, cousins, friends) and the house was PACKED. And it was stressful. Everyone else seemed to enjoy themselves but somehow, I feel like I missed all the fun.Did I mention everyone missed my BYOB memo and since I'm PREGNANT and can't partake in the delicious alcoholic festivities, I'd forgotten to pick up ANYTHING. This quickly became my problem, even though I could in no way solve it. My parentals all came stocked and I had a mishmash of things we could drink, but there was a serious drought on CHRISTMAS DAY! And nothing was open. Hostess MEGA FAIL. And before I knew it, dinner was over, and people were heading home. As happy as I was at the prospect of bed, I was bummed that I was too sick, tired and overwhelmed to enjoy the holiday season.
I am not complaining. I did have a wonderful holiday. I just feel like it was over too fast, and that I didn't take the time I should have to stop and appreciate it. I should have been less concerned about the Hubs random beard hairs around my bathroom sink, and more concerned about the smile on my nieces face when she opened her gifts. I should have focused less on arranging the tables just so, and more on it being Christmas. But I didn't.
The thing is, I'm an overachieving, A-type personality who thinks she is wonder woman. I'm no good at asking for help, or admitting defeat, and I am certainly not going to let someone witness a beard hair gone awry in my sink.I take care of everyone, including the dog and I do it with a smile and a "no, I'm not tired at all". And I am starting to regret it.
I'm not looking to do a retrospective post about the last year, but if there is one thing I've learned, and which I am going to continue to focus on, is that I am only one person. That, and no one else cares about a beard hair. I need to SLOW down, and focus a little more on myself and a little less on the orientation of the towels in the bathroom. I need to take care of me, so that I am able to take care of my daughter. I need to grow up and relax.
I don't know if it's the impending motherhood speaking, or simply the proximity I am sitting to age 30, but I do know that my one and only new years resolution is to learn to say NO, and stick to it.
Step one, keep sitting on this couch...all freaking day!
So here I am today. I've got a lot of blogness to catch up on. I've got feeds to read and comment on, a WHOLE list on the SITS site to peruse, and a few new bloggy commenters to stock read up on. It's a tall order, ESPECIALLY when the hubs is still on holidays and I'm required to participate in daily outings and entertain him. Not that I mind, I'm just not used to this. Lucky for me, he likes to sleep much later than I do (and I go to bed much earlier than he does so, it's a fair trade) so I can sit here this AM and entertain you all (nice of me to assume I'm at all entertaining) with my ramblings and whinings.
I'm a little bummed that the holidays are over, and I feel like I missed them in some stress induced amnesic fugue. We had 20 people, 2 babies and 2 dogs over for Christmas dinner (ok well, one was the resident dog and if you count children in utero, there were 3 babies). Christmas Eve was spent with me cleaning like a mad person, and making 2 types of potatoes, fresh cranberry sauce and 2 other types of vegetables. Then the hubs and I ran out to my mothers for the Christmas Eve festivities, which was AWESOME. Awesome because, I got to lay on the couch the entire time while my mother doted on me, and then went to bed at 10pm. It was fantastic, I so needed it. But then, up at 830am (not that that's EARLY but I'm sick yo!) and it was pandemonium after that. Present opening with my mom, step dad, sister, BIL and niece, brunch with them and my BILs parents then a mad dash home, to get ready for the guests.
And not that I mind but upon home arrival, I found my father and step mom hanging out and manning the turkey. I thought they were dropping it off and coming back later, but no. They were here, ready to get thier Christmas on. So mad dash some more. I threw on some make-up (it wasn't pretty, and I'm generally good at this make up biznas), and spot cleaned the bathrooms (so I left 1 chore for Christmas day, sue me) and then the hubs and I had to open our gifts...since we'd had NO time to do such things yet. Then it was right on into party time. Setting up tables, organizing food, trying to figure out how to get 10 dishes into the oven...the whole shebang.
Before I knew it, there were 20 people here (mom and step dad, sister and BIL, grandparents x 4 aunts, cousins, friends) and the house was PACKED. And it was stressful. Everyone else seemed to enjoy themselves but somehow, I feel like I missed all the fun.Did I mention everyone missed my BYOB memo and since I'm PREGNANT and can't partake in the delicious alcoholic festivities, I'd forgotten to pick up ANYTHING. This quickly became my problem, even though I could in no way solve it. My parentals all came stocked and I had a mishmash of things we could drink, but there was a serious drought on CHRISTMAS DAY! And nothing was open. Hostess MEGA FAIL. And before I knew it, dinner was over, and people were heading home. As happy as I was at the prospect of bed, I was bummed that I was too sick, tired and overwhelmed to enjoy the holiday season.
I am not complaining. I did have a wonderful holiday. I just feel like it was over too fast, and that I didn't take the time I should have to stop and appreciate it. I should have been less concerned about the Hubs random beard hairs around my bathroom sink, and more concerned about the smile on my nieces face when she opened her gifts. I should have focused less on arranging the tables just so, and more on it being Christmas. But I didn't.
The thing is, I'm an overachieving, A-type personality who thinks she is wonder woman. I'm no good at asking for help, or admitting defeat, and I am certainly not going to let someone witness a beard hair gone awry in my sink.I take care of everyone, including the dog and I do it with a smile and a "no, I'm not tired at all". And I am starting to regret it.
I'm not looking to do a retrospective post about the last year, but if there is one thing I've learned, and which I am going to continue to focus on, is that I am only one person. That, and no one else cares about a beard hair. I need to SLOW down, and focus a little more on myself and a little less on the orientation of the towels in the bathroom. I need to take care of me, so that I am able to take care of my daughter. I need to grow up and relax.
I don't know if it's the impending motherhood speaking, or simply the proximity I am sitting to age 30, but I do know that my one and only new years resolution is to learn to say NO, and stick to it.
Step one, keep sitting on this couch...all freaking day!
"I'm never going to be like that"
Saturday, December 19, 2009
I had one of those moments today. The one I'm sure every first time mother to be has, where she is standing in some store, watching a poor mother struggle with her purse, the diaper bag and a stroller, while her child has a magnitude 10 breakdown. And just when it seems like she's almost done and free from the store, she drops her wallet, and cards and money go spiraling everywhere. The one where you think to yourself "OMG, is that what I'm in for?" and that follows.
I went to Toys R Us today, because I am a glutton for punishment and felt the need to punish myself hard. It's 6 days before Christmas and I live downtown, so you can imagine how pleasant it was in there. I think there have been natural disasters that were better organized (and somewhat cleaner) than that place was today. I only went because I needed 1 thing, and I knew what it was. I figured I could be in and out in a few minutes, and blissfully tick SOMETHING off my ever growing to do list. And you know, from my perspective, it wasn't that bad. I didn't have to walk mindlessly up and down the aisle, trying to figure out what a 4 year old would like (why are there not lists for this in the toy stores, honestly?), or if my sister would hate me for buying her child a drum set (side note, the answer to that question is always YES!). I just needed to grab one small thing for my niece, and be on my way.
I must have been in there for 30 mins, because as a 6 month pregnant lady, I can't resist the urge to peruse the baby stuff, and in the time I was in there, I witnessed a few things I wish I hadn't. I guess Toys R Us at Christmas is where you go, when you want to study parenting, and what not to do (as an aside, this part of my story has nothing to do with the aforementioned poor woman above...I'll get back to her later).
First, I was in the infant/toddler toy area, grabbing what I needed, and I saw a cute little girl, daydreaming, walking up the aisle, fingering the shiny pink plastic toys that are all at her level. I smiled at her, and she shyly looked away. I try not to creep other people's kids in the toy store, so I moved away from her a little bit. I didn't see her parents around, but surely they were close by, because she couldn't have been much past the age of 3. She didn't seem overly concerned by the lack of parents either so I didn't think much of it. A few moments later, as I stood trying to decide between 2 seemingly the same toys, a woman comes up, frazzled and sweating, and yells in a shrill and unnecessary voice "Arianna, what the hell are you doing? I told you we were going to the check-out. We're leaving. Stop daydreaming and GET OVER HERE".
I'm one of those people who has a hard time biting my tongue and I really wanted to snap back at her "you expected your 3 year old to know what the check out was? And did you seriously just say HELL to your child? And you want her to stop daydreaming? STOP? That's the best part of being a little girl you troll". But I didn't. I just gave her one of those dirty looks, that indicated I was less than impressed, and watched her drag her poor child away by the arm, walking faster than her daughter possibly could, practically ripping her arm from the socket. At this moment, I took a breath and made a mental note. I filed this under "remember how that looked and felt" and thought to myself, "I'm never going to be like that".
Now I'm not on a high horse. I clearly don't have a child yet, and I don't know what the background was here. I don't know the pressures of shopping with a daydreaming toddler, 6 days before Christmas, with the heat cranked up to scorching, and the noise level at a steady 11. But I do know that asking my 3 year old "what the hell" is never appropriate. Ever. And I have mega potty mouth. There are so many things wrong with the scenario, that I could go on about. But let me just say, that was the first (but not last) time in Toys R Us, I thought "I'm never going to be like that".
There was a series of other events that happened over the next few minutes. I watched a lot of angry parents give their children grief about being distracted and not paying attention. I mean, it's not like you brought them to a giant toy store 6 days before Christmas with 1500 other children, so I can imagine why you'd expect them to be focused. I heard a lot of people use "if you don't smarten up, I'm going to call Santa and tell him not to bring you anything!" in an attempt to negotiate with their kids on a fear based level. And we know this will never happen, because at no point ever in history, has a parent cancelled Christmas for their child because they asked for a package of Pop Rocks 17 times. And I saw a lot of tantrums, but those are unavoidable. And while I watched the pandemonium, I thought to myself several times "I'm never going to be like that". Except, in these instances, I am not so sure I can guarantee this. I know things happen, and again, I've haven't yet been there, so I'm sure I'll be one of these parents at some point, that someone else looks at and says "I'm never going to be like that".
I think the most painful thing I saw was a woman, with her sheepish and clearly doormat like husband, timidly carrying packages while she ran off at the mouth about how bad the food was at the neighbours party last night. She had with her 2 sons, I'd guess around 6 and 9. And one of them yawned, clearly bored of her trash talking story, and of being in the pretty princess section of the store. She stopped, looked right at him, and without missing a beat, said loudly and clearly "I told you to cover your mouth when you yawn. That's DISGUSTING. None of these people want to see your disgusting mouth. Grow up". And then continued on, bashing her neighbours meatballs.
Now, I don't know about any of you, but I guess I missed this part of etiquette school. Are we actually supposed to cover our mouths when we yawn? I mean, sometimes I do, but a lot of times I definitely do not. And other than perhaps not wanting to show the world my fillings, I don't really see the issue. And is it that disgusting? The yawning and his mouth? I mean, really, his yawn did not affect me in any way shape or form. Her bitching did. I was embarrassed for her children, and her husband, and I felt a little sorry for them. Not just for her outburst, but for the simple fact that she was such a hag. And I again thought to myself, and this time I KNEW, I'm never going to be like that. I'm not. I can't imagine talking to my family in that tone, in that manner. I cannot imagine telling my son he's disgusting, and I certainly can't imagine embarrassing my family that much. If it was really that much of an issue for her, she could have quietly said something constructive, and saved us all the awkwardness. Me and another family in the aisle shared a look or pity and anger, and quietly walked away. Again, in my mind I was telling her she should grow up and stop being such a bitch but, I was trying to stay in the Christmas spirit.
Now, for my last poor mother. This was a situation where, I didn't think "I'm never going to be like that". It was a situation where I thought to myself, "I hope that never happens to me". As I mentioned, she was alone and struggling through the store, stroller, diaper bag and purse in hand, carrying a basket full of toys and trying to console her hysterical child. There she stood, in the long long line, probably so close to being done her shopping she could taste is, and just trying to survive the next 10 mins. Overwhelmed and frustrated, she stood, sweating in her coat, trying to figure out how to manage all the stuff she had with her, while getting a bottle of of the diaper bag. And no one was helping. No, in true Christmas spirit, instead of the guy in front of her clearing his 1 item off the counter so should could use it, or the person behind her backing up so she had a bit more space to maneuver, people just stood there. They stood there with asshole face, looking down their nose at her and whispering to each other about the state of her son.
Now I have no idea what prompted the child's outbreak, but I'm sure there was some toy negotiation gone wrong, and he was now just sulking. Well, not sulking, screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs. And she was at a loss. Missing that ever needed 3rd arm, she struggled to find a way to soothe him, and hoping the woman at the check out would just STOP pontificating and buy the damn Barbie (why do people do this, ever, but specifically at Christmas? Stand at the check out, contemplating the pros and cons of 2 items? Do that in the aisle people, do it IN THE AISLE), so she could move ahead 1 space and get this over with. The look on her face was one that screamed "I'm sorry" to those around her. She knew her son was causing some headaches, but at some point, what can she do?
I stood there for a moment, wondering what I could do to help. Unfortunately, I was 3 aisles over, suffering my own pregnant lady hot flash and wishing the stinky dirty man behind me would STOP COUGHING in my hair. I shot her a sympathetic look, and watched in pain as she finally reached the counter, only to drop her wallet as she fumbled to get it from her purse, sending the contents flying everywhere. Coins bounced and rolled, cards skidded across the floor and receipts fluttered to the ground. And she looked like she was going to cry. And once again, no one helped her. Her son screamed louder, and I thought for sure she was going to lose it. If anyone deserved to, it was her.
But you know, she surprised me. She actually laughed. She threw up her hands, and laughed. Now, perhaps that was the incident that pushed her over the edge, and she has just completely gone bananas, but, I don't know. She picked up a card from the floor, handed it to the cashier, and let her process the payment as she proceeded to pick up the contents of her life. Her hands free, she handed her son a MumMum, giving him something to focus on that actually turned his screams into hiccupy sobs, and she composed herself. Some kids helped her get the remaining AWOL change, she pushed her flattened, frazzled hair from her shiny red forehead, grabbed her bags, and fairly calmly pushed her son out of the store.
And for the first time that day, I thought to myself "I hope I can be exactly like that".
I went to Toys R Us today, because I am a glutton for punishment and felt the need to punish myself hard. It's 6 days before Christmas and I live downtown, so you can imagine how pleasant it was in there. I think there have been natural disasters that were better organized (and somewhat cleaner) than that place was today. I only went because I needed 1 thing, and I knew what it was. I figured I could be in and out in a few minutes, and blissfully tick SOMETHING off my ever growing to do list. And you know, from my perspective, it wasn't that bad. I didn't have to walk mindlessly up and down the aisle, trying to figure out what a 4 year old would like (why are there not lists for this in the toy stores, honestly?), or if my sister would hate me for buying her child a drum set (side note, the answer to that question is always YES!). I just needed to grab one small thing for my niece, and be on my way.
I must have been in there for 30 mins, because as a 6 month pregnant lady, I can't resist the urge to peruse the baby stuff, and in the time I was in there, I witnessed a few things I wish I hadn't. I guess Toys R Us at Christmas is where you go, when you want to study parenting, and what not to do (as an aside, this part of my story has nothing to do with the aforementioned poor woman above...I'll get back to her later).
First, I was in the infant/toddler toy area, grabbing what I needed, and I saw a cute little girl, daydreaming, walking up the aisle, fingering the shiny pink plastic toys that are all at her level. I smiled at her, and she shyly looked away. I try not to creep other people's kids in the toy store, so I moved away from her a little bit. I didn't see her parents around, but surely they were close by, because she couldn't have been much past the age of 3. She didn't seem overly concerned by the lack of parents either so I didn't think much of it. A few moments later, as I stood trying to decide between 2 seemingly the same toys, a woman comes up, frazzled and sweating, and yells in a shrill and unnecessary voice "Arianna, what the hell are you doing? I told you we were going to the check-out. We're leaving. Stop daydreaming and GET OVER HERE".
I'm one of those people who has a hard time biting my tongue and I really wanted to snap back at her "you expected your 3 year old to know what the check out was? And did you seriously just say HELL to your child? And you want her to stop daydreaming? STOP? That's the best part of being a little girl you troll". But I didn't. I just gave her one of those dirty looks, that indicated I was less than impressed, and watched her drag her poor child away by the arm, walking faster than her daughter possibly could, practically ripping her arm from the socket. At this moment, I took a breath and made a mental note. I filed this under "remember how that looked and felt" and thought to myself, "I'm never going to be like that".
Now I'm not on a high horse. I clearly don't have a child yet, and I don't know what the background was here. I don't know the pressures of shopping with a daydreaming toddler, 6 days before Christmas, with the heat cranked up to scorching, and the noise level at a steady 11. But I do know that asking my 3 year old "what the hell" is never appropriate. Ever. And I have mega potty mouth. There are so many things wrong with the scenario, that I could go on about. But let me just say, that was the first (but not last) time in Toys R Us, I thought "I'm never going to be like that".
There was a series of other events that happened over the next few minutes. I watched a lot of angry parents give their children grief about being distracted and not paying attention. I mean, it's not like you brought them to a giant toy store 6 days before Christmas with 1500 other children, so I can imagine why you'd expect them to be focused. I heard a lot of people use "if you don't smarten up, I'm going to call Santa and tell him not to bring you anything!" in an attempt to negotiate with their kids on a fear based level. And we know this will never happen, because at no point ever in history, has a parent cancelled Christmas for their child because they asked for a package of Pop Rocks 17 times. And I saw a lot of tantrums, but those are unavoidable. And while I watched the pandemonium, I thought to myself several times "I'm never going to be like that". Except, in these instances, I am not so sure I can guarantee this. I know things happen, and again, I've haven't yet been there, so I'm sure I'll be one of these parents at some point, that someone else looks at and says "I'm never going to be like that".
I think the most painful thing I saw was a woman, with her sheepish and clearly doormat like husband, timidly carrying packages while she ran off at the mouth about how bad the food was at the neighbours party last night. She had with her 2 sons, I'd guess around 6 and 9. And one of them yawned, clearly bored of her trash talking story, and of being in the pretty princess section of the store. She stopped, looked right at him, and without missing a beat, said loudly and clearly "I told you to cover your mouth when you yawn. That's DISGUSTING. None of these people want to see your disgusting mouth. Grow up". And then continued on, bashing her neighbours meatballs.
Now, I don't know about any of you, but I guess I missed this part of etiquette school. Are we actually supposed to cover our mouths when we yawn? I mean, sometimes I do, but a lot of times I definitely do not. And other than perhaps not wanting to show the world my fillings, I don't really see the issue. And is it that disgusting? The yawning and his mouth? I mean, really, his yawn did not affect me in any way shape or form. Her bitching did. I was embarrassed for her children, and her husband, and I felt a little sorry for them. Not just for her outburst, but for the simple fact that she was such a hag. And I again thought to myself, and this time I KNEW, I'm never going to be like that. I'm not. I can't imagine talking to my family in that tone, in that manner. I cannot imagine telling my son he's disgusting, and I certainly can't imagine embarrassing my family that much. If it was really that much of an issue for her, she could have quietly said something constructive, and saved us all the awkwardness. Me and another family in the aisle shared a look or pity and anger, and quietly walked away. Again, in my mind I was telling her she should grow up and stop being such a bitch but, I was trying to stay in the Christmas spirit.
Now, for my last poor mother. This was a situation where, I didn't think "I'm never going to be like that". It was a situation where I thought to myself, "I hope that never happens to me". As I mentioned, she was alone and struggling through the store, stroller, diaper bag and purse in hand, carrying a basket full of toys and trying to console her hysterical child. There she stood, in the long long line, probably so close to being done her shopping she could taste is, and just trying to survive the next 10 mins. Overwhelmed and frustrated, she stood, sweating in her coat, trying to figure out how to manage all the stuff she had with her, while getting a bottle of of the diaper bag. And no one was helping. No, in true Christmas spirit, instead of the guy in front of her clearing his 1 item off the counter so should could use it, or the person behind her backing up so she had a bit more space to maneuver, people just stood there. They stood there with asshole face, looking down their nose at her and whispering to each other about the state of her son.
Now I have no idea what prompted the child's outbreak, but I'm sure there was some toy negotiation gone wrong, and he was now just sulking. Well, not sulking, screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs. And she was at a loss. Missing that ever needed 3rd arm, she struggled to find a way to soothe him, and hoping the woman at the check out would just STOP pontificating and buy the damn Barbie (why do people do this, ever, but specifically at Christmas? Stand at the check out, contemplating the pros and cons of 2 items? Do that in the aisle people, do it IN THE AISLE), so she could move ahead 1 space and get this over with. The look on her face was one that screamed "I'm sorry" to those around her. She knew her son was causing some headaches, but at some point, what can she do?
I stood there for a moment, wondering what I could do to help. Unfortunately, I was 3 aisles over, suffering my own pregnant lady hot flash and wishing the stinky dirty man behind me would STOP COUGHING in my hair. I shot her a sympathetic look, and watched in pain as she finally reached the counter, only to drop her wallet as she fumbled to get it from her purse, sending the contents flying everywhere. Coins bounced and rolled, cards skidded across the floor and receipts fluttered to the ground. And she looked like she was going to cry. And once again, no one helped her. Her son screamed louder, and I thought for sure she was going to lose it. If anyone deserved to, it was her.
But you know, she surprised me. She actually laughed. She threw up her hands, and laughed. Now, perhaps that was the incident that pushed her over the edge, and she has just completely gone bananas, but, I don't know. She picked up a card from the floor, handed it to the cashier, and let her process the payment as she proceeded to pick up the contents of her life. Her hands free, she handed her son a MumMum, giving him something to focus on that actually turned his screams into hiccupy sobs, and she composed herself. Some kids helped her get the remaining AWOL change, she pushed her flattened, frazzled hair from her shiny red forehead, grabbed her bags, and fairly calmly pushed her son out of the store.
And for the first time that day, I thought to myself "I hope I can be exactly like that".
We're still playing the name game...
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
After having spent 4 glorious days with the hubs at a resort akin to heaven (if I believed in such a place), and conversing casually over our daughters name, I am feeling no closer to a finally decision.
We've got 2 we're pretty set on. Which is better than none, but which does pose a problem when I'm only carrying one child. Not that I was hoping for twins, just that having 2 names and one child doesn't an easy decision make.
And many people have said things to the effect of "well just use one for the middle name and one for the first" or "use one and save the other for your next child" but, neither of these things works for me. First of all, we like both the names (the issue being really, that the one I prefer is not the one hubs prefers, and vice versa), and we don't feel either of them work as middle names. Not to mention we both want our choice as the first name. The next issue of course being, that I have NO idea if we'll ever have another child, and if we do, if that child will be a girl. So saving a name for this "maybe baby" isn't an option.
So here we are. We've got somewhere around 15 weeks (or 3.5 months which seems WAY too close) to figure this out. And like I've said, we'll enter the delivery room with both and come out with one. But I worry that one of us is always going to feel that we gave in, and that we didn't get to use the name we wanted most. I don't think it will plague either of us for life, but what if she comes out, looks at us, we look at each other, smile in that endorphine fueled love, and both say a different name. We'll be starting her off with an identity crisis, and what's worse, starting our first disagreement as parents with a freshly birthed child of only 7 minutes old.
Hopefully, it will just come to us. We'll just know. And hopefully we don't come up with any more names before then, to add fuel to this confusion fire. Hopefully.
I am starting this mommy thing off with a lot of hope, and not the dreamy "I hope my daughter will marry her prince charming" kind of hope but, that "holy ass I hope I can figure ANY of this out" kind of hope. The hope you have when your car starts sliding on the ice, barreling towards a busy intersection, and you're frantically searching your brain for the time your dad told you what to do in this event, HOPING you can remember it in time to save your life, or at least your car. So, I hope.
I also hope it doesn't come down to, what I've so often heard called Mommy Rank. Where I use the fact that I've just birthed this child, grown her 9 months, sacrificed my figure, my grace and my shame for the love of her, to get my way. I don't believe women have more say in the name or child bearing, simply because they are the ones designed to carry and birth the children. And it really bothers me when people assume this is fact. I want mutual agreement. I want to feel like WE, as a team, we who created this child, have chosen to give her the name that will suit and carry her to greatness. We. Not me. Not I. Not because I am the mama. We. Because she is not mine, she is ours. She is only 50% me, and the other 50% deserves the opportunity to have her father love her the way he will.
So for now, I hope. We talk, and I hope. And in a few short months. we will know how this all plays out.
We've got 2 we're pretty set on. Which is better than none, but which does pose a problem when I'm only carrying one child. Not that I was hoping for twins, just that having 2 names and one child doesn't an easy decision make.
And many people have said things to the effect of "well just use one for the middle name and one for the first" or "use one and save the other for your next child" but, neither of these things works for me. First of all, we like both the names (the issue being really, that the one I prefer is not the one hubs prefers, and vice versa), and we don't feel either of them work as middle names. Not to mention we both want our choice as the first name. The next issue of course being, that I have NO idea if we'll ever have another child, and if we do, if that child will be a girl. So saving a name for this "maybe baby" isn't an option.
So here we are. We've got somewhere around 15 weeks (or 3.5 months which seems WAY too close) to figure this out. And like I've said, we'll enter the delivery room with both and come out with one. But I worry that one of us is always going to feel that we gave in, and that we didn't get to use the name we wanted most. I don't think it will plague either of us for life, but what if she comes out, looks at us, we look at each other, smile in that endorphine fueled love, and both say a different name. We'll be starting her off with an identity crisis, and what's worse, starting our first disagreement as parents with a freshly birthed child of only 7 minutes old.
Hopefully, it will just come to us. We'll just know. And hopefully we don't come up with any more names before then, to add fuel to this confusion fire. Hopefully.
I am starting this mommy thing off with a lot of hope, and not the dreamy "I hope my daughter will marry her prince charming" kind of hope but, that "holy ass I hope I can figure ANY of this out" kind of hope. The hope you have when your car starts sliding on the ice, barreling towards a busy intersection, and you're frantically searching your brain for the time your dad told you what to do in this event, HOPING you can remember it in time to save your life, or at least your car. So, I hope.
I also hope it doesn't come down to, what I've so often heard called Mommy Rank. Where I use the fact that I've just birthed this child, grown her 9 months, sacrificed my figure, my grace and my shame for the love of her, to get my way. I don't believe women have more say in the name or child bearing, simply because they are the ones designed to carry and birth the children. And it really bothers me when people assume this is fact. I want mutual agreement. I want to feel like WE, as a team, we who created this child, have chosen to give her the name that will suit and carry her to greatness. We. Not me. Not I. Not because I am the mama. We. Because she is not mine, she is ours. She is only 50% me, and the other 50% deserves the opportunity to have her father love her the way he will.
So for now, I hope. We talk, and I hope. And in a few short months. we will know how this all plays out.
So, really, what's in a name anyway?
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Oh you know, only everything.
I don't know why I am finding this so challenging, or why I am letting it stress me out...but we just cannot find a name that we both love the same way. My dear husband has his picks, and I have mine, and never the two shall meet. We've settled on 1 name so far, but the fear is that we really are settling on it, so while it remains on this ever growing list, the shine has worn off. It's just not as sparkly as it was last week. Sigh.
I want something beautiful, interesting and fitting of our first child. My names tend to be a little more off the charts. And while I'm not into making names up like Rainshine Moonwalk, or completely massacring the spelling, like Jaxxsoun, just so it's unique, I am also not prepared for my daughter Sarah and her 3 BFF's Sara, Sera and Sarra to be playing in my house. It needs to be as unique as I know this little one is going to be. It needs to speak to me, and to her, and I guess since we're married and all, to my husband.
Husband on the other hand, has a slightly different view. We've discovered that 98% of the names he likes sit comfortably within the Top 50. Not so close to the Top 10 that we know any yet, but close enough to the Top that our daughter surely would have a few friends with the same name. And really, it's not that bad, and it could be worse. He likes popular names, he just does. And so what, I suppose you could say SO WHAT?
And you know, I don't really KNOW what. I just know that's not what I want. And so we're stumped. It's not that we hate every name the other likes, but we just aren't loving or feeling the other person's top picks. And I'm really in love with some, and I'm not truly sure if he feels the same about his. And so, I obsess and he gets hounded with list after list of potential names. And we, we get no closer to picking anything.
What's worse, We're not even trying to pick THE name, we're just trying to pick a FEW names, that we both agree on, that we can take into the delivery room with us, so she doesn't leave the hospital simply named Baby Girl X. Or worse, named something we picked during an oxytocit/exhaustion cocktail high, like Roxanol or Kadian, which are brand names for morphine.
I should probably let it go. But for some reason I feel like this is some huge, overwhelming responsibility on my part. Her name will help define her, and as much as I want to believe that the person makes the name, I just don't think that's true. I strongly feel my life and path would have been markedly different had my name been something else, something less unique, something boring that I didn't have to explain time and time again. If I hadn't spelled my name 1000000 times, and had to endure a number of ongoing jokes about it, I would be someone else. If I was just another Katie or Christine, things would have been different. And so I stress.
And I suppose this is the root of me and husbands issue. He's got a name like everyone else. A Matt or Paul or Joe kind of name. The kind the everyone's heard and no one's ever commented on. And this is where he stands in this name thing. Well not exactly there, but he isn't deviating far.
We'll find some middle ground, but for some reason, right now, at 23 weeks, it's torturing me. And I just need to let it go.
Maybe I'll go and find some ice cream or something.........
I don't know why I am finding this so challenging, or why I am letting it stress me out...but we just cannot find a name that we both love the same way. My dear husband has his picks, and I have mine, and never the two shall meet. We've settled on 1 name so far, but the fear is that we really are settling on it, so while it remains on this ever growing list, the shine has worn off. It's just not as sparkly as it was last week. Sigh.
I want something beautiful, interesting and fitting of our first child. My names tend to be a little more off the charts. And while I'm not into making names up like Rainshine Moonwalk, or completely massacring the spelling, like Jaxxsoun, just so it's unique, I am also not prepared for my daughter Sarah and her 3 BFF's Sara, Sera and Sarra to be playing in my house. It needs to be as unique as I know this little one is going to be. It needs to speak to me, and to her, and I guess since we're married and all, to my husband.
Husband on the other hand, has a slightly different view. We've discovered that 98% of the names he likes sit comfortably within the Top 50. Not so close to the Top 10 that we know any yet, but close enough to the Top that our daughter surely would have a few friends with the same name. And really, it's not that bad, and it could be worse. He likes popular names, he just does. And so what, I suppose you could say SO WHAT?
And you know, I don't really KNOW what. I just know that's not what I want. And so we're stumped. It's not that we hate every name the other likes, but we just aren't loving or feeling the other person's top picks. And I'm really in love with some, and I'm not truly sure if he feels the same about his. And so, I obsess and he gets hounded with list after list of potential names. And we, we get no closer to picking anything.
What's worse, We're not even trying to pick THE name, we're just trying to pick a FEW names, that we both agree on, that we can take into the delivery room with us, so she doesn't leave the hospital simply named Baby Girl X. Or worse, named something we picked during an oxytocit/exhaustion cocktail high, like Roxanol or Kadian, which are brand names for morphine.
I should probably let it go. But for some reason I feel like this is some huge, overwhelming responsibility on my part. Her name will help define her, and as much as I want to believe that the person makes the name, I just don't think that's true. I strongly feel my life and path would have been markedly different had my name been something else, something less unique, something boring that I didn't have to explain time and time again. If I hadn't spelled my name 1000000 times, and had to endure a number of ongoing jokes about it, I would be someone else. If I was just another Katie or Christine, things would have been different. And so I stress.
And I suppose this is the root of me and husbands issue. He's got a name like everyone else. A Matt or Paul or Joe kind of name. The kind the everyone's heard and no one's ever commented on. And this is where he stands in this name thing. Well not exactly there, but he isn't deviating far.
We'll find some middle ground, but for some reason, right now, at 23 weeks, it's torturing me. And I just need to let it go.
Maybe I'll go and find some ice cream or something.........
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)