changing it up (and changing my life)

Bridget likes to change things up. She's eighteen days old and has yet to settle on any type of a schedule. Just when I think I know what to expect, she changes her mind about things--and changes my life.

I'll give you a "for instance." For instance, it seemed as if Bridget was set on only getting up once during the night to feed, about five hours after we put her to sleep (around 11:00 pm, her choice, not mine--I would have liked to go to bed an hour earlier). But the past couple of nights, she's been waking up sooner and wanting to be fed at least twice, despite "cluster feeding" (feeding every hour or two) during the day. Or she seems like she likes to take a long, four-hour nap in the morning, but then some mornings she doesn't. Or today. She took one of those long naps, and then woke up around 1:30 pm and didn't settle down again until half an hour ago (7:00 pm). And despite the fact that she is usually happy, today she just fussed and fed and dirtied her diaper and fussed and fed and fussed and dirtied her diaper and fed and...you get the picture. It is not possible that that little girl was still hungry, since she must have eaten for two-thirds of that five and a half hours. I don't know what was wrong, but it is heartbreaking when I can't get my little girl to stop crying. I want her to be happy always.

Having a daughter is changing my life in more ways than one. Another for instance. For instance, I went grocery shopping with Bridget (alone, since Al was at work) for the first time yesterday. And although she almost always falls asleep in the car, she didn't this time and threatened to start screaming as soon as I got five items in the cart. I broke out the pacifier the hospital had given us (something we don't intend to use often, but it's one thing to have a screaming baby at home and another to have one in the public) and we survived, but we only made it to one store versus the three that I had intended to go to. So, plan shorter shopping trips, at least for now. Of course, those shopping trips need to be planned around her eating/sleeping schedule, too, which means they're always negotiable.

(Ugh. Only chance I have to blog in days and my husband insists on being in the same room and getting up stains that Serena left on the carpet a few days ago. [She's dying. Not going to make it.] This involves getting frustrated with the dog and vacuuming. Why now, of all times? I only have a few minutes. No peace for the tired, cranky, mom in desperate need of being able to write.)

Having a daughter also means losing battles with your spouse. Err, compromising. This one is actually unfair, but I gave in anyway. I was dead set on having Bridget sleep in her crib from day one. That's what a crib is for, after all. (Al's getting mad at the dog again even though I told him to do the stains later if he was going to be upset with her. She just wants to play. It's ruining my concentration.) But Al has insisted on her sleeping in our room. Maybe I've written this before, and if I have, forgive me. Today I'm sleep deprived (not always, though). Of course, Al sleeps through the hour of tiny cries Bridget makes in her half-awake, half-asleep state while she's trying to wake up. I don't. I lie awake listening to it. He also tends to sleep through the wails when she finally fully awakens, and slumbers on while I still have to leave the bed to change her diaper and feed her, a process that takes at least an hour. (Don't believe those people who say it's so much better to have them in your bedroom because you just have to reach over, not get out of bed. First, the diapers need to be changed. That requires getting out of bed. Second, sitting in our bed with our headboard--a short, modern, Ikea bed--hurts my back tremendously. Guess what, mom? You still have to get out of bed.) And I've found that Bridget sleeps much better when she is in her bassinet or crib (this was discovered during the day) rather than the little chair we have her in. The only advantage to this little arrangement is that I've insisted that Al does not have the television on sleep timer to fall asleep. I don't want a two year old who needs a television in her bedroom, and so the tv gets turned off--something I love, since I hate falling asleep to the sounds and lights of a television, and Al has never been good about being fair when it comes to that (no every other night there).

Dinner's probably almost ready, so I'll almost be done, but a few notes about mommyhood that are different than I was told (at least for me--it's probably different for anyone). Guys, you may want to stop reading. For me, breastfeeding has come much more naturally and easier than expected. No trouble except those couple of nights when I was trying to force a schedule. No pain, cracking, bleeding, etc.--everything's just fine. And I was dreading wearing bras to bed (they're uncomfortable enough during the day!) but was told I'd have to because I'd "leak." Maybe I'm different than everyone else, but I don't. Bye bye night-time bra. Finally, I was expecting to be punished for about six weeks for not having a period during pregnancy by having a never-ending, heavy one, but I'm only almost three weeks from birth and the bleeding's virtually over. More like light spotting now. All good surprises, for sure.

Okay, gotta go...dinner is probably overcooked. More when possible!

eyes wide open

Those big, dark blue eyes--I wonder what color they will become?

I've always wondered why babies' eyes change color (see here for one answer). Most (that I've seen, anyway) are born with blue eyes, and Bridget's are a dark, deep blue right now. I don't expect them to stay that way; Al's eyes are a deep brown and mine are hazel. Will she have Al's eyes? Mine? I do think she has my red hair (it especially looks red in the sunlight), but will it be curly when it gets longer like Al's? I find that I can no longer imagine the future like I used to, because I have no idea what to expect out of my little girl. What will she look like? What type of personality will she have? What will she become? It's odd to anticipate something when you have no idea what to expect, but I find myself looking forward to the future while enjoying the infant that I have right now.

Today Bridget was very alert for about an hour, and I loved it. I love watching her eyes dart all over, following the light or trying to make sense of what must be (to her) vague colors and shapes around her. The nurses at the hospital and the pediatrician both said that newborns can only see about a foot in front of them, so I imagine that her field of vision past that point is a bit like me trying to get around without my glasses and contacts (fuzzy shapes, vague outlines, splashes of color that blur into each other--I'm pretty much blind without the aid of my correctional lenses). And she was eating it up today, just looking everywhere. I found myself wishing that Al was home instead of at work so he could enjoy those moments with me. I'm blessed that in this economy I get the opportunity to be a stay-at-home mom for several months (she won't be going to daycare until the fall, and then she'll be at my sister-in-law's mother's house, where my sister-in-law spends a lot of time with her daughter [and, by that time, her daughters--she's due next month]) and get to spend so much time watching my daughter grow up. I'm also blessed that my husband is willing to take on the sole earner role for a while; if only it didn't involve twelve hour workdays--he's going to miss so much!

Al is totally, completely in love with Bridget, even if she gets fussy when we're ready for bed and he stays up until 2:00 am holding her so mommy can get some sleep, as he did last night. We had a late night since Bridget and I went over to visit my Aunt Judy, my cousin Jeanne and her family, and pick up my Aunt Peg from the airport. Peg missed her connection since her first flight was delayed and ended up coming in at 9:30 pm instead of 7:00 pm as planned. And since she wanted to see Bridget more than just in the car (she lives on the other side of the state and was leaving soon), we went back into Judy's and stayed until midnight. Of course, Bridget wanted to eat when we got home and didn't want to be put into her bed for the night. So Al picked her up and lulled her to sleep without my even asking, even though that meant he only got four hours of sleep before work. He left the room so I could sleep, but I'm sure he was whispering to her as he rocked her in his arms. He calls her "Pumpkin." I love to watch him with her, and I'm just so happy to have been blessed with such a wonderful family. Even though I can't imagine it, I'm eager to see what the future holds for us.

bridget ella

The other night, Al was looking down at Bridget as I held her in my arms. "I can't believe we have a baby girl," he said in wonder. I feel the same way. I'm a mother. A parent. Wow.

Bridget is eleven days old today, and it's the first chance I've had to blog since last week. (I'll get the daily thing down again somehow, someway, someday...it just may take a while.) It's also the first day she's slept in her crib (although we have laid her in the bassinet and her little papasan chair) and the first day I've spent alone with her, although Al only worked eight hours today (he normally works a twelve hour shift). It's also the day her umbilical cord fell off. Lots of firsts, and it's not even 4:00 pm!

What's she like so far? Extremely calm. If it's genetic, she must get that from Al because I am so emotionally dramatic that my mom once predicted I would be an actress when I grew up (it does sound more fun than grading papers, but teaching is much more practical). Of course, it's a bit early to tell whether that will change or not, but Bridget only cries when absolutely necessary: "Mommy, daddy, I'm dirtying my diaper and need to be changed," or, "Mommy, I'm hungry. Feed me." Only rarely does she have the "Hold me" cry; we can usually wrap her in a blanket and lay her down and she's fine. And she doesn't mind being held by other people, either; we could pass her around all day and she'd be happy if she didn't have a dirty diaper or wasn't hungry. We only had one bad night, and she had a slight fever that night. I slept with her on my chest to calm her down.

Bridget also tends to sleep well, only needing one feeding during the night--about five or six hours from the last one. She tends to cluster feed in the afternoon/evening, wanting to eat every hour or two; that's what makes the sleeping at night so easy. She also sleeps a lot in the morning. It makes it nice for me. I don't have to nap during the day; instead, I can get stuff done. Today I showered, pumped (Al feeds her once a day by bottle, and it's nice to have a bottle if I plan to be anywhere), did laundry, did more laundry, caught up on my email, and am now blogging. A lot more than I thought I'd be getting done when I was home alone with a daughter and a puppy! (Mya seems a bit depressed, by the way. She just slept all day. Of course, she also puked this morning, so she could just be feeling under the weather. She only wants to lick Bridget whenever she sees her.)

Since being home (and since I've blogged), Bridget has had a parade of visitors (and thankfully, my wonderful husband shampooed the carpets and made sure the house is very presentable) including Todd; Will, Kathy, and Jon; her Uncle Ryan, Aunt Rachel, and cousin Ella; Ethie, Kari, Evan, Lauren, and Aubrey; her Uncle Erik, Aunt Meaghan, and cousin Noah; her Papa (my dad); her Uncle Bill, Aunt Theresa, and cousin Neil; and her Grandma and Grandpa McCaffery. Saturday was a rough day for me since it held most of the visitors and Friday night was the feverish night (I really only got about one hour of sleep). Breastfeeding is the other thing that tends to make visitors hard, since Bridget tends to want to eat right when people arrive and I'm not the type to feed in front of everyone. But that'll die down soon, I'm sure.

Since becoming mommy, I have discovered three baby products that I love: Bourdeaux's Butt Paste, which Ruthie bought me and seems to calm Bridget right down when I'm changing her diaper--and her skin is so perfect that she hasn't had diaper rash at all; the Boppy Bare Naked pillow (but most moms like these), which makes it easier to support Bridget when I'm feeding her (by the way, I hated their Total Body Pillow for pregnant women--it didn't hold its shape, was hard to fit under me, and I ended up cutting it in half because it was so cumbersome); and the Diaper Genie II, which keeps the scent of dirty diapers from me, Al, and most importantly, Mya. It also keeps dirty diapers out of Mya's mouth.

Finally (and this post seems to jump around a lot--sorry), I'm doing well. Very little discomfort left from the birth, but a bit of back pain sometimes. A heating pad and Advil do the trick for that. I do tend to cry for the slightest reason (or no reason at all) sometimes, but I just keep reminding myself that my hormones are raging right now and the crying fits will pass. For someone who is a control freak, I think I'm doing fairly well having a baby now control my schedule. I'm also full of awe and wonder at this beautiful baby girl whom God has given us, and who seems to have changed already. See for yourself:

Tuesday, March 17

Friday, March 20

Sunday, March 22

home sweet hormones

On 2:00 pm Sunday, we had finally received word that we could go home. The nurse would be back in five minutes with discharge instructions and then we could go. I got busy getting dressed (real clothes! Maternity still, since it takes quite a while for the uterus to go back to its normal size, but they weren't a hospital gown...) and dressing Bridget while Al loaded up the car and got the car seat. The nurse came by with the discharge instructions, some of which surprised me.

Not surprising were the instructions about taking care of Bridget: Take her to a pediatrician within the week. Take her temp once a day; if it reaches 100.4 degrees, hospitalization is immediate. If it is lower than that but seems higher than normal, undress her, wait five minutes, and take it again; she could just be too hot. If she's peeing, she's eating enough and not dehydrated. Make sure she pees and poops and eats regularly. Etc.

Surprising were the instructions (well, some of them) about me: No driving for two weeks. What? I hadn't expected that, but the nurse explained that toxemia can have set in and not been caught before labor and delivery, and some moms had ended up having seizures as they were driving because they hadn't been treated for it. Okay, and since I was swollen up even more than before the delivery due to the IVs they had running through me (going home with special hose to try to get the swelling down, when what works best is to put my feet up on pillows when I sleep at night), I was ready to take it seriously. No baths for four to six weeks. Which meant...hot tub is out, too. Why? They don't want you to risk getting an infection of the uterus, which could be painful and bad (probably an understatement, but I'm not sure what types of "bad" could occur--I would imagine complicating future pregnancies could be one of them). Okay. I can wait. I don't even see my doctor again for six weeks, also a surprise, but there were the expected instructions too: keep taking prenatals since I'm breastfeeding, eat, take care of stitches the way they taught me until they dissolve (about ten days), no sex for four to six weeks, expect bleeding for four to six weeks and only use pads to control it, etc. Okay, okay. We signed the paperwork and were ready to head out when Bridget got hungry again. So another forty-five minutes later (around 3:30 pm/4:00 pm by now), we were finally off. As I was wheeled out (very disorienting to be in a wheelchair--I don't believe I've ever had that experience before!), I was so excited. It was near sixty degrees, sunny, and we were going home with our baby!

The minute I walked in the door, though, it kicked in. The messes-drive-me-crazy and look-how-much-we-didn't-get-done instinct. Stuff everywhere in the kitchen and dining room, dirty carpets, dog toys all over the family room, new cat puke on the carpets. And Beth was bringing Mya home and just as I needed to start breastfeeding again (around 6:00pm), Aunt Ann (Al's sister) was on her way over to visit. People that aren't here very often seeing my home a disaster. I wasn't happy about it, and am just now getting to where I'm accepting it and able to start doing something about it. I've been hormonally driving Al crazy about that, and unfairly placing a lot of blame on him. And Sunday night and Monday night were nightmares for me, just because (as Jen warned me) I was suddenly having trouble breastfeeding and it was frustrating both Bridget and I to no end: she just would not accept an every-three-hours timetable (as the lactation specialist had insisted she must) and would not latch on for two hours or more when I tried. That's when the hormones kicked in and the crying started (my crying, not Bridget's). Yesterday I grew more and more worried, since Bridget seems to sleep for hours at a time (I wasn't expecting that) and refuses to be awakened to eat. I finally decided (after receiving reassurances from Ruthann that Makala did that and she's healthy now) that I would let Bridget go longer last night (between five and six hours) and between that and me being vigilant about her diapers (she seems to pee and poop two to three times before, during, and after each feeding), last night's feeding was a breeze. And today the pediatrician assured me that the three hours thing is nothing to worry about: let her choose her own schedule and cluster feed if she wants (she has been doing more of that during the afternoons) and just don't let her go more than six hours inbetween feedings. If she's still peeing, she's getting enough, and she's obviously getting enough since she's gained 2 1/2 ozs. back since leaving the hospital. Whew! And speaking of feeding, it's about that time. So next time? More about Bridget and less about me. More tomorrow...

Oh, and I know you've been dying for pics, so here they are.

hospital stay

I just wrote--and erased--an entire post about the hospital stay, which for us was between Thursday (already blogged about) and Sunday. The post was so bad I got bored writing it, so I figured no one would be interested in reading it. Instead of giving you an hour by hour account of the happenings at the hospital, I'll just fill in some details about what most moms already know and soon-to-be moms will probably want to know.

First, the hours after birth weren't anything like I imagined they'd be. I'd pictured myself sitting in bed for hours holding my beautiful baby, trading off with my husband (who was conveniently by my side the entire time), and allowing visitors to hold her (or him, if it would have been a boy) for a few minutes at a time. Ha! In the first few hours of her life, I barely held my daughter, and I don't think Al had her much more than I did. Those hours were filled with Nurses, Interruptions, and Other People. Nurses: Fussing over Bridget (monitoring her vitals, checking her over, cleaning her, taking blood sugar pricks, etc.) or fussing over me (checking my temp, helping me to the bathroom and showing me how to care for my stitches, offering me pain meds [I only took Motrin] and asking me if I had hemorrhoids [no--my muscles/ligaments in my inner thighs were still painful, and the odd feeling of ice packs and stitches in strange places on top of that made it hard for me to get in/out of bed still]). Interruptions: Okay, these were the nurses interrupting me and my visitors, always kicking them out of the room, taking the baby away, or blocking off a small part of the room and trapping the visitors back there until my "privacy" was no longer a concern. Other People: The visitors--my dad was already there, of course, and Al's parents came by, as well as my sister, Beth; my cousin, Jamie; and my brother and sister-in-law, Erik and Meaghan. I think my mother-in-law, Bridget's namesake, held my daughter more than anyone else that day. My point: my imagined welcome to my baby wasn't anything near reality. But as tired as I was, it wasn't a letdown. I was content to wait until the last visitors were gone to spend some time with my husband and baby, finally admiring how adoringly pudgy she really is. Al stood there by my side with tears in his eyes, and as we both looked down on her, he told Bridget how beautiful she is. It was so precious and sweet. It made up for all of the time taken up earlier that day with NIOP. (Note: Saturday, OP were fewer than I expected, which was nice since it gave Al and I more time with each other and Bridget. Al's parents, Beth, and Jen, Log, Cameron and Caitlyn came by--I think that was it!)

Second, expect even less rest than people tell you you'll get. I'm glad I dozed during most of the labor, because with the two hours of sleep (maybe) that I got Friday night and the three to four hours of sleep (again, maybe) I got Saturday night, by Sunday morning I had my first Meltdown. Crying, demanding that Al help me instead of pulling coats or blankets over his head when he hears the baby crying (as he had done Saturday morning when Bridget started crying while I was in the bathroom; I walked out after hoping he'd wake up to find a nurse technician changing her diaper and him doing his best to go back to sleep), and wondering aloud how I would ever do this and asking how anyone expected a mother to get rest in a hospital environment. But after another hour's sleep, I was somehow fine. So, little rest, high hormones, bursts of energy after short naps. And I felt even better after a shower when I was able to get into real clothes.

Third, ask questions. I thought people would be telling me everything I needed to know, filling my head with info--the nurses, the pediatrician, the lactation specialist, etc. And while they would to an extent, the pediatrician, especially, was not as informative as I'd imagined they'd be. Al was better with coming up with questions than I was, but we had to ask about things like how (and how often) to bathe her, how to care for her umbilical cord (in case you didn't know, they leave it on to fall off within about two weeks; baby doesn't have a belly button right away), etc. We even had to ask about leaving and were informed on Saturday that we could leave when we wanted, either Saturday or Sunday. This turned out not to be the case since the pediatrician didn't discharge Bridget until Sunday, but I think she would have if we would have said we wanted to leave. It also could be different depending on your insurance plan, so I would recommend that you ask about that as soon as you remember to. Same thing with vaccinations: we had to sign a form to allow the hospital to start them, and we forgot to mention it during the day on Saturday so they ended up doing it at 10:00 pm with her overall checkup (hearing test, blood test, etc.).

Finally, turn off your cell phone and hope that people don't use the hospital phone. Instead of calling everyone, I sent most people text messages and let my dad and Al call the rest. My cell phone battery doesn't last very long these days, so the incessant and immediate return texts ("Congrats!") that were so annoying as they kept coming through (appreciated, but another Interruption as I was trying to compose other messages) and the phone calls that people made to me were missed, and I'm glad I didn't plug my phone back in until Sunday morning. I would have been inappropriately annoyed at the constant attention. Al fielded all of the calls on his phone and seemed to enjoy it; it gave him something to be in charge of. It's a useful thing to get your husband to do while you're in the hospital.

Hmm. Not much more exciting (the post), but shorter and more informative. Just know that you'll hate hospital beds and be longing to sleep when you go home. But just as in the hospital, things at home can be different than you expect... (to be continued in next blog).

labor & delivery

When I last left you, I was about to leave the house for the hospital. It was Thursday, March 12. The pic to the right was taken right before we left.

We arrived around 6:00 pm and, although my contractions still weren't steady (and they never ended up being steady, even during the last hour), we were admitted to a room right away. The nurse who made the decision said, "Why mess up two beds (one in triage) when your water has already broken?" I was also soon to discover that we were the only people in the maternity ward at the time--no other babies were on their way quite yet. They got us into our room (a private one, where the labor, delivery, and recovery took place and where the baby stays with you the entire time you're there) and immediately got the belly band monitors on me, drew blood, and put an IV into me. They also did the horrible, no good, vaginal check to see how far along I was. My cervix was already 100% effaced ("You have the best/most ripe cervix I've seen in years," commented the nurse) but I was only dilated three centimeters. They asked me my plan (natural) and then it was up to me. To my body. To sit and wait.

And wait. And wait. And wait. Did I mention before in this blog that nothing goes as planned? Well, nothing in this labor and delivery went as planned.

I sat upright in the hospital bed waiting through the contractions, which, although a bit painful, were nothing that I couldn't handle. I sat through a few television shows, asked to have help getting up when I had to use the bathroom, and vomited each time I got out of bed or the glider, which I kicked Al out of eventually. Vomited violently. A lot. A lot more than just that burrito, Karen. The night is actually a blur, because I was trying to relax and get my rest. I dozed a lot and we barely spoke. My dad came around 11:00 pm even though I told him it would be quite a while; he said he wanted to be there for me (I think because mom couldn't be). He ended up taking the couch/bed that Al could have slept in, but probably wouldn't have. Al was by my side pretty much all night.

Those plans gone awry? Even though I thought my contractions might be getting stronger/more frequent, I never dilated between three and four centimeters on my own. Al and dad had gone to get a snack and warm up (I was so hot all night, that apparently they had the temp in the room down to fifty for me) around 2:00 am when the nurse and her assistant came in and said they had just spoken to my doctor about the lack of progress. He was concerned since my water had broken so many hours earlier and he didn't want infection to set in. I would have to use pitocin or consider a c-section if I didn't dilate more by 5:00 am. I wasn't happy with that news, but there wasn't much I could do besides hope and pray that I dilated. I didn't.

At 5:00 am, they started the pitocin drip. I was still going to try to go without any pain medication, wanting to drug my baby as little as possible. The contractions got stronger (not as painful as I'd imagined) and sometimes more steady, sometimes not (like I said, mine were never consistent) and I got more and more tired. The 7:00 am nurse talked me into some type of pain meds since I was still vomiting, extremely hot, and tired; she talked to my doc and he recommended the epidural over IV pain meds. He also gave me zofran (through my IV) for the nausea. The head of anesthesiology gave me my epidural, and the effects were almost immediate. For the next several hours, I flipped from side to side every half hour and felt contractions only in my butt. That's right, my butt. I had been feeling them all in my lower abdomen, but after the epidural I just felt the urge to--ahem, have a bowel movement--every time a contraction came along. And not too strongly, just--strangely.

Somewhere between 11:00 am and 11:30 am (a lot later than I had hoped/anticipated with the pitocin), the nurse finally let me start pushing through contractions. I was still on my sides at this point, and she explained to Al and I that the advantage of an epidural is that they can have you push and have the baby get much farther down before needing to get you into position to actually deliver. Almost immediately after I started pushing, the nurse told me she could see hair. And I started wondering where my doctor was. I ended up on my back with my legs in stirrups (and in Al's and the nurse's arms during every contraction) before the nurse really wanted me there, but I was getting too uncomfortable on my sides again. The nurse kept telling me she could see hair--the baby's head was right there--and still nothing seemed to happen when I pushed and my doctor did not do more than pop his head in and go back out. How long will this take?, I wondered.

At one point, things were going along in the same manner but my doctor was checking in. I had two contractions very close together and the nurse and doctor coached me through them. Pushing is one of those near impossible things they ask pregnant women to do, because they want you to take a deep breath, not exhale but push as hard as you can for ten seconds, keep up the pressure while you inhale deeply again (um, you didn't let me exhale...) and hold your breath again as you push as hard as you can for ten seconds. Then they have the audacity to tell you to relax inbetween. This time when I pushed, the doctor said, "Whoa, Rhonda! Where did that come from?" And immediately left to get his scrubs on. Seems that in those two contractions (this time, they had me pulling on my upper legs as well) I managed to get the baby to move quite a bit. I thought, Finally!, but it wasn't finally. Even with that big push, with the head "right there," with all the hair showing, I couldn't move the baby more. The doctor offered the use of the vacuum, and by this time I was so exhausted that I agreed immediately. I didn't think I had the strength to do it on my own.

When the time actually came, I wasn't expecting it. I couldn't understand why they kept telling me to "Push! Don't stop! Just push!" even though I wasn't having contractions any more, even though I could not breathe, even though I was in pain. I heard the doctor ask Al if he wanted to see the head coming out, I remember him looking and laughing, I remember someone asking me if I wanted to look (No! I just want this over with!) all while yelling at me not to stop pushing. I felt the head go through and felt like I couldn't push any more and they kept telling me I had to. Finally, at 12:47 pm, I thought I felt the entire baby plop out and gasped, Is it out? Can I stop?, and they were saying yes and putting a baby on top of me. They kept saying things like, "So much hair!" "So big!" and I couldn't see much besides a blurry slimy baby (no contacts or glasses at this point) and asked impatiently, "What is it?" The reply shocked me, made me happy, made me wish I had energy left to cry happy tears: "It's a girl!" I vaguely remember the doctor instructing Al to cut the umbilical cord, which I later discovered had been wrapped around her neck (thus the urgent yells to push).

For the next hour and a half, I felt like a bad mother since I was so drained I had almost no emotional response. I was happy, but enduring the additional pushes (and pushes on my stomach by the doctor and nurse) to get rid of the afterbirth and then to stitch me up (the doctor had given me an episiotomy without asking since I was tearing) was taking all of my strength. I had started feeling cold during the pushing sessions, and although they had adjusted the temp in the room to a "normal" sixty-five degrees and covered me as much as they could with warmed blankets, I was shaking uncontrollably for at least an hour or so after the delivery. My temp was ranging from 96.4 right before the baby was born and to 100.4 a couple of hours after birth, and I had to feed my baby girl within the hour of giving birth (she ate for forty-five minutes, and I found myself wishing the nurse would say she had to take her to give her a bath). So not the emotional response I expected of myself--Al cried and I didn't! But I'm so in love with her now that my response then doesn't matter.

So the details: On March 13 (yes, Friday the 13th, and I don't care anymore), Bridget Ella was born at 12:47 pm weighing in at 10 lbs, 8 ozs and 22 1/2 inches long. She's a beautiful baby girl, and I'll continue her/our story as soon as possible...but right now I should really try to wake up my sleepy girl and feed her. She sleeps so much more than I thought she would!

due date

9:15 am
Due date: Today. My feeling as I sit blogging at 9:18 am? Baby's not coming today. Baby's not ever coming out, actually. It's so comfortable in my tummy, seeing as how it's made so much room for itself, that it's just decided to stay in there forever. It just can't understand why mommy was whimpering and crying this morning when the world slowly rotated (mommy was trying to turn over in bed) or put itself upside down again (mommy stood up). Or why those cries became sharper "Ows" when the world slowly advanced a few steps (mommy was trying to walk and crying out in pain because the baby is sitting so low and the pressure was almost unbearable). The world seems like a scary place to baby with all of those noises going on, so it's decided to stay right where it is. FOREVER.

Okay, that was when I moved from the recliner where I had been sleeping since 1:00 am (it was easier getting out of the recliner than the bed), tried to move back into the bedroom near 6:00 am, and had to get up and move back to the recliner, asking Al to let the dog out/in and feed the animals before he left. Mercifully, Mya didn't ask to be let out again until I was ready to get out of the recliner again around 8:00 am. And since it's not muddy out, I've been able to lean over to attach her collar to the tie-out and unattach it (without wiping her paws) when she comes back in. So far, so good since I don't know if I'd be able to get up again if I went down on my knees to the floor (the reason Al asked me to carry my cell phone on my person all day--I think the "I almost didn't get up" story the other day scared him a little). After a quick brownie breakfast (I'll miss being able to eat like this when I'm not pregnant--at least, miss the guilt-free feeling), I got on the computer and have been here ever since. But I'll be writing this blog throughout the day just to give an hours-by-hours accounting, so I'll be signing off fairly soon here and doing...something else.

I can't believe it. Snowflakes, again. And just last Friday it was almost 70 degrees...

12:23 pm
Multitasking: Managing to do laundry, watch Ellen, eat Wheat Thins and slices of American cheese, and love on Mya all at once. Okay, so none of it was actually that hard, except maybe the discomfort in my ankles when I was walking back up the stairs from changing out laundry loads. But that's what I've managed to do since I got off of the computer, along with a few other things.

One: I showered for the second day in a row. This hasn't happened frequently in the past couple of months since standing around for an hour (the amount of time it takes me to shower, do my makeup and hair, and brush and floss my teeth and use mouthwash) has been getting a bit harder. But since I've been growing my hair out and pregnant, my hair surprisingly looks better the second day rather than on the first. Normally (when I'm not pregnant) going without showering would mean my thick mane of hair ended up in a grease pit the second day. But (and I'm thinking this is the baby effect) it hasn't done that until the third day for a while now, and since I can wear it down the second day if I've put it up with a clip the first day, I've been showering every other day. Anyway, these long explanations are all to say that the only reason I showered today is that Mya has managed to eat most of my hair clips, meaning yesterday I didn't find one until about 4:30 pm and my hair didn't look good down today. So, I decided to shower.

It must have been fate, because I had just finished the shower/hair/makeup/teeth routine and was getting dressed when--Oh!--I think my water's breaking! It's that slow leak instead of a gush (this happens when the baby's head is really low and blocks it from gushing out), and since I haven't had any contractions yet, I wasn't quite sure what to do. I was just a bit surprised (and happy!) that it's happening exactly on my due date. I got on the phone to my doctor first, and he said that since the fluid is clear (no blood, a good sign) and I'm not yet contracting, that I should wait four to six hours before heading to the hospital. So I got on the phone to Al and told him while (multitasking again) walking downstairs to change out the laundry again (this way I can wear my black pants and--you guessed it--slippers, which I washed this morning, to the hospital). Of course, even though my phone has been charging for hours, it died while I was talking to him. I just finished switching up the laundry (remember those stairs?) and waited til I was back upstairs to plug in the phone, turn it on and call him back. In that time, Rick had managed to tell him that his wife's water broke before contractions and they made her walk around, which caused contractions to start coming strong and fast. I'm not going to start walking, though, until Al gets home and ready...don't want to beat Al to the hospital!

The funny/ironic thing is that just as I was writing this blog, Beth texted me: "Baby coming today? Talk him into it!" Her latest hunch is that it's a boy. We don't know that for sure, of course. I had to call her and talk to her.

Well, I'm going to start getting fluids and foods into me and make sure I have everything I need in my bag and the diaper bag. It helps to have something to do to pass the hours, especially since I don't have to suffer contractions yet. Oh, and I should call my family members. Looks like I might have a Friday the 13th baby after all...

4:24 pm
I'm pretty tired right now. Remember, I didn't sleep very well last night, and I've been pretty excited for the past few hours. I also started contractions around 2:00 pm, and from what I can tell (I'm not being very successful at keeping track myself, and since Al's been home he's vacuumed, helped finish the laundry, walked the dog, finished putting together the changing table, cut his hair, and is now taking a shower) they're between four and seven minutes apart. Right now they're like really short, bad cramps. Not too bad. I know they'll be getting worse.

Since last blogging, I have done a bit more laundry, eaten Taco Bell (seven layer burrito minus guac) drank lots of water and some orange-peach-mango juice, and sat and watched television.

Where was I? I was suddenly interrupted by gushing water (probably from sitting straight up to blog), a fairly strong contraction, and a sudden urge to vomit (I didn't). I was thinking about popping in (ow...another contraction...) a movie, but I think we'll probably head to the hospital soon instead. It's been almost five hours since the doc said four to six. But since I'm going to stop blogging, I'll go ahead, post this, and the next post will likely be in a couple of days and include baby pics. Happy Thursday!

forty weeks

Today it is official: I am forty weeks pregnant. And since it has become very difficult to take pictures of my own pregnant belly, I've decided to include a picture of my feet and cankles, which i believe belong on Gwyneth Paltrow in Shallow Hal. So if you're one of those people disgusted by feet, I apologize. I had to put some pic of me in to remain consistent!

Today was a good day all around. A good night's sleep last night, got to "sleep in" til 8:30 and then, after a quick shower, see David Boreanaz on Regis & Kelly (I'm beginning to think I watch way too much television), and doze in the recliner for a bit while Al went out to the Kirby store, Costco, and the bank--he got out of the house as quickly as possible since he was becoming very irritated with Mya. By the time he got home, I had worked in the kitchen/pantry a bit and was looking up movie times, having decided I wanted to go again. Despite the limited selection, we decided upon Slumdog Millionaire (finally) and went to the early show (always Al's choice) after he took Mya for a walk.

The movie? Excellent. It actually deserved all of those awards. And then Al surprised me by asking if I was hungry at all after the movie. Wow--a movie and a late lunch/early dinner! Even though we ended up at Kerby's again, it almost qualified as a date. And while we were eating our meal, he clarified the yesterday/breakfast/Todd thing for me, which I was still holding onto. Turns out that he had asked Todd to help him install the insualtion in his parents' attic, which is why they met for breakfast before hand. "You could have told me that," I said. "The breakfast thing would have made more sense."

"I didn't realize I hadn't told you," Al said, laughing. "I wondered why you were getting so upset about breakfast." Duh. Telling people things means actually talking to them, which Al doesn't do very much of. I love my husband. No, really, I do.

Home again, more work for me in the pantry and Al actually did (well, almost finished) two things on the honey-do list I made for him (he actually asked for one so he'd remember everything). He finally moved the leftover hardwood flooring from the hallway, where it has been sitting since he worked on the baby's room floors, to the basement. No more long box in the hallway! He also actually upholstered the changing table drawers for me, although they're not both on the changing table since we lost three tiny screws for the drawer runners and those have to be replaced. Despite that, I decided that I've waited long enough to show you baby room pictures (after all, I'm due tomorrow) and have posted them here.

Drawback to the day: I can now barely stand up again once I get down on my knees or squat, two things I've been doing regularly to (a) let the dog in and out and (b) work in the kitchen cupboards that are near the floor. I've had to have Al's help the last few times I've tried to get up. He's mimicking my symptoms, but it's his quads that are bothering him from yesterday's attic insulation work. But now that we've eaten a late dinner and the night is closing in, we're going to watch Monday's House and then go to bed. Hopefully, my legs will be better in the morning.

Until then...

unrealistic ambition

I woke up this morning to an alarm going off slightly before 7:00 am. Odd, since Al isn't working today, but is helping his parents by installing more insulation in their attic. And unwelcome, since I wake up every hour or so anyway and had just fallen back to sleep.

"Are your parents expecting you this early?" I asked.

"I'm meeting Todd for breakfast at 8:00," he replied.

"You could have asked me. Or told me," I grumbled. Put out a little. One, because why in the world does he need the alarm to go off again and again and again for about forty-five minutes before he gets out of bed? Two, because our morning routine on days off usually goes something like this:

Al: "Can we go out for breakfast?" Me: "If you want to," or, "I was planning on making it because you said we need to save money."

So, a little put out. Deprived of my morning routine and definitely, positively stuck at home for breakfast, even though I was planning on making it this morning anyway. And blindsided about it since my ever-so-thoughtful husband had neglected to tell me his plans. (He really is a great guy, a great husband. He just doesn't think like me [a problem since I keep expecting him to] and has the worst memory in the world except for 70s and 80s television trivia.)

After my breakfast (the last of the biscuits and gravy leftovers from the other day) I set out to accomplish my ambitious plans for the day: fill my newly-created pantry and rearrange the kitchen cupboards, go grocery shopping, go to the Kirby store for carpet shampoo, go to Costco for Cheez-Its for Mya (cheaper than dog treats for training), and come home and make dinner for Al and my sister. Forgetting, of course, that I'm on the last day of my thirty-ninth week of pregnancy and not able to accomplish nearly as much as normal. I filled one shelf in my pantry with small appliances that are not everyday appliances (waffle iron, crock pot, blender, etc.) and another, much smaller shelf with seasonal tablecloths and then collapsed in the recliner. Did I mention that my newly built pantry is at the bottom of the stairs in the basement? The stairs are right off the kitchen (where there isn't any room for a pantry), but several trips up and down the stairs wore me out completely. So what did I do? I napped/watched television until Days was over and then forced myself out of the house to accomplish the shopping.

First stop: Trader Joe's. Turns out another woman due in two days had just gone through my cashiers line. Apparently her feat was more impressive since she was dragging two other kids behind her. Second stop: Target. Right next door, thankfully. Next planned stop was Costco (also right next door), but I just didn't have the energy for it. I both love and hate Costco; love the store itself, hate the crowds, and always seem to get exhausted going there. Since I was already near that state, I decided to skip it and the Kirby store and head home. Where I only had about fifteen minutes to rest before needing to start dinner and somewhat clear away the stuff I have pulled out of the kitchen cupboards and have yet to rearrange. Dinner was a new recipe, a yummy Mexican Corn Bread Pie (meat, onions, corn, peppers, tomatoes, cumin, chili powder, and salt with corn bread baked on top) and Beth came over to share it with us and get a sneak preview of the baby's room. Then Al went to hockey, Beth and I watched a bit of American Idol (I never watch, but she's a fan), she went home, and I'm about to go to bed. Which has been much more restful the past two nights, by the way. And hopefully will be tonight.

Here's to a baby tomorrow...

i blog daily

So if you don't see a blog for a couple of days, that might be a sign of a baby. But seeing as there's a blog post for today, guess what? No baby.

But there is a beautiful new pantry at the bottom of my stairs, courtesy of Al's work today. Okay, well, not exactly beautiful. Just a bunch of plywood, actually. Some painted white since it was the old owners' closet that we (meaning Al) ripped out, turned around, and refurbished. Some not painted at all (that's the newer stuff, either Home Depot bought or others' leftovers that would have ended up in a trash bin). But beautiful in their spaciousness. Seven shelves, 2 1/2' to 3' deep (you'd have to ask Al the actual proportions), several 14" apart and a couple 2' apart so that we can store big items. You don't know how long I've been waiting for this.

Some people (like my brother) look at my kitchen and wonder why I don't have enough cabinets in there. There does appear to be a lot of space, but when you try to put away all of the small appliances, pots and pans, and baking dishes that aren't used every day, they tend to fill up the cabinets and spill over onto my countertops, of which I'm not too fond. (Currently Al's walkman--yes, a walkman, not even his iPod Shuffle, and his old knit cap are sitting on top of my crockpot next to three pound weights that I had to use for physical therapy. These are crammed in front of the toaster and a jar of dog biscuits. See where I'm going with this?) So my task for tomorrow (and I'm looking forward to it so much I'm almost giddy) is to start pulling things out of the cupboards and off of the countertop and organizing them in my beautiful new pantry. There are no words to explain how excited this makes me feel. Sad, I know.

There's one more thing put together in my house: the baby's changing table! This almost completes the baby's room, so assuming there isn't going to be a baby here tomorrow or Wednesday, I'll be posting pics of that. We've got The Matter of the Drawers to settle. The original changing table was blond wood, and everything in the room is espresso or a reddish stain. I wanted to (and did) redo the changing table to match the room. The only problem is that the drawer faces are not wood; they're formica or whatever that fake wood stuff is. Al wanted to paint those, but I explained that if you can't sand them to stain them, you can't sand them to paint them, either. The paint will chip right off. Spray paint with a primer might last a little longer than the paint Al was thinking of (leftovers from the baby's room), but still--not very durable. I had the idea of upholstering the drawers with leftover fabric from various projects in the room. Simple: fabric, staple gun, staples, done. Only the staple gun I was thinking he could use was a bit too big for the project.

After two weeks of having the drawers sit there with the fabric cut, Al again said that we should have just painted them. I explained (very frustrated at this point) again why we shouldn't, and asked Al if he wanted me to go out and buy an upholstery gun and do it myself. Or if he had other suggestions as to how to attach the fabric. He didn't, had just been thinking "paint." Augh. Finally, this afternoon, I tried supergluing the fabric on since he obviously didn't want to upholster the drawers for me. This even though the superglue container said it was "not for use on fabric." I only got a bit done, knew it wouldn't really stay, and ran out of superglue anyway. I went downstairs where Al was working on the pantry almost crying and very frustrated. I told him what I had been trying to do and he said, "I think I have one of those staple guns either in my truck or the garage. Or my dad has one. I'll look for it." Thank you, but argh! Why couldn't he have just got the darn thing out two weeks ago? Or mentioned it this morning when I was upset about the matter of paint at breakfast? I told him I'd like it done tomorrow and asked if it was possible since he's decided he's installing his parents' attic insulation tomorrow. He hmmmd and hawwed about it, but I got a tentative agreement that it was possible. When that is done, so is the baby's room--and you'll see pics!

Off to watch Chuck. Also recording House and Castle (Nathan Fillion in a new show! Let's hope it's good) on the DVR. Got my television viewing set for the week...

weekend gone, no baby

Well, the doctor's hopes (and mine) didn't come true. Guess baby just wasn't ready to come out over the weekend. At least, I'm fairly certain since there are only a couple of hours left to the weekend. But I'm thinking March 9 isn't a bad date...

If you've been reading this blog, you probably know that my official due date is March 12, Thursday. Back around February 9, 10, 11, or 12, I realized that--since February only has 28 days and the dates line up with March's dates (the 9th was a Monday in February and is in March as well)--there is a distinct possibility that my baby may be born on Friday the 13th. And the only thought that filled me was, gulp, dread.

Why? I'm not superstitious at all. I don't see anything wrong with Friday the 13th in general, but nor do I celebrate it (I just paused to think how funny it was that I used the word "nor" in a post--it's a dying word). But I hate, hate, hate horror movies. With a passion. They give me nightmares, and not the "Mommy, I'm scared" kind of nightmares, but very gory, graphic ones that leave me disturbed. Not frightened. I know they're not real while I'm having them. Just disturbed. For days on end. And being of the generation I am (I'm thirty-four), I tend to associate the phrase "Friday the 13th" with the horror movie (and not the one they're remaking now. I can't believe they're remaking movies already that were made in my lifetime.).

So, anyway, any day now is good. Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Even start labor on Friday, just don't be born that day, okay baby? I'll even take Saturday, Sunday, or the following Monday, but I would like to enjoy a Bailey's that Tuesday. After all, you'll be a little more than half Irish (Al's purebred, I'm a mutt) and I'd like to honor St. Patrick's Day the traditional American way (just not go overboard). You can pick your birthday...just think about honoring my request. :)

ants, spiders, a cat, and a dog

What a morning. And it's only 10:30am.

Some people find out that their houses were built on ancient Native American burial grounds. Some people have fantastic ghost stories. We, on the other hand, have ants.

Ever since I've known Al (almost ten years now), he's lived in this house. And every spring, there is an influx of ants--hundreds and thousands of them, and they'll just appear one day, springing up out of the floorboards. Well, this year it hasn't been that bad yet (perhaps only a couple hundred, and not all at once), but it seems like every morning I'm vacuuming up ants (including today). I tend to believe our house was built on a giant ant hill, but it's more likely that they live in the sand underneath our patio in the backyard. My theory has some merit, though, because they not only come in through the wall on that side of the house and through the sliding glass door to the back, but through the garage and somewhere near the kitchen window, as well. Those are not near the patio.

Ants are not appealing to me for various reasons: they belong outside; flying ants once dive-bombed my workplace every day for a week, ending up in our hair and clothing (Danny can attest to that--well, except for the hair thing--he was always bald then); I don't want ants crawling on me or on my baby when it's here. But it's tricky getting rid of them when you have two animals in the house that you don't want poisoned and a baby on the way. We've placed ant traps in the vent by the sliding back door and in the garage near that entry, and I've just decided to have Al place a couple under the couch that backs up to our kitchen (sunken family room, a half-wall filled with cupboards and the oven separate kitchen and family room--hard to explain). Serena can't fit under there, and neither can a fifty-five pound dog. We can't really spray outside because of Mya and other neighborhood dogs (no fences in this association). So any suggestions for getting rid of regular old ants (not carpenter, red, or flying, thank God) would be welcome.

Thankfully, I haven't seen any spiders yet this morning, but I'm sure I will by the end of the day. This year, along with an infestation of ants, we've had an infestation of pale-colored spiders. They're usually on the ceiling when I see them, and it's usually night. So I make Al get rid of them--I have a thing with taking care of spiders on the ceiling because I'm afraid they'll fall into my hair. Ugh. Just the thought of that makes me cringe. But Al's method of "taking care of them" is not to my liking. He refuses to kill them, but captures them in a large drinking cup and dumps them in the garage, two feet from the door to the house, or in the backyard, again two feet from the door to the house. Like they're not just going to come back inside, and I swear they do, there are so many of them. If I'm home alone and they're in a position where I can get the broom, a shoe, or a few squirts of Windex at them, I kill them. I firmly believe that it's no good vacuuming up spiders or their eggs since I'm not 100% sure the vacuum suction will kill them and the eggs could just hatch inside the vacuum, and crawling out they could come! My aunt laughs at me for killing spiders (and their eggs) with Windex, though. She says it reminds her of the father in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Oh, and I'm fairly certain these spiders bite, because when I have seen them nearby and Al hasn't taken care of them at all, I tend to wake up with a new bite. Figures. So any suggestions on getting rid of these pests would be appreciated, as well.

The cat--she's been my biggest concern this morning, and the reason that my optimistic feelings about the day quickly vanished. After I let the dog out, I noticed that there was diarrhea all over our family room carpet. And since Mya had just been let out of her crate, I knew it wasn't hers. Since Al's working today, I had the almost impossible task (for a pregnant woman with a forty-one centimeter belly and painful stretching in her ligaments) of trying to clean it all up. I'm not even supposed to change kitty litter, but I wasn't about to leave it all day for my dog to eat and/or step in (probably eat first, then step in what was left). It left some colorful stains--making it even more imperative to get our carpets cleaned, no matter how tight money is stretched right now--and the vet wasn't happy to hear about it or the fact that she hasn't eaten or drank anything yet (I was to call and give him an update this morning). He suggested confining her to one room with access to the litter box, food, and water--and, oh, give her the antibiotics and steroids he prescribed.

Again, not an easy task for a pregnant woman. Serena was hiding in our closet, and when I got down on the floor to get her out, I temporarily forgot my physical limitations and went to lean/lay on my side--causing excruciating pain in my ligaments, ending with me lying on the floor in pain with no way to get up and no phone nearby. This, of course, scared me. I have a hard enough time getting up off the floor when I'm on my hands and knees, and I was halfway on my back and halfway on my side with nothing to push against or help me roll over (rolling over is one of the most painful things to do because of those ligaments, and the big belly doesn't help). I half cried, half prayed hysterically for God to help me, because I really couldn't imagine spending all day (at least ten hours until Al would arrive home, at that point) in that position on the floor. I ended up pushing through the pain enough to first elevate my back into a reclining position, somehow roll to my knees (I think) and grab the side of the bed, and push/pull myself up and ended up sitting on the bed. Then (and this was probably stupid, but I was worried about my cat) I got back down on the floor, careful to remain on my hands and knees (I know from letting Mya in and out that I can get up from this position) and pulled Serena out of the closet, all to the tune of a howling, crying dog in her crate.

After all of that, I put Serena in the living room (Al's suggestion, since she tends to like to hide behind the couch in there) where I had put a box of kitty litter and her food and water. I set up the gate and let Mya out, and she immediately went to the back door and asked to be let out in the pouring rain. While she was out, Serena, who hates being confined anywhere, ended up coming up to the gate to investigate. She acted like the bandage where her IV had been was bothering her, so I picked her up and pulled it off. I noticed then that the diarrhea wasn't only all over the floor, it was all over her fur. She was still a bit sedated and hadn't really cleaned herself like she normally would. I decided against trying to do it for her--she hates being held unless she climbs up on a lap herself, and with her back claws, trying to clean her at this point would be unnecessary torture for her and a nightmare for me--but did decide to give her the medication while I had her (something else she absolutely hates). As I was forcing it down her throat Mya wanted to be let back in (of course), and Serena started to go berserk trying to get away from me. I got the pills down, put Serena back in the living room, and went to let Mya in.

Mya must have smelled Serena on me (and probably the dried diarrhea, too) since instead of sitting and letting me wipe her paws and dry her off, she tried to bolt past me. I caught her and was able to hold onto her, but had a heck of a time getting the mud off of her paws. She also somehow had mud on her back and brushed up against the couch (of course), making not only the entryway muddy, but our furniture, as well (oh, and did I mention that Sena must have tried jumping up on the couch during her diarrhea episode? The patch on the side of the couch attests to that). And since she's been back in, Serena has tried jumping over the gate about three times, and each time Mya has to go and investigate. I put a blanket over the gate thinking that if they can't see each other they'll each forget it and stay on their respective sides of the gate, but when Serena tries to jump the gate Mya sticks her nose under the blanket and then Serena swats at it, probably thinking it's a game like I used to play with her. As of now, Serena is sitting and staring at the gate, probably contemplating on how to escape the living room (exhibit A: pics seen here). Not like she wouldn't be in there (or in my closet) all day anyway if I wasn't forcing her to stay there.

And it's only 11:10am...

thirty-nine weeks

The minute the doctor left the room today, I almost broke down in tears. I had sat in the waiting room for an hour, in the exam room for another ten minutes, and gone through a painful (yes, they are painful) physical exam only to find out that I haven't dilated one bit since last week. The doctor still tried to convince me that we've had progress--the baby is definitely lower than it was last week--but I guess I was hoping to get this over with more than I realized. He shook my hand, saying, "See you next week unless we get lucky. Let's hope for this weekend." But he also had me schedule an appointment for next Friday, the day after my due date.

Why the sudden change of heart from, "Not until the house is ready"? It certainly isn't ready. But I can't get anything--even small things--done to completion anymore since I'm so exhausted. On Wednesday night I had another painful night (ligaments in my upper/inner thighs) and ended up sleeping in the recliner again, and last night I was getting up so often (every half hour) that I went to the recliner at 3:00 am. Big mistake, because when I tried to go back to bed as Al was leaving for work around 6:00 am those ligaments were so painful that I needed Al's help getting back up and was yelling in pain as I tried to walk to the bathroom (right next to our room) and then back to the recliner. The recliner isn't the best for my back, and during the day my legs and back tire so quickly that I can't remain standing (or walking) long. So, since I can't get anything done around the house anyway, I just want the pregnancy done. Over. Come out into the world so I can hold you and get my body back, no matter how overweight I was to begin with. It was so much better than this.

At least I only gained one more pound this week (total weight gain: forty-five pounds) and grew one more centimeter in my belly. (The pic here doesn't do me justice--I'm about twice the size of someone that is due in twelve days and was in the doctor's office--but it's getting hard to take those pics by myself since my arms aren't that long.) I swear the weight gain has to be all baby since I can barely eat anything anymore (baby's taking up most of the room), but I know that not eating much is taking its toll on my energy levels. It's a lose-lose situation. But even with my discomfort and exhaustion, I don't want to induce and there's been no talk of it. I'd rather not pump my body (or my baby) full of unnecessary drugs.

Serena update: I picked her up after my doctor's appointment to the astounding, and way more than the vet estimated, tune of $475. She still hasn't eaten on her own and they failed to tell me that she is still a bit sedated (at least, I hope so because she can barely walk). But they fed her with another stomach tube about two hours ago now, so it would make sense that she might be a bit unsturdy on her legs still. I've got to call back tomorrow morning and give the vet an update: did she eat? How's she been acting? Etc. She hasn't vomited for them and does not act in pain, but she didn't act in pain here, either. He's thinking her white blood cell count is on the way back up again, but since I said to hold off on testing the blood again until we see if she eats or not (thank God, because that probably would have been another $100), we're not sure. He said it wouldn't change our treatment route regardless. So let's hope she gets hungry and thirsty tonight and chows down. I really want my cat to get better...

the post without an interesting title

As the days drag on (and they are starting to drag), I get less and less done, more and more exhausted, and more and more irritable. Nice combination. Still, I try.

Today I started to go through the cupboards in the kitchen to make room for bottles, breastfeeding accessories, etc. It's a little tough since Al doesn't have the downstairs pantry built yet and I don't have room for everything in our kitchen cupboards. But I found that I couldn't get very far--my legs want to give out and, unfortunately, my kitchen cupboards (like most) aren't exactly seating height. I didn't get to the changing table (about the third or fourth day in a row I haven't gotten to it--I've lost track by now) but really need to try tomorrow and Saturday so Al can put it together when he's off on Sunday, thus completing the baby's room.

One fun thing that I did do was take Mya to her training course again. Al couldn't make it since he was working, but Ryan came to help out instead. And today was agility, which was super-fun to watch (a little demanding since there's a lot of bending over involved). Mya did a short circular course going through tunnels, jumping over a board (it was only three inches off the ground, though) and jumping through a hoop. Her best time was about eighteen seconds, which I thought was fairly good considering the fact that it was her first time and she's such a young puppy (almost seven months now). It also wore her out completely, and I'm seriously considering using a gift card Al has for Meijer to buy her a little agility course of her own. If Al would work with her to go through one, she might not jump on him and bite him so much (I still think she does it because she's excited to see him and wants his attention, and that's how she gets it. Otherwise, he's flipping through channels on the couch).

Of course, Mya's training was done by 2:00 pm and later in the afternoon when I wanted to work more in the kitchen, she wanted to play. I decided to take her for a walk since it was so nice out (50s!), walked to the end of our street and back, and ended up wearing myself out more than I wore her out. I finally got up and did a little more in the kitchen when Al got home, but, yeah, it's a mess. Like everything else. And I'm getting to the point where I don't care, I just want this baby to come out. We'll see how close the doc thinks I am tomorrow afternoon when I go to see him.

Final note: Serena seems to be doing fine at the vet, but is still not eating on her own no matter what they try. They're keeping her another night to give her more stomach-tube feedings and try to get her to eat by herself. I'm hoping and praying...

serena, part two

I've shed another few tears this week (Monday and today, especially) over my cat, Serena. When I first took her to the vet, she came home with a renewed appetite due to the steroid shot he had given her. Renewed, if not as robust as it was before. But as of Monday, it had been several days again since she had eaten anything. I needed to go to the vet to weigh Mya for her heartworm pill (55.5 pounds now!), so I made an appointment and brought Sena in as well. We went in thinking we'd just get another steroid shot and maybe talk over some new options regarding this tumor she has inside of her.

Our vet did a physical exam before treating Serena and said that he thinks the tumor has shrunk--good news. Before, he said, it seemed like the width (not length) of kielbasa, and now it seems more like hot-dog size. Not the best comparison, but something to think about. He opted to do bloodwork and send us home with oral steroids, to be given twice a day, instead of doing a steroid shot. She had lost almost two more pounds, and that concerned him a bit. He said to call back this morning to discuss the results of the bloodwork with him.

The fact that Serena had lost two more pounds was disturbing to me, since if she keeps losing at that rate I won't have a cat in a couple of months. She doesn't act like she's in pain, but I started to get more and more worried. And when they called me yesterday morning telling me to stop the first pill I got (the cancer treatment), cut down to one pill a day on the steroids, and come in to pick up an antibiotic, it scared me more. It turns out that Sena's white blood cell count is down to around 1,200; cats usually have white blood cell counts between 4,500 and 15,000. Her bone marrow count is also down to 900 instead of the normal 1,500 or above. The bone marrow count, the vet said, could be a side effect of the original medication since her white blood cells are down.

This morning as the vet was explaining everything to me, he said I have two options at this point: try giving her some of the protein-packed wet food he gave me on Monday (which I had to syringe force-feed her last night, and she literally gagged--not from choking, because I was very careful about that, but because she didn't like the taste--and tried to spit it back out) and giving her the antibiotics and steroids once a day; or hospitalize her and let her get some IV fluids (antibiotics, etc.) and a stomach-tube feeding or two in her. He said that there's a fifty-fifty chance that one of these two options will raise her white blood cell count, in turn helping to raise her bone marrow count. If that happens, he's fairly certain we can treat her and have her healthy again. But if she doesn't get better within the next couple of days, we'll have to talk "other options." I know all too well what those are and don't relish the thought of losing my cat. Other than being weaker than normal (she can't jump up on the bed at this point, and we have a low bed), she doesn't seem to be in pain, and I really hate the thought of putting her down or of having her die of starvation, a tumor, or anything else.

I took a few minutes, cried, and let everything sink in before I called Al to tell him the news and see which option he'd choose. I was leaning toward hospitalization, partially because I can't bear the thought of my cat hiding from me all the time because I shove pills down her throat. I also was afraid that I would end up in labor and Sena would end up at home without any treatment, and the thought of coming home to a dead cat was pretty upsetting (I was a little worried about waking up to a dead cat this morning since she's so small and weak). But Al's been worried about money, and I don't blame him. Having a kid is expensive, and I'm not working. Thankfully, Al agreed that we should do what we can for Serena and, because I am so anyday-now-pregnant, hospitalize her. I took her in this morning and cried a bit as I dropped her off, hoping that it wasn't the last time I would see her like it was when my former rottie went in for "exploratory surgery" and ended up cancer-ridden. I know that in the midst of having a baby and after my mom's death and everything other people might think that the illness of a cat (or the possibility of losing one) is a small thing, but she's been with me for so long (she'll be fifteen April 1st) and I will miss her so, so much if I lose her. So if it doesn't seem ridiculous to you, please, send a prayer up for my cat. It would be much appreciated.

a day of nothing

As week thirty-eight drew to a close (tomorrow marks the start of week thirty-nine), it found me in a frenzied state of--sitting around, doing nothing. Okay, so it wasn't really frenzied. But after getting up, fiddling around in the kitchen, and fixing a yummy breakfast of biscuits and gravy (something you can't get a decent serving of in the restaurants around here) and scrambled eggs, I pretty much stopped. Got on the computer for a bit, napped in the recliner for a while, went to dinner with my husband, but other than that...stopped.

At least it wasn't due to a night of excruciating pain and exhaustion. After a few commiserating comments, I realized that I had failed to update you on that end. The past two nights have been relatively peaceful, and I've been able to sleep in bed without much pain. I've even been sleeping for an hour/hour and a half without waking up, which is quite remarkable. (The only downside to this is that my hips get stiff from being on them so long, but this is not that bad anymore.) My left wrist and forearm have been getting inexplicably worse--sore, like a sprain almost--throughout the day, but it's nothing to complain about (just comment on a lot throughout the day, which Al probably thought were complaints :)). I'm thinking the steroid injections for my carpel tunnel are finally wearing off, but if that's the case, it's presenting itself in a whole new way. I'm supposed to see the doc for that again in April, so if it continues, I'll let her know. I have a feeling that I won't have much time to pay attention to it after a few days anyway. :)

So, a pretty uneventful day of nothing. Not putting on the final (I hope) coat of stain on the changing table, which I'll have to do tomorrow. Not cleaning, vacuuming, organizing, shopping--nothing. And all in all, it's been a pretty good day.

socks

In the past two weeks, I've reached a point that I never thought I would reach in my life: the point where I can't put on my own socks. I simply can't reach my feet and stay in position long enough--sitting or standing--where I can pull my socks on. Besides that, so many of them won't even fit any more (swollen feet). So Al's obtained a new job, one he's apparently been talking about at work. Because he came home one night last week with an interesting contraption that, for some reason, completely embarrassed me.

I was blogging (big surprise) when Al came home that night. He walked into the office and said, "So I was telling Ken that you can't put your socks on, and he brought this in for you." Ken (Al's boss) had hip surgery a few months ago and couldn't bend over to put his socks on. So he bought this contraption designed to help people put their socks on. It's like a cross-section of a huge PVC pipe attached to a jump rope. Al proceeded to demonstrate the contraption: you put your sock on the end of the pipe, grab the jump rope, put your foot into the pipe and pull toward you. It pulls your sock right on your foot and looks effortless.

I have to say it "looks" effortless because I haven't tried it. I haven't had a sock emergency when Al hasn't been home yet, being satisfied to wear my slippers alone (remember, shoes don't fit either) when I need to go somewhere. And for some reason, I am so oddly embarrassed that (a) Al would talk/joke/whatever about it at work (which really isn't a big deal; he'd do it in front of me and I would laugh, too!) and that (b) Ken would be so thoughtful to send this home in an effort to help me, when really I'd just rather have Al put them on for me. Maybe it's wondering what Al said about my feet to make it seem like such a horrible, disgusting job that Ken would go to the trouble to loan me the sock contraption. :)

So another thing I'm looking forward to after giving birth? Putting on my own socks--without a strange contraption!

i can't believe it's march

March already, and my due date is March 12. It seems surreal, except when I feel excruciating pain like I did last night. You'll have to forgive me if I seem a bit incoherent or disjointed in this post, but I'm exhausted since I didn't get much sleep.

For those of you who might be getting a bit excited at the prospect of "excruciating pain" + pregnancy, no, the pain wasn't due to contractions. It was due to stretching ligaments/muscles/whatever they are at the top of my inner thighs, something that I've been assured by two doctors and a physical therapist is "normal." Of course, no one had any suggestions for relief and two of the medical professionals were male, which means they've never experienced this type of pain before. These ligaments/muscles have been tight and sore for months (and I'm assured it's due to my body preparing to kick the kid out), but last night was unbelievable. Any attempt to lie down resulted in "ahhh--I can barely move" moments and when I did lie down, the pressure put on those ligaments/muscles by the other leg and pillow between my legs resting on top of it was unbearable. I finally gave up and went to the recliner around 11:30, sleeping much better, if still a bit fitfully.

One moment during the night that I hated (besides the pain): It must have been a dream, but didn't seem like it. I heard the screen door from the garage open (this must have been the dream part) and someone come into the house. But the sound woke me up and was not connected in any way to another dream, so I thought it was a real sound waking me up. Since it was 2:00 am and I knew Al was in the bedroom, it startled and scared me. I tried to say his name to double check that it was him (and for some reason he had gone into and come back out of the garage in the middle of the night), but my body was still in that paralyzed sleep stage and I couldn't speak or move. I hate, hate, hate that sensation and that scared me even more. I sat there in the recliner until I was able to speak and move, and by that time I was too scared to say anything. I was imagining someone going into the bedroom expecting two victims and finding only Al and hurting him. I had to convince myself that the sound must have been part of a dream that woke me up, that no one else was in the house, and that Al and I would be just fine. I prayed that God would take the fear away. It also helped that Serena was still sitting in my lap and purring loudly (and not running away scared, as she usually does when other people are in the house). Eventually I fell back to sleep.

Like I said, though, the lack of sleep pretty much exhausted me for the day. I still laid down yet another coat of stain on the changing table, and--get this--finally put the clothes and blankets away in the perfect dresser we got last night from Babies R Us for the nursery. Yes! It came in! (No pics of the nursery until the changing table is done, though.) But it wasn't quite as fun as I had been expecting, mostly because I was ready to fall over instead of being on my feet. I spent most of the rest of the day at my dad's with my siblings, niece and nephew (the kids pictured here), and aunt and uncle. And now I'm going to try to sleep in the bed. After last night, I'm finally ready--whether the house is completely done/clean or not--to get this kid out of me and be done with being pregnant. But just because I am doesn't mean the kid is, so we'll see how much more I get done and how much longer we have to wait before it happens. Anyday now, kid--really!