Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Baby Bubble

Is it selfish of me to wish to stay in this protective baby bubble of mine? I want to quit everything and just breathe in the smell of his skin. I don't need food, or adult conversation, or trips out of doors. I just want to stay in this peaceful place forever!

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

It's been 2 weeks...

Who knew I would be so in love with this baby boy of mine! Yes, I knew I would love him... what I wasn't prepared for is that I LOVE him. I am head over heals in love with this little guy. Maybe it's because I'm older. Maybe because I have Big V to share him with. Maybe because I got a taste of what it might be like if things didn't work out ok.

One minute V and I are chilling out, debating how long the delivery would be, the next minute the door to our room swings open and five people we've never seen before are very purposefully moving about, taking supplies out of cabinets and drawers, injecting something in my IV, mumbling to each other while pointing at the monitor... and my doctor walks in and announces, "Ok, well, I guess baby doesn't like what we're doing here so we're going to have to go the C-Section route..." In less than five minutes I was being wheeled away from Big V and towards a sterile operating room, trying to make sense of the words "dangerously low heart rate."

God was gracious to us and gave us the most healthy and beautiful baby boy I've ever seen! Right now he's laying on V's chest, mewing like a kitten. Life is so good!

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Another Reason not to C-Section

A c-section can be painful. The doctors will prescribe wonderful pain medication too fake yourself into feeling half-way alive. These drugs will make you constipated. If you've never really experienced true constipation you will think, "this doesn't sound bad at all" and you will happily take your drugs which lull you to sleep. You will convince yourself "this isn't bad at all...." and then you will essentially pass out while your significant other tends to the baby.

Eventually, however, your body will expel all things held in the depths of your bowels for the past seven days. This will not be pretty. You will curse life as you know it while trying to figure out what to grab on to while you sit on the toilet sweating profusely. You will think "just breathe through this and everything will be okay..."

Twenty minutes later, while rocking back and forth, you will be pleading with God, "please just let me live through this..." Sweat will be dripping so bad it will sting your eyes. You will make deals with God like, "I promise to go to both the morning and the evening church services if I just don't get a hemmeroid!"

Just like labor, when you think you can't possibly take any more of the pain, something will pass out of your body that you swear was WAY too large to exit the path it just did. You will feel yourself tear in two and ready yourself for the gallon of blood you are convinced is currently oozing from your body.

A wild explosion of waste will ensue. You will not care that the toilet will be clogged, or that the walls are thin and everyone in the surrounding area can hear absolutely everything. You will not even care that smell has created a smog-like effect, one in which you could actually reach out and touch the stench.

Your body will convulse, arms and legs flinging themselves in front of you like one of those rediculous wooden Santa's that has the string coming out of its crotch, you know, you pull the string and the arms and legs shoot out like it was just electrocuted.

After you unclog the toilet, you will think, "at least now I can relax" and you will try to carefully pad your way back to the living room, only to get halfway there and be forced to race back to the porcelain stool which you will soon learn will be your best friend for the next hour and a half.

You will go through a roll of toilet paper and flush the toilet more than a dozen times.

Eventually you will feel empty enough to complain about it and you will swear that you will never take another stupid pain pill again, because nothing - not even the effects of being cut in half - could be worse than what you just went through.

Monday, September 14, 2009

7 Days Left...

My Official Hatch Date is in 7 days. And yet, here I am. Womb bulging. I shouldn't really complain. It's not like we're "ready" in the sense of all those normal couples out there awaiting the birth of their child. Except for the crib one wouldn't even realize we were expecting a baby to enter the home any time soon. Part of it is because it's a lot to get ready and part of it is my expectation that the dog will eat everything anyway.

Seriously, the dog is out of control. In the last couple weeks it has destroyed two pairs of flip-flops (that were on a shelf), tore a sweatshirt to shreds (that was hanging up in a closet), ate a piece of trim and effectively removed a wooden extension gate that was blocking its access of a pass-thru window (from sun room to kitchen via the counter top). It's also picked up a nasty habit of barking and whining throughout the night and vomitting throughout the day...regardless of floor covering.

I'll be lucky if the child itself remains unaffected. Perhaps I should toss around the baby items just to distract the dog from the baby.

I really do want to give birth, but the Big V is working a lot and keeps reminding me that there really isn't a "good time" right now, what with all these deadlines... plus, I've had trouble with, uh, being 'regular' and I'm afraid that if I don't empty my system completely before going into labor there is no way I would be able to let V in the room to watch. I know, I know.... most women have a bowel movement at some point when pushing out baby... Can't I just be left alone in my denial? I can't think of this right now... ew.

I have an appointment this afternoon. Nothing like driving 45 minutes, waiting an hour, and then being told nothing is happening and that we're in a "holding pattern."

Friday, September 11, 2009

I've been struggling trying to come up with an idea of what to write about. I don't want to write another blog about being pregnant, or waiting to have the baby, or all the current physical discomforts I'm experiencing. It gets old and that's boring. Who wants to hear about squished bladders and acid reflux?

I could write about work, but that would just be yet another example of how the micromanager control freak is bottlenecking 80% of our projects because they're all sitting on her desk waiting for her approval. Then I'd have to launch into yet another rant about "why retain employees that you obviously don't trust can do the work you hired them for."

The Big V is working hard in a wild attempt to have every scheduled job finished by the time I go into labor... except he keeps scheduling more and more jobs, and I don't think I can hold off pushing until November. (I'm due in ten days. I'll do what I can, but there are no promises.)

Satan the dog is still eating its way through our house. On seperate recent occasions we've come home to: a shredded sweatshirt, miniblinds removed from a window and torn to bits, the trim and gate used to contain the dog in the sunroom destroyed, and an eaten wall. Yes, eaten. As in the dog ate through the wall. She got through the wood paneling (I never liked it, but I'm really not liking this new alternative), the insulation and started gnawing her way through the drywall on the opposite side of the wall (which would be the garage). Six more minutes and I'm convinced we would've had a new doggie door, whether we wanted one or not. Oh, yeah, and she scratched/tried to eat through a metal fireproof door. It's now dented and, well, scratched throughout a 2'x3' area around the bottom. It's absolutely lovely.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Emergency Notification

I was going to sit and reminisce about the self-induced food coma I managed to achieve in two days at the local county fair - brought on by such healthy things like elephant ears, deep fried cheddar nuggets, and this glorious bbq pork sandwich on garlic bread of all things! - but, technically, the holiday weekend is over and I should now snap back to reality.

Reality actually hit me in the form of an automated Emergency Notification Call from the local highschool. I thought the concept was brilliant. You give the school your phone number and in the event of an emergency an automated message is recorded at the school, then sent to everyone's phone so they all have the same information at the same time. I provided my cell number so I would be immediately notified if there was a bomb threat, or school fire, or a water main break forced the closing of the school. You know, in case of an emergency.

Riding home from the fair last night I checked my phone... and there's a number I didn't recognize... but they did leave a message... MY FIRST EMERGENCY NOTIFICATION CALL!

An emergency already? It's like the fourth day of the school year... but for the safety of my child I had to listen. "Quiet, girls - there's been an emergency!"

And so it happened that I listened with keen interest as the emergency was described to me via automated message... the President of the United States.... there was going to be a speech... to the students... the students of America... telling them to stay in school... encouraging them to do a good job... AND be respectful.... and this speech... it would be TELEVISED!!... and -- oh, gasp and horror -- the school was going to ALLOW THIS SPEECH TO BE AIRED IN THE SCHOOL COMMONS DURING LUNCH TIME! (How could they do this to our children?) But don't worry... because if you chose to have your child opt out of this activity, you could send a note along to school with them and they'd be pulled from the activity.

Ok, call me old fashioned, but is this really an emergency? I mean, it's the President of the United States. Whether you like him or not, or agree with him or not, he's sorta, kinda like the man in charge. Kind of like the boss your kid is going to get when he graduates college. (Probably before of you're one of those parents who makes their kids actually experience responsibility in the form of workforce development.) What lesson are we teaching our kids when we say, "This guy is the one in charge, but if you don't like him, that's ok, you just don't have to listen to him."

Respect, man. Respect. You listen to him because he's the man in charge. You listen to him so that you can make an educated argument if you don't agree with what he says. You don't just cover your ears and then hide out in the library complaining about what you think he may or may not have said. You listen to him because if you honestly come to your own opinion that you could do a better job, then you also know how you can do a better job. And you choose to educate yourself and make a difference.

Honestly, what harm is going to come from a bunch of self-entitled spoiled kids (oh, yes, I can say that because I have them) hearing someone encouraging them to stay in school. Take education seriously. Try hard. And then try harder. Make a difference - to yourself and to your community.

THIS was the emergency? Oh boy, my haven't times changed....

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

The First Day of School

Today Facebook is inundated with cute little status updates describing the First Day of School... complete with pictures of toothless children, kids whose backpacks are bigger than they are, school busses pulling out their flashing red stop signs. Comments about mothers tearing up as they watched their little one climbing those big bus steps. Updates about how lonely and sad and bored mommy is now that junior is off at school for the entire day! Yeah, not so much mine. Getting both girls to school was a treat for me. It wasn't always. I mean, there was a time when I got choked up thinking how fast they were growing, how I wish I could just hold them in my lap forever. But then they learned how to do this thing called Sibling Rivalry, and now I just want them seperated as far as possible in the hopes for some well-deserved peace and quiet.

Jelly Bean regularly works herself up in a tither (mostly because she doesn't want to listen) and then completely freaks out. Like, completely. From a mature adult point of view I can easily see that if she just paused for two minutes... 120 lousy seconds.... she would have the information she needed and we could all move gracefully throughout our day. But her immature teen reaction tends to release my immature I'm In Charge Here attitude and we're ultimately left with me fuming while forced to listen to her slamming bedroom door as she spouts out some ingenious insult like, "Oh, yeah - well - you have CHEST HAIR!"

Needless to say, this morning could not come soon enough.

The Bean's bus was scheduled to arrive at 6:50am. Big V took on the task of actually waking her up once her alarm clock and the alarm on her cell phone failed to do so. He showered while she dressed. Then fifteen minutes later I hopped in the shower while Dotter woke and dressed, and Bean monopolized the bathroom mirror. (Yes, four people getting ready at the same time with only one bathroom. It is possible. It's not fun... but it is possible.)

As I'm trying to enjoy my shower, Dotter is attempting to wiggle through to the sink to brush her teeth, the Bean is insisting her hair has to be completely redone because V mentioned the back looked totally cool (which in Teen Speak means "Your hair looks different. This is bad. Very, very bad! And everyone, yes, everyone you see will be laughing at you. Yes, you.") and V is singing out random song lyrics, because, honestly, God would put the three grumpiest non-morning people in a home with the most cheeriest morning person on the planet. Silly, God. He's funny like that.

So it gets to that point where everyone is clearing out of the bathroom as I'm rinsing the conditioner out of my hair and I know it's time for the Bean to go.

"Let me know when you're leaving!" I yell out. (I have this fear about kids being kidnapped. It stems from my brother vanishing when he was four.) "OK!" she yells back, more out of complacency then actual concern.

By this time the bathroom is still and I'm allowed those moments where I can just stand and let the water wash over me. I didn't even mind that the water had lost that scalding-the-top-layer-of-my-skin warmth. I was actually alone in a quiet bathroom.

"MOM! WHERE IS MY BUS STOP?!" an extremely panicked voice cried out.

I'm tempted to respond with, "Well, I was going to tell you that last night, but you insisted on stomping about while accusing me of growing massive amounts of chest hair. Betcha wish you woulda listened then, eh?" but I knew that was an immature answer that would bring no real sense of peace, so instead I took a deep breath and yelled back over the shower curtain, out the bathroom and down the hall to where ever it was she was standing, "IT'S ON THE CORNER OF 6th AND LOCUST!."

"WAIT. WHERE IS IT?! HOW DO I GET THERE?" the yelling continued, panic rising in epic leaps and bounds.

"BEAN," I yelled while trying to remain patient. I knew she was just nervous. I would need to stay calm and make this simple for her. "GO OUT OUR FRONT DOOR - TURN RIGHT - WALK TIL YOU GET TO THE STREET - THEN JUST WAIT THERE."

"OH, OK." she said, sounding relieved....


the still silence of the bathroom returned....

and then....


(She's going to be a Freshman.)

The One in which I take my Father for his Covid Vaccine

I got a voicemail the other day from the hospital saying ‘since you’re the contact on record we just want you to know your Dad can get a Cov...