So I am quickly learning that complaining REALLY doesn't do any good.
I've told this to my students many times, and honestly I thought it would make me feel better...
but it just makes me feel like a slacker.
Two kids. Two jobs. Zero energy. Negative income.
I've had the best of worst luck this month. My car breaks down. Yes, the one I am still paying on for the next year. Yes, the one I bought because it is known for reliablility. The one lucky part of it all is it broke down when I got to my destination.
Then, the bank drafts my car payment twice. Yes, twice. Yes, on the car I am still paying for but that does not run.
Thus, the second draft bounces my daycare check. Great first impression on the new daycare.
So yes, I've had a lot to complain about. And in all this I ALWAYS forget the good things that are going on.
MacKenzie can sit up. Alone. No help.
Abby is using the potty like 5 times a day. By herself. Flushing and everything.
My kids have not been really ill this year. My breastfeeding paid off.
We have awesome friends that pass down toys and clothes to us, saving us TONS of money.
I have people close to me who truly care about my kids.
I have two great jobs that allow me to do what I love... help people express themselves through words. And, the people I work with are amazing. They are my family away from my family.
These things help motivate me to suck it up and just do it. No matter how tired I am when MacKenzie has gotten me up at night, I drag myself into my classroom and feel the vibes of young minds compiling words to make meaning. It energizes me.
When I come home from lecturing and I don't think I can say another word, I find plenty to say to Abby and Rob because I love them and miss them. They energize me.
Even though I used be a gym rat, take graduate classes, work 3 jobs, and still hit karaoke twice a week, I still can't dwell on what was. If I just do it, I simply don't have time to complain. Living in the moment isn't about taking control of uncontrollable situations, but accepting situations as they are: one guitar strum in the larger symphony of life.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Mom's Daily Top Ten of Why I am an AWESOME Mommy...
10 - outfit changes today for Abby. She is suddenly obsessed with changing her clothes, especially into dresses. I figured this is a harmless game, until I went into her room and saw the previous outfits scattered across the room.
9 - pacifiers scattered strategically around the house. Kenzie likes to spit them out, and Abby likes to swipe them like a ninja and hide them. Hence, the need for 9 pacifiers. If I could only remember where I put them...
8 - attempts at getting Abby to lay down for a nap while Kenzie was napping. Finally, just like her daddy, she fell asleep in the car.
7 - times I got up with the baby last night. Three were to feed her, and four were to stick the pacifier back in or get her foot unwedged from in between the crib rails... I REALLY gotta get a crib bumper to get some sleep.
6 - verses of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" sang in a row while shopping today. It is Abby's new favorite song, and I am sure the people in the store would rather hear me sing that than "Alejandro" by Lady Gaga.
5 - baby dolls I sushed and put to bed while playing with Abby today. And no, Kenzie was NOT one of them. If only her eyes would close when I tilted her head back I would NOT be writing this blog at 11 p.m. at night.
4 - calls made to schedule mini vacations so my friends and family can see the girls this summer.
3 - times Abby said "in a minute" after asking her to do something. I wanted to tell her "now" but realized she was only saying what I say to her all the time. After her "minute" though she did what I asked and I was proud she learned it from me.
2.- kids packed and ready to go to the pool tomorrow. It is stressful travelling with two kids, but if I do everything the night before, it saves time and and allows me to get everything without crying children who need something while I am on my way to get the thing I am only going to forget once I address the child.
1 - really pompous blog about my skills. But hey, I'm a mom and if I don't toot my own horn, who will?
9 - pacifiers scattered strategically around the house. Kenzie likes to spit them out, and Abby likes to swipe them like a ninja and hide them. Hence, the need for 9 pacifiers. If I could only remember where I put them...
8 - attempts at getting Abby to lay down for a nap while Kenzie was napping. Finally, just like her daddy, she fell asleep in the car.
7 - times I got up with the baby last night. Three were to feed her, and four were to stick the pacifier back in or get her foot unwedged from in between the crib rails... I REALLY gotta get a crib bumper to get some sleep.
6 - verses of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" sang in a row while shopping today. It is Abby's new favorite song, and I am sure the people in the store would rather hear me sing that than "Alejandro" by Lady Gaga.
5 - baby dolls I sushed and put to bed while playing with Abby today. And no, Kenzie was NOT one of them. If only her eyes would close when I tilted her head back I would NOT be writing this blog at 11 p.m. at night.
4 - calls made to schedule mini vacations so my friends and family can see the girls this summer.
3 - times Abby said "in a minute" after asking her to do something. I wanted to tell her "now" but realized she was only saying what I say to her all the time. After her "minute" though she did what I asked and I was proud she learned it from me.
2.- kids packed and ready to go to the pool tomorrow. It is stressful travelling with two kids, but if I do everything the night before, it saves time and and allows me to get everything without crying children who need something while I am on my way to get the thing I am only going to forget once I address the child.
1 - really pompous blog about my skills. But hey, I'm a mom and if I don't toot my own horn, who will?
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Mommy's Daily Top Ten...Cleaning
10 - stickers I collected on my feet while walking around the house today. Most of them were Kailan.
9 - animal crackers in Abby's frying pan on her pretend stove... can't say she gets her cooking skills from me.
8 - legos making indentions in my butt as I sit trying to put her puzzles back together. As if I don't already have enough indentions in my butt!
7 - dolls put to sleep in various places in the house. I hope Abby realizes babies don't fall asleep that easily, nor do they sleep that long!
6 - cups with milk and crystal light scattered about the playroom. I thought I would be glad she could help herself to her cups in the refridgerator, but now I think she forgets her cup and just gets another one.
5 - books wedged underneath the sofa. She actually does get that from me... I used to do that with my magazines.
4 - pacifiers behind the sofa with small animals growing on them. The next dog I get will be hairless... or invisible, or better yet virtual!
3 - socks. Yes, three. And none of them match.
2 - dresses laying across the sofa. Abby has recently wanted to wear dresses, and has been going in her room and getting a dress to wear. I never thought she'd be such a girly girl.
1 - tired momma cursing the grandparents who keep buying all these toys I clean up. I guess that is sweet revenge for all the times I didn't clean my room. I hate when my parents are right!
9 - animal crackers in Abby's frying pan on her pretend stove... can't say she gets her cooking skills from me.
8 - legos making indentions in my butt as I sit trying to put her puzzles back together. As if I don't already have enough indentions in my butt!
7 - dolls put to sleep in various places in the house. I hope Abby realizes babies don't fall asleep that easily, nor do they sleep that long!
6 - cups with milk and crystal light scattered about the playroom. I thought I would be glad she could help herself to her cups in the refridgerator, but now I think she forgets her cup and just gets another one.
5 - books wedged underneath the sofa. She actually does get that from me... I used to do that with my magazines.
4 - pacifiers behind the sofa with small animals growing on them. The next dog I get will be hairless... or invisible, or better yet virtual!
3 - socks. Yes, three. And none of them match.
2 - dresses laying across the sofa. Abby has recently wanted to wear dresses, and has been going in her room and getting a dress to wear. I never thought she'd be such a girly girl.
1 - tired momma cursing the grandparents who keep buying all these toys I clean up. I guess that is sweet revenge for all the times I didn't clean my room. I hate when my parents are right!
Saturday, June 19, 2010
When Movies Influence Motherhood
I was flipping through channels on cable, looking for something to watch when I stumbled upon a movie on Lifetime (yes, that is a very stereotypical station to watch as a temporary professional parent, but don't dwell on it). The movie was entitled "She's Too Young" and was about a freshman in high school who made good grades and played the cello but started hanging out with sexually active freshmen hell bent on using their newfound powers to gain popularity. However, one member of the group is changed when she finds out she has syphyllis, thus prompting the good girl to befriend her when she gets syphyllis too. The movie then shifts focus as the good girl's mother goes on a crusade to unite the parents against promiscuity. I am sure you can guess how the movie ends... the girl and her mother mend their relationship, and she falls for the "best friend" good boy who will wait forever to have sex with her though she had syphyllis. Now, even though I am a mom of two girls, it never dawned on me that I may have to teach them differently about sex than I would sons. I was not ignorant to this distinction; I am a teacher after all. However, I somehow believed I did not have to apply it to my own life. Well, here I find myself wondering what technique I will use to stress the importance of being emotionally ready for sex, or of safe sex. And who knows what new worries will haunt me when my children are ACTUALLY teenagers. I guess I should explore my options now:
Option 1: Scare my daughters with gory pictures of STDs. Show them videos of the most horrible birthing experiences ever. Reveal intimate details about how painful childbirth is from my own perspective. We will call this option "The Stunner."
Option 2: Be almost bestiest with my daughters, and when I find out who they are dating, I can get Rob to reveal to them that, being a Paramedic, he knows many ways to not only kill them without a trace, but to also do things to their male parts that are permanant. We will call this option "Good cop, Bad cop."
Option 3: Keep them so preoccupied that they have no time to date. I'm talking dance rehearsal, horseback riding lessons, piano lessons, soccer practice, knitting, whatever it takes. Or, we can buy a farm and keep them busy that way. However, that means I have to be busy too. We will call this option "Busy Bees."
Option 4: We can move to a place in the midwest where the closest neighbor is 20 miles away. We will call this option "Solitary confinement."
Option 5: We can move to a place where no one speaks English. My girls will either only have time to learn the language to have a social life, or will decide that it is not worth the effort. We will call this option "Tongue Tied."
Option 5b: We can travel doing missionary work and I can homeschool the girls. They won't have time to get to know anyone before we move on to save another country from starvation. This option will be called "Saving Grace."
Regardless of the technique I use, I will only be teaching my girls suppression and shame. After all, sex is an instinct that keeps the species going. Maybe deemphasising it is a technique I need to explore. Or, maybe I just need to quit watching those stupid lifetime movies and trust my mothering instincts. Either way, alcohol may need to be involved. Or therapy. Whichever is cheaper and more convenient since I will have two girls to chase.
Option 1: Scare my daughters with gory pictures of STDs. Show them videos of the most horrible birthing experiences ever. Reveal intimate details about how painful childbirth is from my own perspective. We will call this option "The Stunner."
Option 2: Be almost bestiest with my daughters, and when I find out who they are dating, I can get Rob to reveal to them that, being a Paramedic, he knows many ways to not only kill them without a trace, but to also do things to their male parts that are permanant. We will call this option "Good cop, Bad cop."
Option 3: Keep them so preoccupied that they have no time to date. I'm talking dance rehearsal, horseback riding lessons, piano lessons, soccer practice, knitting, whatever it takes. Or, we can buy a farm and keep them busy that way. However, that means I have to be busy too. We will call this option "Busy Bees."
Option 4: We can move to a place in the midwest where the closest neighbor is 20 miles away. We will call this option "Solitary confinement."
Option 5: We can move to a place where no one speaks English. My girls will either only have time to learn the language to have a social life, or will decide that it is not worth the effort. We will call this option "Tongue Tied."
Option 5b: We can travel doing missionary work and I can homeschool the girls. They won't have time to get to know anyone before we move on to save another country from starvation. This option will be called "Saving Grace."
Regardless of the technique I use, I will only be teaching my girls suppression and shame. After all, sex is an instinct that keeps the species going. Maybe deemphasising it is a technique I need to explore. Or, maybe I just need to quit watching those stupid lifetime movies and trust my mothering instincts. Either way, alcohol may need to be involved. Or therapy. Whichever is cheaper and more convenient since I will have two girls to chase.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Mommy's Daily Top Ten...
10 - minutes of screaming from my constipated infant... she finally pooped three times in a row and was happy the rest of the evening (for her daddy of course).
9 - pizza rolls eaten in 5 minutes... I was scared the baby was gonna wake up and I wouldn't get to eat at all!
8 - bucks to last til the end of the month.... good thing I stocked up on diapers and groceries!
7 - more days until payday!
6 - loads of laundry sitting on the floor of my utility room... I do them at night to save on our energy bill.
5 - cups of milk abby drank by lunchtime today. Maybe she has a health issue???
4 - blankets that smell like dog from being on the floor... Abby likes to throw them on the floor and jump. Thus, the reason for so much laundry...
3- days until Grandma and Grandpa come and mommy gets a break!
2 - attempts at using the potty when Abby asked... she even looks inside the potty as if the pee will magically appear when she sits down.
1 - run to the pharmacy to pick up presciptions. I just had to get out of the house, even if it was for only 20 minutes!
9 - pizza rolls eaten in 5 minutes... I was scared the baby was gonna wake up and I wouldn't get to eat at all!
8 - bucks to last til the end of the month.... good thing I stocked up on diapers and groceries!
7 - more days until payday!
6 - loads of laundry sitting on the floor of my utility room... I do them at night to save on our energy bill.
5 - cups of milk abby drank by lunchtime today. Maybe she has a health issue???
4 - blankets that smell like dog from being on the floor... Abby likes to throw them on the floor and jump. Thus, the reason for so much laundry...
3- days until Grandma and Grandpa come and mommy gets a break!
2 - attempts at using the potty when Abby asked... she even looks inside the potty as if the pee will magically appear when she sits down.
1 - run to the pharmacy to pick up presciptions. I just had to get out of the house, even if it was for only 20 minutes!
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Mommy's Daily Top Ten...
So I am trying something new. When I can't think of anything else to write, I am going to use the numbers 1-10 to simply describe my day. Hopefully, this will force me to write every day. Here it goes...
10 - attempts to put MacKenzie in her crib to nap.
9 - times Abby took MacKenzie's pacifier and then shook it about 5 feet away from me and said "got the paci."
8 - pieces of gum chewed by yours truly. Gum is great for dieting and breaking a bad habit... like cursing. When I want to curse, I simply blow a bubble or chew really, really hard.
7 - pounds left until I reach what I was before I had the baby. Who knew 7 pounds would nearly shut me out of 2/3 of my wardrobe?
6 - times the dog barked and I yelled at her to shut up before she woke the baby. Why wasn't I worried about my yelling waking up the baby?
5 - times Abby said "change my butt," meaning she has pooped. So why again can't she use the potty?
4 - times MacKenzie actually stayed asleep in the crib.
3 - Extreme Makeover: Home Editions watched and I cried my eyes out at each one. Abby just looks at me, pats my knee and says "mommy hurt..." in her French accent. Is there a French kids show I don't know about?
2 - medicated children who both want to be held and sadly, I have mastered the art of holding them both!
1 - leaky boob that woke me up this morning way before the baby. As I laid in my bed with an 11 pound newborn laying on my numb arm, boob leaking onto my jaquard sheets, dog scratching at the foot of the bed, I am trying to ignore the wet spot on my chest to go back to sleep. I thought to myself, "With all the money I am saving by breastfeeding, maybe I can buy some new, nicer sheets."
10 - attempts to put MacKenzie in her crib to nap.
9 - times Abby took MacKenzie's pacifier and then shook it about 5 feet away from me and said "got the paci."
8 - pieces of gum chewed by yours truly. Gum is great for dieting and breaking a bad habit... like cursing. When I want to curse, I simply blow a bubble or chew really, really hard.
7 - pounds left until I reach what I was before I had the baby. Who knew 7 pounds would nearly shut me out of 2/3 of my wardrobe?
6 - times the dog barked and I yelled at her to shut up before she woke the baby. Why wasn't I worried about my yelling waking up the baby?
5 - times Abby said "change my butt," meaning she has pooped. So why again can't she use the potty?
4 - times MacKenzie actually stayed asleep in the crib.
3 - Extreme Makeover: Home Editions watched and I cried my eyes out at each one. Abby just looks at me, pats my knee and says "mommy hurt..." in her French accent. Is there a French kids show I don't know about?
2 - medicated children who both want to be held and sadly, I have mastered the art of holding them both!
1 - leaky boob that woke me up this morning way before the baby. As I laid in my bed with an 11 pound newborn laying on my numb arm, boob leaking onto my jaquard sheets, dog scratching at the foot of the bed, I am trying to ignore the wet spot on my chest to go back to sleep. I thought to myself, "With all the money I am saving by breastfeeding, maybe I can buy some new, nicer sheets."
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Guilty as Charged...
Every mom has a list of ten or so things that she feels guilty about. Sometimes it is simple, but other times it is something we feel not just guilty about, but almost socially outcast for. So the things that I feel most guilty about as a mom are...
10) My ultimate desire is NOT to be a stay at home mom. Maybe if I won the lottery I might consider it, but frankly I love working and I love teaching, and teaching is not a profession that allows me to work from home. If we were more well off (a.k.a. if paramedics made more money) I might stay home and write for the hell of it.
9) I don't want to cuddle with my kids 24 hours a day 7 days a week. I love them, but I like my alone time as well. I also want them to realize they can be independent of me whenever they are ready.
8) Sometimes I wish for my single life back, or even just my married life. I love my daughters, but I miss the time when running out for milk didn't require military strategy.
7) When I clip their nails and they are wiggly, sometimes I clip too far or get a little of the skin. That always makes me feel like the most incompentent mom ever.
6) Sometimes Abby wants me to read to her, but I am dealing with Mackenzie fussing. Of course I feel guilty I can't do both, but I've taught Abby a little patience and she knows that just because I can't read it right then doesn't mean I can't read it in a little bit.
5) I've taught Abby to help out around the house. I want her to learn responsibility, but sometimes I feel like I ask too much of her, or maybe I am lazy and that is why I am doing it.
4) Abby watches way to much t.v. At this point, Rob works a lot and Mackenzie is rather high maintanence, so it is the easiest way to keep her entertained. But, I try to make sure if the baby is sleeping, we go outside for a bit or play blocks with some music in the background.
3) I wish I had a better mealtime routine. Sometimes we eat at her little table, sometimes we eat in the living room. Sometimes we just eat a piece of fruit and chex mix for lunch.
2) I still curse around Abby. It is a VERY bad habit I am trying desperately to break, so if I feel I can't control it, I go in another room.
1) I am going to Chicago for a week in July for work. Yes, I am leaving my babies for a week (two days with my husband and three with grandparents). Frankly, I love them but I should share them, right? And, I don't let people take them all the time, because they are mine. So I figure if I take all the times I might have left them for a day and put them all together, those wouldn't even add up to a week, right?
10) My ultimate desire is NOT to be a stay at home mom. Maybe if I won the lottery I might consider it, but frankly I love working and I love teaching, and teaching is not a profession that allows me to work from home. If we were more well off (a.k.a. if paramedics made more money) I might stay home and write for the hell of it.
9) I don't want to cuddle with my kids 24 hours a day 7 days a week. I love them, but I like my alone time as well. I also want them to realize they can be independent of me whenever they are ready.
8) Sometimes I wish for my single life back, or even just my married life. I love my daughters, but I miss the time when running out for milk didn't require military strategy.
7) When I clip their nails and they are wiggly, sometimes I clip too far or get a little of the skin. That always makes me feel like the most incompentent mom ever.
6) Sometimes Abby wants me to read to her, but I am dealing with Mackenzie fussing. Of course I feel guilty I can't do both, but I've taught Abby a little patience and she knows that just because I can't read it right then doesn't mean I can't read it in a little bit.
5) I've taught Abby to help out around the house. I want her to learn responsibility, but sometimes I feel like I ask too much of her, or maybe I am lazy and that is why I am doing it.
4) Abby watches way to much t.v. At this point, Rob works a lot and Mackenzie is rather high maintanence, so it is the easiest way to keep her entertained. But, I try to make sure if the baby is sleeping, we go outside for a bit or play blocks with some music in the background.
3) I wish I had a better mealtime routine. Sometimes we eat at her little table, sometimes we eat in the living room. Sometimes we just eat a piece of fruit and chex mix for lunch.
2) I still curse around Abby. It is a VERY bad habit I am trying desperately to break, so if I feel I can't control it, I go in another room.
1) I am going to Chicago for a week in July for work. Yes, I am leaving my babies for a week (two days with my husband and three with grandparents). Frankly, I love them but I should share them, right? And, I don't let people take them all the time, because they are mine. So I figure if I take all the times I might have left them for a day and put them all together, those wouldn't even add up to a week, right?
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Recipe for Disaster
Trying to cook while caring for two children under two while my husband is at work is something I have to say I have attempted and failed. Here is my favorite and latest recipe attempt:
Chicken Salad Sandwich
Preparation time for new moms: 1.5 hours
Ingredients: can of chicken, 1/3 cup of ranch, 1/3 cup of mayo, bacon bits and three boiled eggs; two pieces sandwich bread
Step 1: Make sure both children are asleep or occupied.
Step 2: Get out all supplies and ingredients so you don't forget anything, since your memory isn't as good as it used to be B.C. (before children)
Step 3: Boil water on the stove.
Step 4: Open can of chicken and dice.
Step 5: Get toddler out of silverware drawer.
Step 6: Mix in ranch dressing and mayo. Find mayo you put down while getting toddler out of drawer.
Step 7: Rock newborn back to sleep after barking dog wakes her up.
Step 8: Reboil the eggs since you got busy and boiled all the water out of the pot. Set the timer so you remember this time.
Step 9: Get toddler off of bar so she won't eat all the chicken salad.
Step 10: Get screaming toddler milk to go with her chicken salad sandwich.
Step 11: Cut up egg and put in with chicken, mayo and ranch. Mix in bacon bits.
Step 12: Fix a glass of tea.
Step 13: Toast bread.
Step 14: Turn cartoons on for toddler.
Step 15: Breastfeed screaming newborn.
Step 16: Vow to buy premade chicken salad from Harris Teeter at the store.
Step 17: Add ice to tea. It has been sitting out so long it is hot.
Step 18: Have burnt piece of toast instead and wait for dinnertime. Watch soaps.
Chicken Salad Sandwich
Preparation time for new moms: 1.5 hours
Ingredients: can of chicken, 1/3 cup of ranch, 1/3 cup of mayo, bacon bits and three boiled eggs; two pieces sandwich bread
Step 1: Make sure both children are asleep or occupied.
Step 2: Get out all supplies and ingredients so you don't forget anything, since your memory isn't as good as it used to be B.C. (before children)
Step 3: Boil water on the stove.
Step 4: Open can of chicken and dice.
Step 5: Get toddler out of silverware drawer.
Step 6: Mix in ranch dressing and mayo. Find mayo you put down while getting toddler out of drawer.
Step 7: Rock newborn back to sleep after barking dog wakes her up.
Step 8: Reboil the eggs since you got busy and boiled all the water out of the pot. Set the timer so you remember this time.
Step 9: Get toddler off of bar so she won't eat all the chicken salad.
Step 10: Get screaming toddler milk to go with her chicken salad sandwich.
Step 11: Cut up egg and put in with chicken, mayo and ranch. Mix in bacon bits.
Step 12: Fix a glass of tea.
Step 13: Toast bread.
Step 14: Turn cartoons on for toddler.
Step 15: Breastfeed screaming newborn.
Step 16: Vow to buy premade chicken salad from Harris Teeter at the store.
Step 17: Add ice to tea. It has been sitting out so long it is hot.
Step 18: Have burnt piece of toast instead and wait for dinnertime. Watch soaps.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Cut the Cord Already!
I never thought I would forget so much about newborns in the two years since I had one. Now that I have a newborn, I find myself getting upset when things don't go my way, but then I remember that newborns have a sort of "sixth sense," almost like the umbilical cord is physically taken away, but somehow an imaginary one still exists, allowing a child to know very specific things about his or her mom, and to know the worst time to want something.
For instance, my child will be sound asleep, so I figure I can cook dinner. Usually, since time is scarce, I don't start dinner until I am nearly starving (see Breastfeeding 101 in ANY mommy handbook). The second I fix my plate and sit down to eat, my month old daughter starts crying. And, since she won't take a bottle or a pacifer, I have to put the fork down and feed her. What a great diet, huh?
Another instance of this imaginary umbilical cord is when I start a project. I will have three baskets of laundry to fold, and while she is gliding in her glider with her butt clean, belly full and body rested, I will begin to fold laundry. Now, once I fold laundry I have to keep going, because my toddler LOVES to unfold it and toss it everywhere. So, I get halfway through folding and my little one starts crying. I stop and nurse her, knowing she is not hungry but not knowing anything else to do. She nurses for two minutes, long enough to go to sleep, but she won't sleep anywhere but in my arms. Hence, my house is full of unfinished projects and long to do lists.
Even my toddler tugs on the invisible cord every so often. She will sit and watch cartoons or build blocks for hours, but wants nothing to drink until I start to nurse my baby. Then, she will scream and throw a temper tantrum. That's what I get for being such an efficient mommy for so long, giving her everything she needed immediately.
By the way, it took me six hours to write this blog...
For instance, my child will be sound asleep, so I figure I can cook dinner. Usually, since time is scarce, I don't start dinner until I am nearly starving (see Breastfeeding 101 in ANY mommy handbook). The second I fix my plate and sit down to eat, my month old daughter starts crying. And, since she won't take a bottle or a pacifer, I have to put the fork down and feed her. What a great diet, huh?
Another instance of this imaginary umbilical cord is when I start a project. I will have three baskets of laundry to fold, and while she is gliding in her glider with her butt clean, belly full and body rested, I will begin to fold laundry. Now, once I fold laundry I have to keep going, because my toddler LOVES to unfold it and toss it everywhere. So, I get halfway through folding and my little one starts crying. I stop and nurse her, knowing she is not hungry but not knowing anything else to do. She nurses for two minutes, long enough to go to sleep, but she won't sleep anywhere but in my arms. Hence, my house is full of unfinished projects and long to do lists.
Even my toddler tugs on the invisible cord every so often. She will sit and watch cartoons or build blocks for hours, but wants nothing to drink until I start to nurse my baby. Then, she will scream and throw a temper tantrum. That's what I get for being such an efficient mommy for so long, giving her everything she needed immediately.
By the way, it took me six hours to write this blog...
Thursday, April 22, 2010
The Second Time Around...
So as parents we can't help but compare children. We compare our own children to each other. We compare ourselves or our siblings to our own children. We compare our children with children of friends and relatives. And this time around, with my second child, I can't help but appreciate my time with my first daughter, and how easy it was with only one.
My first daughter was a pretty easy baby from the time we took her home to when she officially became a "toddler." The major "problems" we had with her was that she came out face up when born, so she gave her mother a hell of a tear, and she ended up with both bruises on her head and a cone head from the forceps. She was also slightly jaundiced, had a heart murmur that cleared up later, has a milk allergy and had acid reflux. Even though this seems like a lot, when it came to breastfeeding she sucked, literally. She sucked for 30 to 45 minutes at a time and I, knowing nothing about breastfeeding, let her. Boy was I stupid.
My nipples cracked and bled for weeks. I had what looked like a rug burn around my nipples. I cried when she nursed but I was determined to feed her. When we took her to her first appointment, she had lost a lot of weight, more than usual. So, I had to feed her in the office and found that she was latching wrong, and was not eating but "love sucking." It seems I birthed a suckerfish and not a baby.
After resolving that problem with correct latching, pumping and LOTS of creams and ointments, she was the "perfect" baby. She fed every two to three hours and by one month old was sleeping six hours a night. Once we figured out she had acid reflux she rarely cried. She was easily soothed with a pacifier and some snuggle time with daddy. I was lucky she was so easy since my recovery was so tough. I cherished the hours at home to cook, eat lunch and dinner, watch t.v. and do laundry on my own time while she slept. How I long for that now... I didn't know how easy I had it!
Now that I have two children, one who is two and one who is 20 days, I realize how much time I spent just staring at my first daugher, watching her sleep. I got to exercise and play with the dog. I got to do all the things I normally did, but because of my slow recovery I just did them, well, slower. This second time around, I have little time to do any of those things.
This time, when my newborn sleeps, I scramble to eat something, play with my toddler, get dressed and sometimes put on deodorant and do my hair. When she isn't sleeping, she is eating constantly, at least every hour. She has no health problems, but she is definitely a diva who wants what she wants and will not settle for less. If she has a burp or is generally gassy, she will fuss until I take care of it. If she has hiccoughs or is tired, she wants to be cuddled and will fuss until I take care of it. If she has to poop or fart, she wants to be on her stomach and wants me to pat her butt and will fuss until I take care of it. I think the only person with a longer list of wants is probably making millions more than her. But, she is a diva nonetheless, and I have to laugh and cherish that when I am not crying and exhausted.
Yes, a few things are very different with two children and with the second child. However, I am glad with the second child I have the knowledge gained from the first. I am a more confident mother this time and I don't feel the need to panic or call the doctor or family when the slightest thing is wrong. Having a second child makes it easier to laugh and say "Been there, done that, got the t-shirt stains to prove it."
My first daughter was a pretty easy baby from the time we took her home to when she officially became a "toddler." The major "problems" we had with her was that she came out face up when born, so she gave her mother a hell of a tear, and she ended up with both bruises on her head and a cone head from the forceps. She was also slightly jaundiced, had a heart murmur that cleared up later, has a milk allergy and had acid reflux. Even though this seems like a lot, when it came to breastfeeding she sucked, literally. She sucked for 30 to 45 minutes at a time and I, knowing nothing about breastfeeding, let her. Boy was I stupid.
My nipples cracked and bled for weeks. I had what looked like a rug burn around my nipples. I cried when she nursed but I was determined to feed her. When we took her to her first appointment, she had lost a lot of weight, more than usual. So, I had to feed her in the office and found that she was latching wrong, and was not eating but "love sucking." It seems I birthed a suckerfish and not a baby.
After resolving that problem with correct latching, pumping and LOTS of creams and ointments, she was the "perfect" baby. She fed every two to three hours and by one month old was sleeping six hours a night. Once we figured out she had acid reflux she rarely cried. She was easily soothed with a pacifier and some snuggle time with daddy. I was lucky she was so easy since my recovery was so tough. I cherished the hours at home to cook, eat lunch and dinner, watch t.v. and do laundry on my own time while she slept. How I long for that now... I didn't know how easy I had it!
Now that I have two children, one who is two and one who is 20 days, I realize how much time I spent just staring at my first daugher, watching her sleep. I got to exercise and play with the dog. I got to do all the things I normally did, but because of my slow recovery I just did them, well, slower. This second time around, I have little time to do any of those things.
This time, when my newborn sleeps, I scramble to eat something, play with my toddler, get dressed and sometimes put on deodorant and do my hair. When she isn't sleeping, she is eating constantly, at least every hour. She has no health problems, but she is definitely a diva who wants what she wants and will not settle for less. If she has a burp or is generally gassy, she will fuss until I take care of it. If she has hiccoughs or is tired, she wants to be cuddled and will fuss until I take care of it. If she has to poop or fart, she wants to be on her stomach and wants me to pat her butt and will fuss until I take care of it. I think the only person with a longer list of wants is probably making millions more than her. But, she is a diva nonetheless, and I have to laugh and cherish that when I am not crying and exhausted.
Yes, a few things are very different with two children and with the second child. However, I am glad with the second child I have the knowledge gained from the first. I am a more confident mother this time and I don't feel the need to panic or call the doctor or family when the slightest thing is wrong. Having a second child makes it easier to laugh and say "Been there, done that, got the t-shirt stains to prove it."
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Running Scared
So the first question I ask my doctor anytime I am sick or injured is, can I still work out and run? Frankly, most of the time, working out makes me feel better as long as I can breathe okay. When I developed low platelets, inhibiting my body's ability to sustain new platelets, I asked the doctor about working out and he said "No bungee jumping, but if you work out just make sure it is low impact and someone knows where you are, and you take your phone. If you got injured, even a small cut, you could bleed to death before anyone got to you." That was a stupid question in that situation, but I met him in the middle and I did go walking, making sure someone went with me. With postpartum recovery, however, many times the answer is not so direct. Women are so worried about getting the "pre-baby" body back, we sometimes forget that sadly, our bodies change shape after childbirth. So, even though we may lose the weight, the clothes may not fit our new bodies. Here I am 10 days after my natural birth, discussing with myself whether or not to start working out again. I feel great, I am not bleeding, and my breasts are feeling better as my daughter gets more skilled at latching. I definitely believe in listening to my individual body's needs, but am I just wanting to run out of fear of fat?
Experts say it takes two years for a woman's body to fully recover from childbirth and I agree. About seven months before my daughter turned two, I had almost gotten back down to what I was when I got married. I was training for a half marathon and was running at least 3 times a week for at least an hour. It was then that I found out I was pregnant with number two. Somehow, I knew I was pregnant (as most women do), but I was in denial for about six weeks. I had been on birth control and had just gone through a round of chemo for my platelet disorder. My doctor explained that researchers did not know the effect the chemo would have on a fetus, so I should make sure I was on birth control. I was and had been for about a year. Then, I suddenly couldn't remember when my last period was. I figured it was because of the chemo, but that side effect was not listed on their website. Slowly, the weight I lost from my first pregnancy came back and in retaliation I just added more running to my workout schedule. I took three pregnancy tests and they were all positive. Surprise.
This pregnancy I gained about 30 pounds eating pretty much what I wanted and not really following an exercise routine, other than chasing my toddler. I've so far lost all but about 10 pounds, but since I am convinced this is my last baby, I would like to lose 15 pounds to get back to my ideal weight. However, that is still no guarantee that my old clothes will fit. My old clothes are for my old body. Some may fit, but some of my favorites I may have to part with because my hips are wider, or my waist is smaller. Each child molds a woman's body differently. And, while I do embrace that, I do not want to be the woman carrying around weight from pregnancies. I want to be fit, healthy, and look good for me (and my husband too I guess).
In talking with my husband, who is the medical consultant in our family (as I am the educational and financial consultant), he agrees that I should wait until two weeks postpartum, and then just start slow and easy to build back my body. While I agree, my body FEELS like it did before I was pregnant, other than my ab muscles. I honestly feel like I could run a 5K or 10K in the same amount of time I used to. However, some things are easier said than done, and I don't know if I want to risk a permanant injury to find out. Walking, an ab workout, and maybe some yoga are things I want to start out with, and maybe a little weight lifting. I don't want to let my fear of fat dictate the pace of my workout, but at the same time my body is telling me that it is ready and willing to be pushed. It told me the same thing about natural birth, and that turned out great. Maybe I won't be running out of fear, but out of the committment I made to myself when I chose natural childbirth. I chose to let my body make the decision for me, and it made the right one. Maybe, just maybe, my body knows itself better than any other outsider could, even doctors.
Experts say it takes two years for a woman's body to fully recover from childbirth and I agree. About seven months before my daughter turned two, I had almost gotten back down to what I was when I got married. I was training for a half marathon and was running at least 3 times a week for at least an hour. It was then that I found out I was pregnant with number two. Somehow, I knew I was pregnant (as most women do), but I was in denial for about six weeks. I had been on birth control and had just gone through a round of chemo for my platelet disorder. My doctor explained that researchers did not know the effect the chemo would have on a fetus, so I should make sure I was on birth control. I was and had been for about a year. Then, I suddenly couldn't remember when my last period was. I figured it was because of the chemo, but that side effect was not listed on their website. Slowly, the weight I lost from my first pregnancy came back and in retaliation I just added more running to my workout schedule. I took three pregnancy tests and they were all positive. Surprise.
This pregnancy I gained about 30 pounds eating pretty much what I wanted and not really following an exercise routine, other than chasing my toddler. I've so far lost all but about 10 pounds, but since I am convinced this is my last baby, I would like to lose 15 pounds to get back to my ideal weight. However, that is still no guarantee that my old clothes will fit. My old clothes are for my old body. Some may fit, but some of my favorites I may have to part with because my hips are wider, or my waist is smaller. Each child molds a woman's body differently. And, while I do embrace that, I do not want to be the woman carrying around weight from pregnancies. I want to be fit, healthy, and look good for me (and my husband too I guess).
In talking with my husband, who is the medical consultant in our family (as I am the educational and financial consultant), he agrees that I should wait until two weeks postpartum, and then just start slow and easy to build back my body. While I agree, my body FEELS like it did before I was pregnant, other than my ab muscles. I honestly feel like I could run a 5K or 10K in the same amount of time I used to. However, some things are easier said than done, and I don't know if I want to risk a permanant injury to find out. Walking, an ab workout, and maybe some yoga are things I want to start out with, and maybe a little weight lifting. I don't want to let my fear of fat dictate the pace of my workout, but at the same time my body is telling me that it is ready and willing to be pushed. It told me the same thing about natural birth, and that turned out great. Maybe I won't be running out of fear, but out of the committment I made to myself when I chose natural childbirth. I chose to let my body make the decision for me, and it made the right one. Maybe, just maybe, my body knows itself better than any other outsider could, even doctors.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
The Crying Game
One post partum side effect I despise is the emotional rollercoaster. I would imagine it is similar to having a severe form of bipolar disorder; sometimes my hormones are a pendulum of crazy ideas and crying fits. What is really funny is my newborn has the same problem, just a different root.
So far I have not been very tired for a few reasons. First, my daughter has been a good night sleeper, sleeping 3 to 3.5 hours before wanting to feed at night. So, I end up with about 6 hours. Second, my toddler still takes naps during the day for about 2 to 3 hours, and I have been able to get my newborn to sleep while she sleeps, so I get a nap during the day. Third, I have not been taking any pain medication that will make me drowsy during the day or disrupt my sleep at night, nor have I had any pain. When I have slept, it has been good, deep sleep. My toddler has also been so worn out that she is sleeping almost 10 hours a night, through the night. Lastly, I have been on such a natural high because the birth went so well, the baby was so healthy, and my toddler so easily content with the baby that worry has not kept me up at night, and during the day I have energy. However, the one thing that has made me tired is the emotional rollercoaster of hormones that puts outrageous thoughts in my head and makes me cry over spilled milk, literally.
Breastfeeding has definitely been easier this time around than with my last child. Abby was what the lactation consultant called a "love sucker" because when she was upset she wanted to use my nipple as a comfort item. As a result, my nipples became extremely raw and bled. This time, although MacKenzie had a little trouble with latching, she did not do any extra sucking. My nipples are sore, but only when she latches on at first; it doesn't hurt the entire feeding. However, the fourth night Kenzie was home she stayed up until 2:00 in the morning, and the crying game began.
She had slept on and off all day, but around 9:00 she was awake and alert. She stayed that way, fussing about every 10 minutes or so. She had eaten, wasn't wet or dirty, and we had given her gas drops since she had been gassy. However, she kept wanting to eat. All I could think to myself was "oh no, not another love sucker." I figured she was tired and trying to put herself to sleep, or her belly was upset since newborns don't really know the difference between hunger pangs and gas pain. But, I had already given her gas medicine. My husband was busy putting our toddler to bed around 10:30, and Kenzie was still not going to asleep or even being remotely content. I was not content either since one nipple was sore and scabbing; I had let it get engorged and let her feed on it, so she couldn't latch well and caused the scab and pain. I was trying to pump that one off for at least a day to give it time to heal, but that night Kenzie wouldn't give me the five minutes I need to pump. I could feel the breast getting fuller and by midnight it was completely uncomfortable. My husband was on the sofa sleeping since Kenzie was being fussy and he was trying to reduce her stimulation. By 1:00, deliriously tired due to lack of a nap that day, I broke down and cried. I cried that my breast hurt. I cried that she wouldn't go to sleep. I cried that my husband wasn't able to feed her. I cried that I was tired. I cried that I was completely alone in my bed. I cried that my daughter must have some crazy health problem and that this would be a permanant state of my life. I cried that I was crying and didn't know why, and that I must have postpartum depression. I cried thinking about all the women who hurt their babies when they are recovering postpartum. I cried at the thought of hurt babies. The pendulum was swing hard, hitting every fear a new mother has.
Crying, I walked into the living room, sat on the loveseat, and turned on the t.v., forgetting my husband was there. My husband looked at me like I was a hallucination, probably confused that the baby was not asleep. I told him she wouldn't sleep, she was whiney and I had exhausted all of my resources. He took her, walked around with her, bouncing her and trying to burp her. After gaining my composure, I pumped the sore breast, applied some lanolin, and stretched out in the bed, not asleep but on edge that I would have to let her suck all night just to sleep. My husband walked in about 15 minutes later, reporting she burped a tiny, princess sized burp, flopped her head to the side and went to sleep.
The next morning I thanked him; even though he is my husband and Kenzie is his daughter, I still thank the ones who deserve it. As women we often take on too much because we feel like our children come out of our bodies, so we must be the only ones with the remedy to fix them. But, sometimes, to win the crying game, you need an outsider's perspective.
So far I have not been very tired for a few reasons. First, my daughter has been a good night sleeper, sleeping 3 to 3.5 hours before wanting to feed at night. So, I end up with about 6 hours. Second, my toddler still takes naps during the day for about 2 to 3 hours, and I have been able to get my newborn to sleep while she sleeps, so I get a nap during the day. Third, I have not been taking any pain medication that will make me drowsy during the day or disrupt my sleep at night, nor have I had any pain. When I have slept, it has been good, deep sleep. My toddler has also been so worn out that she is sleeping almost 10 hours a night, through the night. Lastly, I have been on such a natural high because the birth went so well, the baby was so healthy, and my toddler so easily content with the baby that worry has not kept me up at night, and during the day I have energy. However, the one thing that has made me tired is the emotional rollercoaster of hormones that puts outrageous thoughts in my head and makes me cry over spilled milk, literally.
Breastfeeding has definitely been easier this time around than with my last child. Abby was what the lactation consultant called a "love sucker" because when she was upset she wanted to use my nipple as a comfort item. As a result, my nipples became extremely raw and bled. This time, although MacKenzie had a little trouble with latching, she did not do any extra sucking. My nipples are sore, but only when she latches on at first; it doesn't hurt the entire feeding. However, the fourth night Kenzie was home she stayed up until 2:00 in the morning, and the crying game began.
She had slept on and off all day, but around 9:00 she was awake and alert. She stayed that way, fussing about every 10 minutes or so. She had eaten, wasn't wet or dirty, and we had given her gas drops since she had been gassy. However, she kept wanting to eat. All I could think to myself was "oh no, not another love sucker." I figured she was tired and trying to put herself to sleep, or her belly was upset since newborns don't really know the difference between hunger pangs and gas pain. But, I had already given her gas medicine. My husband was busy putting our toddler to bed around 10:30, and Kenzie was still not going to asleep or even being remotely content. I was not content either since one nipple was sore and scabbing; I had let it get engorged and let her feed on it, so she couldn't latch well and caused the scab and pain. I was trying to pump that one off for at least a day to give it time to heal, but that night Kenzie wouldn't give me the five minutes I need to pump. I could feel the breast getting fuller and by midnight it was completely uncomfortable. My husband was on the sofa sleeping since Kenzie was being fussy and he was trying to reduce her stimulation. By 1:00, deliriously tired due to lack of a nap that day, I broke down and cried. I cried that my breast hurt. I cried that she wouldn't go to sleep. I cried that my husband wasn't able to feed her. I cried that I was tired. I cried that I was completely alone in my bed. I cried that my daughter must have some crazy health problem and that this would be a permanant state of my life. I cried that I was crying and didn't know why, and that I must have postpartum depression. I cried thinking about all the women who hurt their babies when they are recovering postpartum. I cried at the thought of hurt babies. The pendulum was swing hard, hitting every fear a new mother has.
Crying, I walked into the living room, sat on the loveseat, and turned on the t.v., forgetting my husband was there. My husband looked at me like I was a hallucination, probably confused that the baby was not asleep. I told him she wouldn't sleep, she was whiney and I had exhausted all of my resources. He took her, walked around with her, bouncing her and trying to burp her. After gaining my composure, I pumped the sore breast, applied some lanolin, and stretched out in the bed, not asleep but on edge that I would have to let her suck all night just to sleep. My husband walked in about 15 minutes later, reporting she burped a tiny, princess sized burp, flopped her head to the side and went to sleep.
The next morning I thanked him; even though he is my husband and Kenzie is his daughter, I still thank the ones who deserve it. As women we often take on too much because we feel like our children come out of our bodies, so we must be the only ones with the remedy to fix them. But, sometimes, to win the crying game, you need an outsider's perspective.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
On the Sixth Day...
I have been thoroughly surprised at how quickly I have recovered from my medication-free childbirth. It is amazing what the body can do when it is allowed to do it. So far it has been 5 days and 12 hours since I gave birth to my daughter, and I have honestly begun to get bored at home. I love my daughters, but it somehow seems, dare I say it, too easy.
I have found myself with lots of energy, even 24 hours after the birth. I have been able to do dishes, laundry, cook and pick up after my toddler. Yes, realistically I should be pampered and get my rest, but I'd rather start establishing my routine right off the bat. My husband works 24 hour shifts, and is not taking any time off for the baby, so I am going to be on my own with a toddler and an infant most days. The sooner I start this routine and the more I move around, the better my body and mind will feel and the easier my days will be.
This time around I really was able to do the birth AND the recovery with no medication. With my last delivery, I was on codeine and other pain medications for two weeks after the birth of my baby due to an episiotomy and hemorrhoids. However, this time I took ibuprophen for general muscle aches, similar to aches and pains after a really tough workout (which labor is) and was done with it by day three. By day four I was done with the dermaspray and today, going on day 6, my bleeding has pretty much stopped and I have no more afterpains. I pretty much bled after birth as long as I would have on a menstual cycle. With my last delivery, I bled the entire six weeks I was on maternity leave. And, I have lost twenty two of the thirty two pounds I gained during pregnancy and it hasn't been a week since I bore my daughter. Those are only a few of the benefits I have experienced with this childbirth that I attribute to using no medications.
My toddler has also benefited from my energy level. Today we danced to Imagination Movers, which involved turning around and jumping up and down. I did the dance at LEAST three times today. I couldn't do that the last two months of my pregnancy. I also, on day four, took my toddler outside and I hid easter eggs and helped her find them. We also kicked around her ball. I was so worried about being able to be a mom to her, and with my quick recovery was able to immediately return to my pre-pregnancy mommyhood.
Sleep has also been wonderful after recovery. My newborn has been sleeping in three hour stretches, so I have gotten close to six hours of sleep every night, which is more than I was getting while pregnant because of acid reflux, restless leg and back pain. I have no afterpains, heavy bleeding or pain keeping me up or limiting my sleeping positions like my last birth recovery. I slept on my stomach my first night back home for the first time in 6 months.
I am religious; I am deeply interested in my connection with nature as well. So, maybe there is something to that seven day rule in the Bible. Maybe a world can be created in just seven days. I feel like mine has. In only six days my body has recovered from childbirth, and a whole new world with two tiny inhabitants is depending on me.
I have found myself with lots of energy, even 24 hours after the birth. I have been able to do dishes, laundry, cook and pick up after my toddler. Yes, realistically I should be pampered and get my rest, but I'd rather start establishing my routine right off the bat. My husband works 24 hour shifts, and is not taking any time off for the baby, so I am going to be on my own with a toddler and an infant most days. The sooner I start this routine and the more I move around, the better my body and mind will feel and the easier my days will be.
This time around I really was able to do the birth AND the recovery with no medication. With my last delivery, I was on codeine and other pain medications for two weeks after the birth of my baby due to an episiotomy and hemorrhoids. However, this time I took ibuprophen for general muscle aches, similar to aches and pains after a really tough workout (which labor is) and was done with it by day three. By day four I was done with the dermaspray and today, going on day 6, my bleeding has pretty much stopped and I have no more afterpains. I pretty much bled after birth as long as I would have on a menstual cycle. With my last delivery, I bled the entire six weeks I was on maternity leave. And, I have lost twenty two of the thirty two pounds I gained during pregnancy and it hasn't been a week since I bore my daughter. Those are only a few of the benefits I have experienced with this childbirth that I attribute to using no medications.
My toddler has also benefited from my energy level. Today we danced to Imagination Movers, which involved turning around and jumping up and down. I did the dance at LEAST three times today. I couldn't do that the last two months of my pregnancy. I also, on day four, took my toddler outside and I hid easter eggs and helped her find them. We also kicked around her ball. I was so worried about being able to be a mom to her, and with my quick recovery was able to immediately return to my pre-pregnancy mommyhood.
Sleep has also been wonderful after recovery. My newborn has been sleeping in three hour stretches, so I have gotten close to six hours of sleep every night, which is more than I was getting while pregnant because of acid reflux, restless leg and back pain. I have no afterpains, heavy bleeding or pain keeping me up or limiting my sleeping positions like my last birth recovery. I slept on my stomach my first night back home for the first time in 6 months.
I am religious; I am deeply interested in my connection with nature as well. So, maybe there is something to that seven day rule in the Bible. Maybe a world can be created in just seven days. I feel like mine has. In only six days my body has recovered from childbirth, and a whole new world with two tiny inhabitants is depending on me.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
It's Not Delivery, It's Birth
When I say the word "delivery" I think pizza, chinese, UPS. I don't think babies. However, many babies in the United States are truly "delivered," pulled or cut from a women and served up like Simba amidst the glow of surgical lighting. Or, in the case of my first child's forcep fiasco, a doctor will go in and serve a child up with two spoons, like a tossed salad. And to further this connotation of delivery, the first of many questions a new mother is asked is "who delivered your baby?" If ONLY the pizza man got paid what a doctor does.
When I discovered I was pregnant again, I had to reevaluate my first experience of birth. And, I realized among many things that it was not a birth experience, but a delivery. I laid in bed for 10 hours after putting up with a rude admitting nurse, a labor nurse with a foreign accent whose directions I could not understand, and a doctor who not only yelled at me while putting in my epidural but gave me too much or gave it the wrong way leaving me too numb for too long. So, needless to say when the doctor wanted to speed up labor and gave me pitocin I said "eh, whatever." After pushing for two hours my daughter was face up and would not come out. I honestly did not even know how to push because I could not feel contractions or anything below my waist. I got a third degree tear and hemheroids but avoided a Cesarean and thought "wow, what a successful birth!"
That is, until the pain medicine wore off after 48 hours in the hospital. I got home and was still uneasy on my legs, bleeding heavily, sore when moving up and down, and overall overwhelmed. It took me the entire six weeks to stop bleeding, and an entire week to really get my balance back. I thought to myself "I don't think I can do this twice. I guess my daughter will be an only child." Lucky for her, I am an avid reader and researcher.
This pregnancy, I was committed to figuring out what went wrong the last time. I ate well. I exercised regularly. I took all my vitamins. I didn't gain too much weight. The only health problem I had was a slightly high blood pressure the last two weeks of my pregnancy. Upon reading, I learned that what went wrong was the labor and birth. Everything I was doing was working AGAINST my body, not with it. I decided to try a natural birth. Yes, that means no pain medication and minimal medical interference. This did not sit well with my husband... at first.
My husband is in the medical field, so I had to be careful about being critical about the industry. Also, I was an incubator so to speak for his offspring, so I felt he deserved 50% of the decision making and input. I read books on the Bradley Method, and statistics from midwife and doula websites. I consulted friends and other medical personnel. I decided I could do it, with my husband's help.
I explained to him the benefits of recovering from a natural birth. I compromised on the things that were important to him. I let him know how important it was that he believe in me and not let me give up. We made a committment to it.
When I went into labor, it was about 1 p.m. and my husband was at work. I was laboring at home, perfectly content to shorten my hospital stay as much as I could. When the contractions were 5 minutes apart, I called him at 4:30 and told him to come home. When he got home, we timed a few more then agreed I was in labor. I called my friend to come watch my 2 year old. I packed more stuff in my bag. I had a snack. The contractions were 4 minutes apart and more intense. We left at 6 a.m. for the 1.5 mile drive to the hospital.
They check me in and wheel me to the floor. I want to walk, but something about policy. A polite nurse weighs me, hooks me up to a monitor and tells me to click during a contraction. I have to labor laying down. I am upset already.
I ask who the doctor is. I realize he is one of the few I liked, but I am unfamiliar with his preferences. I start to get nervous. Shift change.
My new nurse comes in and my husband knows her husband. Good sign. I ask if I can walk around, she says I can use the birthing ball. Things are looking up. She checks me and I am almost five centimeters and my bag is bulging. She says the doctor will decide when he gets here if I am to be admitted. I am still on the monitor.
The doctor admits me at 8:00 a.m. He checks me and I am still about 5 cm. He suggests breaking my water since it is bulging anyway and upon weighing the pros and cons we break it. It is 8:20 and I tell my husband to cover the clock.
I still have to be in the bed or on the ball since my water was broken, so I stay on the ball. My husband is behind me, telling me I got this and this is nothing. I am burning up and feel nauseous. He looks for the thermostat but finds cool rags and ice instead. The contractions are steady getting closer together and more intense. I doubt myself.
I think I have to push and so my husband calls the nurse. She checks me and says I am only 6.5 cm. I ask about other positions and she shows me a few. I stay on the ball with my husband supporting me on a chair behind me. They keep losing the baby on the monitor because she is moving. I wonder the point of the discomfort if she keeps moving.
I ask for drugs. My husbands tells me I don't need them. I suddenly feel the urge to push and tell my husband I am pushing. A frantic nurse tells me to get on the bed, close my legs and breathe. I have to wait for the doctor. I wait forever, and amid the scurrying nurses and my begs to push, he appears and while putting on his left glove I push and he catches the head. I push again and he grabs her body. My husband and I laugh that it is so easy, and cry that we did it together. She is out and I feel my normal body sensations again. I push out the placenta, he gives me one stitch, I nurse my daughter and I get up and go to the bathroom with the I.V. my husband wanted. I think that had I not had the I.V. and saline I wouldn't have to pee, but I am gracious I can. It is 10:30 a.m. That night, the pediatrician comes in and after examining my daughter, says plainly "I can't find a thing wrong with her. She is perfect." My first daughter had a heart murmur, slight jaundice, marks from the forceps and a conehead. What a difference!
That morning, I get a shower and eat breakfast while the baby is being examined one last time. I walk the halls and pack. It is 8:30 a.m. and I wonder when I am getting out of here. The doctor comes in and tells me I can be discharged at 10:30 a.m., 24 hours after giving birth, along with my baby pending the pediatrician's assessment. Based on last night, I think he will let her go home with me.
The day after I came home, 48 hours after giving birth, I got up and cooked breakfast for family staying with us. I felt like I had run a marathon; every muscle ached but I was on such a natural high I strutted around doing my normal household chores. I felt no pain or discomfort. I could use the restroom with no problems and was bleeding like a light period. It felt like a regular day in the life of a mother.
I have not only experienced birth, but a rebirth as well. My husband and I were reborn as parents and partners. I was reborn as a woman who can truly say she performed her job as a woman, on her terms. And when I want a delivery, I simply call Papa John's.
When I discovered I was pregnant again, I had to reevaluate my first experience of birth. And, I realized among many things that it was not a birth experience, but a delivery. I laid in bed for 10 hours after putting up with a rude admitting nurse, a labor nurse with a foreign accent whose directions I could not understand, and a doctor who not only yelled at me while putting in my epidural but gave me too much or gave it the wrong way leaving me too numb for too long. So, needless to say when the doctor wanted to speed up labor and gave me pitocin I said "eh, whatever." After pushing for two hours my daughter was face up and would not come out. I honestly did not even know how to push because I could not feel contractions or anything below my waist. I got a third degree tear and hemheroids but avoided a Cesarean and thought "wow, what a successful birth!"
That is, until the pain medicine wore off after 48 hours in the hospital. I got home and was still uneasy on my legs, bleeding heavily, sore when moving up and down, and overall overwhelmed. It took me the entire six weeks to stop bleeding, and an entire week to really get my balance back. I thought to myself "I don't think I can do this twice. I guess my daughter will be an only child." Lucky for her, I am an avid reader and researcher.
This pregnancy, I was committed to figuring out what went wrong the last time. I ate well. I exercised regularly. I took all my vitamins. I didn't gain too much weight. The only health problem I had was a slightly high blood pressure the last two weeks of my pregnancy. Upon reading, I learned that what went wrong was the labor and birth. Everything I was doing was working AGAINST my body, not with it. I decided to try a natural birth. Yes, that means no pain medication and minimal medical interference. This did not sit well with my husband... at first.
My husband is in the medical field, so I had to be careful about being critical about the industry. Also, I was an incubator so to speak for his offspring, so I felt he deserved 50% of the decision making and input. I read books on the Bradley Method, and statistics from midwife and doula websites. I consulted friends and other medical personnel. I decided I could do it, with my husband's help.
I explained to him the benefits of recovering from a natural birth. I compromised on the things that were important to him. I let him know how important it was that he believe in me and not let me give up. We made a committment to it.
When I went into labor, it was about 1 p.m. and my husband was at work. I was laboring at home, perfectly content to shorten my hospital stay as much as I could. When the contractions were 5 minutes apart, I called him at 4:30 and told him to come home. When he got home, we timed a few more then agreed I was in labor. I called my friend to come watch my 2 year old. I packed more stuff in my bag. I had a snack. The contractions were 4 minutes apart and more intense. We left at 6 a.m. for the 1.5 mile drive to the hospital.
They check me in and wheel me to the floor. I want to walk, but something about policy. A polite nurse weighs me, hooks me up to a monitor and tells me to click during a contraction. I have to labor laying down. I am upset already.
I ask who the doctor is. I realize he is one of the few I liked, but I am unfamiliar with his preferences. I start to get nervous. Shift change.
My new nurse comes in and my husband knows her husband. Good sign. I ask if I can walk around, she says I can use the birthing ball. Things are looking up. She checks me and I am almost five centimeters and my bag is bulging. She says the doctor will decide when he gets here if I am to be admitted. I am still on the monitor.
The doctor admits me at 8:00 a.m. He checks me and I am still about 5 cm. He suggests breaking my water since it is bulging anyway and upon weighing the pros and cons we break it. It is 8:20 and I tell my husband to cover the clock.
I still have to be in the bed or on the ball since my water was broken, so I stay on the ball. My husband is behind me, telling me I got this and this is nothing. I am burning up and feel nauseous. He looks for the thermostat but finds cool rags and ice instead. The contractions are steady getting closer together and more intense. I doubt myself.
I think I have to push and so my husband calls the nurse. She checks me and says I am only 6.5 cm. I ask about other positions and she shows me a few. I stay on the ball with my husband supporting me on a chair behind me. They keep losing the baby on the monitor because she is moving. I wonder the point of the discomfort if she keeps moving.
I ask for drugs. My husbands tells me I don't need them. I suddenly feel the urge to push and tell my husband I am pushing. A frantic nurse tells me to get on the bed, close my legs and breathe. I have to wait for the doctor. I wait forever, and amid the scurrying nurses and my begs to push, he appears and while putting on his left glove I push and he catches the head. I push again and he grabs her body. My husband and I laugh that it is so easy, and cry that we did it together. She is out and I feel my normal body sensations again. I push out the placenta, he gives me one stitch, I nurse my daughter and I get up and go to the bathroom with the I.V. my husband wanted. I think that had I not had the I.V. and saline I wouldn't have to pee, but I am gracious I can. It is 10:30 a.m. That night, the pediatrician comes in and after examining my daughter, says plainly "I can't find a thing wrong with her. She is perfect." My first daughter had a heart murmur, slight jaundice, marks from the forceps and a conehead. What a difference!
That morning, I get a shower and eat breakfast while the baby is being examined one last time. I walk the halls and pack. It is 8:30 a.m. and I wonder when I am getting out of here. The doctor comes in and tells me I can be discharged at 10:30 a.m., 24 hours after giving birth, along with my baby pending the pediatrician's assessment. Based on last night, I think he will let her go home with me.
The day after I came home, 48 hours after giving birth, I got up and cooked breakfast for family staying with us. I felt like I had run a marathon; every muscle ached but I was on such a natural high I strutted around doing my normal household chores. I felt no pain or discomfort. I could use the restroom with no problems and was bleeding like a light period. It felt like a regular day in the life of a mother.
I have not only experienced birth, but a rebirth as well. My husband and I were reborn as parents and partners. I was reborn as a woman who can truly say she performed her job as a woman, on her terms. And when I want a delivery, I simply call Papa John's.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
All Groan Up
When I think about all the things I wanted to do (but didn't) when I got to the age when I could actually decide, it doesn't make me sad. At fifteen, seventeen, nineteen, whatever age it is when Santa Claus delivers those fortune telling skills with the murky ball, my goals were rather naive. Granted, I didn't have the internet to give me a lot of instant answers, but I went to college knowing I wanted something else than what my little town offered. However, going to the college in my little town didn't afford me the luxury of making my decisions any more realistic, nor my powers of intuition any more direct.
So, at what point am I "grown up?" Is it when I have achieved all those goals I set out to accomplish? Or, is it when I am smart enough to give up on those goals that were always to be out of reach, to settle for a more achievable and realistic goal?
Well, my goals were actually pretty simple and not so creative. I wanted to get my Ph.D. in English, write highly successful books of poetry, find another poet, get married and have kids. I also wanted to live in a big, renovated farm house so that magazine writers could interview me on the front porch, black and white pictures on the front page with my giant crocuses in the background.
But were these really MY goals? Did I not just rip them out of Sylvia Plath's life, or my thesis advisor from graduate school? The thing that is disappointing about goals is that usually they evolve from someone else's percieved goals. But were their goals even really what THEY wanted to achieve? Maybe they actually groan when they think about all they could have achieved had they just followed the path they planned for themselves.
Being grown up has nothing to do with achieving goals or accepting what comes. After all, we spend close to 60% of our lives as adults.
Imagine ladies you are in your favorite department store. You've scored dozens of cute outfits on sale and are going to try them on. Some are too tight; some are not for your body shape. Some don't really work with your age or style. But, in trying those dozens of outfits, you come away with one that fits your personality, your style, your body. And, you can think of at least two places you can wear it. When you walk in it, it boosts your confidence. You are the best you can be in this outfit. You have no fears, no reservations, no doubts.
The willingness to try things that aren't your style, that don't fit your personality is what being grown up really is. After all, as one of those ominous but great "people" say: you don't know what you want, until you know what you don't want.
That is why I am not sad that my goals have not been met. My list of what I don't want is getting longer, but my list of what I want is getting shorter. And crocuses are NOT on the short list.
So, at what point am I "grown up?" Is it when I have achieved all those goals I set out to accomplish? Or, is it when I am smart enough to give up on those goals that were always to be out of reach, to settle for a more achievable and realistic goal?
Well, my goals were actually pretty simple and not so creative. I wanted to get my Ph.D. in English, write highly successful books of poetry, find another poet, get married and have kids. I also wanted to live in a big, renovated farm house so that magazine writers could interview me on the front porch, black and white pictures on the front page with my giant crocuses in the background.
But were these really MY goals? Did I not just rip them out of Sylvia Plath's life, or my thesis advisor from graduate school? The thing that is disappointing about goals is that usually they evolve from someone else's percieved goals. But were their goals even really what THEY wanted to achieve? Maybe they actually groan when they think about all they could have achieved had they just followed the path they planned for themselves.
Being grown up has nothing to do with achieving goals or accepting what comes. After all, we spend close to 60% of our lives as adults.
Imagine ladies you are in your favorite department store. You've scored dozens of cute outfits on sale and are going to try them on. Some are too tight; some are not for your body shape. Some don't really work with your age or style. But, in trying those dozens of outfits, you come away with one that fits your personality, your style, your body. And, you can think of at least two places you can wear it. When you walk in it, it boosts your confidence. You are the best you can be in this outfit. You have no fears, no reservations, no doubts.
The willingness to try things that aren't your style, that don't fit your personality is what being grown up really is. After all, as one of those ominous but great "people" say: you don't know what you want, until you know what you don't want.
That is why I am not sad that my goals have not been met. My list of what I don't want is getting longer, but my list of what I want is getting shorter. And crocuses are NOT on the short list.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Pregnant Etiquette
Maybe manners are just for old church ladies. Maybe I am just hormonal. But recently, while in the 8 to 9 month pregnancy limbo, I discovered how unobservant people are about others around them. Or rather, how they choose to be unobservant.
Recently my husband and I went to Chili's for dinner with my parents. Normally, I don't like to go out at all, let alone on a Saturday night, because I know that I will either get sick from the food or that our toddler with not cooperate with the neighboring tables. And of course when we arrived, people were pouring out the front doors like college students at a frat party waiting for free beer.
I attempted to get through the bulky mass as best as I could at almost 9 months pregnant, with my toddler in my arms, my purse, her bag of busy toys, and a diaper wallet. Many people either didn't see me, pretended not to see me, or didn't care if I hit them with my purse, or worse, my toddler. I looked for my husband, who entered earlier to get on the "waiting list," which consisted of a waitress yelling out last names like a gym coach. I did not see him, so I looked for the next best thing: a place to perch.
As a busy mom, we all look for that place in any public venue where we can hide out and wait for someone, talk to our rebellious child, or search for that pacifier or book that will squelch screaming. No such oasis existed in this place; every available nook was full of warm bodies.
I put my toddler down and proceeded to take off our coats, and do what with them I do not know. All I knew was I was hot, and annoyed. I made sure to make eye contact with every person sitting in a comfortable seat or bench or nested in an intimate corner so that each would not only see that I was largely pregnant, but that I had an infant in tow. Many would not make eye contact; many were texting or looking at menus. But, not one offered a seat to me, or my toddler, whose toys were not as interesting as the bowling alley between aisles of tables through which she could play "get me."
This made me hotter.
I then crouched down on the floor to distract my toddler, while holding our coats, my purse and the changing wallet, and my bag of toddler tricks. It really wasn't long before my husband found me; he had a perch of his own in the bar area. Luckily, the bar was not part of the waiting list, so I got my revenge when I walked over to the table in the bar area, sat my stuff down, and waited for a waitress.
The prehysteric me would have been fine to wade through the mass smiling, find someone I knoiw at the bar, stand and chat, then steal a chair when a patron moved. However, the ultramom in me realized that people have no manners when it comes to women (or men) with small children, or pregnant women. Would I have been that self-absorbed? I hope not.
Recently my husband and I went to Chili's for dinner with my parents. Normally, I don't like to go out at all, let alone on a Saturday night, because I know that I will either get sick from the food or that our toddler with not cooperate with the neighboring tables. And of course when we arrived, people were pouring out the front doors like college students at a frat party waiting for free beer.
I attempted to get through the bulky mass as best as I could at almost 9 months pregnant, with my toddler in my arms, my purse, her bag of busy toys, and a diaper wallet. Many people either didn't see me, pretended not to see me, or didn't care if I hit them with my purse, or worse, my toddler. I looked for my husband, who entered earlier to get on the "waiting list," which consisted of a waitress yelling out last names like a gym coach. I did not see him, so I looked for the next best thing: a place to perch.
As a busy mom, we all look for that place in any public venue where we can hide out and wait for someone, talk to our rebellious child, or search for that pacifier or book that will squelch screaming. No such oasis existed in this place; every available nook was full of warm bodies.
I put my toddler down and proceeded to take off our coats, and do what with them I do not know. All I knew was I was hot, and annoyed. I made sure to make eye contact with every person sitting in a comfortable seat or bench or nested in an intimate corner so that each would not only see that I was largely pregnant, but that I had an infant in tow. Many would not make eye contact; many were texting or looking at menus. But, not one offered a seat to me, or my toddler, whose toys were not as interesting as the bowling alley between aisles of tables through which she could play "get me."
This made me hotter.
I then crouched down on the floor to distract my toddler, while holding our coats, my purse and the changing wallet, and my bag of toddler tricks. It really wasn't long before my husband found me; he had a perch of his own in the bar area. Luckily, the bar was not part of the waiting list, so I got my revenge when I walked over to the table in the bar area, sat my stuff down, and waited for a waitress.
The prehysteric me would have been fine to wade through the mass smiling, find someone I knoiw at the bar, stand and chat, then steal a chair when a patron moved. However, the ultramom in me realized that people have no manners when it comes to women (or men) with small children, or pregnant women. Would I have been that self-absorbed? I hope not.
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