What works for me: Green Toys

I've been putting together my son's holiday wishlist and it's reminded me how much I love products from the Green Toys brand. If you have a child under the age of 5 years and aren't familiar with them you ought to be. They are made in the USA from BPA-free recycled milk jugs. They are not only food safe, but if you're lucky enough to have a dishwasher you can toss those bad boys right on in there. Everything is solid and sturdy and neatly designed, and things come in minimal recycled (and recyclable) cardboard packaging. That's right, no wire twist ties to contend with, no plastic bubble pack to try and hack open. It's fantastic. Gibson has a number of their toys, and the small plastic bowls were the first I used to feed him from. If I have any complaints at all about their stuff it is the minor complaint that they've introduced a line of pink things which just seems like a cheap ploy to appeal to the standard issue gender stereotypes, but I'm sure that I only think this because I'm a tree hugging left coast intelectual elitist. So yeah, Green Toys! Made in the USA with both the environment and your children in mind. No bells, no whistles, just sturdy toys that both appeal and stand up to children. Green Toys remain one of my favorite brands.

No More Nursing

My boobs closed up shop over 9 days ago. If you had told me back before I had a kid that I would be breast feeding my baby successfully and happily until he was past 16 months old I would never have believed you. It's not that I was ever anti-breast feeding, I just never thought about it. But that is exactly what happened. Nursing was not always easy, and especially during those first few difficult months it never occurred to me that I'd still be doing it over a year later. And yet.... despite all the curve balls and different challenges I made it an incredible 16 and a half months.

Back at the start there were the sleepless nights, the sore cracked nipples, the clogged ducts, the inability to drink and take medications whenever I wanted or needed to. After the nighttime feedings ended came the teeth, the fidgeting, and the feet in my mouth. But it did get easier, we got into a groove. There were days when I didn't think I had the patience to get through a nursing session, but overall nursing my son has been a great privilege and I feel lucky to have been able to.

I was sad last weekend when I stopped. It's bittersweet. I felt lost for the first few days, unsure of how to comfort him. How do I put him to sleep without whipping out the boobs? It's been easier for him than for me. He seems not to notice that I'm no longer offering the breast to him, and he's not once asked for it. He used to bring the boppy over to me whenever he was tired and wanted to go to sleep. He'd nurse down to a nap or for the night, and always right when he got up in the morning. He'd let Todd put him to sleep at night or for a nap without nursing, so we knew it wasn't a must, just a preference. All we did was hide the pillows and started to offer a cup of (soy or almond or cow) milk to him when he was obviously tired and it worked. He's fine with it. He accepts the cup of milk and lets us cuddle and rock him and sing to him before going to sleep. And I've only cried a little bit. I'm a little embarrassed to admit it, but I am a little sad that he's quite obviously not my little baby anymore. But at the same time, it's nice to have my breasts back to myself. After the initial swelling and engorgement ended and I no longer had to stuff cabbage leaves down my bra it's gotten easier. I'm less sad about it, and I make sure to get a little extra cuddle time whenever I can.

Who? Me?

I'm a stay at home mom. I never had a job that was more than a job, no career or calling or something I was meant to do. I was not raised to believe I could be anything I wanted. Never told I could be an astronaut or the president or pushed to be a doctor or lawyer. I don't know if I was ever told that women were meant to be wives and mothers, but when I informed my mom about which college I really wanted to attend (an arts college) she said, "You'll never find a husband there" I didn't care, I wasn't going to major in husband hunting- although for all the use art history has been to me maybe I should have). When I got pregnant I knew that I had no qualms about quitting my job to take care of the baby once he would be born. The idea of figuring out child care and it's mind bogglingly expensive costs in NYC was too much for me to handle, especially considering I'd have been leaving my baby to deal with over privileged mommies, nannies, and other people's screaming babies. Also the idea of having someone else care for my child didn't sit too well with me. All of the costs, emotionally, monetarily, logistically seemed to be too much. Giving up the highly rewarding job of receptionist at a posh pediatric office wasn't exactly the hardest thing I've ever done, even if my bosses and coworkers were the best I'd ever had.

However now one year later I find myself enviously watching my husband get ready for work in the morning while I struggle with a squirmy toddler and wondering how hard could it really be to find a nanny, or day care, or sitter, how much could it really cost? I don't live close enough to family, nor have any friends I could dump my darling son on. No one to take advantage of that way. I've never used a sitter. Not once. He's a year old and my husband and I have not once gone out without him together. We've gone out alone- or out with own friends to do our own social things... but never once have we left the babe at home with someone so we could have time together (lack of date night type things is a different post altogether though).

I do not begrudge my husband his job. He does not love it, and I know he'd rather be home all day, even if he doesn't full understand what being a stay at home parent really entails. There is more than playing with the boy and/or being present while he plays quietly with his toys. Even after a year I'm still struggling with my own identity. I am a mother and a caregiver. I am a wife and home maker. Am I more? I must be and yet I have no great passion and no great drive. I get my fulfillment from watching my son learn and grow, his smiles and giggles bring a song to my heart. But what else? Do I really want to go back to work? I would be bored there as well. But at least then I'd be making my own money and not be as completely reliant on my husband as I am now. And I'd have time to myself, even if it would be spent thinking about how much I hate the commuting and the phone ringing and the people interrupting my lunch with stupid questions and demands. Would going back to work be more fulfilling than staying home? Will I be able to concentrate on anything of my own for more than five minutes at a time?

Some days I want nothing more than to go back to zombie workland. Some days I want to be the one get a few snuggles and head out for the day and come home later to get a few more snuggles and put the boy to bed and think how awesome it is to be a parent. I know it's not that easy. I'd feel guilty and miss him. It is an honor to raise my son and listen to him chatter and sing, watch him learn to walk and chase the cats. But some days are harder than others.

What works for me: Diaper Genie II Elite

I can understand wanting to reduce the amount of crap you consume, especially when it comes to babies. There are so many, many things that people will try to convince you need and try to sell you. (So many I purposefully wrote 'many, many' in that sentence!) But these are things that I highly recommend. Because I'm the expert now, ya know, having had one kid almost a year ago and not killing or maiming him yet!

Parents love to talk poop. It's strange how 2 grown adults can become so engrossed in something so gross. Even if you resist it, you find that one of the only ways to know if your babe's doing alright is by checking what comes out of them. Once you've checked you've got to get rid of it, right? But how?


I've read some posts on a parenting forum about how people don't like the diaper genie. It wasn't 'necessary'. I guess that part is true. Even if you choose disposable diapers, you can dispose of them anywhere. You don't HAVE to have a dedicated trash pail just for diapers. You can do as my friend does and ball them up and take them and put them into her kitchen trash pail. I find that I like the convenience of mine. I have the Diaper Genie II Elite. That last part, the pretentious 'II elite' is the important part. It's what separates the winners from the losers in the diaper pail game. That's the step-on functionality which allows for hands free operation of the thing. And believe me, if there's one thing a parent never has- it's enough hands, especially when poops involved. Yes, you could use any step on trash pail. It'd work probably just as well. The Diaper Genie says it's got a multi layer odor trapping technology or some malarkey. I don't know about that. It's pretty good, but once your kid starts solids and the smells that come from the diapers are not to be believed- the smell sometimes lingers no matter what you do. I can say that I've used my diaper genie at least 6 times a day for the past 11 months and I haven't had any problems with it. The interior's stayed clean, the exterior has needed minimal cleaning. The step on pedal's worked fine and the changing 'the sausage' is so easy that I could probably teach my 11 month old to do it. We change the sausage about twice a week and the plastic wring of casing/bag lasts us about a month. It's compact, easy to use, and collects poopy diapers. What more could I ask of it short of changing the diapers itself?

**I am just writing this crap because I want to. I have not been compensated in any way for my opinions.. **

on modesty

I may have had a more *ahem* wild time when I was in my twenties. I may have been more free and indulged what could be called an exhibitionist streak and lived very publicly online. But I got old and married, and became a more private person. But there's nothing like having a baby to pull yourself out of any self imposed notion of modesty or propriety.

To start there is the beautiful business of baby making. Sometimes it takes more business than others. Sometimes it takes a lot of business. But it's hard to be modest when you're checking the gauges regularly and really trying for it. But that's not even what I'm talking about.

As a pregnant lady you get accustomed to dropping trou for your doctor and/or midwife on a regular basis. And as times goes on your visits become a little closer together- really warming you up to the idea of showing a host of medical staff your goodies. Although by the last trimester you can't see them over the giant belly anyway, so at least there's that bit of added privacy built right in to the situation.

I took a birthing class at a local place. It was a bit hippy dippy for me; held in the back of a pilates studio by a doula. Considering that all I knew about birth I learned either in 9th grade biology class or self taught out of handy 'what to expect' type books.... I guess you could say I needed a class. I knew where babies came from and how they were made (thanks miracle of life!) but it seemed like a good idea to learn the stages of labor, and pain coping techniques and different situations I might encounter.

What I did learn is that it's difficult to meditate while chewing gum and not being able to hear the very quiet instructions on meditation were not in fact relaxing but incredibly stress inducing. I learned that holding ice for an extended period of time is actually pleasant when I was swollen and looking to relieve my carpel tunnel - not quite what the instructor had in mind with the breathe through the discomfort exercise. I learned that Todd and I don't have a special favorite place in which to creatively visualize ourselves in times of duress.

Also, I learned that I actually have a lot of puritanical WASPy shame/body issues. You see, we watched a few birth videos and they were exactly like you'd expect. A little dated, but full of information. Lots of clips of ladies of all sorts grunting and pushing and bouncing on their birthing balls or waddling along with their partners. I decided pretty immediately that I didn't want to give birth on an office chair while leaning into/sitting on my husband's lap as I saw one woman do. Water birth didn't seem to be so bad, I liked water. But mostly I had to stifle uncomfortable giggles as voice overs proclaimed the women to be wise and beautiful and knowing. We watched the short film 'Birth Day' about a Mexican midwife who delivers her third child at home in her hot tub with her family surrounding her and without any other help. If there was anything I was sure I did not want it was to be without any medical help, or naked on camera, or swimming with my naked family in a pool of afterbirth. And especially all of that together rolled into one. (Although at least those little boys in 'birth day' weren't going to grow up and have any of the hangups I quite clearly had.)

After each movie the doula asked, "How did that make you feel?". Uncomfortable. Embarrassed. Prudish. Awkward. But by the time I was in the hospital I was ready to show my bits and bobs to anyone who'd help get the little bugger out of me. I hardly even was able to give any thought to the fact that it was a teaching hospital, and that a very nice nurse was using my vagina as a teaching opportunity ('So this is how you place a catheter'). And by the time the baby was out I was well used to the revolving cast of strangers checking out my lady lumps.

Getting the baby to latch while breast feeding gave each nurse the chance to show me how they thought it should be done. And yes, each nurse had a little different take on it. So many people just got in there and grabbed my boobs, it was like madi gras or spring break. And now, 9 months later I'd still rather not show the class the girls if I can help it. Not because of any shame in nursing my son, but because I'd really rather keep milky mountain to myself and a select few others.

And being a stay at home mom it's been difficult for me to shower without having company most of the time (unless I get up very early, or want to shower very late in the day). Soon I am sure I'll not even be able to pee alone thanks to an increasingly mobile little boy who is about to hit his separation anxiety stage. I'm sure it'll continue to be an adventure and experience, no matter how exposed I may or may not be.

Let's hear it for the busty ladies pt 1 : bras

I make no pretense in life, I am a big girl. Bigger than I used to be since I've become a mom. And if I thought that pre-baby shopping was difficult, I am now even more challenged to find things that fit, flatter, and are comfortable enough to wear daily while still nursing the little dude. I am a stay at home mom so I could be one of those sweat suit wearing gals and to tell the truth I do sometimes stay in my lounge-pants pjs during the day. But usually I do try to put a little effort into my appearance even if I'm not leaving the apartment. While I may not always put makeup on, I do make a point to wash my face, brush my teeth, brush my hair back into a neat pony tale, and put on day clothes. I know I need a new hairstyle, but that's a post for another day. It would be far too easy for me to slide into a sloppy pit of stained and shlumpy duds and stay there. And no one wants to see that.

I gained a lot of my baby weight early on in my pregnancy and watched my 38C's become D's and then some. They're currently hanging out in the realm of the F's, and the 38 is but a distant memory. Finding a good nursing bra in my size that is comfortable, does not have an underwire and yet still supports the ladies, well... I thought it was damned near impossible until I found hot milk.

As my husband likes to say, it's a nursing bra made by a company who wants people to have more babies. They are pretty. Sexy even. And come in my size, and bigger! And are quite possibly the most comfortable bra I've worn in years, regardless of my nursing status. They're expensive-ish, though I'm strangely frugal when it comes to undies, but I have managed to buy a half dozen or so whenever they show up on zulily. I love them so much that even though I intend on weaning the boy soon(ish) I just bought a couple more bras a few weeks ago when they came up on sale again. I can not recommend them enough. (And I am addicted to zulily - you can't beat their prices for the hotmilk bras which would normally run about $60 -I get them for about half price).

It is so wonderful to have a pretty thing to wear. Even more so a pretty undergarment. Having a baby has thrown my mojo for a loop. I wasn't the type who got to feel sexy and gorgeous throughout the pregnancy, and even now almost 9 months on I'm trying to get it back. So here's to the sexy nursing bra for giving me the fit, the support and the little extra oomph to make me feel better about things all for less than the price of a victoria's secret bra.

I've tried a dozen different styles/brands from motherhood maternity and none of them fit as well, nor were half as attractive. And I experienced the dreaded inconsistent sizing, one bra's DD cup was another's C, and there's no way my girls were squeezing back into a C. Also, most of the things I've gotten from motherhood maternity fell apart after a few washings and were surprisingly expensive for such shoddy quality. And yes, for the record, I totally went straight ahead while pregnant and bought nursing bras as I went up sizes. I figured even if I didn't end up nursing, I would still need larger sizes while my cup runneth over, and I might as well have the option of a one handed clip should I need it later. And boy howdy have I needed it.

Stolen moments

He looks so darling while he's asleep, doesn't he? He's been napping for an hour already this morning. And the godawful smell of roasting garlic is once again seeping through the floorboards from the apartment below. It's not even ten a.m..

I used to love the smell of roasted garlic. But then we moved here and I got knocked up. It's like everything changed then. For some reason my neighbor always makes garlic/onion smells early in the morning, and it was so unappealing to me in my enhanced aroma detection state that it now remains largely unappealing to me. I thankfully mind it much less now if it's coming from my own oven, say around dinner time. But in the morning, while I'm still working on my coffee, and without enough sleep.... It's almost the last thing I want to smell. I do sometimes wonder what the hell that guy's eating every day though.

I am lucky that the little dude often sleeps through the night. Going to sleep around 9pm and sleeping right on through till about 5ish. Last night though, he woke up at 3:30. I mean, it's still not too bad, but I couldn't get back to sleep after I gave him a quick nursing. Everyone else in the apartment was back asleep before 4 and there I was tossing and turning till almost 6. And you know he woke up at 6:45 while Todd was in the shower.

We're at a weird stage in the little dude's sleep development. He doesn't really need to nurse in the middle of the night, and I believe that 8 months of sleeping in a mini-cosleeper in our tiny not-even-a-real-room-more-of-a-nook-off-the-kitchen is enough. But I know that Todd doesn't have the heart for letting him cry himself to sleep in his own crib in his own room on the other side of the apartment. And I'm not sure I do either. That said, I also do not really have the stamina to try the modified ferber method either. Patting and holding for a few minutes and timing and things and blah blah blah.

I'm no hippy dippy momma. I only chose the cosleeper arrangement because I was breastfeeding and I was too lazy to haul my ass to the other side of the apartment whenever the little lump needed nursing (which was like all the time for the first 12 weeks or so). I grew accustomed to having him there, smiling and cooing at me in the morning. Staring at me as he drifted off to sleep. Months ago we detached the cosleeper and put it on Todd's side of the bed. I was exhausted after months of nighttime care ( in Todd's defense he did help as much as he could in the early weeks- but after a while I told him to try to get the sleep while he could because he had work in the morning.) and since he stopped nursing frequently at night I was prepared to let Todd deal with the occasional nighttime waking and fussing.

It's the kind of thing I wish I could talk to my mom about. It's why all of the books recommend having a network of female support.It's the reason mommy groups and blogs and all of that crap exist. I know what my mom would say.... Put him in his crib and let him cry. He'll be fine. She's sort of been saying that for months. She was shocked that at 3 weeks I nursed my baby on demand, when he'd start to cry. I tried to explain that he was a newborn, and that's what they do, and how quickly breastmilk metabolizes and .... It'd been over 30 years since she had a baby, and she never breast fed. It was all a foreign concept. I guess. I don't know.

I know he'd be fine if we did let him cry-it-out. And I've friends who've successfully done that with their own children. I don't think that they are monsters. I'm even a little envious of their steely nerve and commitment. The little dude has slept a few nights in his crib (which went spectacularly, by the way). But then he started teething and got a cold. It's crazy how the littlest things can derail a baby. I think it's time to move him back to his crib at night. Maybe see if he can soothe himself if he wakes and fusses a little. Everything I've read on the subject also recommends an earlier bedtime for his age. Which is great and all, but then Todd will get maybe an hour with the baby at night during the week. That makes me sad because Todd genuinely loves his time with Gibson. He relishes the cuddles and is enjoying the more active play which he is finally capable of. But mama needs more sleep. 9 hours a night is my optimum amount.

If that means rearranging our schedule and putting the baby down at 7 so be it. I'm not sure how dinner time will work, or what the sequence of events leading up to bedtime will be. All those little details will work themselves out.

I wish I could nap in the morning like the baby does. but in order for me to make it through the first hour or so, the feeding and his happy energy - I need my coffee. And then by the time he's ready to nap (which could be for 30 minutes, or could be 90, I never know) I'm wide awake and ready to go. I guess I'm not any more focused or concise though, because I just reread this and I'm all over the page. That's what happens when I need more sleep.

Active Labor

We arrived at the hospital around 11pm on Monday the 21st. And this is where everything gets a little more blurry. They admitted me, which was good because I was still afraid they'd check me out and send me home to wait some more. I settled in and they hooked up the fetal monitor (which was wouldn't stay in place with my coughing and stuff- I felt like the nurses were coming in every few minutes to readjust it). I tried to rest. Eventually the things they warned me about in child birth class actually started happening just as they said it often did.

They call it the cascade of medical intervention. I was given pitocin to help get the contractions a little stronger and closer together. I was offered an epidural and I said yes with giving it approximately 2 seconds of thought. I was willing to do anything to get my back to stop hurting, and I knew there was no way I'd be able to even try to push without it. To be fair I'd given it thought before this moment. I didn't have a set birth plan, and I was taking everything about pregnancy and child rearing the same way, thinking I'd just try it. Natural birth? Sure, ok. Circumstances changed- I was in pain before I began- so pain management? Sure, ok. (Later I'd do the same with breastfeeding? Sure, ok I'd try it.)

I was given a catheter because with the epidural I'd not be getting out of bed any time soon to pee. I tried to pee one last time in the toilet because boy howdy, it felt like I had to go. (some of this is slightly out of order, I'm fairly sure I tried to pee before I was given the epidural... etc etc) Nothing came. Nothing. I'd had a catheter once before when I'd had surgery at a much younger age, and I just remember being completely miserable with it so I was NOT looking forward to it. But they placed it and it was like MAGIC. I didn't feel it thanks to the epidural and within minutes I'd filled the bag with the darkest yellow urine ever. I KNEW I had to go, I guess the baby was just leaning on something and stopping me- or something. I never got an explanation about that, but I was just so happy to finally have an empty bladder!

I was finally able to sleep! I got a few hours of unbroken sleep. It was wonderful. Tuesday morning came. I updated the internets about being in labor. I got a visitor- my boss who happened to be a pediatrician (Gibson's dr as well) who was rounding at the hospital that morning. She is wonderful and the only person to visit me at this stage. And I waited.

My OB eventually said she was going to break the sac (breaking my water) and that should get things going more. She checked and apparently there was none to break. I must have been wandering around with it broken for a while. I have NO IDEA how long. I had had my super-duper-old-lady weekly sonogram (oh yeah if you're 35 or over they make you go get sonograms weekly during the last month or so due to 'advanced maternal age'!) and apparently my amniotic fluid was a little low, but nothing to be concerned about - it was a normal level for that stage of the pregnancy, but everything was there and in tact on Thursday. So since I didn't know how long I'd been wandering about possibly exposing the baby to bacteria through the ruptured amniotic sac they put me on a course of IV antibiotics.

I hadn't imagined the nurses difficulty with the fetal monitor and it's awesome elastic belt. I had an internal fetal monitor placed. It was very uncomfortable. Even with my lower bits and bobs numbed. What is internal monitoring? A website describes it as involving 'placement of a small plastic device about the size of a pencil eraser through the cervix. A spiral wire called the fetal scalp electrode is placed just beneath the skin of the baby's scalp'. Sounds like a good time, right?

By 2 o'clock I was 9 cms dialated. By about 3 I was good to go. And I pushed. And pushed. And vomited all over. And I pushed some more. Todd could see the monitor wires slide out with every push. And then they'd slide back in between each contraction. For hours. They tried to get me into a different position, but I couldn't stand laying on my side (even with the epidural). A little after 5 the doctor announced that Gibson wasn't making any significant movements. I was no closer to having him out and the doctor recommended a C section. She gave me a reason I can't totally recall. The baby was in a bad position- He was twisted or turned, and she said I could push and push and it'd not make a difference. Or something very much like that.

They wheeled me into the OR and began prepping me for the C a little after 5. Things got even MORE blurry in there. I was told it wouldn't take long, maybe a half hour? Gibson was born at 5:41 pm. But when removing him my uterus tore. And I lost a lot of blood. And I vomited, again, multiple times, straight into that sheet they put up so I can't see them cutting into me- and to do exactly as it did- and stop that vomit from ending up in my open incision. However even with an empty stomach somehow I projectile vomited what seemed like a lot straight into the sheet back onto myself. The surgical response team was called in for blood transfusion, but for whatever reason I got even more IV saline instead. I got 5 liters during the procedure. I'd had 5 liters earlier in the day. Todd held our perfect baby and silently worried while they fixed the tear and sewed me up.

I was wheeled into recovery sometime after 6. And I stayed there for hours. I was exhausted and and relieved. Gibson slept on my chest as I lay there and Todd sat next to me. I will love Todd forever for not once leaving my side. And I really wanted the vomit out of my hair, more than I wanted almost anything else I could remember. It's kind of funny the things you think about. Another wonderful thing about my lovely husband was he got me a private room. I was wheeled into the room after 11. The nurse and whatever they call orderlies these days hefted me into my bed where I promptly threw up again. So they moved me back into the gurney and cleaned up and put me back into the refreshed bed. But they tore the epidural out of the catheter in my back. At least the entire damned thing wasn't ripped out. So they sent for the anesthesiologist on duty. I asked him in my exhausted and now delirious state about my pain management options and was placed on a morphine drip. Hooo-boy! It was like the good old days of college all over again (ha ha?).

And just when I was ready for a good night's sleep I got to have my first night of motherhood. Gibson was roomed in with me (and Todd who never left) and I got to try breast feeding. The rest of the stay in the hospital was pretty much similar to what I suspect most new moms experience. Beeps from machines, nurses coming in to ask after your well being and the baby's diaper contents and all of that. I got to shower the next day (Wednesday? or was it the day after that I finally got myself clean?)- and eat. And it was wonderful (since I hadn't showered or eaten since Monday). I suffered more edema, those 10 liters of saline on top of the rest of my swelling... My legs were so swollen I could hardly bend my knees and ankles, even days later. But Gibson and I were discharged on Sunday morning. The swelling went down eventually, and I healed very well from the C-section. And I'd like to also mention that I have one of the best friends in the whole world- who went to my apartment (even though she lived an hour and a half away) after visiting in the hospital and managed to get all of the baby linens and clothing washed for me (which entailed sitting in a laundromat in 90 degree heat)! So while I wasn't really ready for the baby, I was as ready as one can get.

I'm exhausted just recounting this ridiculous and personal story.
Maybe I can let it go now.

**
I'd like to take just a moment now to say that I completely understand that everything about children (from whether to have any, and how, and when, and what to feed them or how to raise them) is a completely personal choice.) I can't say that if I had a birth plan things would have ended differently, nor can I say that any of the medical intervention harmed my baby or prevented me from bonding with him (I'd read about how things can hinder bonding or milk let down or whatever, none of which I experienced). I just wanted to relate MY experience. To lay the foundation of where I'm coming from for the people who might not know. Because everyone's story is different, but this is MY war story. And those are my battle scars.

Early labor

Saturday June 19th 2010 was the day before Father's day and the day I started to feel contractions. I was also still over 2 weeks away from my due date (I'd made it to 38 weeks which is considered full term). I was sick and miserable and in pain from coughing, but suddenly I was excited. I was convinced I'd have a baby to give Todd for father's day and it'd be the awesomist gift ever! My contractions however had their own agenda. And that was to just come and go as they pleased; all random and willy nilly like.

Sunday was the the day before the summer solstice and might as well have been the longest day of the year, and I was miserable. The contractions weren't super strong, but they also were no picnic. While irregular, they were no further apart than 15 minutes and would last for up to a minute. We watched tv. A lot of tv, things I can't even remember. We essentially cleared out our dvr, we watched stupid movies and I tried as best I could to get comfortable. I had icy-hot patches on my back and a heating pad on my side (neither of which were for the contractions, but for my injured back and cracked rib). We cranked the air conditioning up to full blast, though I swear it did nothing to combat the 90 degree heat. Then I realized that none of the baby clothing we had gotten at the shower 2 weeks before had yet been laundered (it was my big plans for that weekend) and nothing was ready for this baby (can one ever REALLY be ready for a baby?). Todd tried to get me to go for a walk, but it was so hot and I was in so much back pain that I could hardly waddle my way around the block. Todd bribed me with an Italian ice from the place on the corner (I couldn't have the ice cream I wanted due to the very productive cough I was still sporting- for which I'd already taken 2 courses of antibiotics). Nothing helped.

Since the contractions were never more that far apart sleeping was ... sporadic at best. Between the coughing and the contractions and the peeing myself I can't even begin to express the level of discomfort I'd achieved. I would go to the bathroom and sit and try to pee and maybe an eye dropper's worth of urine would come out. Then I'd go lay down (which was a production because I could hardly move) and be hit with a coughing fit or contraction in which my entire body would tense up and I'd brace myself as best I could so as not to further move. I also mastered shallow breathing because deep breaths would aggravate my cough, although I think I was supposed to breathe deeply to work through the contractions. Whatever, a girl's gotta do... Father's day came and went without Todd becoming a father.

I made it to Monday and I made Todd stay home from work with me. I couldn't face the day alone. I'd called the OB and they told me that I should stay home until the contractions became more regular and a little closer together. And I had my regularly scheduled weekly appointment on Tuesday where they'd check me out. The OB told me to try to get some rest, there was nothing I could do for my back/rib besides tylenol/motrin and maybe I should try to have a glass of wine or take some benedryl to get to sleep. I was at a loss. I took a benedryl around 6 pm. The contractions kept rolling in and out. I coughed and coughed and peed and peed. And then finally by about 10 pm it happened. They were finally close enough and regular enough for long enough that I said let's do it. Call a car service because this fat lady is going to the hospital! It's time to have this stinkin' baby!

To start with...

I've been pondering how to begin this blog, or what should really become of it. You see, I was originally inspired to start a 'mommy blog' months ago when I was still reeling with the very newness of becoming a first time stay at home mom, as well as really getting annoyed reading a certain blog that belonged to one of those preachy-judgey my way of child rearing is the best way- blogs. I didn't know what to do with mine except that it shouldn't come across like theirs. But then I stopped following the blogger's tweets and blog* and somehow I became more relaxed and less inspired to write my own. I was no longer annoyed to the point of action. I guess it was a double edged sword. But here I am, on another snowy day in late February trying to begin. Maybe after I bang out a sloppy opening, I will be able to carry on. Maybe I'll stop sticking commas after every dozen words. Maybe maybe maybe (should there have been some commas there? Too bad! I ran out!). Anyway, I really want to start at the beginning, maybe summing up the 9 months of pregnancy and 3 days of labor now before I really forget because believe me, I'm forgetting ten minutes ago let alone ten months or a year ago! Ah! Motherhood! I want to remember the truth. The whole un-embellished ugly truth about how my beautiful, happy and wonderful son came to be. Because as time goes on the trials and tribulations of pregnancy and delivery become more hazy and are replaced by Gibson's giggles and smiles. And while Todd and I have just gotten to the point where we can consider the possibility of trying to have another baby, I'm not necessarily ready to let the memories of this experience go. I haven't put them to rest yet.

Last year while pregnant with Gibson I had started a tumblog (you can find it here). It's got a handful of posts which are barely restrained complaints about being pregnant. But the complaining... Looking back on it all, was hardly doing it justice. I know that mothers compare birth stories like old men compare war stories, and I also know that for many woman pregnancy is an exciting and wonderful time. For me the pregnancy was really a prelude to the war of delivery. I'll start by listing the pros of being pregnant just so you don't think I'm always a negative Nelly who's ungrateful for the good things or blessings in my life:

• It was not impossible, or even apparently too hard for Todd and me to get and stay pregnant. My unspoken fears of infertility and my rational fears of another miscarriage were thankfully unfounded.
• I did not once, while pregnant with Gibson, experience 'morning sickness'. Nope, no vomit there.
• I was not put on bedrest for anything (though I sometimes wished I was) nor did I experience any serious or long lasting complications that affected my or the baby's health.
• Not having a period was pretty sweet. I'm just sayin'.
• Todd was awesome. Like a champ he helped when he could, and held me when he couldn't. He let me cry when I needed to and let me sleep whenever I passed out (oh, say, all the time). He did whatever he could whenever he could and I couldn't ask for more other than to have him carry the next child. And I guess I can't really ask for that, can I?
  

I think that's it. I really can't think of anything else that was good about being pregnant. Now onto what may appear to be a long and sometimes trifling list of what sucked about being pregnant. And I am going to warn you, some things you may not really want to know about, you may consider too much information- but I'm being straight up honest about my reality:

• I was depressed. Not to the point of considering suicide or other harmful thoughts, but to the point of not wanting to leave bed- ever. Sure there was the normal exhaustion that is known to accompany the first and third trimesters. But I hardly got any energy back for the second (maybe it was the bleak midwinter blues?) and I slept for 12-14 hours a day if I could. Constantly. More if my schedule allowed. I'd fall asleep at 8 pm and wake up at 8 am on work days, and I'd nap for a few hours on my days off. Not only was I unable to drag my ass off the couch or out of bed to set up the baby's nursery- I was hardly unable to unpack (we'd moved into our apartment just before getting pregnant and unpacking wasn't finished until well, hell, I don't think it's finished now to tell the truth). I was also overcome with fear that my prenatal depression would become full blown postpartum depression (It didn't).
• I would cry. A lot. For a long time. Over nothing. More than other pregnant ladies? I don't know. But I was sad a lot. I know this ties into the previous point, but yeah. Crying. Sometimes I even cried when I was happy. What? Yeah. And you know something, I still cry pretty easily. I didn't used to have this problem. Thanks hormones!
• Also, pregnancy rage. What? You didn't know? Oh yeah! FUN! I think I showed a LOT of self control at my job and on the subway. Let me tell you! Not a single person was harmed during that time. Grumbling under my breath was probably the most I publicly did to display this rage. But it was seething and boiling just under the surface. I wished a lot of ill on a lot of people.
• Swelling. Edema. OHMYGOD SO MUCH WATER RETENTION! I gained over 50 pounds during my pregnancy, and I am NOT a small girl. And a lot of that went away soon after delivery! Why? Because it was water! I became an ENORMOUS BALLOON full to the point of near bursting. I WAS SO SWOLLEN! My midwife did the shin-dimple test, and the dent left behind from her pressing my shin was deep enough to hold a pencil. Well, not really, but almost. It was awful. I couldn't find shoes big enough or wide enough to hold the watermelons my feet had become. I had to wear compression socks from the moment I woke up (with feet propped up) to the moment I went to bed. I was lucky however, that I did not have any blood pressure problems.
  
• The swelling was so bad that I got carpel tunnel in both wrists. It started out at first only in one and wearing a wrist brace while I slept was enough to make it better. But as the months went on I began to experience tingling and numbness in the other hand too. It would even wake me up from a deep sleep (as if my ever shrinking bladder wasn't bad enough). For a while wearing braces on both wrists at night was enough to keep the symptoms at bay. But then the numbness began to surface during the day. And I began to wear the braces on both wrists all of the time. And eventually even those didn't help and there was nothing else I could do but wait for the baby to come out and take the damned carpel tunnel back. I seriously began to worry that I'd never be able to feel my index, middle, and ring fingers on my right hand ever again. (I could as soon as the swelling went away - a few weeks after delivery) That's right! I was so swollen everywhere that even the insides of my wrists and joints were swollen! Good times!
• Skin Changes. All of the books tell you that you might experience changes in your complexion or coloring or whatever. I was blessed with skin tags and moles. Oh yeah. In fun and sexy places! In places I got so pregnant and big that I couldn't see and had to ask my doctors to check for me. And hemorrhoids, though they didn't come till the end. And by then I had so many other things going on I just couldn't care.
• Incontinence. Now, to be fair I didn't have a leaky bladder till I got sick. I was SO! SICK! for the month of June. If you made it to my baby shower you might have noticed my cough. Oh! hack hack cough cough. It was so awful and constant that I lost my voice. For 3 weeks. I was a receptionist with no voice and a hacking cough who peed her pants ever time she coughed. Oh! yeah! God bless Todd who went out and bought me Poise pads without a word about his embarrassment. He is truly a mensch. I was lucky to not have any constipation problems, but while I peed when I coughed, I could barely squeeze any urine out whenever I sat on the toilet. Which, by the end, was all the damned time. I seriously had trouble getting enough for the pee tests that were required at every OB appt. I actually don't know when my water broke (I had irregular contractions for 3 days before I went to the hospital) because of my pee situation. And all of the kegels in the world couldn't help me.
  
• The cough was so bad the week before I had Gibson that first I pulled something on one side of my back during a coughing fit. This made it very painful to get up or move. But then a few days later I actually cracked a rib during another coughing fit. With that it was almost unbearable to move. Couple that with days worth of contractions and I was SO! miserable! and un-rested! by the time we went to the hospital (a monday night at 11pm). I said yes to the epidural a few hours after my being admitted more for relief from my existing back pain from the cough than fear or pain from contractions and possible delivery.
  

This leads me to delivery, which was a hoot and a half as well. But the baby's up from his nap and I'll save the birth story for my next entry. And once all of that's out of the way maybe I can just dish on what it's like for me now. I'm trying to find my footing and identity as a stay at home mom and remind myself that I do have a big beautiful brain that's capable of more intellectual things sometimes. It's hard. Harder than I imagined. So if you're not completely turned off by my little self indulgence, please come back and check for more.


I appreciate your reading this, assuming someone somewhere is. You're welcome to leave feedback, though I would prefer it if you didn't tell me how bad a writer I am (I was never good at it, but now I'm even worse- being rusty and out of practice and full of run on sentences and no grasp on grammar.) or self indulgent it is, because I know. Believe me, I know. I guess I'm just a little bit lonely and have an ever failing memory. So if you want to share your story or experience with me in any way you are most welcome to. I don't have a tight network of close female friends. Heck I hardly have a loose one. And while it seems that most of the ladies I know have now, or are about to have a baby/babies/child/children, I don't have that bond or connection with them, or even physical closeness. And so, I'm sharing my story with the faceless internet. I can't seem to carve the time out for old fashioned journal keeping anymore, so I only hope that my thoughts are vaguely coherent.


* I highly recommend you stop subjecting yourself to people that annoy you in some way. You can't avoid everyone who bothers you, but in some cases, such as the internet- there's no reason to keep following people who make you mad. (Unless you really like to complain about them- which I sometimes do, because I am nothing if not an excellent bitcher and moaner.) You might find yourself pleasantly surprised at how much peace it brings to your life.