Last night was really rough, like testing my motherhood rough. We think Gus is teething. We thought he was two months ago, but alas, no teeth, so while I feel like I’m crying wolf every time I say it, if it’s not teeth, WHAT IS GOING ON little boy?! He was up fussing and crying like half the night, and that is not an exaggeration. He went to bed SO GOOD at around 8:00, and per usual, woke up to be fed around 10:30 when we were heading to bed. He fell asleep nursing, I plopped him in his crib, and then not 3 minutes later he was awake and screaming. So I went in, rubbed his tummy, tried to console him, and not until after I picked him up and rocked him for a few minutes did he fall asleep. So I put him in his crib again, and he’s awake immediately. Wash, rinse, repeat. I’ve been trying to help him learn to put himself to sleep, so I tried that. I sat on the floor of his room while he fussed, squirmed, and pulled out his pacifier, and when it turned to screaming after 30 minutes, I finally just picked him up again and tried to console him. He wanted none of that. He also wanted none of the boob. He was ok snuggling in bed with Dan and me for a bit, but then was pissed again. I don’t know when he finally agreed to just take the boob already, but he did, and he calmed down. Then I gave him some Tylenol, swaddled him up, bounced him around until he was asleep, and put him in his crib. He slept for a whole hour and a half, and I think that was the longest stretch of sleep I got the entire night.
The rest of the night was more of the same. By around 5:00 AM he was seemingly ready to be up for the day, refused nursing, and screamed until I put him in his crib and turned on the dream screen, which kept him happy for 10 minutes. Dan got up for work at 5:20, just in time to bring me my sad little baby. We just sat awake in bed for about 40 minutes, he played a little, fussed a lot. I got him a cold rag to suck on, he pretty much threw it back at me. Dan came up to kiss us goodbye at about 6:00, and found me with bleary eyes, spirit broken, holding my son, desperately wandering around his room trying to get him to go to sleep. And I just broke down sobbing. I can’t describe it, but being that tired, that frustrated, that early in the morning, something just came over me. I felt hopeless, alone, and also just so sad that my baby was clearly so unhappy, and there was seemingly nothing I could do about it.
Needless to say, Dan took Gus and got him to sleep, and went off to work about 20 minutes later than usual. And I got 2 glorious hours of sleep, in bed, alone. Those two hours and the coffee I had when I woke up are the only reasons I am able to function this morning.
Tomorrow I have to work, so if we are in for another night like the last, (which I am totally anticipating because if he is in fact teething I’ve heard it’s usually 3 or 4 similar nights before that tooth finally pushes through), then Dan and I are switching off. The other alternative ends with me spontaneously combusting.
So anyone have any good, natural (is that asking too much?) teething remedies, or is the best advice to just stick it out?
Monday, March 29, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
All I have time or energy for...
...are little tidbits, but I feel like writing. So here goes.
This morning I woke up at 8:00 AM (about an hour later than Gus usually lets me sleep) to my baby grabbing at my nose, grinning at me with dried milk all over his face from our sleepy night-nursings. Is there any better way to wake up? I live for mornings like those.
Dan and I procrastinated on doing our taxes, and now we can't find Gus's social security card ANYWHERE. I have absolutely no clue where we put it. Honestly though, can we be blamed for anything we did in those first few weeks with a newborn? It's all so hazy... I remember getting it in the mail, rejoicing over Gus's ability to now get a job and pay taxes, and then... like I said, hazy. Ugh. I'm not quite sure what to do.
Speaking of the little guy, he is driving me a bit crazy today. Fighting naps like it's his job. I got a very fussy baby down about 20 minutes ago, and now I can hear him on the monitor, cooing at the cieling, shrieking with delight at God know's what, and kicking the little hanging thing on the dream screen to make it light up and play music. Seriously, that's all you need child? 20 minutes? Yea, I don't think so.
Ok, the cooing has turned to crying. Gotta go. This is a sad excuse for a post, should I even hit publish?
This morning I woke up at 8:00 AM (about an hour later than Gus usually lets me sleep) to my baby grabbing at my nose, grinning at me with dried milk all over his face from our sleepy night-nursings. Is there any better way to wake up? I live for mornings like those.
Dan and I procrastinated on doing our taxes, and now we can't find Gus's social security card ANYWHERE. I have absolutely no clue where we put it. Honestly though, can we be blamed for anything we did in those first few weeks with a newborn? It's all so hazy... I remember getting it in the mail, rejoicing over Gus's ability to now get a job and pay taxes, and then... like I said, hazy. Ugh. I'm not quite sure what to do.
Speaking of the little guy, he is driving me a bit crazy today. Fighting naps like it's his job. I got a very fussy baby down about 20 minutes ago, and now I can hear him on the monitor, cooing at the cieling, shrieking with delight at God know's what, and kicking the little hanging thing on the dream screen to make it light up and play music. Seriously, that's all you need child? 20 minutes? Yea, I don't think so.
Ok, the cooing has turned to crying. Gotta go. This is a sad excuse for a post, should I even hit publish?
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Baby boy in a bonnet
I mean seriously, is there anything cuter than my child in his baptismal bonnet?! I personally don't think so, but I realize I'm not entirely impartial.
A close second has got to be my kid in his underwear, playing with his uncle...
Awwwwwwe! Alright, enough. I'm done. Thank you for your time. ;)
You live, you learn
We finally got Gus baptized this weekend, at just over 6 months. Mother of the year right here! Anyway, it went well enough, he cried and fussed through the actual ceremony because the poor little guy was completely ready for his afternoon nap, but other than that, success! And he looked adorable in his little baptismal bonnet. He is a boy, so it’s not often I get to put bonnets on him, and let’s just say I thoroughly soaked it up.
To be honest, I’m mostly relieved it’s over. We spent so much of last week cleaning, cooking, and preparing for the party, and I was just so spent. Entertaining is so much work and I have decided that I have NO kitchen instincts whatsoever, which makes it that much more stressful. I wish I was one of those people who could whip up a delicious meal without a recipe, but I am most definitely not. I’m not even one of those people who can whip up a delicious meal WITH a recipe. And when you’re cooking for thirty people, you can’t exactly follow a recipe, you just have to figure it out. I pretty much stressed and questioned everything… oven temperatures, timing, quantities… you name it and I likely had a mini-panic attack about it.
We went to the little Mexican restaurant down the street for dinner on Saturday night with my brother and his wife, and it was definitely a bit of a wake-up call as to the fact that we no longer have a baby that can just be carted along anywhere and everywhere. Gus was a bit of a beast to deal with, and I learned a few things:
1. Booths just don’t work. There is not enough room, period.
2. Breastfeeding in public with a 6-month old is becoming increasingly perilous. Gus swats around and squirms and pulls the nursing cover off of him, and generally just behaves like he is being tortured. It’s ridiculous. Also he is just so distracted by everything around him that he won’t really eat, even if he’s hungry. I can barely nurse him in front of the TV at home anymore, so why am I surprised when it is difficult in a loud restaurant?
3. I need to remember to bring cool toys with me. Distracting toys. Toys that Gus doesn’t normally get to play with. Otherwise, all he wants are the butter knives, beer bottles, and salt shakers. And no matter how well we think we’re doing keeping that stuff out of his reach, he’ll find a way to get them. If Gus was a Super Hero, that would be his super power.
4. I need to bring baby food. Gus wants to join in on the eating, and gets really pissed when he realizes that he doesn’t get anything because I’m a bad mom and didn’t even consider throwing a little cube of frozen squash in the diaper bag on the way out the door.
Sunday, March 07, 2010
Time...
What a lovely weekend, there’s something about this time of year in Minnesota… when the weather finally starts to remind us that winter really won’t last forever, the days are longer, the sun shines brighter, and people are just genuinely happier. I swear they are. I certainly am.
I am really sick of having a baby in the winter. I’m sick of having to carry him around in his heavy car seat carrier with a “bundle-me” insert because it’s too cold and too much of a pain to get him in and out of the car without it. When I do forgo the carrier, it’s all… hat, mittens, furry hooded coat? Check, check, and check. Are his little (perfect, delectable, chubby) ankles exposed? Uh, oh, better fix that. I’d love to just be able to put him in the Moby right from the car, and leave the big bulky car seat in the car where it belongs, especially since he’s going to want to be out of the car seat as soon as we get inside wherever it is we are, but it’s just too much of a hassle with the cold and the muddy, slushy, grossness of winter. Ugh. I just can’t wait until it’s over.
I hate wishing away time, because every day that passes means Gus is one day older. One day closer to no longer being my little baby. Seriously, these last six months have just gone by so fast, he’ll be walking and talking and eating glue and chasing girls with worms in just the blink of an eye. Don’t get me wrong, I will of course love seeing him grow and learn and become this amazing little person, but I know I will look back on this time when he was a sweet little baby and kick myself if I don’t treasure every single moment of it. That’s why I’m going to try not to get too worked up over things like getting him to sleep through the night or pumping issues and stressing about my milk supply. I’m going to try not to push and wish for the next big milestone, who cares when he scoots or crawls or pulls himself into a sitting position all by himself, right? He’ll do all those things eventually, and it will definitely be exciting when those things happen, but what he’s doing right now is pretty exciting too! It’s difficult to live in the moment, but that’s what I’d like to try to do… just enjoy this short time when he is a baby, because that’s exactly what it is – such a short and sweet period of time.
Alright, better get to bed because he’s been sleeping since 7:30, nearly three hours, and he’ll probably be awake and crying for his mama and her boob within the hour. Oh well, just one more chance to squeeze him close and kiss his little fingers and sniff his gloriously bald head. ;)
I am really sick of having a baby in the winter. I’m sick of having to carry him around in his heavy car seat carrier with a “bundle-me” insert because it’s too cold and too much of a pain to get him in and out of the car without it. When I do forgo the carrier, it’s all… hat, mittens, furry hooded coat? Check, check, and check. Are his little (perfect, delectable, chubby) ankles exposed? Uh, oh, better fix that. I’d love to just be able to put him in the Moby right from the car, and leave the big bulky car seat in the car where it belongs, especially since he’s going to want to be out of the car seat as soon as we get inside wherever it is we are, but it’s just too much of a hassle with the cold and the muddy, slushy, grossness of winter. Ugh. I just can’t wait until it’s over.
I hate wishing away time, because every day that passes means Gus is one day older. One day closer to no longer being my little baby. Seriously, these last six months have just gone by so fast, he’ll be walking and talking and eating glue and chasing girls with worms in just the blink of an eye. Don’t get me wrong, I will of course love seeing him grow and learn and become this amazing little person, but I know I will look back on this time when he was a sweet little baby and kick myself if I don’t treasure every single moment of it. That’s why I’m going to try not to get too worked up over things like getting him to sleep through the night or pumping issues and stressing about my milk supply. I’m going to try not to push and wish for the next big milestone, who cares when he scoots or crawls or pulls himself into a sitting position all by himself, right? He’ll do all those things eventually, and it will definitely be exciting when those things happen, but what he’s doing right now is pretty exciting too! It’s difficult to live in the moment, but that’s what I’d like to try to do… just enjoy this short time when he is a baby, because that’s exactly what it is – such a short and sweet period of time.
Alright, better get to bed because he’s been sleeping since 7:30, nearly three hours, and he’ll probably be awake and crying for his mama and her boob within the hour. Oh well, just one more chance to squeeze him close and kiss his little fingers and sniff his gloriously bald head. ;)
Friday, February 26, 2010
Catching up
I wish I would have been better about writing since Gus was born, but its never too late right? So my baby is just a little over a week away from being 6 months old. I can’t believe that, has it really been 6 months? As evidenced by my little goofball going crazy in his Jump & Go right now, exploring the door jams, gnawing on the tag that I suppose I should have ripped off, and squealing with delight, yea I’ve got a 6 month old.
He is really such a joy. Last night he came home from his grandma’s blowing raspberries like crazy, and not those tired, frustrated raspberries he used to blow when he was 4 months old, they are like hilarious, jubilant, joyful raspberries. He is just such a happy, wonderful baby.
That’s not to say I’m not constantly exhausted, because I am. Gus spends about half to three quarters of each night in our bed, because he just wakes up so much and I simply don’t have the energy to keep going in to sooth him or nurse him and then putting him back in his crib, only to have him wake 45 minutes later. Instead I bring him to bed with us, lay down, and give him the boob. When he starts to fuss and wake up 45 minutes later, I roll him over to the other side and boob him again for about 60 seconds and he’s out. This goes on for many many hours, and it leaves me feeling like a zombie in the morning. Some nights are better than others, and it seems like he’s waking much less now than he was a month ago, so I am hopeful. I’m just not willing to do cry-it-out, not now, not ever, and I don’t have the energy for any other kind of “gentle” sleep-training. So bed sharing it is! And it’s a pretty full bed when you consider the fact that our dog is in it too.
The other issue plaguing my life is the constant worrying about my milk supply, which seems to have taken a dip this and last week for no discernable reason. I shouldn’t say my supply has tanked, because Gus seems to be getting plenty of milk those 4 days of the week that we are together. It’s just that the 3 days a week that I’m at work I don’t seem to be able to pump enough milk. I am freaking pumping 4 times a day, for about 15-20 minutes a time. That’s A LOT of time pumping at work. And then when I get home at night, it seems like there’s a whole lot of screaming at the boob, which usually brings me to tears and leads me to believe he’s not getting what he wants. It’s like I’ve pumped myself dry all day, to get 14-15 ounces. And he’s taking in as much as 20 ounces some days at day care. So while the situation certainly isn’t dire, he’s only away from me 3 days a week, and I have a freezer supply with almost 100 ounces, it still is really stressing me out, and I am always mentally calculating how long that freezer stash will last us if I continue to not able to keep up with him. This week I started taking More Milk Plus four times a day, Fenugreek twice a day, and am focusing on drinking tons of water, so I hope some of that helps. I also try to get a few pumping sessions in Friday through Monday when I’m home with him, but that’s not always easy. Ugh. On top of it all, there’s the guilt. If my pumping Tuesday through Thursday is not quite keeping up with his intake, I feel tremendous guilt even thinking about being away from him for even a few hours on my days off. I want to go on a date with my husband, which hasn’t happened since Gus was born. I want to see a movie, which I haven’t done for months. But I feel like I should be with him as much as possible when I can, nursing as much as possible, to at least keep up my supply. I know the guilt is just part of being a mom, I realize, but it’s nice to be able to vent a bit here. Now though, I’m feeling guilty about venting about it. Ridiculous!
Though there are a lot of difficult things that come with being a mom, I really truly love it. I adore this child of mine. He is so hilarious and sweet. He’s starting to sit up on his own these days (with a little help of course!), he explores everything he can get his hands on, he’s obsessed with remotes and phones and even shows that he has a little stubborn temper when you take them away from him. So funny! He loves to stand and bounce, is fascinated and obsessed with all dogs, squealing with delight if he can get his hands on them. He is constantly taking everything in around him, and loves to go to different places. He used to nap if I took him somewhere like the mall, pushing him in the stroller or carrying him in the Moby. Now he is just captivated by everything he sees, babbling and smiling at strangers, grabbing clothes off the wrack, screeching with glee at the crazy colors and the children running and playing. He is always reminding me how lucky I am to be his mom. Isn’t it amazing how children make you see things with different eyes? I love looking at the world through him, I feel hopeful, thankful, and just in awe of what a beautiful and wonderful world we live in.
He is really such a joy. Last night he came home from his grandma’s blowing raspberries like crazy, and not those tired, frustrated raspberries he used to blow when he was 4 months old, they are like hilarious, jubilant, joyful raspberries. He is just such a happy, wonderful baby.
That’s not to say I’m not constantly exhausted, because I am. Gus spends about half to three quarters of each night in our bed, because he just wakes up so much and I simply don’t have the energy to keep going in to sooth him or nurse him and then putting him back in his crib, only to have him wake 45 minutes later. Instead I bring him to bed with us, lay down, and give him the boob. When he starts to fuss and wake up 45 minutes later, I roll him over to the other side and boob him again for about 60 seconds and he’s out. This goes on for many many hours, and it leaves me feeling like a zombie in the morning. Some nights are better than others, and it seems like he’s waking much less now than he was a month ago, so I am hopeful. I’m just not willing to do cry-it-out, not now, not ever, and I don’t have the energy for any other kind of “gentle” sleep-training. So bed sharing it is! And it’s a pretty full bed when you consider the fact that our dog is in it too.
The other issue plaguing my life is the constant worrying about my milk supply, which seems to have taken a dip this and last week for no discernable reason. I shouldn’t say my supply has tanked, because Gus seems to be getting plenty of milk those 4 days of the week that we are together. It’s just that the 3 days a week that I’m at work I don’t seem to be able to pump enough milk. I am freaking pumping 4 times a day, for about 15-20 minutes a time. That’s A LOT of time pumping at work. And then when I get home at night, it seems like there’s a whole lot of screaming at the boob, which usually brings me to tears and leads me to believe he’s not getting what he wants. It’s like I’ve pumped myself dry all day, to get 14-15 ounces. And he’s taking in as much as 20 ounces some days at day care. So while the situation certainly isn’t dire, he’s only away from me 3 days a week, and I have a freezer supply with almost 100 ounces, it still is really stressing me out, and I am always mentally calculating how long that freezer stash will last us if I continue to not able to keep up with him. This week I started taking More Milk Plus four times a day, Fenugreek twice a day, and am focusing on drinking tons of water, so I hope some of that helps. I also try to get a few pumping sessions in Friday through Monday when I’m home with him, but that’s not always easy. Ugh. On top of it all, there’s the guilt. If my pumping Tuesday through Thursday is not quite keeping up with his intake, I feel tremendous guilt even thinking about being away from him for even a few hours on my days off. I want to go on a date with my husband, which hasn’t happened since Gus was born. I want to see a movie, which I haven’t done for months. But I feel like I should be with him as much as possible when I can, nursing as much as possible, to at least keep up my supply. I know the guilt is just part of being a mom, I realize, but it’s nice to be able to vent a bit here. Now though, I’m feeling guilty about venting about it. Ridiculous!
Though there are a lot of difficult things that come with being a mom, I really truly love it. I adore this child of mine. He is so hilarious and sweet. He’s starting to sit up on his own these days (with a little help of course!), he explores everything he can get his hands on, he’s obsessed with remotes and phones and even shows that he has a little stubborn temper when you take them away from him. So funny! He loves to stand and bounce, is fascinated and obsessed with all dogs, squealing with delight if he can get his hands on them. He is constantly taking everything in around him, and loves to go to different places. He used to nap if I took him somewhere like the mall, pushing him in the stroller or carrying him in the Moby. Now he is just captivated by everything he sees, babbling and smiling at strangers, grabbing clothes off the wrack, screeching with glee at the crazy colors and the children running and playing. He is always reminding me how lucky I am to be his mom. Isn’t it amazing how children make you see things with different eyes? I love looking at the world through him, I feel hopeful, thankful, and just in awe of what a beautiful and wonderful world we live in.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Mommy chronicles: breasfeeding
So Gus is almost 8 weeks old already, and I still haven’t taken the time to write about being a new mom. Mostly that’s because I’ve avoided writing all together because it just feels like such a daunting task. How in the world am I supposed to describe how much my life changed since that day in the hospital that we met our son for the first time? The right words are hard to come by, that’s for sure. So I won’t put too much pressure on myself to write some sort of masterpiece, I’ll just share some little tidbits about motherhood that I’ve learned over the last two months. Today I want to talk about breastfeeding.
First off, breastfeeding is hard at the beginning. I was plagued by self doubt those first couple weeks… Is he getting enough milk? Why don’t I feel a “let down”? My nipples are bloody stumps, does that mean I’m doing something wrong? Do I have a weak supply if I’ve never been painfully engorged or my milk doesn’t shoot across the room like my mom describes? Should I really wake him up to feed him every 2-3 hours? Am I drinking enough water? Can I eat spicy food? Thinking back on it, I was a neurotic mess. Also I took everything people said to me like it was the bible. When someone else’s experience was different from mine, I full on freaked out and convinced myself that Gus wasn’t getting what he needed to flourish. Finally after about two and a half weeks I saw a lactation consultant, and it was absolutely the best thing I could have done. I felt so much better, she reassured me that we were doing just fine, and gave me some advice for increasing my supply if I was really worried about it, even though she didn’t necessarily think it was needed. We talked about how Gus is a little grazer, not getting a ton of breast milk at each feeding, doing lots of comfort sucking, and thus coming back less than two hours later for more. She gave me creams for my sore nipples, a recipe for lactation cookies, but best of all she told me to trust my instincts and stop comparing myself to everyone else. She said every mom is different, and every baby is different.
Now I absolutely love breastfeeding. Not only is it the most important gift I can give my son, but I really feel like it has helped me bond with my little man on such an amazing level. I love that nursing is our own little special time together. Often I find myself looking down at him with teary eyes, stroking his perfectly plump little cheeks, rubbing his fuzzy little head, kissing his tiny little fingers, and just feeling so overwhelmed with love and amazement for this little gift from God. For all those future moms out there, it can not be said enough, breastfeeding is really hard those first few weeks, but stick it out because it gets so much better and it is so worth it. My nipples were so cracked and sore, I would have to whisper to myself every time he latched on, “It’s not that bad, it’s not that bad, the pain will go away in about 30 seconds”. Of course the fact that all the books say you’re doing it wrong if you feel any pain doesn’t help things. Screw that. At the beginning, especially if you have sore nipples from your baby’s constant and frustrated nursing during those days before your milk came in, it totally hurts.
In short, my advice comes down to this: lactation consultants are your friends, stock up on lanolin and nursing tanks, and don’t get too hung up on the experiences of everyone else, because every mom and every baby is different when it comes to breastfeeding. Be confident, ask for help, and focus on what this is all about, a healthy and happy baby.
First off, breastfeeding is hard at the beginning. I was plagued by self doubt those first couple weeks… Is he getting enough milk? Why don’t I feel a “let down”? My nipples are bloody stumps, does that mean I’m doing something wrong? Do I have a weak supply if I’ve never been painfully engorged or my milk doesn’t shoot across the room like my mom describes? Should I really wake him up to feed him every 2-3 hours? Am I drinking enough water? Can I eat spicy food? Thinking back on it, I was a neurotic mess. Also I took everything people said to me like it was the bible. When someone else’s experience was different from mine, I full on freaked out and convinced myself that Gus wasn’t getting what he needed to flourish. Finally after about two and a half weeks I saw a lactation consultant, and it was absolutely the best thing I could have done. I felt so much better, she reassured me that we were doing just fine, and gave me some advice for increasing my supply if I was really worried about it, even though she didn’t necessarily think it was needed. We talked about how Gus is a little grazer, not getting a ton of breast milk at each feeding, doing lots of comfort sucking, and thus coming back less than two hours later for more. She gave me creams for my sore nipples, a recipe for lactation cookies, but best of all she told me to trust my instincts and stop comparing myself to everyone else. She said every mom is different, and every baby is different.
Now I absolutely love breastfeeding. Not only is it the most important gift I can give my son, but I really feel like it has helped me bond with my little man on such an amazing level. I love that nursing is our own little special time together. Often I find myself looking down at him with teary eyes, stroking his perfectly plump little cheeks, rubbing his fuzzy little head, kissing his tiny little fingers, and just feeling so overwhelmed with love and amazement for this little gift from God. For all those future moms out there, it can not be said enough, breastfeeding is really hard those first few weeks, but stick it out because it gets so much better and it is so worth it. My nipples were so cracked and sore, I would have to whisper to myself every time he latched on, “It’s not that bad, it’s not that bad, the pain will go away in about 30 seconds”. Of course the fact that all the books say you’re doing it wrong if you feel any pain doesn’t help things. Screw that. At the beginning, especially if you have sore nipples from your baby’s constant and frustrated nursing during those days before your milk came in, it totally hurts.
In short, my advice comes down to this: lactation consultants are your friends, stock up on lanolin and nursing tanks, and don’t get too hung up on the experiences of everyone else, because every mom and every baby is different when it comes to breastfeeding. Be confident, ask for help, and focus on what this is all about, a healthy and happy baby.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Birth Story
Note: I started writing this a few days ago, it took me multiple sit downs to finish it though, because I have a baby now who, when hungry, does not care if his mama is busy writing. ;) Also, sorry it is so ridiculously long.
Gus was born at 2:32 AM on September 5th, 2009. I’ve wanted to write his birth story but things have, not surprisingly, been pretty crazy the last week and a half! However, the visitors have started to space out a bit, Dan is back to work, and I’m beginning to feel a little bit more like myself again (well, a completely different version of myself actually, becoming a parent has a way of forever changing a person at their core, but “myself” nonetheless!)
It’s my first day at home with Gus without Dan. I was a little freaked out going into it, if I’m going to be honest, but it’s going ok so far. This morning was rough, the little guy only slept about an hour between feedings last night, and since Dan was getting up at 5:30 AM for work after more than a week off, I didn’t want to wake him to help with any of the diaper changes or burping. So yea, I’m exhausted. And then he was pretty much a little fuss-monster all morning long, so I wasn’t able to meet my mom for coffee down the street like I had hoped. But by the power of the Miracle Blanket, I got him down for a nap around 11:00 and I was able to take a shower, and now he’s sleeping again on my chest allowing me time to write for the first time since his arrival.
Anyway, that’s a long introduction to what is supposed to be his birth story. I’ll say first off that it was pretty insane, but amazing and perfect and I couldn’t feel more blessed that we were able to welcome Gus into the world through a completely natural, med-free, uncomplicated birth. It all started around 6:45 PM on Friday, September 4th, the day after my due date. Actually, I suppose looking back on everything, it started earlier than that, because I was pretty much crazy nesting that entire day. I had the day off, so I cleaned the whole house, top to bottom, and afterwards still had all this bundled up energy so I took the dog for an hour and a half walk. I should have known right? Anyway, so at 6:45 I went to the bathroom and noticed a little bloody show, so I knew that something was happening soon. I wanted to stay calm though, knowing how adrenaline can really slow down labor, and Dan and I were both trying to stay prepared for a marathon birth experience, so I thought it would be best to go about my evening as planned. Lisa, my mom, and I were planning on going to a movie and Lisa was actually on her way to my house to pick me up. Being in a movie theatre just did not sound like the best idea though, especially with the risk of my water breaking all over the place, so we rented a movie and Lisa and my mom came over. I made popcorn, we got the movie started, and seriously during the opening credits, at around 8:30 PM, my water broke. I wasn’t really prepared for what the whole water breaking thing would entail, I thought it would just be one big gush, but I pretty much trickled amniotic fluid for the rest of the labor. We called the midwife and after assuring her that my water did in fact break and I didn’t just pee my pants, she asked if we wanted to go to the hospital, or if we were hoping to labor at home for longer. We had wanted to labor at home for as long as possible, which is what I told her, so she told me to try to get some sleep, and call her around the time that I would normally be getting up in the morning, at around 7:00 AM. Ha!
We managed to finish out the movie, and I was barely having contractions at that point, but it was definitely uncomfortable sitting on plastic bags and towels and feeling just generally disgusting. By the time Lisa and my mom left at around 10:30, I was really starting to feel the contractions, I could no longer sit, even on the birthing ball, and they were ALL in my back. So it was around that time that we really got serious and started timing them. Dan got out the laptop and hit up www.contractionmaster.com (awesome site), and we went upstairs to the bedroom where it was more comfortable. I was hoping to get some rest, again with this being my first baby we were prepared for one of those 24 hour labors that everyone always talks about. Though from the very beginning, the contractions were quite close together, and almost started out at four minutes apart, lasting for a minute. I labored on the bed for a while, hanging over the foot board on my hands and knees, which was the only way I could handle the back pain.
After a while, I asked Dan to start filling up the tub, hoping that would help relieve some of the back pain I was having. It was great at first, but pretty quickly I realized I just couldn’t be on my back, even in the water. So I got on my hands and knees again, in the tub, and during my contractions Dan would spray my back with hot water. That felt AMAZING. It’s a claw foot tub, so I was essentially hanging over the back, and I started this rhythmic moaning when the contractions were getting even closer together. I was definitely “in the zone” and at one point while in the tub, my mom called and insisted on talking to me, and both Dan and I kind of freaked out on her on the phone. Later I found out that she was pretty concerned at that point that we were farther along in the labor than we thought we were, and felt that we probably should have been at the hospital. She called my aunt to tell her and was tempted to call back but didn’t want to get yelled at again. Though I had no sense of time whatsoever, I had only been having contractions for about an hour to and hour and a half! But we were both still just so much in the mindset of trying to stay home as long as possible, especially since our water had broke, and we really didn’t want to be on the hospital’s time table. I kept telling myself that it was going to get so much worse, that this was only the beginning, I think that kind of helped me manage the pain, in a strange sort of way.
In the Bradley Method classes we took, we talked a lot about the “emotional signposts of labor”. They really stressed with the dads the importance of recognizing those signs throughout labor, as they’re indicators of how far along a woman is in the whole process. Here they are:
Early first stage – Excitement
First stage/Active Labor – Acceptance
Late first stage – Seriousness
Transition – Self Doubt/Surrender
Second stage – Determination (this might be wrong)
While I can only vaguely recognize these things now, in hindsight, Dan was witnessing me just fly through each of these signposts like a crazy woman. I don’t know how long I was in the tub, but it wasn’t very long, and I know I probably went through a couple while in there. For instance, when I first got in, I was asking Dan to lift up my hair and put it over the edge of the tub so it didn’t get wet and all crazy, since I had straightened it that day. However by the time I got out, I looked like a wild woman, I could have cared less about my hair, which by now was sopping wet from me thrashing around in there on my hands and knees.
Once out of the tub I pretty much stuck to the bathroom floor, on my hands and knees, getting my rocking and moaning on. I remember focusing intently on the pattern of the little black and white tiles on the floor, and my breathing. Dan kept reminding me to breath abdominally when a contraction would come on and I’d get a bit panicked. Oh, and the back pain was just torture, and I NEEDED Dan there for each contraction to squeeze and put pressure on my lower back. At this point we started realizing that contractions were lasting a minute, and were coming on every two minutes. So that means I would have 60 seconds in between each one, though during those 60 seconds the back pain would remain, it would just get more bearable. We finally convinced ourselves that, yea, holy crap, we need to call the midwife again and probably get to the hospital. I remember that being sort of a frantic situation, because it’s a hotline, and you have to leave a message with some sort of nurse/operator to have the midwife call you. She said if Amy didn’t call back in 20 minutes, to call back again. Bitch. Well Dan went ahead and started getting things ready for the hospital, and I really started to panic because how in the hell was I going to ever be able to leave the house? I was a complete naked mess, and there was just no way I was going to be able to sit in the car. I had to get through a few contractions here and there on my own, because those 60 second intervals in between them were just not enough time for Dan to race down the stairs and out to the car to get it loaded, finish packing the bags, deal with the dog, and get the midwife on the phone.
Oh, I almost forgot, at some point during all of this, I started to feel like I had to poop. The urge would come on super strong at the peak of each contraction, and I literally thought my whole butt was going to explode. We’re not stupid, we know that the urge to push is often compared to feeling like you need to poop, but we were so in denial that it could be happening that fast! So Dan and I got the bright idea that he would look “down there” and if he didn’t see anything (i.e. a BABY!) than maybe it was ok and I should just go ahead and poop. Ha! We’re geniuses. Well sure enough he didn’t see anything, so I went and pooped, multiple times, and it felt so good. (I know, duh right, I was entering second stage at home.)
Well when we finally got ourselves out of the house and to the car, I tried to sit in the back seat but just wasn’t having it, so I rode out the 5 minute ride to the hospital (I know, thank goodness it is so close) on my hands and knees. Dan asked me if I wanted him to drop me off at the emergency area by myself, or if he should park in the ramp which would mean I would have to make the extra trek. All I could muster between my moans was, “I don’t know”, but he made the right decision and went to the ramp. There was no way I wanted to be alone at that point, getting through a contraction without him putting pressure on my lower back was absolute torture. I was willing to walk a bit farther.
The walk from the parking ramp to the labor and delivery floor was pretty ridiculous, I can’t imagine how we looked to outsiders, but since it was almost 2:00 AM, there weren’t a lot of people around. In my condition though, I wouldn’t have cared one way or another, I had to do what I had to do to get through each contraction. So every minute, or about every 100 feet, I would drop to my hands and knees and start my moaning and rocking again, and Dan would drop the bazillion bags he was carrying in order to apply pressure to my back. As we passed the security desk the guy playing solitaire at the desk asked if we wanted a wheel chair and Dan told him there was no way I would sit in one of those and that he had already offered. Outside of the elevators we had to wait for the next one because I was having another contraction by the time the door had opened. Some nice ladies came by and held the door until I was done with my contraction so we could get in there, and then held it again once we got to the 3rd floor so I could ride out the next contraction inside the elevator. Then the one lady ran to the nurses’ desk and declared that there was a “lady in distress” in the elevator. I made it out of there on my own and she tearily told me that she was on her way to the hospice floor, saying something about one leaving this world and another entering and how fitting it was. It was really sweet actually, and she wished me luck and I gave her my condolences and then it was to the assessment room to see where the heck we were at.
Dan helped me get into a gown and my midwife came in and got down on her hands and knees next to me to say hello, and that as soon as I was ready and felt able I should get up and get on the bed so she could check my cervix. At some point between me being on the floor and on the bed the back labor amazingly went away, and we’re thinking all that rocking on my hands and knees must have gotten the baby in the correct position, because he was no doubt posterior.
Well when she checked me, we were all in shock, because I was complete and the baby was at +3 position. We were ready to push, and there were no labor and delivery rooms available, so we would be having this baby in triage. Whoo!
Pushing was scary, exhausting, exhilarating, and empowering all at the same time. My midwife and the two nurses were amazing, they gave me so much support, kept telling me how fantastic I was doing, how I was a rock star and they had never witnessed a delivery like this. It really helped when my midwife put pressure on the spot where I needed to be focusing my pushing. I totally pooped, multiple times, and even apologized for it. I specifically remember saying, “I pooped didn’t I? I’m sorry, that’s so gross.” Now I realize how ridiculous that is, because SO MUCH gross stuff is happening, like they care about a little poop! I also sprayed amniotic fluid all over everyone during one of my last pushes. Dan was amazingly the only one that avoided the splash.
I definitely felt the ring of fire, and it was nothing compared to all that back labor, seriously. I was a little annoyed though when I got the head out and then I had to still do quite a bit more work. I was all, “I thought after the head I was home free, what is this about?!” The midwife helped get the shoulders out, and then Dan got to do the final pull/catch. When it was time for that, Dan took note of the fact that everyone was all covered in paper gowns and wearing gloves, so he asked the midwife if he needed gloves, and she just said, “No, you’re the dad!”
The image of my little Gus, all purple and squishy and smooshed and perfect, coming towards me and being placed on my chest, with Dan exclaiming, “It’s a boy!” is something I’ll never ever forget. It was the perfect moment, and I went from exhaustion to total elation in those few seconds, I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins. It was just amazing, there’s no good way to describe it. Love at first sight.
So it was only 6 hours from the time that my water broke to the time that Gus was born. It was insanely fast, and we’re lucky we went into the hospital when we did. It was a full moon that night, my midwife herself had already delivered three babies since midnight by the time we came to the hospital, and the hospital had a total of 9 deliveries that night, which is what they usually average in a full day. All I know is that it was nothing like what I had expected, but perfect and wonderful all the same. We’re so lucky.
Gus was born at 2:32 AM on September 5th, 2009. I’ve wanted to write his birth story but things have, not surprisingly, been pretty crazy the last week and a half! However, the visitors have started to space out a bit, Dan is back to work, and I’m beginning to feel a little bit more like myself again (well, a completely different version of myself actually, becoming a parent has a way of forever changing a person at their core, but “myself” nonetheless!)
It’s my first day at home with Gus without Dan. I was a little freaked out going into it, if I’m going to be honest, but it’s going ok so far. This morning was rough, the little guy only slept about an hour between feedings last night, and since Dan was getting up at 5:30 AM for work after more than a week off, I didn’t want to wake him to help with any of the diaper changes or burping. So yea, I’m exhausted. And then he was pretty much a little fuss-monster all morning long, so I wasn’t able to meet my mom for coffee down the street like I had hoped. But by the power of the Miracle Blanket, I got him down for a nap around 11:00 and I was able to take a shower, and now he’s sleeping again on my chest allowing me time to write for the first time since his arrival.
Anyway, that’s a long introduction to what is supposed to be his birth story. I’ll say first off that it was pretty insane, but amazing and perfect and I couldn’t feel more blessed that we were able to welcome Gus into the world through a completely natural, med-free, uncomplicated birth. It all started around 6:45 PM on Friday, September 4th, the day after my due date. Actually, I suppose looking back on everything, it started earlier than that, because I was pretty much crazy nesting that entire day. I had the day off, so I cleaned the whole house, top to bottom, and afterwards still had all this bundled up energy so I took the dog for an hour and a half walk. I should have known right? Anyway, so at 6:45 I went to the bathroom and noticed a little bloody show, so I knew that something was happening soon. I wanted to stay calm though, knowing how adrenaline can really slow down labor, and Dan and I were both trying to stay prepared for a marathon birth experience, so I thought it would be best to go about my evening as planned. Lisa, my mom, and I were planning on going to a movie and Lisa was actually on her way to my house to pick me up. Being in a movie theatre just did not sound like the best idea though, especially with the risk of my water breaking all over the place, so we rented a movie and Lisa and my mom came over. I made popcorn, we got the movie started, and seriously during the opening credits, at around 8:30 PM, my water broke. I wasn’t really prepared for what the whole water breaking thing would entail, I thought it would just be one big gush, but I pretty much trickled amniotic fluid for the rest of the labor. We called the midwife and after assuring her that my water did in fact break and I didn’t just pee my pants, she asked if we wanted to go to the hospital, or if we were hoping to labor at home for longer. We had wanted to labor at home for as long as possible, which is what I told her, so she told me to try to get some sleep, and call her around the time that I would normally be getting up in the morning, at around 7:00 AM. Ha!
We managed to finish out the movie, and I was barely having contractions at that point, but it was definitely uncomfortable sitting on plastic bags and towels and feeling just generally disgusting. By the time Lisa and my mom left at around 10:30, I was really starting to feel the contractions, I could no longer sit, even on the birthing ball, and they were ALL in my back. So it was around that time that we really got serious and started timing them. Dan got out the laptop and hit up www.contractionmaster.com (awesome site), and we went upstairs to the bedroom where it was more comfortable. I was hoping to get some rest, again with this being my first baby we were prepared for one of those 24 hour labors that everyone always talks about. Though from the very beginning, the contractions were quite close together, and almost started out at four minutes apart, lasting for a minute. I labored on the bed for a while, hanging over the foot board on my hands and knees, which was the only way I could handle the back pain.
After a while, I asked Dan to start filling up the tub, hoping that would help relieve some of the back pain I was having. It was great at first, but pretty quickly I realized I just couldn’t be on my back, even in the water. So I got on my hands and knees again, in the tub, and during my contractions Dan would spray my back with hot water. That felt AMAZING. It’s a claw foot tub, so I was essentially hanging over the back, and I started this rhythmic moaning when the contractions were getting even closer together. I was definitely “in the zone” and at one point while in the tub, my mom called and insisted on talking to me, and both Dan and I kind of freaked out on her on the phone. Later I found out that she was pretty concerned at that point that we were farther along in the labor than we thought we were, and felt that we probably should have been at the hospital. She called my aunt to tell her and was tempted to call back but didn’t want to get yelled at again. Though I had no sense of time whatsoever, I had only been having contractions for about an hour to and hour and a half! But we were both still just so much in the mindset of trying to stay home as long as possible, especially since our water had broke, and we really didn’t want to be on the hospital’s time table. I kept telling myself that it was going to get so much worse, that this was only the beginning, I think that kind of helped me manage the pain, in a strange sort of way.
In the Bradley Method classes we took, we talked a lot about the “emotional signposts of labor”. They really stressed with the dads the importance of recognizing those signs throughout labor, as they’re indicators of how far along a woman is in the whole process. Here they are:
Early first stage – Excitement
First stage/Active Labor – Acceptance
Late first stage – Seriousness
Transition – Self Doubt/Surrender
Second stage – Determination (this might be wrong)
While I can only vaguely recognize these things now, in hindsight, Dan was witnessing me just fly through each of these signposts like a crazy woman. I don’t know how long I was in the tub, but it wasn’t very long, and I know I probably went through a couple while in there. For instance, when I first got in, I was asking Dan to lift up my hair and put it over the edge of the tub so it didn’t get wet and all crazy, since I had straightened it that day. However by the time I got out, I looked like a wild woman, I could have cared less about my hair, which by now was sopping wet from me thrashing around in there on my hands and knees.
Once out of the tub I pretty much stuck to the bathroom floor, on my hands and knees, getting my rocking and moaning on. I remember focusing intently on the pattern of the little black and white tiles on the floor, and my breathing. Dan kept reminding me to breath abdominally when a contraction would come on and I’d get a bit panicked. Oh, and the back pain was just torture, and I NEEDED Dan there for each contraction to squeeze and put pressure on my lower back. At this point we started realizing that contractions were lasting a minute, and were coming on every two minutes. So that means I would have 60 seconds in between each one, though during those 60 seconds the back pain would remain, it would just get more bearable. We finally convinced ourselves that, yea, holy crap, we need to call the midwife again and probably get to the hospital. I remember that being sort of a frantic situation, because it’s a hotline, and you have to leave a message with some sort of nurse/operator to have the midwife call you. She said if Amy didn’t call back in 20 minutes, to call back again. Bitch. Well Dan went ahead and started getting things ready for the hospital, and I really started to panic because how in the hell was I going to ever be able to leave the house? I was a complete naked mess, and there was just no way I was going to be able to sit in the car. I had to get through a few contractions here and there on my own, because those 60 second intervals in between them were just not enough time for Dan to race down the stairs and out to the car to get it loaded, finish packing the bags, deal with the dog, and get the midwife on the phone.
Oh, I almost forgot, at some point during all of this, I started to feel like I had to poop. The urge would come on super strong at the peak of each contraction, and I literally thought my whole butt was going to explode. We’re not stupid, we know that the urge to push is often compared to feeling like you need to poop, but we were so in denial that it could be happening that fast! So Dan and I got the bright idea that he would look “down there” and if he didn’t see anything (i.e. a BABY!) than maybe it was ok and I should just go ahead and poop. Ha! We’re geniuses. Well sure enough he didn’t see anything, so I went and pooped, multiple times, and it felt so good. (I know, duh right, I was entering second stage at home.)
Well when we finally got ourselves out of the house and to the car, I tried to sit in the back seat but just wasn’t having it, so I rode out the 5 minute ride to the hospital (I know, thank goodness it is so close) on my hands and knees. Dan asked me if I wanted him to drop me off at the emergency area by myself, or if he should park in the ramp which would mean I would have to make the extra trek. All I could muster between my moans was, “I don’t know”, but he made the right decision and went to the ramp. There was no way I wanted to be alone at that point, getting through a contraction without him putting pressure on my lower back was absolute torture. I was willing to walk a bit farther.
The walk from the parking ramp to the labor and delivery floor was pretty ridiculous, I can’t imagine how we looked to outsiders, but since it was almost 2:00 AM, there weren’t a lot of people around. In my condition though, I wouldn’t have cared one way or another, I had to do what I had to do to get through each contraction. So every minute, or about every 100 feet, I would drop to my hands and knees and start my moaning and rocking again, and Dan would drop the bazillion bags he was carrying in order to apply pressure to my back. As we passed the security desk the guy playing solitaire at the desk asked if we wanted a wheel chair and Dan told him there was no way I would sit in one of those and that he had already offered. Outside of the elevators we had to wait for the next one because I was having another contraction by the time the door had opened. Some nice ladies came by and held the door until I was done with my contraction so we could get in there, and then held it again once we got to the 3rd floor so I could ride out the next contraction inside the elevator. Then the one lady ran to the nurses’ desk and declared that there was a “lady in distress” in the elevator. I made it out of there on my own and she tearily told me that she was on her way to the hospice floor, saying something about one leaving this world and another entering and how fitting it was. It was really sweet actually, and she wished me luck and I gave her my condolences and then it was to the assessment room to see where the heck we were at.
Dan helped me get into a gown and my midwife came in and got down on her hands and knees next to me to say hello, and that as soon as I was ready and felt able I should get up and get on the bed so she could check my cervix. At some point between me being on the floor and on the bed the back labor amazingly went away, and we’re thinking all that rocking on my hands and knees must have gotten the baby in the correct position, because he was no doubt posterior.
Well when she checked me, we were all in shock, because I was complete and the baby was at +3 position. We were ready to push, and there were no labor and delivery rooms available, so we would be having this baby in triage. Whoo!
Pushing was scary, exhausting, exhilarating, and empowering all at the same time. My midwife and the two nurses were amazing, they gave me so much support, kept telling me how fantastic I was doing, how I was a rock star and they had never witnessed a delivery like this. It really helped when my midwife put pressure on the spot where I needed to be focusing my pushing. I totally pooped, multiple times, and even apologized for it. I specifically remember saying, “I pooped didn’t I? I’m sorry, that’s so gross.” Now I realize how ridiculous that is, because SO MUCH gross stuff is happening, like they care about a little poop! I also sprayed amniotic fluid all over everyone during one of my last pushes. Dan was amazingly the only one that avoided the splash.
I definitely felt the ring of fire, and it was nothing compared to all that back labor, seriously. I was a little annoyed though when I got the head out and then I had to still do quite a bit more work. I was all, “I thought after the head I was home free, what is this about?!” The midwife helped get the shoulders out, and then Dan got to do the final pull/catch. When it was time for that, Dan took note of the fact that everyone was all covered in paper gowns and wearing gloves, so he asked the midwife if he needed gloves, and she just said, “No, you’re the dad!”
The image of my little Gus, all purple and squishy and smooshed and perfect, coming towards me and being placed on my chest, with Dan exclaiming, “It’s a boy!” is something I’ll never ever forget. It was the perfect moment, and I went from exhaustion to total elation in those few seconds, I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins. It was just amazing, there’s no good way to describe it. Love at first sight.
So it was only 6 hours from the time that my water broke to the time that Gus was born. It was insanely fast, and we’re lucky we went into the hospital when we did. It was a full moon that night, my midwife herself had already delivered three babies since midnight by the time we came to the hospital, and the hospital had a total of 9 deliveries that night, which is what they usually average in a full day. All I know is that it was nothing like what I had expected, but perfect and wonderful all the same. We’re so lucky.
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Waiting
I’m feeling very introspective as I’m nearing the end of my pregnancy, like I need to somehow capture in a teeny tiny box every little last moment of this current life before what I feel will be a drastic shift in reality with the upcoming birth of our son or daughter. There will always be a special place in my heart for these last few days of waiting, together as a family, for this child to come into our world and change everything. I am so much more alert to the fact that each little experience could be our last one as “expectant” parents. Next time we go for a walk around Palmer Lake, like we did Friday evening around dusk, after cooking a nice dinner at home, it will be with our child. One of us will need to man the stroller while the other keeps our crazy dog in check. Tonight could very well be the last night we go to bed with Bella rolling around between us begging for tummy rubs and Dan giving my pregnant belly a good night kiss. I just feel so at peace with things these days; we’re moving a little slower, calming down with the preparations and the crazy nesting, and enjoying this time together. We took an hour long walk through the neighborhood Sunday evening, breathing in the cool air, talking about the future, and even though there’s definitely anticipation building, I think we’re both focused on just being patient, knowing that at this point it’s just a matter of days or weeks, and that our baby will come join us when he or she is good and ready.
I have to admit, the fact that I could go into labor at any moment is a little scary, it’s something I have never done before, something I have no control over, and there’s no question that it will be difficult, both physically and mentally. But I do trust my body and its ability to do what so many other women have done before me, I trust my husband who has done so much to prepare for his role during the birthing process, and I trust each of the three midwives whom could be the woman to help us bring this baby into the world.
If I go past my due date, I know it will be hard to stay this patient, this trusting of letting nature take its course, but that is the mindset I hope to keep. Thankful. Appreciative. Hopeful. At peace and trusting in God and ourselves.
I have to admit, the fact that I could go into labor at any moment is a little scary, it’s something I have never done before, something I have no control over, and there’s no question that it will be difficult, both physically and mentally. But I do trust my body and its ability to do what so many other women have done before me, I trust my husband who has done so much to prepare for his role during the birthing process, and I trust each of the three midwives whom could be the woman to help us bring this baby into the world.
If I go past my due date, I know it will be hard to stay this patient, this trusting of letting nature take its course, but that is the mindset I hope to keep. Thankful. Appreciative. Hopeful. At peace and trusting in God and ourselves.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Questions
We’re really getting down there! I am now 3 days from my due date, and basically every human being I come into contact with, acquaintance or stranger, friend or family, priest or rabbi, asks me one or more of the following questions:
“Are you ready?”
“Are you excited?”
“Are you nervous?”
“Any progress?”
“Do you think you’ve dropped?”
“How long do you think you’ll go?”
“Are you dilated?” (even men ask this one)
“Do you think it’ll be early or late?”
“You’re still here?” (coworkers)
“Did you lose your mucus plug yet?” (mom)
If I’m being honest, it’s getting kind of old. Of course people are going to ask me about the baby, I am huge and even if you don’t know me, it’s clear this whole “giving birth” thing is pretty imminent. I’m basically a massive walking bill board (with swollen ankles and chubby fingers) that clearly reads, “COMING REAALLLY SOON: BLONDE BABY”. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that answering the same questions over and over again gets really old. My (least) favorite is the “How long do you think it’ll be?” question, because seriously, what can I even say to that? I HAVE NO FREAKING CLUE! If I had magical powers that could help me accurately predict something like that, I surely would have been using those powers for both good and evil for some time now. I certainly wouldn’t be sitting in a window-less office making spreadsheets and running reports for nearly 40% of my waking life.
Also, it’s kind of funny how inappropriate some of the questions are. In what other situation would you ask someone the equivalent of, “Has your doctor stuck her hand up your lady parts to determine how stretched out your cervix is yet?” or “How much pressure are you feeling on your crotch?”
Like I said, I totally understand the reasons for the questions, I have asked the same ones countless times of countless expectant moms. People are excited, people are interested, and it is clearly the elephant in the room. However, especially at work, they are starting to really drain me. I now DREAD leaving my office to walk the halls, as I will undoubtedly encounter some more friendly questions and innocent bantering on the way to the bathroom, or the printer, or the cafeteria, or anywhere.
YES I’M STILL HERE!
Anyway, I hope to return tomorrow with something less snotty, I had actually planned on writing about the lovely weekend I had with my husband and dog-child, and my desire to really try to enjoy these last few days/weeks with my little family of 3.5. Clearly I went in another direction entirely!
And now that I’ve promised to write again tomorrow, maybe I will go into labor instead. That would be awesome. Fingers crossed!
“Are you ready?”
“Are you excited?”
“Are you nervous?”
“Any progress?”
“Do you think you’ve dropped?”
“How long do you think you’ll go?”
“Are you dilated?” (even men ask this one)
“Do you think it’ll be early or late?”
“You’re still here?” (coworkers)
“Did you lose your mucus plug yet?” (mom)
If I’m being honest, it’s getting kind of old. Of course people are going to ask me about the baby, I am huge and even if you don’t know me, it’s clear this whole “giving birth” thing is pretty imminent. I’m basically a massive walking bill board (with swollen ankles and chubby fingers) that clearly reads, “COMING REAALLLY SOON: BLONDE BABY”. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that answering the same questions over and over again gets really old. My (least) favorite is the “How long do you think it’ll be?” question, because seriously, what can I even say to that? I HAVE NO FREAKING CLUE! If I had magical powers that could help me accurately predict something like that, I surely would have been using those powers for both good and evil for some time now. I certainly wouldn’t be sitting in a window-less office making spreadsheets and running reports for nearly 40% of my waking life.
Also, it’s kind of funny how inappropriate some of the questions are. In what other situation would you ask someone the equivalent of, “Has your doctor stuck her hand up your lady parts to determine how stretched out your cervix is yet?” or “How much pressure are you feeling on your crotch?”
Like I said, I totally understand the reasons for the questions, I have asked the same ones countless times of countless expectant moms. People are excited, people are interested, and it is clearly the elephant in the room. However, especially at work, they are starting to really drain me. I now DREAD leaving my office to walk the halls, as I will undoubtedly encounter some more friendly questions and innocent bantering on the way to the bathroom, or the printer, or the cafeteria, or anywhere.
YES I’M STILL HERE!
Anyway, I hope to return tomorrow with something less snotty, I had actually planned on writing about the lovely weekend I had with my husband and dog-child, and my desire to really try to enjoy these last few days/weeks with my little family of 3.5. Clearly I went in another direction entirely!
And now that I’ve promised to write again tomorrow, maybe I will go into labor instead. That would be awesome. Fingers crossed!
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