My nurse had asked how my last delivery was and said she thought I’d go much faster than the two and a half hours of pushing I had the first time around. Last time, if you remember, I was induced and progressed slowly. But I went from 5-10 cm in half an hour before the long stretch of pushing. I was expecting it to be not as long, but still take a while. I was also expecting the rapid dilation.
Going into labor on my own was so different. I took a while to get to 8. Mark got back from getting dinner and that’s where I was. He wasn’t back very long before I started feeling that familiar “you need to shit” pressure.
Haha how could I forget? A little before this point in labor, I felt a blurp. I don’t know how else to describe it. But there was definitely wetness. I called the nurse and told her I thought my water broke. She checked and said no, it seemed like it was just the rest of the mucus plug.
So how big is a damned mucus plug? I never was aware of losing it the first time around. I definitely saw it earlier that morning. I was still encountering some of it when I was in the observation room before going to my L and D room. How the hell was it still coming out? Ugh.
We called the nurse to tell her I had a lot of pressure. Last time, they topped off my IV with some pain meds but this time, they didn’t know if there would be time. When the nurse came, she checked me. In the process of doing this, she said, “I can feel yo-“ and all of a sudden, I felt a gush of wet. The nurse was trying to say that the sac was bulging into my birth canal and was almost done. But when she reached in to see how dilated I was, she popped the bag and got covered in amniotic fluid.
I was mortified. I mean I know it probably happens fairly often enough, but I was still mortified. I apologized profusely and she laughed at me. She was a little disgusted, I think, but was so nice about it. As she was going to change the padding under me, though, she noticed there was meconium in the fluids.
I knew this could be bad. They called for a nurse practitioner to be present.
I was just about to 10 cm, so they called my doctor, who lives downtown. It took a bit for her to make it to Metairie.
In the meantime, the pressure and poop urge were getting intense. Because I was so close and because my doctor was coming and my water had broken and the anesthesiologist would take a while to come back, I didn’t get anything to take the edge off.
I needed to push. Like ten minutes ago. But they wouldn’t let me because my doctor wasn’t there yet. We had been watching a “Married...With Children” marathon but now “Blades of Glory” was on. A nurse I hadn’t met yet was part of the delivery team and she was pretty into the movie. I was in pretty serious pain from the pressure. I don’t know how nice I was because I wanted to push but not only were they refusing to let me do it yet, they just wanted me to breathe. No. Screw You. Haha.
I was so miserable that the nurse wanted to check me again. I was afraid to open my legs for her. I waited for the contraction/pressure to subside and she took a look.
What I didn’t see but Mark saw was that when she looked, she shot a “yeeesh” look at one of the other nurses.
After what felt like an eternity, my doctor made it. She walked in and said “Why is she in pain? She didn’t get the epidural?” They explained it was just serious pressure. It felt like forever before they had her in her splash gear (for lack of the actual name of what they wear for a vaginal delivery). They weren’t sure how to work the stirrups on the bed because it was apparently new and was different from the rest of the beds and none of them had really had to fool with it yet. Seriously? The contractions/pressure were almost constant so they decided to just lift my legs. I made them wait until the latest contraction/pressure ended and up they went. I felt the next one start. I took a breath to push. I didn’t have to push. I felt serious pain and screamed, then realized what my doctor was saying. I opened my eyes and she had my daughter in the air. It was 10:39 p.m. when my fierce little girl entered the world fast and furious.
“Wait, that’s it?”
They laughed. The nurse said “I told you it was going to be quick!”
They immediately got her to the nurse practitioner since she was covered in meconium. He checked her out and she was fine. They cleaned the bulk of it off of her.
The intense pain I felt was a second degree tear. It only took a couple of stitches, but since she came so quickly, there wasn’t really anything to be done to prevent it.
“Good thing you had your legs clamped shut like that; she would have rocketed across the room if you hadn’t been like that!” my crazy doctor said.
As Mark put it, it took longer for Doc to suit up than it took to deliver.
At 18.5” and 6.8 pounds, she was much smaller than her brother. She also had a very full head of dark hair (which I saw in one of my last MFM ultrasounds) and very deep dimples. Despite all of the prenatal scares, the accident, and the meconium, she was perfectly healthy.
Friday, November 02, 2018
Wednesday, October 17, 2018
Work Work Work Work work
Mark works on Sundays and is the only person trained to do the Saints shift. When our son was born, he tried to convince them to train a backup person in case I went into labor on a weekend. They didn’t, but neither did I. I had an induction on a Tuesday and delivered on a Wednesday. So once again, it was Saints season, and my due date was approaching. He kept reminding them. His rule was that if I went into labor Friday through Sunday, they would be SOL. I guess since I had the induction and a weekend birth didn’t happen last time, that would be the case.
So here we were on a Saturday in the early stages of labor. Mark called his two supervisors to tell them sorry not sorry, but he wouldn’t be in the next day. They had to scramble to find someone capable enough to get a crash course.
In triage, I was definitely having contractions every five to six minutes, edging closer to five. On Monday, my cervix was clamped shut and baby was very high. When I had the emergency visit on Thursday, baby was still high but I’d dilated to a 2, headed for 3, but not very soft. I figured with all of the contractions and with the time that had passed, there would probably be a big change. Nope. I was getting stretchy, at 3 moving to 4. Baby was still a little high. They kept me on the monitor for 30 minutes, checked all of that, and called my doctor.
They needed me to dilate to 5 before I could be admitted. Because I was still only 38 weeks, I couldn’t get any sort of induction to get things moving. However, according to the nurse, my doctor “isn’t mean.” She said this with a wink. Sounds like maybe she would have helped things along if installed out. That would be nice, because I was getting tired of contractions and I couldn’t get an epidural until after I was formally admitted.
Mark had to coach his sub over the phone, so he walked to the waiting area outside of my MFM doctor’s office. Since it was a weekend, that office was closed. It’s also accessed through the doors that we weren’t able to enter from the parking garage since it was a Saturday. As a result, it was dark and deserted. He was on the phone for over an hour. I flipped the tv to Family Feud (being Saturday, there was nothing else to watch) and texted with some people. Including, but not limited to, my friend who was going to be my long-term sub. She was going to have to take over withoutbgetting to shadow me as planned. But the best part of being friends with your sub is that you can text and keep up and help out the whole time with ease.
After the nurse talked to my doctor, she said I needed to walk. She gave me another hospital gown to wear like a robe and showed me what to do with all of my monitor wires. I wandered around slowly for almost an hour. At one point, I ran into Mark. I could hear his voice echoing and followed it. I had to take a break by that point and sat in the lobby with him. When he finished coaching his sub, we walked together. I had to stop frequently to let contractions pass. We ran into one nurse coming on shift and two older women waiting for their niece to go back for a c-section. They had the same names as my mom and her twin, which was funny. They said I looked nice and low. But I carry low, and people always accused the baby of dropping already, but that was never the case. Other than that, there was no one. That was nice because under my front and back gowns was nothing. And I’m not into being braless around people.
After I was back in my room for a bit, the nurse came to hook me back up. About half an hour later, she came back and checked me. I was almost to 5 cm and my contractions were picking up. I was getting admitted!
They rolled me down the hall to my labor and delivery room. It was a little after 6, 6:30 I guess. I immediately put in the order for my epidural. That didn’t happen until around 8. My nurses changed shifts in between rolling me to my room and getting the epidural. All of the nurses there are so nice and professional. I’m not the biggest fan of this Hospital, but I have loved the L&D nurses for both births and recoveries.
I at one point said to the new nurse that I didn’t know how people could labor all the way to the end. She agreed. With the induction, I got my epidural pretty quickly because they knew I was definitely going to deliver at some point. Because this time they needed me to labor to a certain point and didn’t know how long that would take, I was not given the chance to get it early. And that sucked.
As soon as I got the epidural, Life was so much better. I told Mark to use that time to go eat dinner and I banned him from the room until he’d eaten. He had to leave during the anesthesia anyway, so he may as well have been productive.
By the time he got back, I was close to 8 cm.
Monday, October 15, 2018
D-Day
With the cold my darling son brought home from school, I was absolutely miserable. I was allowed to take Robitussin for the cough and Tylenol PM to help me sleep. I took one Friday night. The coughing and sinus pressure plus the Braxton-Hicks contractions that returned Friday night were going to make sleeping difficult, and I got some pretty solid sleep out of the deal.
The Braxton-Hicks in the hospital felt like period cramps. They were gone when I woke up Friday. But by that evening, I started having occasional cramps. The type you feel when you’re about to rocket liquid shit. But it kept passing. (Not passing as in farts, but passing as moving on.) I figured out it was just more Braxton-Hicks and went to sleep.
I guess it was after the Tylenol PM was wearing off, but I woke up around 6 on Saturday morning feeling more of them. I was able to doze off in between and didn’t think much of them. Around 8, I was uncomfortable and awake, which was generally how my saturdays went. I was still feeling them, but they weren’t horrible. More annoying than anything. I got up around 9 to go to the bathroom again. And there was the horror show that was my mucus plug.
We always joke about “Have you had your bloody show?” It’s in “Knocked Up,” and the delivery has always made us laugh.
Welp. I did indeed. I didn’t have it with my son. I was induced and he had been content to try to go full term, but it was doctor’s orders. I went back to our room and woke Mark. I told him that I had actually had the bloody show and we laughed about it. It doesn’t necessarily mean delivery is imminent, so I didn’t give it a lot of thought. We heard a chorus of “Dadaaaaa” coming down the hall, so Mark obliged. By the time they came into the room, I had decided to start timing contractions. I didn’t say anything just yet. They were stronger and more annoying and were coming every eight minutes or so.
J had a nice snuggle session with me and we took some silly selfies while he ate a plain waffle. I had mentioned to Mark that the Braxton-Hicks were getting more annoying and more frequent, so I wasn’t ready to get out of bed. I decided to clue him in as the contractions hit 7 minutes.
I’d been too tired to shower the night before, so I decided to take a bath. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to sit in the tub if it was going to be delivery day. I also knew it would be nice to have smooth legs, in light of the fact that I had people holding them as I pushed for two hours the first time I delivered. I understood, while bathing, why women want water births. I noticed the contractions were now almost 6 minutes apart, so I told Mark to pack J’s suitcase. After I got dressed, I called my parents.
“What are you guys doing?”
“We’re just leaving (grocery store close to my house). Why?”
“I think I need you to come pick up J.”
Mom panics.
“Did your water break?!?!”
“No. But I lost my mucus plug and my contractions are six minutes apart.”
“We’re three minutes away.”
Mom and Dad picked up J. Mom was freaking out. I told her I wasn’t calling the doctor yet because my contractions weren’t close enough yet. She was not pleased. But I didn’t want to go in on a false alarm or get sent home based on not being close enough.
As it was, Mark’s brother and sister-in-law were coming in from Mobile that day to help. I get put on pelvic rest while pregnant, which restricts lifting, too. They came to help get rid of some furniture in the back room, which we are going to turn into a playroom/office. He called them to see how close they were, and they weren’t too far. So they came over and I sat on the couch and didn’t move other than to time contractions. They finished helping and left. Mark got lunch for us. Mom kept texting to see if I’d gone to the hospital yet and then chastised me every time I said no.
Finally, around 4, I was flirting with 5 minutes between contractions. I had Mark call my doctor because I didn’t want to get hit with a contraction while talking. I was so nervous. What if my doctor wasn’t on call? But then I realized she probably was. She’d been out of town the two previous weekends and rotates with two other doctors I’ve never even seen since they are all private practice located in different offices. He called, talked to the answering service guy, and we waited. I held my breath as his phone rang. I could hear that Cajun accent over the phone and almost cried. She was working this weekend. I was going to have my own doctor deliver my baby. She asked to talk to me and said “Well, let’s go have a baby. Get to the hospital!”
We grabbed our stuff and slowly made it to the car. I sent a quick FB message to the event invite for the ladies night my friends and I were having, and everyone flipped out. We parked on the 4th floor, which is where the Woman and Child Center is, and walked up. Only then did we realize something important: it’s locked on weekends and holidays. You have to go in on the second floor. So we had to reload the car and slowly waddle to the car and then back to the second floor entrance. They set me up in the same triage room I’d been in on Thursday. It was getting very real very quickly.
I guess it was after the Tylenol PM was wearing off, but I woke up around 6 on Saturday morning feeling more of them. I was able to doze off in between and didn’t think much of them. Around 8, I was uncomfortable and awake, which was generally how my saturdays went. I was still feeling them, but they weren’t horrible. More annoying than anything. I got up around 9 to go to the bathroom again. And there was the horror show that was my mucus plug.
We always joke about “Have you had your bloody show?” It’s in “Knocked Up,” and the delivery has always made us laugh.
Welp. I did indeed. I didn’t have it with my son. I was induced and he had been content to try to go full term, but it was doctor’s orders. I went back to our room and woke Mark. I told him that I had actually had the bloody show and we laughed about it. It doesn’t necessarily mean delivery is imminent, so I didn’t give it a lot of thought. We heard a chorus of “Dadaaaaa” coming down the hall, so Mark obliged. By the time they came into the room, I had decided to start timing contractions. I didn’t say anything just yet. They were stronger and more annoying and were coming every eight minutes or so.
J had a nice snuggle session with me and we took some silly selfies while he ate a plain waffle. I had mentioned to Mark that the Braxton-Hicks were getting more annoying and more frequent, so I wasn’t ready to get out of bed. I decided to clue him in as the contractions hit 7 minutes.
I’d been too tired to shower the night before, so I decided to take a bath. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to sit in the tub if it was going to be delivery day. I also knew it would be nice to have smooth legs, in light of the fact that I had people holding them as I pushed for two hours the first time I delivered. I understood, while bathing, why women want water births. I noticed the contractions were now almost 6 minutes apart, so I told Mark to pack J’s suitcase. After I got dressed, I called my parents.
“What are you guys doing?”
“We’re just leaving (grocery store close to my house). Why?”
“I think I need you to come pick up J.”
Mom panics.
“Did your water break?!?!”
“No. But I lost my mucus plug and my contractions are six minutes apart.”
“We’re three minutes away.”
Mom and Dad picked up J. Mom was freaking out. I told her I wasn’t calling the doctor yet because my contractions weren’t close enough yet. She was not pleased. But I didn’t want to go in on a false alarm or get sent home based on not being close enough.
As it was, Mark’s brother and sister-in-law were coming in from Mobile that day to help. I get put on pelvic rest while pregnant, which restricts lifting, too. They came to help get rid of some furniture in the back room, which we are going to turn into a playroom/office. He called them to see how close they were, and they weren’t too far. So they came over and I sat on the couch and didn’t move other than to time contractions. They finished helping and left. Mark got lunch for us. Mom kept texting to see if I’d gone to the hospital yet and then chastised me every time I said no.
Finally, around 4, I was flirting with 5 minutes between contractions. I had Mark call my doctor because I didn’t want to get hit with a contraction while talking. I was so nervous. What if my doctor wasn’t on call? But then I realized she probably was. She’d been out of town the two previous weekends and rotates with two other doctors I’ve never even seen since they are all private practice located in different offices. He called, talked to the answering service guy, and we waited. I held my breath as his phone rang. I could hear that Cajun accent over the phone and almost cried. She was working this weekend. I was going to have my own doctor deliver my baby. She asked to talk to me and said “Well, let’s go have a baby. Get to the hospital!”
We grabbed our stuff and slowly made it to the car. I sent a quick FB message to the event invite for the ladies night my friends and I were having, and everyone flipped out. We parked on the 4th floor, which is where the Woman and Child Center is, and walked up. Only then did we realize something important: it’s locked on weekends and holidays. You have to go in on the second floor. So we had to reload the car and slowly waddle to the car and then back to the second floor entrance. They set me up in the same triage room I’d been in on Thursday. It was getting very real very quickly.
Tuesday, October 09, 2018
A new wrinkle
My dad’s aunt (whose birthday was today) died the Sunday before I hit 38 weeks. Her funeral was scheduled for Thursday morning. I also had a regularly scheduled NST that afternoon, and we were going to schedule my induction for the following Wednesday. As a result, I took a half day off at work. Because I live in America and teach in an independent school instead of a catholic school now, I didn’t get any paid leave. I could do up to 12 weeks through FMLA, but I wouldn’t be able to afford that. I had five sick days roll over from last year plus three personals and seven sick for this year. That covered three weeks off. Then one week is our fall break, which wouldn’t count against me because no one was at work and I wasn’t missing anything and they didn’t have to pay my sub. So by taking six weeks off, four would be covered and I would only miss two weeks pay. Yay America!
But now that I knew I was getting induced on Wednesday, that presented a problem. It would have made sense to take off Monday and/or Tuesday, depending on what time my induction was scheduled. But now I had a funeral to attend. So I went in to make it a half day absent and would definitely go in on Monday.
They hadn’t been able to find a sub for me, but I convinced my amazing friend Melinda to apply. Spoiler alert: they hired her Thursday afternoon. Back to that in a minute.
But they wanted her to shadow me on Tuesday. So it looked like maybe I would at least go in for half a day Tuesday.
On the way to the funeral, we got into an accident. I was fine, baby was moving, no bleeding, and since I had the appointment in a few hours, we went to the funeral and then the reception at my aunt’s house. My car has a lot of damage, and our son was at school, but we were fine. Mark brought me to my aunt’s house and went home with my car since he wasn’t going to take it to work. My mom picks my son up from school every day, so she was going to bring me with her, pick him up, then bring me to my doctor appointment and then take us home.
We got to my doctor, and she immediately sent me to Labor and Delicery. I found out later it was so they could make sure my placenta was functioning properly in light of the accident, but she offered no explanation and ordered me straight to the hospital. I got to L and D and they sent me to the ER because it was a car accident. I spent a couple hours down there before getting cleared. They needed to make sure I was okay and cleared of trauma before L and D could see me. Then they brought me back up to one of the triage rooms up there and hooked me to a monitor and checked my cervix. At my appointment on Monday, my doctor said that I was “sealed up hard and tight” and the baby was “sitting in your throat.” When they checked me, I was starting to dilate and was almost to 2, but baby was still up high and my cervix wasn’t very soft.
When they sent me to the ER, I had my mom take my son to her house. Didn’t want him exposed to lord knows what in there. When I thought I was just going to be there for an hour or so at L and D, they were coming with me. But ER seemed like a bad place for a 2 1/2-year-old to hang out. So I spent more than an hour just hanging out in the ER waiting room. A very conservative family was there because the grandma had fallen, and the nurses sat me in a wheelchair by them. They were very friendly and were good company. Grandma and grandpa were going to pray for me and I got to hear all about the family. It was an okay way to spend the afternoon. I bit my tongue over a few things they said, but they were sweet to me.
After half an hour on the monitors, the baby’s heart had two deceleration events. They weren’t major, but they were enough to make them keep me for observation until after 11 p.m. in events like this, they like to observe for 12 hours following the incident. Since it happened at 11 a.m., that’s why they had me stay until then.
Mark had been at work for a while and I told him to stay unless there was any reason I needed him. It was basically a longer version of my usual NSTs, so nothing he could do.
They wouldn’t let me have water because with the deceleration events, there was a chance of emergency c-section.
While I was there, I started feeling more of the Braxton-Hicks contractions. Some were a little strong and felt like period cramps. I was nervous and lonely and a little bored.
The nurses periodically checked on me and said that baby was behaving and they had a feeling that I would probably go home at 11.
While I was in the ER, my friend texted me to say that she had been hired, and my head of school sent me an email about it. I told her about being in the ER and that I would keep her posted. Once I found out that I was stuck until at least 11, she arranged a sub for the next day. My sub hasn’t done paperwork and fingerprints yet, so she couldn’t come in. But I would be at work Monday, so no big deal.
They scheduled a very intense ultrasound session for me. Eventually they came back with the results and said everything looked good and the nurses said it was looking like I’d probably go home. One even said she’d almost be willing to put money on those odds.
I was texting with friends for a while and my cousin Alicia decided to come keep me company. I was so grateful and it gave me more reason to keep Mark at work. He was able to leave a little earlier than usual because his relief guy got there early. He went home, packed a bag for our son, including at outfit for the next day because that was school picture day (I only remembered when his teacher texted out a reminder!), showered and had dinner since I couldn’t eat and he was afraid we’d be admitted and he wouldn’t get to shower, then brought everything to my parents. Around 11 the nurse came in and said “Feel like going home?” Yay! Baby and I were fine and getting released. We had quite a walk to the car because Mark arrived after the nearest garage was closed and parked in a weird lot. Took a lot of walking because a lot of entrances were not open. But we made it. Picked up our son, got me a bottle of water, and the. Stopped to make sure I could finally get dinner.
I was supposed to take it easy and was glad school arranged a sub already. I sent an email to my students to let them know that I would be back Monday and that everything was fine.
Friday morning, the Braxton-Hicks were gone. I had a nice, restful day at home and rode with Mark to pick up our son from school. He gets our way before I am allowed to leave, so I never get to pick him up. It was nice to dinthat two days in a row.
I was looking forward to a weekend of getting the house more in shape and relaxing with my lady friends at a Pizza, PJs, and Prosecco Night. We do this every few months. We wear pajamas and watch cheesy movies and eat and drink the title items. I was going tonbit have the Prosecco obviously, but was very much looking forward to one last night before things got crazy.
But now that I knew I was getting induced on Wednesday, that presented a problem. It would have made sense to take off Monday and/or Tuesday, depending on what time my induction was scheduled. But now I had a funeral to attend. So I went in to make it a half day absent and would definitely go in on Monday.
They hadn’t been able to find a sub for me, but I convinced my amazing friend Melinda to apply. Spoiler alert: they hired her Thursday afternoon. Back to that in a minute.
But they wanted her to shadow me on Tuesday. So it looked like maybe I would at least go in for half a day Tuesday.
On the way to the funeral, we got into an accident. I was fine, baby was moving, no bleeding, and since I had the appointment in a few hours, we went to the funeral and then the reception at my aunt’s house. My car has a lot of damage, and our son was at school, but we were fine. Mark brought me to my aunt’s house and went home with my car since he wasn’t going to take it to work. My mom picks my son up from school every day, so she was going to bring me with her, pick him up, then bring me to my doctor appointment and then take us home.
We got to my doctor, and she immediately sent me to Labor and Delicery. I found out later it was so they could make sure my placenta was functioning properly in light of the accident, but she offered no explanation and ordered me straight to the hospital. I got to L and D and they sent me to the ER because it was a car accident. I spent a couple hours down there before getting cleared. They needed to make sure I was okay and cleared of trauma before L and D could see me. Then they brought me back up to one of the triage rooms up there and hooked me to a monitor and checked my cervix. At my appointment on Monday, my doctor said that I was “sealed up hard and tight” and the baby was “sitting in your throat.” When they checked me, I was starting to dilate and was almost to 2, but baby was still up high and my cervix wasn’t very soft.
When they sent me to the ER, I had my mom take my son to her house. Didn’t want him exposed to lord knows what in there. When I thought I was just going to be there for an hour or so at L and D, they were coming with me. But ER seemed like a bad place for a 2 1/2-year-old to hang out. So I spent more than an hour just hanging out in the ER waiting room. A very conservative family was there because the grandma had fallen, and the nurses sat me in a wheelchair by them. They were very friendly and were good company. Grandma and grandpa were going to pray for me and I got to hear all about the family. It was an okay way to spend the afternoon. I bit my tongue over a few things they said, but they were sweet to me.
After half an hour on the monitors, the baby’s heart had two deceleration events. They weren’t major, but they were enough to make them keep me for observation until after 11 p.m. in events like this, they like to observe for 12 hours following the incident. Since it happened at 11 a.m., that’s why they had me stay until then.
Mark had been at work for a while and I told him to stay unless there was any reason I needed him. It was basically a longer version of my usual NSTs, so nothing he could do.
They wouldn’t let me have water because with the deceleration events, there was a chance of emergency c-section.
While I was there, I started feeling more of the Braxton-Hicks contractions. Some were a little strong and felt like period cramps. I was nervous and lonely and a little bored.
The nurses periodically checked on me and said that baby was behaving and they had a feeling that I would probably go home at 11.
While I was in the ER, my friend texted me to say that she had been hired, and my head of school sent me an email about it. I told her about being in the ER and that I would keep her posted. Once I found out that I was stuck until at least 11, she arranged a sub for the next day. My sub hasn’t done paperwork and fingerprints yet, so she couldn’t come in. But I would be at work Monday, so no big deal.
They scheduled a very intense ultrasound session for me. Eventually they came back with the results and said everything looked good and the nurses said it was looking like I’d probably go home. One even said she’d almost be willing to put money on those odds.
I was texting with friends for a while and my cousin Alicia decided to come keep me company. I was so grateful and it gave me more reason to keep Mark at work. He was able to leave a little earlier than usual because his relief guy got there early. He went home, packed a bag for our son, including at outfit for the next day because that was school picture day (I only remembered when his teacher texted out a reminder!), showered and had dinner since I couldn’t eat and he was afraid we’d be admitted and he wouldn’t get to shower, then brought everything to my parents. Around 11 the nurse came in and said “Feel like going home?” Yay! Baby and I were fine and getting released. We had quite a walk to the car because Mark arrived after the nearest garage was closed and parked in a weird lot. Took a lot of walking because a lot of entrances were not open. But we made it. Picked up our son, got me a bottle of water, and the. Stopped to make sure I could finally get dinner.
I was supposed to take it easy and was glad school arranged a sub already. I sent an email to my students to let them know that I would be back Monday and that everything was fine.
Friday morning, the Braxton-Hicks were gone. I had a nice, restful day at home and rode with Mark to pick up our son from school. He gets our way before I am allowed to leave, so I never get to pick him up. It was nice to dinthat two days in a row.
I was looking forward to a weekend of getting the house more in shape and relaxing with my lady friends at a Pizza, PJs, and Prosecco Night. We do this every few months. We wear pajamas and watch cheesy movies and eat and drink the title items. I was going tonbit have the Prosecco obviously, but was very much looking forward to one last night before things got crazy.
Thursday, October 04, 2018
But otherwise, it was good.
While I had some scary possible diagnoses for my unborn child, the pregnancy was good. Mostly.
I never had acne as a teen. But this time, I developed acne on my right cheek early in and it stayed until after she was born. Almost three weeks later, it’s not all gone yet. I also had very intense nausea, starting before lunch and lasting until I was asleep at night. It lasted until probably 16-18 weeks. For my son, it was periodic, not predictable, and it lasted until about 13 weeks. And the exhaustion was very real. I had the joy of doing this with a toddler around. I feel guilty over not being able to be the mom he deserved, but I was supposed to rest, was on pelvic rest, and felt miserable. My old friend sciatic pain returned. I’ve only ever had it while pregnant and it goes away as soon as I deliver.
Those scary possible diagnoses were awful. One by one we eliminated the possible problems. I got the all-clear from the second round of genetic testing. The cardiologist saw no real issues. And while smaller, the baby grew steadily. It was just a matter of making it as long as I could. With each passing week, I wanted to relax. We crossed the point of viability successfully and then hit the glucose test. I took the one-hour and failed. The same thing happened last time, so I wasn’t concerned. I took the three-hour test and didn’t fail, but I didn’t pass. One of the blood draws came back high but the others were all within range. So while I didn’t have gestational diabetes, she called me glucose intolerant. I had to cut out sugar. I could have a little each day (a diet I saw online said 130 g a day).
When I got my initial blood work done, my thyroid cane back under active. I’d suspected that for a while, because it had been low years ago. But then I lost a lot of weight and we discovered it kicked into overactive. She reduced my meds and it was still too much, so she took me off the meds. She started me on meds again, and rechecked it around the time of the first glucose test. It wasn’t where she wanted it to be, so she increased my dosage. For about a month, I gained no weight. My belly was growing appropriately and the growth scans were fine, but between increasing my thyroid meds and cutting out almost all sugar from my diet, I plateaued. Which, honestly, is fine by me haha. When I did start gaining again, it was very slow. Technically I gained less than 20 pounds the whole pregnancy, but due to the thyroid and the glucose intolerance, that is skewed a little.
At 31 weeks, my MFM suggested that I start the non stress tests. Previously, I started at 34 weeks. I was concerned about why she wanted them early, but it was just precaution due to my hypertension and the cord and placenta issues. So twice a week, that’s what I did.
At 37 weeks, my doctor went on vacation. I was terrified. I would be early term, but she would be gone. She has a private practice and is the only doctor. Two other OB/GYNs are in her same strip, and apparently they rotate being on call. One of those would have delivered if anything had happened. But I’d never seen them before. And I love my doctor. I didn’t want anyone else in the room doing what she does.
In addition, there was a chance of a tropical storm coming. And Mark had jury duty that week. Plus, it was Labor Day week, and people were already making jokes.
But I made it! I counted down the days until she was back in town. I knew she would be back by Sunday because she’s a Saints season ticket holder. And she would be in the office on Monday. If I could last until then, everything would be perfect.
And I did.
That Sunday night, we were about to leave my parents’ house when my aunt called to tell my parents that my dad’s aunt, my grandmother’s sister, died. Her funeral was set for Thursday.
I saw the MFM the Tuesday of week 37. Her recommendation was to deliver at 39 weeks. Last time, she said that to prevent him from getting too big because they overestimated his size via ultrasound. This time, it was about getting the baby away from the cord and placenta. In addition, my OB/GYN has already mentioned that new study where they said inducing at 39 was better anyway, so I was sure she’d want to do that. I also had to go to the MFM office for an NST, and everything was fine. But once again, baby wasn’t cooperating and kept coming off the monitor, so it took a while.
On Monday of Week 38, my doctor decided that we would set the date for induction at my next appointment, which was Thursday. I caught the bad cold my son brought home from school (he started pre-k 2!) and couldn’t take anything. I can’t take Sudafed because of my blood pressure and I can’t take couldn’t take most other things because I was pregnant. I was allowed Robitussin and could take Tylenol PM to get sleep.
School had not been able to find a sub for me and I convinced my friend to apply. I was planning to work until I couldn’t. With my aunt dying, I was going to have to swap out days. I would take off Thursday and go to work Monday.
On the way to the funeral, we got in an accident. I felt fine. I had my seat belt under my belly and the airbags didn’t deploy. The front end of my car on the passenger side got a lot of damage. Since I felt fine and felt the baby move and wasn’t bleeding or anything, I went to the funeral. We went to my aubt’s house after and then I rode with my mom to pick up my son. She was driving me to my NST appointment. If I hadn’t had the appointment, I would have called her after the accident. But since the appointment was only a few hours away, I just waited. When I showed up to my appointment, she sent me to the hospital to Labor and Delivery. They sent me to be cleared by the ER. I had Mom take my son home and was there all alone. I was seated by a nice family. A little too conservative and religious for my tastes, but they basically adopted me for the duration of my wait. But they were very genuine and it was nice to have company. After a few hours, I was able to go up to L&D again. They put me on the monitor and told me I had to stay until 12 hours after the incident. That meant I was there until 11 p.m. Mark was at work and Alicia came to keep me company. They wouldn’t let me have water because if anything was amiss, I would need an emergency c-section. Baby had two decelerations at first but the NST was beautiful the whole rest of the way. They discharged me around 11 we picked my son up from my parents’ house.
While I was in the ER, I found out my friend accepted the position of subbing for me. I needed to take it easy on Friday, so school got a different sub to take my class.
I’d been hard and tight with no signs of dilation on Monday. And the baby was “sitting in your throat,” according to my doctor. While I was in L&D, I had dilated to 2-3 cm but it was still hard and baby was still way up high. I had a lot of Braxton-Hicks contractions, some powerful, but they determined I could go home.
I never had acne as a teen. But this time, I developed acne on my right cheek early in and it stayed until after she was born. Almost three weeks later, it’s not all gone yet. I also had very intense nausea, starting before lunch and lasting until I was asleep at night. It lasted until probably 16-18 weeks. For my son, it was periodic, not predictable, and it lasted until about 13 weeks. And the exhaustion was very real. I had the joy of doing this with a toddler around. I feel guilty over not being able to be the mom he deserved, but I was supposed to rest, was on pelvic rest, and felt miserable. My old friend sciatic pain returned. I’ve only ever had it while pregnant and it goes away as soon as I deliver.
Those scary possible diagnoses were awful. One by one we eliminated the possible problems. I got the all-clear from the second round of genetic testing. The cardiologist saw no real issues. And while smaller, the baby grew steadily. It was just a matter of making it as long as I could. With each passing week, I wanted to relax. We crossed the point of viability successfully and then hit the glucose test. I took the one-hour and failed. The same thing happened last time, so I wasn’t concerned. I took the three-hour test and didn’t fail, but I didn’t pass. One of the blood draws came back high but the others were all within range. So while I didn’t have gestational diabetes, she called me glucose intolerant. I had to cut out sugar. I could have a little each day (a diet I saw online said 130 g a day).
When I got my initial blood work done, my thyroid cane back under active. I’d suspected that for a while, because it had been low years ago. But then I lost a lot of weight and we discovered it kicked into overactive. She reduced my meds and it was still too much, so she took me off the meds. She started me on meds again, and rechecked it around the time of the first glucose test. It wasn’t where she wanted it to be, so she increased my dosage. For about a month, I gained no weight. My belly was growing appropriately and the growth scans were fine, but between increasing my thyroid meds and cutting out almost all sugar from my diet, I plateaued. Which, honestly, is fine by me haha. When I did start gaining again, it was very slow. Technically I gained less than 20 pounds the whole pregnancy, but due to the thyroid and the glucose intolerance, that is skewed a little.
At 31 weeks, my MFM suggested that I start the non stress tests. Previously, I started at 34 weeks. I was concerned about why she wanted them early, but it was just precaution due to my hypertension and the cord and placenta issues. So twice a week, that’s what I did.
At 37 weeks, my doctor went on vacation. I was terrified. I would be early term, but she would be gone. She has a private practice and is the only doctor. Two other OB/GYNs are in her same strip, and apparently they rotate being on call. One of those would have delivered if anything had happened. But I’d never seen them before. And I love my doctor. I didn’t want anyone else in the room doing what she does.
In addition, there was a chance of a tropical storm coming. And Mark had jury duty that week. Plus, it was Labor Day week, and people were already making jokes.
But I made it! I counted down the days until she was back in town. I knew she would be back by Sunday because she’s a Saints season ticket holder. And she would be in the office on Monday. If I could last until then, everything would be perfect.
And I did.
That Sunday night, we were about to leave my parents’ house when my aunt called to tell my parents that my dad’s aunt, my grandmother’s sister, died. Her funeral was set for Thursday.
I saw the MFM the Tuesday of week 37. Her recommendation was to deliver at 39 weeks. Last time, she said that to prevent him from getting too big because they overestimated his size via ultrasound. This time, it was about getting the baby away from the cord and placenta. In addition, my OB/GYN has already mentioned that new study where they said inducing at 39 was better anyway, so I was sure she’d want to do that. I also had to go to the MFM office for an NST, and everything was fine. But once again, baby wasn’t cooperating and kept coming off the monitor, so it took a while.
On Monday of Week 38, my doctor decided that we would set the date for induction at my next appointment, which was Thursday. I caught the bad cold my son brought home from school (he started pre-k 2!) and couldn’t take anything. I can’t take Sudafed because of my blood pressure and I can’t take couldn’t take most other things because I was pregnant. I was allowed Robitussin and could take Tylenol PM to get sleep.
School had not been able to find a sub for me and I convinced my friend to apply. I was planning to work until I couldn’t. With my aunt dying, I was going to have to swap out days. I would take off Thursday and go to work Monday.
On the way to the funeral, we got in an accident. I felt fine. I had my seat belt under my belly and the airbags didn’t deploy. The front end of my car on the passenger side got a lot of damage. Since I felt fine and felt the baby move and wasn’t bleeding or anything, I went to the funeral. We went to my aubt’s house after and then I rode with my mom to pick up my son. She was driving me to my NST appointment. If I hadn’t had the appointment, I would have called her after the accident. But since the appointment was only a few hours away, I just waited. When I showed up to my appointment, she sent me to the hospital to Labor and Delivery. They sent me to be cleared by the ER. I had Mom take my son home and was there all alone. I was seated by a nice family. A little too conservative and religious for my tastes, but they basically adopted me for the duration of my wait. But they were very genuine and it was nice to have company. After a few hours, I was able to go up to L&D again. They put me on the monitor and told me I had to stay until 12 hours after the incident. That meant I was there until 11 p.m. Mark was at work and Alicia came to keep me company. They wouldn’t let me have water because if anything was amiss, I would need an emergency c-section. Baby had two decelerations at first but the NST was beautiful the whole rest of the way. They discharged me around 11 we picked my son up from my parents’ house.
While I was in the ER, I found out my friend accepted the position of subbing for me. I needed to take it easy on Friday, so school got a different sub to take my class.
I’d been hard and tight with no signs of dilation on Monday. And the baby was “sitting in your throat,” according to my doctor. While I was in L&D, I had dilated to 2-3 cm but it was still hard and baby was still way up high. I had a lot of Braxton-Hicks contractions, some powerful, but they determined I could go home.
Tuesday, October 02, 2018
I was on a break
I haven’t posted much this year. I was afraid to post. But up until 16 days ago, I spent every day of the year pregnant. Surprise! I had a second baby. And again, I didn’t want to post because of how my past is.
We never thought we’d have one child, let alone two. We were grateful to have the perfect son that we were somehow able to have. We never wanted to only have one. However, we wished and almost hoped. When I went for annual exams, my doctor would ask if we wanted another. I said if it was a guarantee that it would be a successful first attempt, I’d be okay with it. But with my history, that seemed impossible. We always said if one would happen, we wouldn’t be mad. We assumed it would never happen and settled into acceptance that we would have an only child.
And then, the week in January where it “snowed,” I realized that maybe something was up. I’d had a digital test leftover from before. It was still good. And it came up positive. And I cried. I didn’t know how to feel. I assumed my body would slip into its old habits. I didn’t let myself feel anything. And I said nothing to anyone. Not even Mark.
Right after his birthday, I broke the news to him. And much like before, we didn’t talk about it or hope or anything. It’s such a weird place to be in. Here you are, with incredible news. You don’t share it. You don’t allow yourself to think about it. You just go about your business like your world isn’t about to change.
I mean. I thought about it. Every time I went to the restroom and braced myself. Every time I could barely hold my eyes open after work. Every time I picked up my increasingly heavy toddler. Once I hit six weeks and got much stronger nausea than I did for any other pregnancy. Every time I pretended to drink alcohol because it was Mardi Gras or school Gala or St. Patrick’s Day or a wedding.
Oh that nausea. Lasted from before lunch until I fell asleep at night. I lived on ginger candy and Coke icees. I barely ate. And I developed a peanut butter aversion, which was devastating. Two and a half weeks postpartum, I still haven’t eaten any. I have to work up the nerve.
I didn’t call my doctor until 9 weeks. I couldn’t get an appointment until 11 weeks. They were as shocked as we were. The first visit confirmed a single baby in the uterus with a heartbeat. And I still didn’t tell anyone. But I did get closer to accepting that this was probably a viable pregnancy and I almost let myself get excited.
The next week, I saw the scary but excellent maternal-fetal medicine specialist. Everything seemed okay, but at 12 weeks, you can’t really see much to be sure.
After that appointment, we finally told our immediate families. But that was it. Just parents and siblings.
I had the quad screening done because I would deliver at 39. And the test showed that there was a higher risk for the baby to have Down’s syndrome. It wasn’t a “yes, you have a child with it,” it was a “hey, there’s actually a fairly large risk that your baby may have it.”
The MFM asked me at my next visit to get a second test run to see more conclusively if this was real. Why? Because the umbilical cord has two vessels instead of three. A healthy cord has two arteries and one vein. Mine had one of each. And a 2-vessel cord means something could be very wrong. What I was facing: a Down’s syndrome diagnosis, a baby with heart problems, restricted growth, or a non viable pregnancy. I wasn’t given a printout of the ultrasound that day but was given paperwork for an appointment with a pediatric cardiologist and the second blood test, Materni-T 21, to check chromosomal abnormalities. I also barely held it together until I got in my car. I sat in the garage and sobbed hysterically. I finally calmed enough to drive. I had to go to my parents’ house because they were babysitting and Mom knew something was wrong as soon as I walked in.
I’d told my head of school about my pregnancy and then shared it with my teaching cohort. They were the only work people who knew. And once I got this scary news, I didn’t want to share with anyone else.
Somewhere along the way I had my class’ major presentations and got through then without vomiting on anyone and not losing my cool on anyone. When that quarter-long project ended, we went to Miramar Beach for Caroline and Gordon’s wedding. I’d come clean to our friends because I knew it would be impossible to hide.
We also had to tell extended family because we were going to mg cousin Kate’s wedding the following week. I had my class overnight on the north shore the day before that. I couldn’t help carry much and I had to take it easy. Once again, I had placenta previa. Also, while I had a weird section of the placenta that wasn’t working when I was pregnant the last time, it didn’t prove any harm. This time, in addition to previa and the bad cord, the cord had a marginal insertion. My fears increased with all of this.
My cousin Alicia, as my son’s godmother, wanted to get him a big brother T-shirt. I asked her to please hold onto it because my already high-risk pregnancy (advanced maternal age, MTHFR, and chronic hypertension, in addition to 5 first trimester miscarriages) was now very high risk. I didn’t want to have the shirt and have my worst fears come true and then to be stuck looking at the shirt.
I had to wait until June 7 to see the pediatric cardiologist. I had to wait a few weeks to hear the chromosome test results. Such a relief to learn that the test came back normal. But because I didn’t know what the cardiologist would find, I was afraid to share my news with other coworkers and my students. I eventually told my coworkers, about two weeks before school let out. It was graduation night, we went out for drinks, and I had to tell them why I was just having tea and not a margarita like the rest of them. Come to find out, the two male teachers who came with us on the overnight knew, because my partner teacher had to tell them I wasn’t being lazy or too good for things... I was a high risk pregnancy. And they kept the secret and did so very well.
School ended and I finally was able to see the pediatric cardiologist. After a lengthy and intense ultrasound session, they concluded that the baby’s heart looked fine. There was the caveat that since the baby is small, something could be missed. But in all subsequent ultrasounds with my MFM doctor, things appeared fine. I had to continue seeing the MFM doctor, though, to monitor growth. If growth slowed or stopped, the baby would have to come by c-section as soon as they discovered the growth issue. Thankfully, the baby l, though never in the top percentiles, continued to grow and stay relatively on target.
We never thought we’d have one child, let alone two. We were grateful to have the perfect son that we were somehow able to have. We never wanted to only have one. However, we wished and almost hoped. When I went for annual exams, my doctor would ask if we wanted another. I said if it was a guarantee that it would be a successful first attempt, I’d be okay with it. But with my history, that seemed impossible. We always said if one would happen, we wouldn’t be mad. We assumed it would never happen and settled into acceptance that we would have an only child.
And then, the week in January where it “snowed,” I realized that maybe something was up. I’d had a digital test leftover from before. It was still good. And it came up positive. And I cried. I didn’t know how to feel. I assumed my body would slip into its old habits. I didn’t let myself feel anything. And I said nothing to anyone. Not even Mark.
Right after his birthday, I broke the news to him. And much like before, we didn’t talk about it or hope or anything. It’s such a weird place to be in. Here you are, with incredible news. You don’t share it. You don’t allow yourself to think about it. You just go about your business like your world isn’t about to change.
I mean. I thought about it. Every time I went to the restroom and braced myself. Every time I could barely hold my eyes open after work. Every time I picked up my increasingly heavy toddler. Once I hit six weeks and got much stronger nausea than I did for any other pregnancy. Every time I pretended to drink alcohol because it was Mardi Gras or school Gala or St. Patrick’s Day or a wedding.
Oh that nausea. Lasted from before lunch until I fell asleep at night. I lived on ginger candy and Coke icees. I barely ate. And I developed a peanut butter aversion, which was devastating. Two and a half weeks postpartum, I still haven’t eaten any. I have to work up the nerve.
I didn’t call my doctor until 9 weeks. I couldn’t get an appointment until 11 weeks. They were as shocked as we were. The first visit confirmed a single baby in the uterus with a heartbeat. And I still didn’t tell anyone. But I did get closer to accepting that this was probably a viable pregnancy and I almost let myself get excited.
The next week, I saw the scary but excellent maternal-fetal medicine specialist. Everything seemed okay, but at 12 weeks, you can’t really see much to be sure.
After that appointment, we finally told our immediate families. But that was it. Just parents and siblings.
I had the quad screening done because I would deliver at 39. And the test showed that there was a higher risk for the baby to have Down’s syndrome. It wasn’t a “yes, you have a child with it,” it was a “hey, there’s actually a fairly large risk that your baby may have it.”
The MFM asked me at my next visit to get a second test run to see more conclusively if this was real. Why? Because the umbilical cord has two vessels instead of three. A healthy cord has two arteries and one vein. Mine had one of each. And a 2-vessel cord means something could be very wrong. What I was facing: a Down’s syndrome diagnosis, a baby with heart problems, restricted growth, or a non viable pregnancy. I wasn’t given a printout of the ultrasound that day but was given paperwork for an appointment with a pediatric cardiologist and the second blood test, Materni-T 21, to check chromosomal abnormalities. I also barely held it together until I got in my car. I sat in the garage and sobbed hysterically. I finally calmed enough to drive. I had to go to my parents’ house because they were babysitting and Mom knew something was wrong as soon as I walked in.
I’d told my head of school about my pregnancy and then shared it with my teaching cohort. They were the only work people who knew. And once I got this scary news, I didn’t want to share with anyone else.
Somewhere along the way I had my class’ major presentations and got through then without vomiting on anyone and not losing my cool on anyone. When that quarter-long project ended, we went to Miramar Beach for Caroline and Gordon’s wedding. I’d come clean to our friends because I knew it would be impossible to hide.
We also had to tell extended family because we were going to mg cousin Kate’s wedding the following week. I had my class overnight on the north shore the day before that. I couldn’t help carry much and I had to take it easy. Once again, I had placenta previa. Also, while I had a weird section of the placenta that wasn’t working when I was pregnant the last time, it didn’t prove any harm. This time, in addition to previa and the bad cord, the cord had a marginal insertion. My fears increased with all of this.
My cousin Alicia, as my son’s godmother, wanted to get him a big brother T-shirt. I asked her to please hold onto it because my already high-risk pregnancy (advanced maternal age, MTHFR, and chronic hypertension, in addition to 5 first trimester miscarriages) was now very high risk. I didn’t want to have the shirt and have my worst fears come true and then to be stuck looking at the shirt.
I had to wait until June 7 to see the pediatric cardiologist. I had to wait a few weeks to hear the chromosome test results. Such a relief to learn that the test came back normal. But because I didn’t know what the cardiologist would find, I was afraid to share my news with other coworkers and my students. I eventually told my coworkers, about two weeks before school let out. It was graduation night, we went out for drinks, and I had to tell them why I was just having tea and not a margarita like the rest of them. Come to find out, the two male teachers who came with us on the overnight knew, because my partner teacher had to tell them I wasn’t being lazy or too good for things... I was a high risk pregnancy. And they kept the secret and did so very well.
School ended and I finally was able to see the pediatric cardiologist. After a lengthy and intense ultrasound session, they concluded that the baby’s heart looked fine. There was the caveat that since the baby is small, something could be missed. But in all subsequent ultrasounds with my MFM doctor, things appeared fine. I had to continue seeing the MFM doctor, though, to monitor growth. If growth slowed or stopped, the baby would have to come by c-section as soon as they discovered the growth issue. Thankfully, the baby l, though never in the top percentiles, continued to grow and stay relatively on target.
Wednesday, January 17, 2018
Baby shower
Need to hit something lighthearted.
My cousin and my best friend handled my baby shower. It was lovely. We had trouble getting a venue together because my dad's aunt is on oxygen and Mark's grandmother can barely walk, and the first few venues required stairs or parking far off. They picked a not-glamorous but perfectly located burger joint with a "banquet room," and it was excellent. If anyone wanted a drink, the bar was steps away. The food was good. The room was great. Go figure!
Another "problem" was that so many friends had their babies or were days from having babies. Jessica was due a week and a half later, and she started serious Braxton-Hicks the day of my shower. I'd actually hoped for that to happen, because I picked that day in the pool at her shower haha. I ended up losing. So it ended up being mostly family, but that's okay.
The theme was baby monsters and Yanna found some super adorable baby versions of classic monsters. It was right before Halloween, so it was perfect. Gender-neutral. They had a table set up and labeled "Treat Yo Self," with my amazingly delicious cake and a candy selection.
Got some great gifts that were on the registry.
Most importantly, by having the two in charge who were in charge, no games were even attempted. It was a classy affair that was just my speed.
They tagged me in pictures on Facebook, but I didn't approve them to appear on my timeline and I also don't allow most people to see pictures tagged of me anyway.
However, a few high school friends saw pics because they are also friends with my mom and saw her get tagged. It was getting close to the end anyway, so it wasn't a huge deal. Plus, I was about to see some of them at my friend's wedding in a couple weeks, so the cat would be out of the bag with them anyway.
We brought everything home and it landed in my kitchen. A few weeks later, Mark's cousin brought over a bunch of her baby items. That all ended up in the kitchen, too. Mark couldn't keep up and I couldn't lift anything. It was a mess. It stayed that way until the weekend we came home. I mean, we got a lot of things out of the way when my parents came to help us one weekend. But it sucked having to take so much rest.
The girls made thank you cards for me that matched the invitations. They made a booklet to match to write down gifts and they included a print out of all of the addresses to make thank you card writing simple. It was genius. I highly recommend that when planning showers for people. Especially baby showers, when the new mom is going to be overwhelmed, exhausted, uncomfortable, and scatterbrained.
I actually didn't get around to finishing them until after he was here. I have no idea what I wrote, because I did them on pain meds hahaha. I'm sure they were lovely.
J
We had to vote in an election right after the shower. The ladies were all gushing over my belly. We went back for the primaries in March, and they really couldn't handle him. And every time we vote (every election), they gush over him and how they remember the day I came in so huge. I guess we're the only "young" regular voters. We rarely miss an election. Most people in our neighborhood are renters who don't stay long and old people who have been here forever, so I guess we stand out. I appreciate that, but damn. Go vote, people!!
My cousin and my best friend handled my baby shower. It was lovely. We had trouble getting a venue together because my dad's aunt is on oxygen and Mark's grandmother can barely walk, and the first few venues required stairs or parking far off. They picked a not-glamorous but perfectly located burger joint with a "banquet room," and it was excellent. If anyone wanted a drink, the bar was steps away. The food was good. The room was great. Go figure!
Another "problem" was that so many friends had their babies or were days from having babies. Jessica was due a week and a half later, and she started serious Braxton-Hicks the day of my shower. I'd actually hoped for that to happen, because I picked that day in the pool at her shower haha. I ended up losing. So it ended up being mostly family, but that's okay.
The theme was baby monsters and Yanna found some super adorable baby versions of classic monsters. It was right before Halloween, so it was perfect. Gender-neutral. They had a table set up and labeled "Treat Yo Self," with my amazingly delicious cake and a candy selection.
Got some great gifts that were on the registry.
Most importantly, by having the two in charge who were in charge, no games were even attempted. It was a classy affair that was just my speed.
They tagged me in pictures on Facebook, but I didn't approve them to appear on my timeline and I also don't allow most people to see pictures tagged of me anyway.
However, a few high school friends saw pics because they are also friends with my mom and saw her get tagged. It was getting close to the end anyway, so it wasn't a huge deal. Plus, I was about to see some of them at my friend's wedding in a couple weeks, so the cat would be out of the bag with them anyway.
We brought everything home and it landed in my kitchen. A few weeks later, Mark's cousin brought over a bunch of her baby items. That all ended up in the kitchen, too. Mark couldn't keep up and I couldn't lift anything. It was a mess. It stayed that way until the weekend we came home. I mean, we got a lot of things out of the way when my parents came to help us one weekend. But it sucked having to take so much rest.
The girls made thank you cards for me that matched the invitations. They made a booklet to match to write down gifts and they included a print out of all of the addresses to make thank you card writing simple. It was genius. I highly recommend that when planning showers for people. Especially baby showers, when the new mom is going to be overwhelmed, exhausted, uncomfortable, and scatterbrained.
I actually didn't get around to finishing them until after he was here. I have no idea what I wrote, because I did them on pain meds hahaha. I'm sure they were lovely.
J
We had to vote in an election right after the shower. The ladies were all gushing over my belly. We went back for the primaries in March, and they really couldn't handle him. And every time we vote (every election), they gush over him and how they remember the day I came in so huge. I guess we're the only "young" regular voters. We rarely miss an election. Most people in our neighborhood are renters who don't stay long and old people who have been here forever, so I guess we stand out. I appreciate that, but damn. Go vote, people!!
Tuesday, January 16, 2018
The first Christmas
I don't know how I skipped this part.
His family is an hour and a half away from us, and with a due date of December 8, I started stressing over Christmas. What if he came late? What if I had to have a section? What about an episiotomy? How was I going to bring a brand new baby that far and how was I going to last through the car ride? What about nursing? And since that was such a disaster, it eventually turned into "what about pumping and all of the paraphernalia involved?"
My parents had the same thoughts. We were being told to come for his family's Christmas. No one gave thought to the exhausted new parents, and especially not to the new mother and her comfort levels. But my parents did. They offered to host his parents and his brother and his sister-in-law on Christmas. My parents are a 15-minute drive away in the same city we live in.
When he called to extend the invite, they originally thought he had asked to have them and they were very squirrelly about it. He kept inviting them and they kept blowing it off with a "we'll see."
At my shower, my mom asked his mom in front of their family and mine if they would please come eat. She was kind and generous. And his mother said "oh uh well we'll see." My relatives commented at various times about how strange that response was. My mother was flabbergasted.
My BiL and SIL were planning to do Christmas Eve in his hometown and in hers, 20 mins away from his. Then they were making an 8-hour drive to northeast Louisiana to visit her extended family. But the more his mom begged off about coming to my parents' house, the more they discussed the fact that his mother was really going to miss her only grandchild's first Christmas. So they planned to detour to New Orleans because there was no way she would miss BIL and the grandchild together.
After two or three months of us practically begging them, they came.
After Christmas, Mark called and thanked them for coming. Another gaslighting situation arose wherein she said that they were always planning to come, what was he talking about? Thankfully, my SIL and I had had extensive Facebook conversations via messenger, so I know for a fact that we weren't imagining their hesitation. He told them that he was glad they came because he was worried that they were being rude and that they had never once committed to coming and had blown my mom off at the shower. But they kept on gaslighting us.
To combat gaslighting, it is suggested that you keep listing things you know to be true. Every time I bring up what they're doing and he starts making excuses, I lost this as one major situation that we know to be true but they keep denying ever happened.
His family is an hour and a half away from us, and with a due date of December 8, I started stressing over Christmas. What if he came late? What if I had to have a section? What about an episiotomy? How was I going to bring a brand new baby that far and how was I going to last through the car ride? What about nursing? And since that was such a disaster, it eventually turned into "what about pumping and all of the paraphernalia involved?"
My parents had the same thoughts. We were being told to come for his family's Christmas. No one gave thought to the exhausted new parents, and especially not to the new mother and her comfort levels. But my parents did. They offered to host his parents and his brother and his sister-in-law on Christmas. My parents are a 15-minute drive away in the same city we live in.
When he called to extend the invite, they originally thought he had asked to have them and they were very squirrelly about it. He kept inviting them and they kept blowing it off with a "we'll see."
At my shower, my mom asked his mom in front of their family and mine if they would please come eat. She was kind and generous. And his mother said "oh uh well we'll see." My relatives commented at various times about how strange that response was. My mother was flabbergasted.
My BiL and SIL were planning to do Christmas Eve in his hometown and in hers, 20 mins away from his. Then they were making an 8-hour drive to northeast Louisiana to visit her extended family. But the more his mom begged off about coming to my parents' house, the more they discussed the fact that his mother was really going to miss her only grandchild's first Christmas. So they planned to detour to New Orleans because there was no way she would miss BIL and the grandchild together.
After two or three months of us practically begging them, they came.
After Christmas, Mark called and thanked them for coming. Another gaslighting situation arose wherein she said that they were always planning to come, what was he talking about? Thankfully, my SIL and I had had extensive Facebook conversations via messenger, so I know for a fact that we weren't imagining their hesitation. He told them that he was glad they came because he was worried that they were being rude and that they had never once committed to coming and had blown my mom off at the shower. But they kept on gaslighting us.
To combat gaslighting, it is suggested that you keep listing things you know to be true. Every time I bring up what they're doing and he starts making excuses, I lost this as one major situation that we know to be true but they keep denying ever happened.
Monday, January 15, 2018
That escalated quickly.
I loved my job. I loved what I did. I loved my students. I loved my coworkers. But to get close to a living wage, I had to have five stipends. Most of them required me to be at work late at night. With a child, I couldn't afford to work there any more. I'd always called it my happiness tax, but I had to take care of my family, first.
I tightened my social media pages and stuck my inlaws in that tighter security group. It was something I'd always wanted to do. I just wasn't sure when would be appropriate. I never wanted to accept their friendship on there because I felt like it was too much. Mark isn't friends with most of my family, but since he's more of a public figure due to work, he's a little less strict with who can see his stuff.
A few weeks went by and I was back at work. One day, we got a phony call demanding that I allow them access to my page. Um? What now? Mark informed them that I was job searching, hence the heightened social media security. That is 100 percent correct. I didn't block or unfriend them. I just locked them down. No more pats pr photos were visible to them. A little more time passed. And at Easter, Mark called to wish them a happy one. And instead of exchanging pleasantries, they chose to tear into him and rip him a new one. He, who never raises his voice, raised his voice to them. He tried setting boundaries and explaining that we feel like they do not respect us as adults. That they don't respect us as parents. Every time we ask them not to do something, they do it. If we ask them to do something, they don't. Like buying the base for the car seat, for instance. Spoiler: that base could only be used with the bucket seat. When we upgraded to the bigger seat, those were useless. They never once used it and were miffed.
Anyway, I refused to try to tweak my settings because I was job searching. I'd planned on eventually letting them back in, but I decided against it. Eventually, unnoticed his mom unfriended me, based on the fact that she popped up as a person I may know, haha. C'est la vie.
At this point, I said they needed a time out. They were not exhibiting sane behavior or wise actions. I banned them from the house until further notice. They were going to be allowed here for his birthday, but that's a more tragic story yet to come.
Basically, they are allowed supervised visits and they must be in public. If it's something in their hometown, I chaperone.
I'm sorry. This is too unstable.
After some time, they claimed that when Mark called them out on condemning us to hell and saying what they said about the miscarriage, they denied it. They began a gaslighting campaign that keeps rearing its very ugly head. Gaslighting is scary.
I tightened my social media pages and stuck my inlaws in that tighter security group. It was something I'd always wanted to do. I just wasn't sure when would be appropriate. I never wanted to accept their friendship on there because I felt like it was too much. Mark isn't friends with most of my family, but since he's more of a public figure due to work, he's a little less strict with who can see his stuff.
A few weeks went by and I was back at work. One day, we got a phony call demanding that I allow them access to my page. Um? What now? Mark informed them that I was job searching, hence the heightened social media security. That is 100 percent correct. I didn't block or unfriend them. I just locked them down. No more pats pr photos were visible to them. A little more time passed. And at Easter, Mark called to wish them a happy one. And instead of exchanging pleasantries, they chose to tear into him and rip him a new one. He, who never raises his voice, raised his voice to them. He tried setting boundaries and explaining that we feel like they do not respect us as adults. That they don't respect us as parents. Every time we ask them not to do something, they do it. If we ask them to do something, they don't. Like buying the base for the car seat, for instance. Spoiler: that base could only be used with the bucket seat. When we upgraded to the bigger seat, those were useless. They never once used it and were miffed.
Anyway, I refused to try to tweak my settings because I was job searching. I'd planned on eventually letting them back in, but I decided against it. Eventually, unnoticed his mom unfriended me, based on the fact that she popped up as a person I may know, haha. C'est la vie.
At this point, I said they needed a time out. They were not exhibiting sane behavior or wise actions. I banned them from the house until further notice. They were going to be allowed here for his birthday, but that's a more tragic story yet to come.
Basically, they are allowed supervised visits and they must be in public. If it's something in their hometown, I chaperone.
I'm sorry. This is too unstable.
After some time, they claimed that when Mark called them out on condemning us to hell and saying what they said about the miscarriage, they denied it. They began a gaslighting campaign that keeps rearing its very ugly head. Gaslighting is scary.
Wednesday, January 10, 2018
Listen to new parents
If it isn't your baby, you get no say.
If it isn't your baby, the parents get all of the say.
I don't care how many kids you had, how many kids you didn't have, how many kids you've taught, or whether your child is one second older or five decades older.
Not your kid, not your say.
Think the parent is neurotic? Crazy? Depressed? Ignorant? Don't care.
Is the child's life or safety in danger? Ok.
No matter what the parents say, that's what you do. And when you are in their home, you are the guest. You. Have. No. Say.
The next visit from my in-laws was a major turning point. I never did care much for them. I lost my respect for them when they blamed my third miscarriage on us not attending church.
As of this point, they were buying things we told them not to buy. They were trying to visit every weekend. We managed to hold our feelings and stay polite up until that day. She insisted on whispering. She constantly accused the baby of having a pain.
When they visited, they sat on my couch, leaving her perfume smell and his cologne smell for days afterwards. They held him and whispered and took pictures. They stayed for hours. They kept bringing things into our house that we asked them not to bring. And then it happened.
They brought us food from Zea's. I was trying to finish my meal and the baby was in his swing, a.k.a his favorite place in the world. She wolfed down her food and grabbed her camera and went to the baby. I asked her to please wash her hands.
He was maybe two months old? Just shy of it? He hadn't gotten those important vaccines yet. It was still cold and flu season.
My M-I-L only eats fried shrimp when she goes out to eat. I like to bring them places without fried shrimp in order to make her branch out. Then she orders whatever I'm eating, because I guess she figures if I eat it, it can't be bad. So that's when I get things with hummus on them haha.
Anyway, Zea is a rotisserie restaurant and she ordered, you guessed it, fried shrimp. You know, a high allergen food. And it's greasy. And! She hadn't washed her hands before eating. So, barf.
I asked her to wash her hands first. She ignored it. I repeated myself.
"Oh, I will."
Please. Please wash your hands first.
"I will."
Shoot a glance to Mark.
"Mom. Please wash your hands before you go near him."
"Oh, I did."
What. The. Actual. Fuck. No. She. Didn't.
I said "No you didn't. You came in. You handed out the food containers. You sat down. You ate. You went to the baby. Please wash your hands."
"Oh, I did it at the restaurant."
I almost exploded.
So you went to the restaurant. Used the restroom. Washed your hands. Touched your credit card. Signed the receipt using a pen at the register. Opened the door. Walked to the car. Used the handle. You yourself talked about how everything was covered in pollen. Touched your door and your seat belt. Touched then again to get out. Shut the door. Rang the doorbell. Came inside. Ate without washing your hands. Ate greasy shellfish. Didn't wash your greasy shellfish hands. Went straight to the newborn.
"I'll do it."
She sat there.
Mark: "Mom. Just please wash your hands."
She ignored him. I was boiling. I was trying to finish my food and couldn't get the last bite of corn grits to stay on my fork. On the fourth failed jab, I went "Oh, son of a bitch."
His dad was sitting across from me. He spoke:
"I heard that."
This is a man who will drop worse curse words at times. Not often, but he's not clean.
I looked up, confused. Was he joking?
Then I saw the hatred and anger on his face. He was practically shaking.
I said "I'm sorry. I didn't know I couldn't swear in my own home."
He continued glaring and shaking. "I. Heard. What. You. Said."
And then it hit me: He thought I was calling his wife a bitch.
I'd like to go on record as saying I wish that I had. Because if I had, I would have had something to apologize for. I also wish I had because, you know what? That was a bitchy thing to do.
I was a teenage girl. I made it through my teen years without EVER calling my mother a bitch. Do you know what an accomplishment that is for many people these days?
I said "Ohhhh. Oh. I was mad because my food wouldn't stay on my fork."
He glared.
"I was frustrated. I said son of a bitch. About the food."
He continued to glare.
"Didn't you see me repeatedly stab it? You're sitting right across from me."
Pause. Why was he so convinced I called her a bitch? Was it because that thought crossed his mind? That she was doing something extremely bitchy?
Mark didn't hear this happening. He came to see if he could grab my empty takeout container. I slammed my fork down and said yes. I got up, grabbed my pump, and went in the baby's room. I stayed for a while. I kicked them into a tighter privacy setting on FB. I was job hunting anyway. I needed my profile on lock.
When I finished pumping, I put the milk away and cleaned my parts. I said nothing to anyone and went into my bedroom and shut the door. I refused to go by them. Mark eventually came to see what was up. I said I was not going anywhere near them. He had no idea what had happened. They finally left, hours later. He told them I was napping because I was going out with friends that night and needed to rest. I hate that he lied. Lies are his family's language of love.
When they were gone, I filled him in the rest of the way.
I assumed it would blow over. I was very wrong.
If it isn't your baby, the parents get all of the say.
I don't care how many kids you had, how many kids you didn't have, how many kids you've taught, or whether your child is one second older or five decades older.
Not your kid, not your say.
Think the parent is neurotic? Crazy? Depressed? Ignorant? Don't care.
Is the child's life or safety in danger? Ok.
No matter what the parents say, that's what you do. And when you are in their home, you are the guest. You. Have. No. Say.
The next visit from my in-laws was a major turning point. I never did care much for them. I lost my respect for them when they blamed my third miscarriage on us not attending church.
As of this point, they were buying things we told them not to buy. They were trying to visit every weekend. We managed to hold our feelings and stay polite up until that day. She insisted on whispering. She constantly accused the baby of having a pain.
When they visited, they sat on my couch, leaving her perfume smell and his cologne smell for days afterwards. They held him and whispered and took pictures. They stayed for hours. They kept bringing things into our house that we asked them not to bring. And then it happened.
They brought us food from Zea's. I was trying to finish my meal and the baby was in his swing, a.k.a his favorite place in the world. She wolfed down her food and grabbed her camera and went to the baby. I asked her to please wash her hands.
He was maybe two months old? Just shy of it? He hadn't gotten those important vaccines yet. It was still cold and flu season.
My M-I-L only eats fried shrimp when she goes out to eat. I like to bring them places without fried shrimp in order to make her branch out. Then she orders whatever I'm eating, because I guess she figures if I eat it, it can't be bad. So that's when I get things with hummus on them haha.
Anyway, Zea is a rotisserie restaurant and she ordered, you guessed it, fried shrimp. You know, a high allergen food. And it's greasy. And! She hadn't washed her hands before eating. So, barf.
I asked her to wash her hands first. She ignored it. I repeated myself.
"Oh, I will."
Please. Please wash your hands first.
"I will."
Shoot a glance to Mark.
"Mom. Please wash your hands before you go near him."
"Oh, I did."
What. The. Actual. Fuck. No. She. Didn't.
I said "No you didn't. You came in. You handed out the food containers. You sat down. You ate. You went to the baby. Please wash your hands."
"Oh, I did it at the restaurant."
I almost exploded.
So you went to the restaurant. Used the restroom. Washed your hands. Touched your credit card. Signed the receipt using a pen at the register. Opened the door. Walked to the car. Used the handle. You yourself talked about how everything was covered in pollen. Touched your door and your seat belt. Touched then again to get out. Shut the door. Rang the doorbell. Came inside. Ate without washing your hands. Ate greasy shellfish. Didn't wash your greasy shellfish hands. Went straight to the newborn.
"I'll do it."
She sat there.
Mark: "Mom. Just please wash your hands."
She ignored him. I was boiling. I was trying to finish my food and couldn't get the last bite of corn grits to stay on my fork. On the fourth failed jab, I went "Oh, son of a bitch."
His dad was sitting across from me. He spoke:
"I heard that."
This is a man who will drop worse curse words at times. Not often, but he's not clean.
I looked up, confused. Was he joking?
Then I saw the hatred and anger on his face. He was practically shaking.
I said "I'm sorry. I didn't know I couldn't swear in my own home."
He continued glaring and shaking. "I. Heard. What. You. Said."
And then it hit me: He thought I was calling his wife a bitch.
I'd like to go on record as saying I wish that I had. Because if I had, I would have had something to apologize for. I also wish I had because, you know what? That was a bitchy thing to do.
I was a teenage girl. I made it through my teen years without EVER calling my mother a bitch. Do you know what an accomplishment that is for many people these days?
I said "Ohhhh. Oh. I was mad because my food wouldn't stay on my fork."
He glared.
"I was frustrated. I said son of a bitch. About the food."
He continued to glare.
"Didn't you see me repeatedly stab it? You're sitting right across from me."
Pause. Why was he so convinced I called her a bitch? Was it because that thought crossed his mind? That she was doing something extremely bitchy?
Mark didn't hear this happening. He came to see if he could grab my empty takeout container. I slammed my fork down and said yes. I got up, grabbed my pump, and went in the baby's room. I stayed for a while. I kicked them into a tighter privacy setting on FB. I was job hunting anyway. I needed my profile on lock.
When I finished pumping, I put the milk away and cleaned my parts. I said nothing to anyone and went into my bedroom and shut the door. I refused to go by them. Mark eventually came to see what was up. I said I was not going anywhere near them. He had no idea what had happened. They finally left, hours later. He told them I was napping because I was going out with friends that night and needed to rest. I hate that he lied. Lies are his family's language of love.
When they were gone, I filled him in the rest of the way.
I assumed it would blow over. I was very wrong.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)