Child #3 entered the world this past week! Here is the birth story...
Likely due to the fact that #1 and #2 were quite large, my body (namely my pelvic region and bladder) were VERY tired by week 36 of this pregnancy and our little man dropped down loooooow with no hesitation. I had a great pregnancy up this point (oddly this was my easiest of the 3) but the world turned upside down at around this point and on several days I truly wondered how I was going to survive to 40 weeks (or 41 as the other two were late).
My tremendously supportive husband (who bears the brunt of my ire between weeks 36-40) started casually mentioning an induction... at week 37. I was induced with the other 2, so this was not a topic of contention, but getting induced early was. I had made it to my due date + about a week the other two times, and felt like I would be failing this child somehow if I did not let him cook until at least a full 40 weeks. However, I was miserable. Downright beastly. The pressure was often unbearable to the point where I could not stand for more than 5 minutes at a time. Yet I continued to fight and refuse to request an early induction (which my doctor had offered to do at 39 weeks).
Then a blizzard hit. 14 inches of snow debilitated our lives and we were completely snowed in for over 24 hours -- no one could get it and no one could get out. I was terrified of going into labor and having my husband deliver our baby on our living room floor. We joked about getting bowls of warm water and me ripping towels ala the 1800s, but we were scared. Phew. No baby during storm.
Then... another blizzard was on its way. Okay, I hear you, Lord. Between the unending discomfort, complete lack of sleep, and sad excuse for a mommy that I was to my other two children, plus ANOTHER 14 inches of snow that would likely prevent me from getting to the hospital should I go into labor, I acquiesced and scheduled an induction for 4 days prior to my due date. I would be at the hospital before the snow hit and the kids would be safely at home with the grandparents.
The guilt I had felt for ripping this guy from his happy womb-home before he was ready was very quickly replaced with relief. Relief for knowing that I would not be birthing him in our bathtub (more power to the home-birthers -- rock on with your bad selves -- but I would like a hospital bed with a side of epidural please) and relief for knowing that I would no longer be pregnant in just 24 short hours.
I rocked my baby girl to sleep the night before and shed a few tears as I processed that she would not be my baby anymore. I then slept about 8 minutes that night as my mind raced -- what would the next day be like? How would the other kids do? Was this really happening TOMORROW?
And it did happen that very next day. I was induced in the morning -- received meds at about 9 am. I was already dilated to a 2 and my contractions began almost immediately -- yay! This will be quick. A few hours and... baby!?
Nope.
Hours later: "You are at a 3."
More hours after that: "Okay, now a 4."
Contractions every 90 minutes: "Ummmm... you are between a 4 and a 5."
Are you SERIOUS?
At 6 o'clock, I was at a 5. I had not eaten anything but ice chips in 12 hours. The nurses brought my husband his THIRD meal since we arrived that morning. He tried so hard to eat quietly in the corner and talk about how horrible the hospital food was. But at one point, he came to the bedside to hold my hand and coach me through a particularly difficult contraction and I smelled candy on his breath.
"Did you just eat CANDY???!!"
"No...." with a look of terror.
Okay, I had one more check -- if I had not progressed, they were moving on to Pitocin. But I was at a 6! Some progression!
And then all hell broke loose. It is a blur, and it seemed like hours, but my husband said in a matter of about 30 minutes, I went from a 6 to a 10. I was screaming. And writhing. And yelling about the epidural no longer working (which was what I requested -- I asked them to reduce it toward the end so I could feel the pressure to push -- but oh did I curse myself for that decision). Suddenly it was time. 3-4 pushes and our son was born.
At a healthy 9 lbs and 22 inches long, my doctor commented that thank goodness I was induced when I was or he may have been 10 lbs by the following week. Holy crap. You are welcome, pelvis.
And it was done. He was here and he was perfect and he and I were healthy.
And I was almost immediately sad. Was it really over? What a bizarrely emotional experience pregnancy and labor are. I had prayed for the end for weeks, and within hours, I wanted to turn back time, go back, and freeze myself in that place. It is partly selfish -- because now I have to share him with the world whereas before, he was all mine. It is partly sadness at knowing this is our last (4 kids is waaaaay too many kids for me!) And, let's be honest, it is partly complete irrational hormonal response. But I was, and am sad. As he sits next to me post-feeding, at 5 days old, I am thankful and sad. A week ago I was huge, cranky, frustrated, exhausted, and nervous. Now we are home, and the ice-diapers are over and the scary early milk days are here. I am exhausted in a whole new way, but also proud, in love, and figuring out how to be mommy to 3 little people under the age of 5.
The world looks different these days. I am living in the land of 3:30 am TV -- Three's Company or Mork & Mindy? Hmmmm how do I decide? If I thought getting a shower was a rarity before... ha! And pretty much every time either child or my husband walks in the room, I have a boob out. I field endless questions from the little people all day long -- the most recent fascination is the breast pump -- you can imagine my 4-year old son's reaction to THAT contraption! And my husband has been amazing as we play "rotate the kid" dealing with diapers, feedings, wipings, bathings, and quality play time. So far it is crazy and stressful and tiring. And wonderful.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
38 weeks pregnant - new definitions of Mommyhood
At 38 weeks pregnant with my 3rd child (who will probably be over 9 lbs like his siblings and who recently dropped on top of my bladder and "pelvic region" with great gusto), I have redefined some Mommyhood terminology.
"The house is clean" = there is a clear and safe path for walking through rooms.
"Dinner is made" = there is PB&J and/or bread and cheese in the house.
"The kids are clean" = they sat in soapy water for 10 minutes and splashed all over the bathroom.
"The laundry is done" = we all have something to wear. For today.
"The kitchen is clean" = we all have a plate, cup, and fork to use. For today.
"The kids did something educational today" = they learned 3 new Spanish words from Dora the Explorer.
"The house is clean" = there is a clear and safe path for walking through rooms.
"Dinner is made" = there is PB&J and/or bread and cheese in the house.
"The kids are clean" = they sat in soapy water for 10 minutes and splashed all over the bathroom.
"The laundry is done" = we all have something to wear. For today.
"The kitchen is clean" = we all have a plate, cup, and fork to use. For today.
"The kids did something educational today" = they learned 3 new Spanish words from Dora the Explorer.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
36-week "baby doctor" appointment... with kids
Most aspects of life are adventurous when you add a 2 and a 4-year old into the mix. Taking them to the OBGYN while pregnant, however, is extra special.
My kids are fascinated with the concept of me peeing in a cup. My 4-year old son had 400 questions. Why do they want my pee? What do they do with it? How do they test it? Why pee and not poop? My 2-year old daughter wants to do everything Mommy does, so of course she took a cup off of the shelf in the bathroom and wanted to pee in her own cup. She was very upset when I said no. There is also a black permanent marker in the bathroom with which Mommy needs to write her name on the cup. This, too, is amazing. Can I write MY name on a cup? Can I write your name for you? And finally, this experience is made most enjoyable by my son who is obsessed with reading everything to me that he sees anywhere in the world. So of course while I am peeing in a cup and trying to calmly explain to my irrational 2-year old why she cannot, he is reading the step-by-step instructions to me posted on the wall for "how to collect a clean urine sample."
And my first internal exam was next.
My kids are fascinated with the concept of me peeing in a cup. My 4-year old son had 400 questions. Why do they want my pee? What do they do with it? How do they test it? Why pee and not poop? My 2-year old daughter wants to do everything Mommy does, so of course she took a cup off of the shelf in the bathroom and wanted to pee in her own cup. She was very upset when I said no. There is also a black permanent marker in the bathroom with which Mommy needs to write her name on the cup. This, too, is amazing. Can I write MY name on a cup? Can I write your name for you? And finally, this experience is made most enjoyable by my son who is obsessed with reading everything to me that he sees anywhere in the world. So of course while I am peeing in a cup and trying to calmly explain to my irrational 2-year old why she cannot, he is reading the step-by-step instructions to me posted on the wall for "how to collect a clean urine sample."
And my first internal exam was next.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Pregnancy... uncensored.
It is a miracle. It is a joyous experience. Birthing my 2 (soon to be 3) kids = my life's greatest achievements. However, there are many aspects to pregnancy and birth that no one talks about.
So I will.
1. Most of your maternity clothes will stop fitting comfortably around week 32. There are just no clothing manufacturers that can really figure out how to keep our pants up comfortably after this point.
2. You will stop looking at yourself in the mirror at around week 30. However, you will accidentally pass in front of a mirror at some point around week 32 and notice that your shirt does not cover your stomach. This will happen in a public bathroom. You will be away from home for the day and will not have another shirt with you.
3. No grown up in your life will have had the courage to tell you about #3 because they are all scared of you. Your kids would have told you if they had noticed.
4. Speaking of your other kids, they WILL tell you how it is. Your 4-year old will catch sight of your protruding stomach while you are getting dressed one day and say, "Whoa, Mom. Cover that up."
5. You will experience an exhaustion like never before, but somehow, you will have insomnia. You will lay awake at 2 a.m. having to pee (even though you will have peed twice in the last 20 minutes) wishing for sleep.
6. After 30 weeks, you will pee your pants a tiny bit if you sneeze.
7. You will get nosebleeds at unfortunate times -- like while you are getting your son ready for school. Therefore, you will drive him to school with tissues stuck up your nose. Your 2-year old will point at your face and say, "Boo-boos in Mama's nose?"
8. The bigger you get, the more people will tell you how "great" you look and how "small" you are. These people are lying because they are afraid of you.
9. You will hold on to your gym membership, despite the fact that you only walk at a 2.5 pace for 30 minutes on the treadmill, so you can have a place to put your kids. The gym employees clearly will not want you there anymore and will look at your stomach with horror when you walk in.
10. At some point in the last 6 weeks, you will abandon any and all attempts at normal "maintenance" like painting your toenails and shaving because these tasks are too painful and you cannot see what you are doing anymore. And really, what is the point?
11. You will feel an extreme loathing for your husband followed immediately by love and appreciation for him all within 90 seconds. He will start spending time in other rooms to protect himself from your wrath.
12. You will be pregnant for a really long time. 40 weeks is as close to an eternity as you can get, but it does end. Eventually.
Stay tuned for the 12 truths no one tells you about birth. Except me.
So I will.
1. Most of your maternity clothes will stop fitting comfortably around week 32. There are just no clothing manufacturers that can really figure out how to keep our pants up comfortably after this point.
2. You will stop looking at yourself in the mirror at around week 30. However, you will accidentally pass in front of a mirror at some point around week 32 and notice that your shirt does not cover your stomach. This will happen in a public bathroom. You will be away from home for the day and will not have another shirt with you.
3. No grown up in your life will have had the courage to tell you about #3 because they are all scared of you. Your kids would have told you if they had noticed.
4. Speaking of your other kids, they WILL tell you how it is. Your 4-year old will catch sight of your protruding stomach while you are getting dressed one day and say, "Whoa, Mom. Cover that up."
5. You will experience an exhaustion like never before, but somehow, you will have insomnia. You will lay awake at 2 a.m. having to pee (even though you will have peed twice in the last 20 minutes) wishing for sleep.
6. After 30 weeks, you will pee your pants a tiny bit if you sneeze.
7. You will get nosebleeds at unfortunate times -- like while you are getting your son ready for school. Therefore, you will drive him to school with tissues stuck up your nose. Your 2-year old will point at your face and say, "Boo-boos in Mama's nose?"
8. The bigger you get, the more people will tell you how "great" you look and how "small" you are. These people are lying because they are afraid of you.
9. You will hold on to your gym membership, despite the fact that you only walk at a 2.5 pace for 30 minutes on the treadmill, so you can have a place to put your kids. The gym employees clearly will not want you there anymore and will look at your stomach with horror when you walk in.
10. At some point in the last 6 weeks, you will abandon any and all attempts at normal "maintenance" like painting your toenails and shaving because these tasks are too painful and you cannot see what you are doing anymore. And really, what is the point?
11. You will feel an extreme loathing for your husband followed immediately by love and appreciation for him all within 90 seconds. He will start spending time in other rooms to protect himself from your wrath.
12. You will be pregnant for a really long time. 40 weeks is as close to an eternity as you can get, but it does end. Eventually.
Stay tuned for the 12 truths no one tells you about birth. Except me.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Perils of having a young reader
Of course I LOVE that my kid was reading at 3 years old. But...
Having a child who reads at a very young age can lead to the following situations:
1. "Mommy, that sign said 'Speed Limit 35'. You are going too fast and the police are NOT going to be happy."
2. "Mommy, that sign said 'No Turn on Red' and you just turned when the light was red. The police are NOT going to be happy."
3. "Mommy, the sticker on the cart says 'Do Not Put Child in Basket of Cart' so that means I need to walk through the whole grocery store."
4. While with me in a public bathroom, "Mommy, why does that machine give out napkins in the bathroom, and what are tampons? Can we get some? They are only 25 cents."
5. "That sign says 'Adult Store. XXX. Next Exit.' What do they sell there? They must not have toys because kids are not allowed."
Having a child who reads at a very young age can lead to the following situations:
1. "Mommy, that sign said 'Speed Limit 35'. You are going too fast and the police are NOT going to be happy."
2. "Mommy, that sign said 'No Turn on Red' and you just turned when the light was red. The police are NOT going to be happy."
3. "Mommy, the sticker on the cart says 'Do Not Put Child in Basket of Cart' so that means I need to walk through the whole grocery store."
4. While with me in a public bathroom, "Mommy, why does that machine give out napkins in the bathroom, and what are tampons? Can we get some? They are only 25 cents."
5. "That sign says 'Adult Store. XXX. Next Exit.' What do they sell there? They must not have toys because kids are not allowed."
Thursday, November 8, 2012
The glory of motherhood
There is no training for motherhood. At no time previous to becoming a mother has any woman met with the daily, usually minute-by-minute demands that will fall upon her once she is holding that first baby in her arms. From the first minute of life, there are demands: milk, mostly, but the list grows as they get older and as the number of children in the house multiply.
Having a 3-year old and a 1-year old, the typical demands of Mommy these days are usually for snack, drink and butt-wiping. Also, Mommy must intervene to referee fights and regulate TV, computer, etc. Mommy must help one with a puzzle while coloring a picture with the other. She must dance to If You're Happy and You Know It while simultaneously giving kisses to 11 different stuffed animals. From the minute the first one wakes up (around 6 a.m.) to the last second before the second one falls asleep (around 8 p.m.), and all the middle of the night requests for Mommy as well, she is on call.
Pregnancy hormones (and the fact that this third one has also already started making demands from the womb -- more food, less food, a different food, and a pee break every 30 minutes) have caused me to be a bit more emotional and sensitive lately. I have been feeling something every (or most) mom feels at some point -- that nothing is ever good enough in this house. The house is never clean enough, the kids are not eating well enough, or are not doing enough educational activities throughout the day, and there is never the right food combination in this house to keep everyone happy.
Having a daddy trying to eat "paleo" as much as possible, a mommy craving carbs, cheese, and pasta (=NOT paleo), and a son with extreme food issues that cause at least 2 meals a day to be a knock-down drag-out battle, Mommy has been feeling a lot of "food demands" and often feels like she visits the grocery store nearly every day and cooks for hours and hours on a weekly basis. Yet, somehow, someone is always "out" of something or unhappy with the choices (myself included). I know, I know -- I should make one family meal and everyone has to eat it or deal with it -- but that really does not work in our house. We have tried it. It is actually worse on Mommy to fight the battles that ensue by going that route.
I am trying to find a happy medium between the strict "one family meal" policy and being a crazed exhausted lunatic trying to appease everyone's needs (or wants, I should say). Unfortunately for him, my husband got the brunt of this burden thrown his way this morning when he jokingly commented there was nothing for him to have for breakfast. My head spun around in exorcism-like fashion, my eyes bulged, and after spitting fire for his last 5 minutes at home before leaving for work, I broke down into tears.
Being the husband he is, he called a few minutes later to apologize (even though we both know much of this meltdown is hormone-pregnancy-sleep deprivation related) and spent several minutes on the phone with me trying his hardest to make me believe in what a wonderful mother and wife he thinks I am. It is not always easy to see it his way, but having him work so hard to make me see it certainly made a difference. We were able to have this crucial conversation (to saving my sanity for the day) before my 1-year old DEMANDED (once again, I use this word) to talk to Daddy, took the phone from me, and promptly hung up on him.
Sigh. Sigh of frustration, sigh of exhaustion, and sigh of relief and appreciation.
Having a 3-year old and a 1-year old, the typical demands of Mommy these days are usually for snack, drink and butt-wiping. Also, Mommy must intervene to referee fights and regulate TV, computer, etc. Mommy must help one with a puzzle while coloring a picture with the other. She must dance to If You're Happy and You Know It while simultaneously giving kisses to 11 different stuffed animals. From the minute the first one wakes up (around 6 a.m.) to the last second before the second one falls asleep (around 8 p.m.), and all the middle of the night requests for Mommy as well, she is on call.
Pregnancy hormones (and the fact that this third one has also already started making demands from the womb -- more food, less food, a different food, and a pee break every 30 minutes) have caused me to be a bit more emotional and sensitive lately. I have been feeling something every (or most) mom feels at some point -- that nothing is ever good enough in this house. The house is never clean enough, the kids are not eating well enough, or are not doing enough educational activities throughout the day, and there is never the right food combination in this house to keep everyone happy.
Having a daddy trying to eat "paleo" as much as possible, a mommy craving carbs, cheese, and pasta (=NOT paleo), and a son with extreme food issues that cause at least 2 meals a day to be a knock-down drag-out battle, Mommy has been feeling a lot of "food demands" and often feels like she visits the grocery store nearly every day and cooks for hours and hours on a weekly basis. Yet, somehow, someone is always "out" of something or unhappy with the choices (myself included). I know, I know -- I should make one family meal and everyone has to eat it or deal with it -- but that really does not work in our house. We have tried it. It is actually worse on Mommy to fight the battles that ensue by going that route.
I am trying to find a happy medium between the strict "one family meal" policy and being a crazed exhausted lunatic trying to appease everyone's needs (or wants, I should say). Unfortunately for him, my husband got the brunt of this burden thrown his way this morning when he jokingly commented there was nothing for him to have for breakfast. My head spun around in exorcism-like fashion, my eyes bulged, and after spitting fire for his last 5 minutes at home before leaving for work, I broke down into tears.
Being the husband he is, he called a few minutes later to apologize (even though we both know much of this meltdown is hormone-pregnancy-sleep deprivation related) and spent several minutes on the phone with me trying his hardest to make me believe in what a wonderful mother and wife he thinks I am. It is not always easy to see it his way, but having him work so hard to make me see it certainly made a difference. We were able to have this crucial conversation (to saving my sanity for the day) before my 1-year old DEMANDED (once again, I use this word) to talk to Daddy, took the phone from me, and promptly hung up on him.
Sigh. Sigh of frustration, sigh of exhaustion, and sigh of relief and appreciation.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Grocery store adventures
I premiered this blog about a year and a half ago with a grocery store tale. At the time I had a newborn in the midst of the poop-through-the-clothes stage and a very jealous and often uncooperative 2-year old. Now that 2-year old is almost 4, and that newborn is almost 2. The grocery store woes may have changed in nature, but many trips to my second home are still blog-worthy.
After a long week of several Halloween celebrations, a bit too much candy, and a trip to the ER to have a head wound stapled, my little guy still seems to be recovering and he reached his breaking point in the ice cream aisle today. He and his sister have just started sitting next to each other in the cart (a gamble that lately has faired well for Mommy) but today, they would not stop fighting, pushing, and yelling, so one of them had to be removed from the cart. Obviously with an almost 4 year-old and a 22-month old, the older one gets to walk and the younger one stays strapped in and contained. Well, my older-should-be-more-mature child was not supportive of this rationale and let me know it.
I was dumbfounded. I cannot recall the last time he behaved this way in public. There was some foot stomping, mind-splitting screaming at Mommy, and huge crocodile tears. All because she got to stay in the fun shopping cart with 2 steering wheels.
After a few minutes of "are you kidding me with this?" death stares from Mommy, and "no computer" threats, he regained control of himself and we began to proceed. However, almost immediately his sister realized that she no longer had the ability to irritate him, so she leaned over to get his attention, smacking her face on the cart and giving herself a fat lip. More crying, more tears.
And the ice cream kept melting.
After a long week of several Halloween celebrations, a bit too much candy, and a trip to the ER to have a head wound stapled, my little guy still seems to be recovering and he reached his breaking point in the ice cream aisle today. He and his sister have just started sitting next to each other in the cart (a gamble that lately has faired well for Mommy) but today, they would not stop fighting, pushing, and yelling, so one of them had to be removed from the cart. Obviously with an almost 4 year-old and a 22-month old, the older one gets to walk and the younger one stays strapped in and contained. Well, my older-should-be-more-mature child was not supportive of this rationale and let me know it.
I was dumbfounded. I cannot recall the last time he behaved this way in public. There was some foot stomping, mind-splitting screaming at Mommy, and huge crocodile tears. All because she got to stay in the fun shopping cart with 2 steering wheels.
After a few minutes of "are you kidding me with this?" death stares from Mommy, and "no computer" threats, he regained control of himself and we began to proceed. However, almost immediately his sister realized that she no longer had the ability to irritate him, so she leaned over to get his attention, smacking her face on the cart and giving herself a fat lip. More crying, more tears.
And the ice cream kept melting.
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