What Makes Me Happy

1. Watching reality TV (we all knew that)
2. Sitting around & reading US Weekly, In Touch, Etc....
3. Chilling with one of my siblings or family
4. Everything Jackson
5. Sunday night procrastination

Baby Books, Scrap Booking, and The Fears That Keep Me Up at Night

Was I supposed to label each photo album by month?

I don't have a picture of the first step! Or the first tooth.

Scrap booking for the first time can be a lot of pressure. I don't even know if you are supposed to put a space between scrap and booking.

If I do go forward on this mission, will I wake up tomorrow with a mini van out front and a zip code in the midwest? Will I need a scrapbooking room in the corner of the den? Will I get a den?

It's definetely a line that, once crossed, brings you into a shadowy world of unknown cliches.

What I really have to say is...

...there's not a lot of point in blogging if you have lost your digital camera 4 months ago. Who wants to read a mommy blog when there are no awesome pictures attached of my son doing one of the following:

a) Walking around in circles with a steamer pot on top of his head (happened). Where did he get the pot? I don't know, I was in the bathroom when he procured it.

b) Hiding a gigantic glass measuring cup inside his high chair and secretly cuddling it with one arm like its his giant teddy bear / best friend when he thinks I'm not looking. (happened) Where did he get the measuring cup? I don't know, when I put him in the high chair, it was empty.

or

c) Talking on his 'cell phone' coaster. "Hewwo? Hewwo?" Where did he find the coaster? I don't know. We don't own any coasters.

All of these scenarios would be way cuter via snap shot. Sorry. I lose things a lot.

My son is really into kitchen utensils. That's our deal.

What are ya gonna do?

........

Sans digital camera - I have resorted to Facebook trolling to acquire some recent (ish) pics of the little dude:

IPOD Thoughts

All around us, the Mighty have fallen.

Tiger Woods.

Toyota.

Heidi Montag.



It doesn't pay to cheat, lie, cut corners, or get too much face work.

15 months

WORDS:

Whoa
Uh Oh
Wall
Baby
Mama
Dada
Go
Agitty Ca (Kitty Cat)
Oh
Hi! Hi!

ON COMMAND (if you ask nicely and only sometimes):

Claps Hands
Blows a kiss (if you're lucky)
Points
Pats Mama
Waves bye bye (and hi, if he feels like it)
Hugs (according to dad)
Touches everyone's nose
Follows the cats around
Says rainbow (bo bo!)

Birth Story - Part 3. The Final Frontier.

Quick review (But lets be clear: If you haven't read the first two installments, it doesn't matter because they are grammatically challenged, long winded, and only really make sense to me).

So, to recap:

Election day 2008 (this birth story is quite dated as my son is over a year old now!), contractions, loss of "mommy plug", no baby, frantic crib shopping, adventures in getting locked out of the house in the middle of the night, weary put-upon husband, people telling me I look fat, lots of pizza, lots of peeing, water breaking in the bed which is perceived as more peeing by the put upon husband, emergency room Nurse who believes in me & wins my lifelong love and loyalty, and now we're all caught up.

At this point, I'm surrounded by all the books I forgot to read over the last 7 months (because I was busy eating and keeping my baby ALIVE through constant nourishment, thank you). I'm thumbing through them looking for information on how to tell if your water broke. They all say, like, duh - it's not that hard to figure out. But I don't know a lot of people who feel really smart and full of common sense in the third trimester. Cause your brain is too preoccupied with, 'What the blippety blip is going on INSIDE OF ME, DEAR GOD?!!!!!?'

Brent decides to humor me and we get in the car, leak leak leak, all the way to the hospital. We pack 'lightly' as I am halfway convinced I will be sent home immediately.

The hospital does 4 amniotic fluid tests on me, each one coming back negative. (As in, it's not amniotic fluid, (it must be PEE!) and my water has NOT broken)

"Hmm" the Doctor says.

"It really appears that your water HAS broken."

He stares down at his shoes, a shy damp from the puddled floor beneath my feet.

I stare at the ceiling of the hospital room. I'm lying on the crinkly white paper, holding Brent's hand, feeling humiliated. There are three people in a room trying to decide if we are all soaked in pee, or baby fluid.

"Yeah. So, what's happening here, am I just peeing continuously right now or.....?"

Doctor, "Well, the microscope is not picking up on any fern like images, which amniotic fluid resembles under the lens."

"Maybe my amniotic fluid looks more like a flower?"

The ultra sound is wheeled in to "take a peek" and sure enough, PLENTY OF AMNIOTIC FLUID STILL PACKED IN THERE!

"Well, this is just great. I'm going to have to go into work tomorrow then, because apparently I'm not in labor. I'll just put a tarp in my cubicle. No problem." This, along with the flower comment, is just my inner monologue, as I'm concentrating on my contractions which are growing stronger. I've also decided I'm not on speaking terms with anyone in the room, except the Nurse who rolls her eyes every time the Doctor leaves the room to take a test strip to his microscope. "Honey, I don't think you are going anywhere."

Drip, drip. "Thank you for believing me." I say, thinking of the old cliche that a woman's intuition is always right. I'm almost a mother. I know my baby is coming.

"Yep, yep. Here it is!" The Doctor charges into the room, with an 'I knew it!' look on his face, he's holding the test strip in the air. "Amniotic fluid!"

Time out for a quick prayer: Dear Lord, thank you for making me right and Brent wrong. I love my husband. But I knew I was not PEEING!

Brent and I stare at each other. It sinks in. We are not going home. The next time we go home, it will be with our baby. We are about to become parents. Any silly competitive teasing about who was right fades away. Our eyes lock. We exchange nervous smiles. We feel like kids.

"What's going to happen now?" he asks the Nurse.

"Well, we recalculated her due date (apparently they can do that?!) and it looks like she is 35 1/2 weeks along, not 34, so she can stay here. Otherwise we would have to transfer her to another hospital where they have a more intensive preemie unit."

I had not really believed my baby was going to be premature. I thought he would be late. He was coming more than 4 weeks early. My experience at 5 months, having my appendix removed, had been so painful and frightening, and now it was all coming back to me.

"Can I have my epidural now?"

The Doctor says I can have it anytime, now that my water has already broken. I break into song. (In my head, like before, with the flower comment) Think Wizard of Oz: Somewhere Over The Rainbow.

"Let's get you settled first."

"Okay."

We get checked into a labor and delivery room. It's about 1 am. We're told to try to get some sleep. My contractions are steady through the night, I pace the room. I try to shower to soothe the pain. I draw pictures of needles on the wet shower stall. I talk to my future epidural: "How are you? I'm fine. I love you. Please come to see me soon."

I check on my husband. He's snoring fitfully on a uncomfortable bed/bench that is up against the wall. I look at the clock. 5 am. More contractions. I am so tough, I think, I must be like 5 inches dilated. Or centimeters, or metric kilometers, whatever. I'm superwoman. Where is my epidural?

Around 7 am everyone comes to life. I'm texting everyone I know. Brent's on the phone with our families. They tell me I'm 1/2 centimeter dilated. I ask for narcotics.

"Just until, you know, the epidural. When is that happening again? I was told anytime I wanted, I could have it. I'm not anti-epidural. I don't believe in natural childbirth. I think it's self hatred. I think it's martyrdom. I think it's ridiculous. I know I live in Portland and I'm Liberal so you think I don't want drugs, but that is not the case. I can give you a few different midwives phone numbers who I have pissed off that can attest to this. Can I see your badge?"

My darling husband, "Sweetie, why don't we make it a goal to wait until 3 centimeters before the epidural?"

I have to stop typing now because there are no words to describe the rage I felt at that moment.

"We? We? Why don't we.........................???????????????????????????????????????"

"Okay, never mind, nope, just an idea, let's get the epidural. Whatever YOU need sweetie, I SUPPORT."

For the record, I could not have gotten through any contractions without him, I would hold onto him, ask him to help me breathe, and in slow motion, we would get through it together. No one else could have helped me get through that pain. Still, we? We?

By noon, I had done the tub, the walking, the peeing in the bed pan while strapped to the bed (let's not get into that part). I had 12 straight hours of contractions and 3 centimeters to show for it.

Needle time. Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh. Bye bye contractions.

Peace. No pain. Love. More inward singing. I called everyone, "How you doing? I'm in labor. Feels good. Can't complain."

I watched my contractions dance up and down on the monitor. After a few hours I sent my sister to find the nurse, "Tell them the pain is coming back."

"Is it?" she asks.

"No, but if we want to get through birth PAIN FREE I'll need another round, because after this wears off, it may be too late to get another -- and then I will feel pain. Which is the opposite of my goal." (I set the goals around here, see?) This is MY BIRTH PLAN Y'ALL! Your welcome for saying it. (I warned you, end of post two, look it up).

2nd Epidural.

A minute later, 9 centimeters. Husband has ran home to 'clean' and pack a real hospital bag so the baby will have, like, clothes or something to come home in.

He makes it back just in time.

"Push!"

I push real hard. I feel the sensation of a squirmy hot dog coming out. No pain. I'm cheating child birth. Will I get in trouble? I stare at the Nurse. Will she yell at me? I'm not thinking straight. Is there a baby coming out of me? Brent and I look at each other, and in the sappiest moment known to mankind, I feel like we are one.

The magic of my birth story is this: Through all of it, I had never felt so connected to my husband in the eight years we had been together. The bond we felt as we became parents was surreal. Our world was the same, our minds and hearts crashed into each other, like a Dave Matthews song.

Never in my life had I shared a moment so completely with someone else. No one had told me about this. We were shaking, and so scared. Our whole life was about to change, all control was gone. We were at the mercy of the next moment. That moment was too big to understand, to feel, to comprehend. All I knew as they put my baby on my chest was that the magnitude of what was happening would not be fully realized for years. The love that was about to grow between me and Jackson had only just begun, what would it feel like when he was one? Two? Ten? Twenty years old and beyond? I couldn't grasp it fully.

I only knew that it was a love that was going to break me. What other kind of love is there between a mother and child? No other kind of love. A love that has no beginning and no end.

Birth Story - Part 2

Where was I? Oh yes, rescued by the husband. Back in the house. Out of the basement. Wallowing in a state of heightened self pity and becoming more neurotic by the minute. 34 1/2 weeks pregnant, to be exact-ish. It was November 5th, my due date was Dec 16th. I'm not great at math, but it was not time to be a mommy yet, even though according to a lot of people who I am still not speaking to I was:

"Huge as a house!"

"Ready to POP!"

"Having triplets!"

"Looking very big!"

Now, I'm a very passive aggressive person, and will NEVER tell you to your face when I am annoyed, irritated, and thinking homicidal thoughts. But something about the combination of my third trimester and people cheerfully telling me I was fat inspired, shall we say, a certain directness in my demeanor.

"That is really rude. I cannot believe you just said that. What is wrong with you? Who raised you? You just totally pissed me off. What the he#@?"

From the offender(s) would come an awkward smile, "Oh, I just meant, umm, that you looked overdue, and like you had more than one baby inside of you. I didn't mean to upset you. Are you 11 months pregnant now? That must make you grumpy."

I'm not going to waste all your time by going into detail on what would come next. Let's just say the wilderness surrounding my home is a blessing.

Back to the pending birth of my little angel poo. A few days had passed since the election / urgent care / basement situation. A few contractions had come and gone. I was starting to feel silly for all the fuss I'd made. It was clearly a false alarm. We sort of got back to normal, which meant ordering pizza and watching late night TV. Diapers and breast pump purchases could wait, this baby still had a lot of cooking to do.

Before bed, I proceeded with my nightly ritual of checking for stretch marks. So far, none. Hah! Like a good pregnant lady, I'd been reading lots of baby books to prepare for impending motherhood googling "stretch mark images" for months now and then printing pictures to show anyone who came within a 7 foot radius. Brent was my main target. Nightly, I would turn the lab top in his direction before he could turn his head away,

Me: "Sweetie. Sweetie. Look at her stomach. Ichh! Yuck! Are you looking? What if my stomach looks like that? What will you think??!"

Brent: "Umm, yeah, I don't really want to look at that."

Not Mine

I felt sorry for those poor pregnant women who put pictures of their forever ruined stomachs up on Google for the whole world to see and judge. I had made it this far with not one hint of a stretch mark, so you can imagine my surprise when I saw facing me in the mirror that night what had not been there even hours earlier: an intricate spider web of angry red claw marks making their way up from my belly button, ready to reach out and pluck my eyeballs from my head. AAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHH. Oh dear God. They had come for me. I was not be one of the lucky ones. The mark had come upon me.

They'll fade, I whispered into the dark as I lay in bed, rocking my tummy to sleep, comforting myself with the thought that it was all for the little one. He was beyond worth it. These would be my battle scars. A badge of honor. Oh glorious and stoic mother I would be, sacrificing and selfless.....zzzz.........

I awoke every three minutes around the clock to pee. Only one thimble full each trip. As everyone knows, The Law requires pregnant women to pee on a three minute rotation, one thimble full at a time. You can check it out yourself, it's right there in THE LAW, section 472, article 39: Pregnant woman of 22 weeks and beyond shall pee no no less than once every three minutes and distribute no more than one thimble full upon each trip to the bathroom. Any violation is punishable by a minimum fine of One Thousand Dollars, 60 Days in Jail, or Immediate Pregnancy Following Birth of Present Child Residing in Womb. *Per Judge's discretion. (Article 40: No woman, prior to first pregnancy, shall be warned of this Law or Consequences thereof)

Despite this constant interruption, I fell asleep pretty hard and then shot straight up at the sensation of a water balloon popping inside of me. This is A MOMENT, I thought to myself. My baby is coming. I ran to the bathroom. I stared at my stretch marks. I stared at the accumulating puddle on the floor. Was I in a sitcom? I ran back. I woke up Brent.

"I think my water just broke."

Brent pulled the pillow over his head, "You probably just peed your pants."

"Excuse me?"

"Remember, that story you told me about your friend's sister who peed her pants but thought her water broke and then she called the ambulance and went to the hospital and they sent her home because really she just lost bladder control?" He mumbled all this, sighed heavily, and then immediately got up to change the sheets.

I sat in the living room, pondered this, and then called Urgent Care. And because I'm good at multi-tasking, I continued to fill 20,000 thimbles with amniotic fluid / pee.

Me: "Umm, hi, I think my bladder, I mean water, just broke. What should I do?"

Nice, validating, understanding Nurse who believed me: "You should come to the Hospital right now."

Me: "Okay, I'll do that. If it turns out that my water hasn't broken and I just peed my pants, will you explain to my husband that YOU TOLD ME to come down?"

World's Best Nurse: "Yes."

......................

I acknowledge it's pretentious to have more than two parts to a birth story, but the silver lining is this: The next installment will make you so irritated with my approach to childbirth that you will have completely forgotten it took 3 blog postings to get you there.

......

Also, I wrote this entire story and then got so overly obsessed with clicking on the Not Mine link that I accidentally erased the entire thing and had to start from scratch. I wrote the first things that came to mind so that I would have some kind of outline to jog my memory:

poor pregnant women

multi tasking

thimble full