A Mish Mash

I did feel like a moron in the days leading up to my trip. Because I was really nervous about diapers. As a mom of a two month old baby I should be a pro with diapers but actually . . . I hadn't used a disposable since babysitting about seventeen years ago. And when I pulled one out all I could do was say "dur . . ."

The legs don't look like they will hold anything in at all. And how tight are you supposed to fit them and BAH. I felt like a moron but yeah.

The results were mixed. I did figure them out (not hard I KNOW) and my first instincts were right--those legs don't hold in anything. I have to admit they suck up pee like a mother fucker and if my child only peed I would be all about this. But she shits. A lot. Early and often. And disposables are pretty worthless for that. She had a blow out our first day in Iowa. And then another next day. Fortunately, I ignored J when he mocked me for using the covers from the cloth diapers over the disposables and those held everything in so her clothes weren't destroyed. I have solved the damn mystery of why everyone goes through so many clothes with infants. Their diapers BLOW.

She did sleep like a champ on the trip though, and was dry as a bone (wearing a HUGE INFLATED diaper) when she woke up. I do sort of miss that.

None of this makes up for me having to spend far too long figuring out the damn things in the first place. DAMN.

I had an interview today. Basically my first in five years? And it was strange. It's doing what I do now, but for a totally different industry in a totally different sort of company. I didn't talk as much as I might normally since I woke up with NO VOICE at all. And they seemed to just want to plow through things quickly. I don't know if that is because they liked me or hated me. I have no read on it at all.

Worse. If they called me tomorrow and offered it to me, for the money I want, I do not know what I would say. DUR.

While I was at the interview J had to take Momo to her well baby appointment. WITH SHOTS. I guess she took it like a trooper with a minimum of fuss. Crying for just a couple of minutes. And through the Power of My Breasts she is now average size instead of TEENY. I do acknowledge that the baby MAY have had something to do with that. We are a good team.

She is now passed out with my MIL. Poor little thing.

OR BIG THING since she moved up 30 percentage points on the growth chart.

Miss You All

Behold.

The child and I have returned from the cornfields unharmed.

Well she is unharmed I have a wicked cough and a temperature.

Baby cemented her status of Propaganda Baby (the baby that convinces you that babies are not too much work and OH SO adorable and wouldn't you like to have one/another one?) by making about three peeps on all four flights. And while I earned my parenting merit badge by changing four poopie diapers in the air (including a blow out) she was really about as perfect as she can be.

In the days to come you will read about my first brush with disposable diapers (I am an idiot!), how even the perfect baby cannot handle that many people in a house that is like an oven and how I have a job interview tomorrow (WTF?!?! What do I wear? What the hell am I doing? Is it wrong to go with an ugly cough?).

But for now I am going to lay in my own bed and cry.

Gone Fishing

The baby and I are heading out to Iowa tomorrow and to my parents' house today. This means radio silence here until we get back.

She opened the day by turbo horking on me so I don't think that really bodes well.

This all seemed like a brilliant idea when I was a pregnant but now I just want some one to hold me.

Until next week.

Apparently Not Enough Sleep For Good Writing

The baby slept six hours straight two nights in a row. Now that I have told the internets she will not do it again until she is seventeen years old. But I really enjoyed that baby! I got five hours straight which proves how deeply I have sunk into Mama Stockholm Syndrome because when J told me I needed a nap I was like "But I slept so LONG!"

WTF really.

She gave me her cold though. Sore throat, cruddy nose, one droopy eye. So I can barely enjoy my five hours straight.

We also had baby's first bloody nose today. Closely followed by baby's first bloody towel. I am sure it is the dry air even though I am running the humidifier non-stop. In a couple of days we went from crusty to runny to scabby. LOVELY

By MYSELF

Today I got my hair done.

I went out. By myself. For a couple of hours.

And no one sucked anything from my boobs.

It was pretty awesome.

And, as is my habit, I read US Magazine while waiting for my color to process (sweet JESUS I needed the color no wonder I looked so tired) and can I just say that my baby is way fucking cuter than Nicole Richie's? Yeah, an old issue but STILL. My baby is way damn cuter.

I, however, am not as cute as Nicole Richie. Her whole body weighs the same as my left arm I am sure.

Earlier this week I went to my six week post partum appointment--even though the baby is seven weeks old. Everyone knows that this appointment is so you can be approved to have sex again and so your OB can play with the baby. The baby was passed around gleefully, even with the snuffles, and I was sort of approved to, as Dooce says, "reconvene the procedure."

Sort of meaning sure go ahead, but WAIT don't because I am getting an IUD put in and no sex for a couple of weeks before that. What I love about my OB is that she nicely asked if J would be ok waiting and then laughed her ass off because well not really but tough shit.

People are already asking when we are going to have another. WTF people? And they seem to take our answer of "Um never . . ." as some sort of insult to the baby. No, the baby is delightful. Why mess with delightful? Actually, this decision was not come by lightly and has nothing to do with the actual baby and has everything to do with money and careers and class and Blah Blah BORING SHIT THAT IS NOT YOUR BUSINESS BUT NEITHER IS YOUR ORIGINAL QUESTION ASS. . .

Anyway, seven weeks is a little early to be asking me when I am having another baby.

Yes We Are Still In Our PJs

The baby has a cold. A runny nose, weeping eyed, drooling mess cold. A cold that her father brought home. She's had the crusty nose for a week, fighting back the rest valiantly with the aid of a humidifier and a sunny attitude (where does she get that?) But yesterday she caved in a baby-made-of-rubber-meltdown kind of way. It was a long night.

And it's been a long day. The routine is this: baby awakens in full scream, change diaper, suck snot, nurse for massive amounts of time (not a complaint because she didn't eat so hot yesterday and she needs to), suck snot, talk to baby until she passes out cold in the middle of a giggle, wrap and prop her up in the baby easy chair (Boppy), chug Diet Coke. REPEAT. She is currently doing a cycle in the swing. When she is awake she is THRILLED with the ride and then passes out again. It's benign neglect but I am tired y'all.

Because guess who is getting the cold now?

Silent Partner

Does anyone else find nursing really really boring?

Of course the photos you see show mothers looking down at their babies reverently, all deeply bonding and shit. Mostly I stare off into space all stoned looking (but not stoned) or talk to the baby. Because I did the math and the amount of time I spend with that child latched onto my boob is most of my day. And it is damn dull.

Of course I want her to have the benefits of breast milk. And I have to say that nursing is so much easier (if you are lucky enough to not have any problems) than bottles. No mixing, no toting around stuff, no washing bottles . . .just whip it out. But still. BORING.

J hooked up a DVD player in her room and now I am working my way through every movie we own. We have watched the Disney classics (most alarming, I still remember every damn word of Beauty and the Beast from that year my sister watched it every day), Audrey's best (Breakfast at Tiffany's, Sabrina and My Fair Lady), and the works of Pixar. Also Meg Ryan movies. I am running out of movies because I don't buy many and J's are all Sci Fi or non-AB friendly.

I feel really lucky to have this time with her. And that I can feed her without much trouble. I just wish that she were a little speedier in her eating. Or could hold up her end of the conversation once in a while.

And Valentine's Day Is a Hallmark Holiday?

When, exactly, did St. Patrick's day become a card giving holiday? I understand that certain subcultures in this country really love this holiday (and by subcultures I don't just mean college students looking to get smashed on green beer) but really, do we need to make the kid's gift baskets and send Aunt Edna a card? And since Easter is so early this year Target looks like a holiday vomit-fest.

Easter cards I do understand, at least religious ones (the bunny ones make zero sense), because if you are celebrating a religious Easter well then that is something to celebrate. But WTF with everything else? Baskets sure. But good lord it is more out of hand than Christmas.

My grandmother was traumatized as a child by her dad who wouldn't let her wear green on St. Patrick's Day. She had to wear orange and she was pinched black and blue by the kids at school. So when we were little kids she would crochet little green shamrocks for all the kids in our class. A sweet gesture until you realize that she had six grandchildren (times thirty kids in a class), plus the kids in my mom's homeroom (another thirty) and whomever in my grandfather's office she made them for. . . then you realize that this was a compulsive 250 shamrock a February crafting habit that possibly required treatment. All because she never wanted anyone to get pinched again.

In other words, I hope people enjoy their green beer next week. My grandma can't crochet anymore so she will be worried about all of you.

Like Mommy

When you have a baby you are required by law to have 84,000 conversations about who does she look like and where did she get that adorable nose (what? THERE IS NO LAW?!). We do this as much as anyone else and even include annoying personality traits in the mix.

Mo looks like my daddy, and therefore me. With a round face and big blue eyes (which sadly I do not have) and even the nose a bit. The coloring is all wrong, of course, because her hair is like J's beard all one hundred colors and can't make up it's mind what to look like.

She snores like J. And even flings around a bit in her sleep like him. She hiccups like me (sorry) with full body convulsions. When she is dramatically flinging her binky around I tell her to stop being actressy like her Auntie A (heh). When she babbles it is remarkably like my mother.

I don't know why we feel the need to do this. Maybe it is an urge to claim a piece of the baby, a way to feel connected? Notice I only see my family in her? I hear my mother and law say something about how she looks like J's brother and LORD NO SHE DOESN'T.

The short legs and monkey length arms (making sleepers tragically impossible to fit) are both of our faults though. And we are deeply sorry.

Equations

MIL having a job = fantastic for morale.

Jeans that hold in the sag = fantastic for lack of muffin top.

Lunch with friends and their babies = fantastic for a week finish.

All of this = crappy for blog fodder.

So Dull

J is in the other room reciting most of Return of the Jedi to Mo. It is sort of impossibly cute. He usually takes her for a couple of hours in the morning (they sleep) and then just before bed. I try to leave them alone, but I still wish I could watch it. There is something about a man with a baby. So freakin adorable.

My MIL starts her new job tomorrow. Thank God. I think we are all relieved. And I could definitely use the time alone with the kid. As frustrating as she is sometimes it's easier without some one freaking out every time the kid makes a peep. Babies cry. I am putting that out into the universe as a general rule so that we are clear. So all grandmas and future grandmas, there is no need to wig when the baby cries. It will only piss off her mother. Who thinks you are a lovely person but stop. Please.

Other than that I've got nothing. Lands I am dull these days.

Things Happening

Things that have happened this week that might be interesting to some one (heh,me):

1. The child outgrew my favorite outfits in the newborn sizes. I am aware that other babies outgrow the newborn sizes on their way home from the hospital but my petite flower is supposed to grow and develop normally while still being able to wear her cute-ass outfits like this one (non-pink because it was bought by me on the clearance rack at the Gap--fortunately, I also bought it in the next size up in red).

2. Miss Mo has also started being a cranky bitch from 4-6 every day. Sometimes I can get her to nap through it but really it's all about survival. A normally good natured baby can have a cranky couple of hours and not be held under water by her loving parents. MAYBE.

3. My MIL got a job! With benefits! Relief all the way around!

4. Number 3!!!!

5. I got the shaky chills last night from a fever and generally felt like shit. Tylenol broke the fever but I am a little afraid that it is the flu or some infection. On one hand, please do not let me have the flu and give it to the baby. On the other, please don't let me have infected breasts.

6. My dad did our taxes and we are getting money back. We generally try to break even but shit, I would rather get money than have to pay.

7. My hair has reached epic proportions, so long and not thinning out fast enough. I really need to hack it all off but I am afraid to not have a ponytail option.

8. Help me with this hair!

37th Percentile in the Head HOW CAN THIS BE?

The kiddo will be a month old in a couple of days (or she is already since she was four weeks yesterday). I am not sure how the hell that happened, the getting to be a month old (how is she so old and how the fuck has it only been a month?), but the girl continues to be a wee one. At her Well Baby visit she moved up the growth charts from tee tiny to less tee tiny. An important step but how a child of mine could be so tiny escapes me.

She can coo and ah at you now but mostly it sounds like geese with gastrointestinal problems mating. The doc says she will give up a non-gassy smile any day. My MIL is convinced her every screech is colic and brings the woe multiple times a day. I think she is just fussy--it's hard being a month old.

Babies this age don't do much but she can pull my hair out by the roots, squawk like an uncomfortable water fowl, make wild eyed expressions, grab at the elephant on her gymni really insistently and charm the pants off everyone she meets. Not bad for the tiniest of the tiny.

As Well He Should

Today is J and my seventh wedding anniversary. Our wedding, while imperfect, was really amazing. We never truly wanted one, but I am grateful that we had one. It was simple, and very low key (and cheap!), but there is something incredible about all the people who love you in the world in one place, just wishing you the best.

We agreed to not exchange gifts, or do much to mark the day, since the baby is still so little. J broke the rules and bought me diamond earrings (which technically are a Valentine's/Anniversary/Thanks for popping out the baby gift) and we went out to a great dinner. I was scared to be away from the kiddo that long since I am her only food source. And my fear was rewarded with a HUGE freak out when we got back. She was so worked up about being hungry that she couldn't latch to eat.

But J jumped in and calmed her down and we tag teamed fed and calmed her and got her to bed. In a way that sums up our marriage better than diamonds and dinners. Sometimes things are just a raging hot mess and we run in and fix it whatever way we can--as a team.

Not the most romantic of thoughts, but one that is pretty fucking comforting in day to day marriage.

And since the kid is only a month old and I haven't had the all clear appointment there was no hope for J this was going to end with really sincere fellatio. He must really love me.

And Shall Never Be Again

For the past couple of days the child has been sucking the life out of me. Literally. The baby has wanted to do nothing but nurse and nurse and nurse. She will eat and then hang out for an hour and then want to eat again. She seems to be gaining weight in front of my very eyes. Which is excellent--we definitely want the little bugger to gain weight. However, does she have to eat non-stop all day? Apparently.

I've had to start eating, which is a positive. Because while losing more than thirty pounds in two weeks is awesome, it was mainly water and baby plus accessories. I still need to make sure I lose the last bit in a healthy way.

Sometimes it is easy to forget about the pregnancy--even though it was a freaking long and agonizing--and expect everything to be the way it was. My recovery has been amazing. I mean I had major surgery three weeks ago. My incision has healed nicely, a lot of the weight has come off, my skin is going back to normal. Of course, sometimes I sit up and want to scream because HI they just cut those muscles less than a month ago.

We're figuring stuff out here these days. Plugging along. The days blend together one after another.

And at least I am not pregnant any fucking more.

The Anti-Mush

That's my girl. Bright eyed. Awake. She does this now. It does make the rest of it easier to deal with.

She doesn't like baths. We learned this last night when she turned purple with RAGE at her bath. Screeching bloody murder from the second her clothes were off until we had her dressed again. Even then I was glad that I had planned ahead enough to wait to nurse after so she would calm down. The "Soothing Lavendar" bath stuff probably didn't make her sleepy as planned. But the screaming did wear her ass out.

She has to be swaddled at night. Or her arms flail around and keep her awake. She throws her hands up in a baby Touchdown! gesture. She is not amused if you imitate her on this one.

She gets the hiccups. Full body. I get the loudest hiccups known to man, so loud and full that they shake my body. As a kid my dad would accuse me of faking them. So sorry that I passed that on to you kiddo.

She's three weeks old today. Even anti-mush me can enjoy that.

Ungrateful

People in my house seem to believe that they get an opinion about whether I am being weird about my daughter's sleep. They do not get an opinion.

They do not get an opinion because they are not the ones that pay the price when she doesn't sleep. They don't get up dozens of times during the night (or at all) with her. They don't take care of her during the day. NO ONE GETS AN OPINION BUT ME.

Oh, and J's assurances that my MIL would do whatever I asked? BULLSHIT. I asked her to please not try to keep the baby asleep all day long. If she is tired, let her sleep, but if she is awake have the lights on, talk to her, let her move her arms and legs. PLAY WITH HER. This has been met with an insistance on swaddling her in a dark room all day with a quick switch to letting her arms out when I walk in. My request that she wake me up in the morning after two hours so the kid could eat? Met with her using the pacifier to shut her up for two extra hours so that the kid is so hungry she is hysterical and makes herself puke.

By the way, I am still not allowed to complain. I AM UNGRATEFUL.

I am not allowed to say anything to my husband actually. He is so tired from delivering his software package you see. Which actually, I do feel sorry for him. But he still has the energy to stay up watching movies and go to bars with his friends while I am at home with his mother and baby and exhausted so my sympathy it is Limited.

The list of people I like is also limited. It includes my mommy. And daddy. And the baby. And you internet.

It includes J when he is being adorable with the kid. It doesn't include him when he plays with her for half an hour and then gives her to his mom (who, you guessed it, SWADDLES AND PUTS HER TO SLEEP IMMEDIATELY).

Good and Bad

The good stuff:

For the most part I have been lucky with breastfeeding. With a short, like five minute session, meeting with a lactation consultant at the hospital and a flirtation with nipple shields breast feeding has been pretty simple. I even weaned her mercilously from the shields without even asking her first. I suppose now that I have put this on the internet this will all stop and things will go to hell tonight but so far this has been a bright spot. I am tied to this kid and it is exhausting but at least it has been going as well as could be expected.

The kid is adorable. She gets cuter every day which is good because the hormones are wearing off and the old man newborn look is not as attractive as one would hope. She has fattened up and is filling out her newborn threads much more fetchingly. Also fabulous? How she can hold her pacifier in this tricky way and manages to stash extras in her shirts. How does she do this? Only the under one month set can know.

I managed to shoe-horn the hanging belly into another pair of pre-preggo jeans. These are still not my pants from my skinniest point but they are good jeans and fortunately high waisted enough to control the hang. I am still living in lounge pants but the option of jeans is a happy thought to have tucked into my pocket.

The bad stuff:

The kid doesn't sleep at night. She feeds and naps at lovely intervals (2-4 hours) during the day but at night she can't be down for more than fifteen minutes without something. Some of that is just new-mom shit, I can tell, she snorffles and I have to check on her. But I am also trying to keep her from waking up J and if I am awake anyway? What's the big. This is sucking the life out of me and cannot be good for her since she hits the morning all exhuasted.

I think I am sinking into post-partum depression. I am torn on what to do about this other than tough it out. Is it severe enough for meds? A new mom's group? It's all so confusing. And no one knows shit.

My MIL. Has been SO MUCH help these last couple of weeks. But lord, it has been more than a month and woman doesn't have a job. Or a shot at one. Which means she can't move out. Which is stressful. Even if she is helpful. My house is small and well, it's a lot. I don't want her gone tomorrow. But I'd like some hope that she will be out of the house sometime in the next couple of months. PLEASE

J is gone. All the time. This isn't his fault. Poor thing. He has a big project launching Monday. But it sucks. For me, because he should be with us during this time. And it sucks for Mo, who just adores him. But mainly for me, because I am selfish and if I have to fall apart it basically has to happen when he is here. And there are limits to how much I can hold my shit together.

After

Mo started throwing up Friday night and we ended up in the ER. She has a rotovirus that has progressed into diarrhea and no eating and wow we are all fucking miserable. Especially me. Last night she wouldn't sleep unless I was rocking her. So no sleep at all. And my MIL is saving my butt today by taking her because I am a super zombie.

I suck at being a mom. I hit bottom big time Saturday, with tears and freaking out and that wasn't the baby. My mom seriously had to come up and calm my ass down is sad because I am a grown adult. But I couldn't cope at all. And I still can't.

If you are wondering what is happening with me I have a sick baby, am slipping quickly into a depression and am trying desperately to sleep.

Just fine in other words.

The Birth Story

That Saturday we had been out and about doing errands. J's great-grandmother had taken a very bad turn for the worse so I was under orders not to have the baby on the day she died (which I know was meant as a joke but made me cry for hours because I couldn't control that of course and I felt so guilty about everything). I was still having steady contractions and J was harping on me to call triage (I was resisting because it would be the same old verse of no water breakage and no dialation). I had just gotten on all fours in the bed to try to make my back relax when there was this weird popping sound.



J's looking at me, "Jesus, was that your hip?"



And I am bolting for the door, very mindful of our brand new and expensive mattress. I wasn't really sure if my water had broken or if I had lost control of my bladder. J starts running around like a wild beast getting our stuff together while I am babbling about maybe it's just pee and this takes hours can't we stay home and he is on the phone with triage and we are in the damn car careening towards the hospital.



Where there is a wait to get into triage. I am the only one in active labor, and also the only one freaking out because it feels like I am power pissing my pants all over the hospital. While checking in with night security, while in the elevator and again on the bench outside of triage. They take everyone else first because they were there first, even though the sweet girl next to me (who was being screened for pre-eclampsia and just wanted to go home) kept screeching, "But she is in LABOR" when some one else went it.



They put us in a different cubicle this time, one with a door, which seemed like a positive sign that they believed we might actually have the baby. I joke with the nurse about not really being sure about the water breaking even though it is still gushing out of me, but I am not really joking I keep thinking that maybe this is just my bladder going--another humiliating thing about pregnancy. She checks and I am just barely dilated.



The contractions hurt more now. And no one is coming. There is no doctor on the floor. Apparently, every baby being born that night is coming via emergency c-section and there are a shitload of them because it is also snowing. The nurse comes back and good naturedly jokes with me that my water didn't break and I am not even pregnant so get out of that bed. But of course the water had broken and I am not going anywhere.



Hours pass and the doctor still hasn't come. No one checks me again because they don't want to cause infection. I am supposed to go upstairs to labor and delivery but there are no rooms available. Until then it is just waiting. J is pissed. I am just a mess and wondering why anyone does this shit natural.



A nurse appears and I love her immediately. She will be with us all night (and the next night but none of us know that now). She takes us upstairs, gets me settled in and checks me again. My goal is to get to four centimeters and get an epidural. She says that I am close enough that she will call the guy so that I will be first in line. She also gives me something to take the edge off. I am pretty sure I propose to her. I am her only patient, and fortunately she finds J and I hilarious. He really is being a champ. They bring me giant cups of water and juice because after the epidural I can only have ice chips. At this point it has already been nine hours since I had eaten so I gulp them down with a Tums chaser.



The anesthesiaologist comes and scares the crap out of me with the forms you have to sign. Not that I care about dying at this point, I just really want to be able to relax. The pain is a place and I cannot hide anywhere from it. They position me to put the tube in my back and I bury my face in J's waist so I won't move. And suddenly he is telling everyone to stop and is sitting on the ground. Apparently, Mr. Rock Solid is great around blood but iodine outdoes him and he has to sit this part out.



After the epidural I love everyone. I can still feel my legs and the contractions but they don't hurt much anymore. I have a button to push if the pain is intense for more drugs and a continuous dose dripping throughout the night. I love modern medicine. J and I pass out for a few hours after realizing the baby will probably have his brother's birthday.



In the morning I have not dilated much more. A new nurse is with us. She is also lovely. J leaves periodically to eat and usher in various visitors like my parents who have arrived even though we said it would be hours. I am more bored than anything. It still hurts but I am just very aware of time passing and little progress being made. Hours earlier we had agreed to the pitocin, once you have an epidural there is not really a lot of reason to worry about pitocin. My contractions were stronger and closer together but not much was happening.



At seven I am eight centimeters dilated. Our nurse from the night before is back. Just two more until I can push. J sends everyone home because it is still going to be a while. They can come see the baby the next day. Finally I get to ten centimeters. And we realize that the baby probably won't have his brother's birthday after all.



She is transverse and so we try bizarre positions to push from. I hang from a bar, J have my legs in the air. I push until my eyes pop out of my head. I definitely shit on the birthing bed. Probably more than once. She moves forward and then back. After four hours, the doctor comes in and tells me I could keep going for twenty more minutes but he doesn't think she is going anywhere. Most people quit after twenty minutes. I agree to the c-section. The baby is clearly a tough cookie because she hasn't crashed once but we are past 24 hours since my water broke and I am just done. After the decision is made it takes only a few minutes and we are in the operating room.



More drugs. And ioadine. But J isn't with me. I don't care much about what is happening. J does show up and is doing his best to keep me calm. He doesn't seem to realize that this isn't happening to me, it is happening to somebody else. I don't feel anything, I just hear the nurse's talk about "what a big baby!" and then "wait a minute maybe she isn't so big." And she was out.

That is when I started shaking and crying. I don't think I let myself be scared until that moment. She wasn't big, under seven pounds. And she was here.

The rest of our stay in the hospital was a blur for me, now it feels like a vacation with all the pain medication and sleeping. And now we are at home.

And I Don't

This is my daughter tonight. Her jaundice numbers have gotten worse and yes, she is orange like George Hamilton. She doesn't have the other symptoms. She is energetic, she eats well, she is definitely filling diapers. At the ped this morning she was pretty close to her birth weight which surprised the doctor. But as a precaution she is on the lights until they get better.

As far as health problems go, I am keeping positive that she will be fine. But my baby is on a bed of lights, zipped in and I can't take her out at all 24 hours a day except to nurse her and change her diaper. It's a crazy thing to tell some one not to hold their newborn baby. And even crazier that it could be a week or more.

I am grateful that we can do this in our home. And given some of the things that visiting nurse said I am fairly confident she'll be out soon. But she is miserable in there, and I am miserable with her in there. We may have to do this but I do not have to like it.

No Story, Just Plugs

We had a wee bit of a horrific night last night and I am trying to be positive in my thoughts. So I am not going to think about labor or birth or pregnancy and just think happy thoughts.

So I am going to talk about two things that have been fantastic for me (I know, I have been a mom for a week but I am just saying).

Glamourmom nursing tanks. Fucking LOVE. Wish that I had bought more than just two (actually am ordering two more). I bought the long lengths, one in black and one in white. They have a shelf bra which was just BARELY enough for me in my engorged porn star state. I did have to do a little stuffing. But I needed to wear something all the time and these were comfy enough for sleep and supportive enough to wear outside the house (not that I do much of that). They are comfortable, hold breast pads in place easily and cover the belly while you nurse. Although I haven't nursed in public yet, I have nursed in front of my MIL and dad in this baby so that tells you the coverage is good. They are not as shaping as some of the other bras I have seen but they are very good at least for this first week--when you just want to relax and sleep and not have your breasts hit you in the face.

And Kissaluvs cloth diapers (I did buy them at Jillians Drawers that link and got great service BTW). I am not much of an environmentalist. I am really just cheap. And when I figured out that I would save money using these, the baby was likely to be just as or more comfortable, they were super easy and better for the environment it seemed worth a shot. All the diaper boards (yes there are diaper boards, and an alarming subculture that I pretty much am frightened by PLEASE DON'T HURT MY BABY) rated these as the best ones for newborns. She had a couple of blow-outs with the disposables and none with the cloth. Her skin looks fabulous, they are so absorbant and since my MIL is here doing laundry I am THRILLED.

I promise to post more pictures of Gorgeous Baby and the story of her birth (something that should not be read by pregnant ladies even though it is nowhere near the worst thing that could happen but seems all the more likely to happen because we are both fine).

And I am sorry but how fucking fun was it to watch the Patriot's lose the Super Bowl? HEH

Not So Cute

I haven't written the whole birth story yet (which I know the internet is gasping for) but I know there is some satisfaction when reading a blog to getting the dirt. Plus I do want a record so I can look back should I have an urge to have another I can read that and go WAIT 26 hours and pushing? NOW I FUCKING REMEMBER



As a little tease: it starts with SAVE THE NEW MATTRESS, getting to the hospital and waiting in the waiting room, back labor with panic about how it gets WORSE, finally getting a room, J lying on the ground during my epidural, hanging from a bar trying to turn this child and then surgery.

Damn that little tease was long thing may turn into a mega entry or a multi parter.

I took the kiddo on a short outing today because I was getting stir crazy before birth and nothing makes that worse quite like a five or six days depending on how you count it in the hospital. Then I came back to my house and my mama ordered me to bed. Lying about how she would come get me. LIES.

The kiddo continues to be awesome. She sleeps really good during the day and moderately well at night. I think the night problem is mainly lonliness. She really just wants to some one to get up and hold her. J generally does that shift because I look like a corpse and have bleeding nipples.

My main problem is that I don't eat. I just forget about it and am still in late term pregnancy mode. So I don't eat much is apparently bad when nursing. Also I still look pregnant. Like six months instead of bursting but it is distressing because I look like I have a pot belly. With giant breasts. Maybe I am a transgendered trucker before transition?

Not so cute.

To Be Called Mo

So you are probably wondering where the fuck I have been.

Ramona Kathrine was born January 28th at 1:41 am. I am still too exhausted (and using the hospital internet connection) to give you all the details. But she is here, she is just gorgeous, and I am a good deal mushier than anyone could have anticipated.

More info later.

Updated

I've edited a couple of entries because the privacy of others is more important than dumping this shit in my brain on the internet. It is fairly unlikely that my MIL would find this blog, but if she did it would have been easy for her to misunderstand and be hurt by what I said here. It's not her fault, my feelings of stress, so I do have to make an effort to not vilify her here. Tempting though it may be.

J and I got into a massive fight about it last night (the situation, not blogging). Things boiled over and some pretty ugly things got said. I feel better than I did but I do think that something has changed between us. And it's not going to change back. It's a bad situation that isn't going to get better and that is hard to accept.

Progress

TMI alert, just scroll on by if you don't feel like details.

But am 2 cm. dilating and 80% effaced. Doctor stripped my membranes (OUCH) just to see if it would bring anything on. Since then something is happening I just do not know what. I gather the window is small to get labor going with this technique so if something doesn't happen before Saturday than it didn't work. But still. At least there is progress.

In other news I think I need to stop writing about my MIL troubles. Because . . . well. They aren't going anywhere. For those who have asked (kindly), yes, J and I have talked about this. But we are in a difficult position. She doesn't really have anywhere else to go since she moved up here for this. Unfortunately, I think I misunderstood because I thought she was coming up to change her life and then to ultimately help us take care of the Girl after I go back to work. But mainly I thought it was about her taking charge of her life. Now I think I just didn't get it because she thinks she is up here to help me.

It's a big fucking mess.

ETA: I have gone back and edited entries. In the interest of goodwill and privacy. Thank you for your support.

What Kind Of Person Sneak Cleans?

I completed my Girl Scout badge of Hazardous Daughter-in-Law Service this week. I took her to look at a school (which strikes me as bizarre because I wouldn't need some one to go with me but WE ARE ALL DIFFERENT I GUESS) and for her bra fitting tonight. I made J go with me, and the deal was I would tell her what happens at a fitting and find the fitter for her but I wouldn't go in. I have boundaries people.

I also snuck in a floor scrubbing when she went to go get her social security card. I was skipping around I was so happy. No one griping at me about over-doing anything. A satisfying clean floor.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

Sorry. I Am Obsessed With This

For J and I, one of the hardest things about being married is just understanding where the other one is coming from.

If you tried you probably could not come up with two more disparate upbringings. My parents are pretty Ozzie and Harriet, very middle class, with mostly Midwestern values. It is tempting to call my childhood "normal" but as an adult I am well aware of how many kids are not lucky enough to live that way. I would say that I would be thrilled if I could give my daughter a childhood like I had. And I believe that J would be too--to him I grew up like kids on fiftie's sitcoms. Something he didn't believe was real.

This doesn't mean that my parents are/were perfect, just that I was never afraid or insecure. I never went hungry or worried about my family's financial position. I had opportunities to go to good schools and have extras like camp and sports. I went to college. This is how I want my daughter to feel and what I want her to have.

J's life was different. And I hesitate to get too detailed because he has his right to privacy (heh sort of) but it's the total eightie's package. With divorce and other family problems. The financial and emotional things that come with that, plus some other kind of scary things thrown in (vague enough?). I know he would do anything to prevent that from happening to our family.

But it means his sense of what is normal is just WEIRD to me. And with his mom here they get into these cycles of remembering things that freak me out. They try to one up each other remembering more violent or fucked up episodes from their past. They have a kind of pride in them. I don't think that they should be ashamed or anything but it is a strange situation for me.

You can see how we interact with our respective parents would be different. And what is polite, where our personal boundaries, even manners are different. And it is hard. When we were first together it made me crazy about how he is always late, and never apologizes for it. He thinks that because he doesn't care when others are late that no one minds. Even when some one clearly does. He thinks I am too formal with friends, waiting for invitations before showing up at their homes (and never inviting myself along). Eventually, we have reached a sort of truce point about most things--compromises so that we both feel as comfortable as possible.

But we haven't had much interaction with his family in all of this time (and we are talking nine years). So they are strangers to me, even though I know some people would consider them "family". He has expectations about how I should behave and feel about his family that I just cannot live up to. He thinks that intimacies that feel so creepy to me are normal because "she wants to help." It's hard to explain, but to me it is as if he met some one on the street and brought her home. And expects me to treat her the same (or actually in some cases more familiarly) than my own mother.

And the two of them are stressing me out so much I can barely breathe. I try, I really do. I try to make small talk (which no one in their family seems capable of--they just share anything which I suppose is fine except it really does make me uncomfortable). I try to help her find jobs and housing. I stick to impersonal topics and just hope that over time we become friends. But they don't want me to do anything. I am not allowed to do ANYTHING in my house. In her eagerness to help (which is sincere I know) I am now imprisoned in my damn bedroom all day. Because if I even try to make myself a snack she tries to stop me to help.

I would like to clarify to everyone that I am having a baby. I am not actually a baby.

I do appreciate that no one wants me to overdo. I really do. And I appreciate the sentiment of wanting to help. But honestly, if I want to clean my bathroom (which was necessary because J wasn't going to do it and I cannot ask her to do it maybe that is dumb but I can't, especially in light of how spoiled and rich she thinks I am), then I can clean my damn bathroom. What is the worst that could happen? I could go into labor? ISN'T THAT WHAT EVERYONE WANTS? I mean y'all only talk to me about contractions and people just stare at me if I leave my room (another reason I don't leave it) so wouldn't it make everyone happier if I just had the baby?

I just want some privacy and some space. I have a lot of shit going on right now and being pushed into a close relationship with some one who doesn't like me (but sure is now changing her tune since I am having her grandchild) and makes me so uncomfortable is making this worse. I will not keep her from the baby (though if that cough doesn't go away she'll have to wear a mask because DAMN) but please just let me figure this stuff out without complicating it. And having to sort out an in-law relationship that most people would have figured out many years ago is complicating things.

I don't really get his perspective here. Maybe he is trying to force me to accept his mother? But I really resent that somehow, once again, any rejection I have of his point of view means that I am an unfair classist asshole but no one has to try to see things from my side.

Wow. Biggest, and yet vague, brain dump on the internet EVER. At least for me. Sorry y'all.

If I See the 31st I Will Be Less Patient

J has this expectation that I am going to take his mother bra shopping tomorrow.

How much do I love this man? I am truly not sure I love him this much. I don't really feel like I should have to think about my MIL's breasts this much, or AT ALL.

Also. Please please please some one hire this woman. And find her an apartment. And move her belongings. Quickly. Because I want to grow to enjoy her and believe I will one day but that day is not today, because I am a mega bitch who cannot cope with so much togetherness. Also she puts garlic salt on everything. Probably even toast. HELP ME.

This child, she is not moving. Well she is moving but not out of her uterine abode. This is upsetting almost everyone else more than me. Now that I am not DYING from a cold and contractions I feel a little more patient. Not that I wouldn't welcome the little screamer but there is nothing to be done. I think J jinxed me by telling everyone that he would be STUNNED if I made it to the 20th. Welcome to the 21st Darling.

Thankfully She Will Not Be In The Delivery Room

After a couple of days of anti-biotics I am admittedly perkier. And still contracting at about 5 minutes apart. While walking at the mall today I had a couple that made me shake and stop breathing (I realize that you don't want to stop breathing when in pain). I suppose this means that progress is being made. I told J that I didn't want to go back to Triage unless my water broke or the contractions stayed at the crazy intense can't move level at less than 3 minutes apart for at least three hours.

I have a feeling we will be here a while.

I was pitiful enough at the OB's yesterday that she immediately put me on disability. THANK YOU GOD. I currently feel like the child is gutting the marrow out of my pelvis with a melon baller. This is making my cough a particular delight.

I am finishing the night watching a marathon of Pro's vs. Joes (new episodes Thursday!) with Darla. I think she now knows when the contractions come because she rushes over when they happen.

I could sort of deal without her licking me during them though.

Someday

I know I have been bitching about having a cold for approximately 870 years. This week, while still fucking contracting every five minutes, it developed into something that is still trying to kill me. Sore throat, cough, headache, and a nose that alternates between being plugged like cement and running like a faucet. . . I have been just thrilled with this. Poor J has been beside himself trying to figure out what to do with me. If I lie down, my contractions slow to one every fifteen minutes. But the second I do much of anything they start up again. If I wasn't dying of some sort of bubonic plague than we would be beginning eviction procedures right now. I am likely to feel better right after delivery. Problem is that I am so tired I can barely move so walking around is difficult--labor just seems impossible.

I have been giving a pep talk to my girl parts--something alone the lines of "I GET IT. I AM TERRIBLE AT THIS. SHE'LL BE AN ONLY CHILD PLEASE STOP KILLING ME!" Something light and not hysterical at all.

I went to my regular doctor (not that I have ever seen her before since J and I seem to be the kiss of death for family doctors at our practice) and she prescribed anti-biotics. Not before trying to guilt me about being allergic to penicillin which apparently makes finding something else like analyzing an actuarial table in difficulty level. I didn't like her.

She offered to be the baby's doctor and while I am sure she is plenty confident since she didn't notice I was pregnant (despite the notes all over my chart and the GIANT belly) I don't have a ton of confidence in her.

Meanwhile I'll just be lying here in my bed, drinking water and watching too much shitty tv. Someday I'll have a baby. MAYBE.

I Wouldn't Either, I'd Like To Be In A Hotel For the Duration

Well shit. Constant contractions since Saturday. Three trips to the hospital (they made me!) and no baby. I've been joking since Thanksgiving that this kid could come any time after my hair appointment Saturday since I would be full term then. Then Saturday my salon had done some voodoo and booked some one in my spot (!) and though the contractions started I didn't get anywhere. So I finally got cut and groomed so come on out sweetheart, I am pretty sure your grandpa will buy you a damn pony.

All of this means that I am incredibly crabby and tired and weepy. If you want to understand hell, put some one in constant pain that is not eased by anything and have them make no progress at all. I am still in early labor and barely dilated at all. I haven't slept normally since Friday and I think technically I should be going to work tomorrow (I am still trying to arrange disability).

Everything sucks. The nurses are borderline mean (I love this, they tell you to come or you are ordered by your doctor to come in and then they get all snotty with you "WHY DO YOU THINK YOU NEED TO BE HERE") and change their story a lot. The rules are come in when your contractions hurt and are 3-5 minutes apart for at least an hour. But when you do that they will bitch about how you are not dilated and your contractions should be closer together (I guess when they don't stop or you actually have the baby you can come in). All of this makes me want to cry when talking about it because I never want to go back again. One nurse said each of the following three things, "You are only 37 weeks, you shouldn't be walking around to make labor progress," "You can either go home or walk for an hour to see if your cervix changes," AND "Don't walk, it doesn't do anything anyway"

I pretty much hated her.

ETA: I've edited this entry, my apologies.

Actually, no wonder the baby doesn't want to come out.

Believe Me She Wants Out

I am still here. Unfortunately. Early labor started Saturday at 4pm and has steadily, if very FUCKING SLOWLY, progressed. They had me come in last night and while I gamely packed a bag we were ultimately sent home as I expected. Contractions every 4-8 minutes get you nowhere in labor and delivery no matter what you see on TV.

It is depressing. Because this is uncomfortable. But there isn't anything to be done about it. I considered going to work today because staying home seems like a guarantee that everything would grind to a halt but . . . I was overruled.

J is coming home at noon to take me to walk for an hour and get a root beer float. Twenty minutes at Target made me screech last night so maybe things will move along. My mother had her water break with my sister but never dilated so I am desperately afraid that the same thing will happen to me. No way to know. But it's desperate times here. I even had sex with my husband--that should tell y'all how much this hurts.

Think baby escape thoughts y'all.

Trying to Accept Help

My mother-in-law is here. It's actually going pretty well and any issues that are being had are because of me not her. We all know I am a social moron, don't do well with houseguests of any stripe and have anxiety about oh so many things. The situation is just pushing a lot of my buttons.

She wants to help. She wants me to leave her a list of things to do when I go to work each day. I cannot do that y'all. Even tonight, she made dinner (while I sat on my hands rocking and trying not to help) and got pissed when I tried to do dishes. We are talking just loading the dishwasher but she wants me to relax.

Oh y'all. I am trying. We'll see how it goes. I am sure as I get closer to delivery the hormones will make me even more tolerant. And that post-baby crazy period? SNAP

Anyway. GRATEFUL

1. The generous people who have made sure that my baby has all kinds of gorgeous clothes and accouterments.
2. I'm working part-time now. It makes me feel a little stupid because I am fine but GOD it is nice.
3. My haircut is Saturday. THANK GOD I look like a yeti.

Wild Partying Ways

Yesterday was my baby shower. I've never had a shower of any kind before, because I find large groupings of women terrifying. But my friends L and C did such a great job. No stupid games, nummy fattening food and not so many people STARING at me.

Little Miss has cleaned up because people are so nice. Pregnancy makes me just generally weepy so the generosity of my friends and family makes me sniff a bit. And she has gotten so many lovely things. Girl has more close than I do at this point I think. I went through it all today, straightened out the bedding (J put it on her crib and somehow he thought the crib skirt went on top of the sheets?) and got things organized. Other than the WTF feeling I get when I see all that stuff it looks great in there. I get that same feeling from the stroller in my entryway (which I put together my ownself last night). It's like, WHY IS THERE ALL THIS BABY STUFF EVERYWHERE?

Today my parents showed up with a glider. They knew I wanted one but that I was being cheap and not buying one because damn everything for a baby costs so much. And while people have been amazingly generous it still seems that everything for a baby costs a hundred dollars. Unless it costs more than a hundred dollars. So since I knew the glider was a non-essential I was just going to skip it. But Grandma and Grandpa felt that Baby will need rocking and rocking she shall get and went to Costco. The thing is nice too, with a gliding ottoman and microfiber cushions.

J is somewhere in Oregon right now, driving his mother back. Apparently it is snowing like a motherfucker so they will get here in the middle of the night I guess. Poor thing. He is hungover. I knew he was in trouble when the emails he sent me from his blackberry were barely English last night. I suggested that maybe he wouldn't want to get drunk and then have to drive home today but he claimed he wasn't drunk.

Maybe not but the emails that you sent me at 11:30--which weren't really for me--say otherwise.

I am continuing my wild weekend ways watching DVRed episodes of CSI and finishing my Thank You notes. Party ANIMAL.

Happy Weekend

It's eight on a Friday night and I am buried under dogs in my bed eating macaroni and cheese and wiping my nose with a roll of toilet paper. My co-workers hosted a shower for me today and Internets, are you ready to be impressed? I have already written the Thank You notes. Which is pretty good since there were more than twenty just for the group gift.

J did not get blown off the road in his trek down to California last night. I, at least, am very relieved. We'll see when he gets back though.

After the shower today I am overwhelmed with how kind people are, so my gratitude is for this:

1. How generous my co-workers are. Amazing. Also amazing is that I now know what kind of people buy that fancy baby lotion you see in high end boutiques and department stores. Heh.

2. I took the train home this afternoon. Apparently, buildings in Seattle caught fire and there were wrecks and it was some sort of endless clusterfuck.

3. I do not have to go back to work until Monday. Thank GOD.

4. Velveeta shells and cheese. Nuff said.

It Is Weird That Some One Has Touched My Baby's Head I Am Sorry

At the doctor today she found that I have a "very soft" cervix and that crazy feeling that I told J I thought was the baby dropping was indeed her dropping. Like a rock. She was like OOPS there's her head during the exam. I am aware that this means nothing and women walk around dilated for weeks (when I am not dilated at all) but still I am taking this as progress. I am so tired and uncomfortable I am grasping at straws here.

Thankfully I won't be having her this weekend since J is on his way to California to pick up his mother.

I would have to hurt him if I am alone during labor.

So today's gratitude:

1. I lost a pound this week (it is the cake and hot pretzel with cheese diet!). This means that I have thirtyish pounds to lose after this baby is born. That is a lot but for a while there I was pretty sure it was going to be fifty.

2. I have signs of impending labor. It may be all bullshit but at this point it is a reassuring bullshit.

3. I am unlikely to have this kid this weekend. Not only is J gone but my friend L is throwing me a shower Saturday and she would just KILL me.

4. Obama won Iowa. He isn't my first choice (though I like him) but I love what it says about what is happening in this country that a young black man could be winning in a Midwest state. I really love that.

5. Benedryl. Anything to help me sleep at this point. I am so goddamn tired.

I am not big on New Years. There is so much pressure for people to do a Big Night out. To have a great time. I think most people end up miserable. Or bored. I don't like resolutions because again, I think people promise themselves big things that they cannot live up to.

Last year's miscarriage on Decemeber 30th didn't make this time of year sweeter.

I made it through yesterday really well. I was and am proud of myself because I am still pretty raw around that experience. The only problem was that the Girl was pretty quiet yesterday. Not being as active. And I am terrible at counting kicks. At any rate she was still for most of the morning (typical) and I had flashbacks. To the dead embryo on the ultrasound screen. The bad news. The contractions. All of the blood in that bathroom. The emergency D&C.

But this pregnancy is not that pregnancy and The Girl is back to her normal tricks. I am 36 weeks on Saturday so she is almost fully cooked too. I had contractions last night, Braxton-Hicks, which kept sending J into a tailspin. He thinks I won't tell him if I am labor, or that I won't know.

I don't want to remind him that I had full contractions with the bleeding, that they told me that those felt very close to how the real ones would (this is how I know they motherfucking hurt plus no morphine this time).

I am feeling pretty lucky today (though tired, getting up for work this morning was hard after all of that).

Gratitude:
1. That it wasn't labor just yet. We really aren't ready. And The Girl really needs to stay put for at least a week because J is going to pick up his mom in California at the end of the week. And he needs to be here when she comes.
2. That it will be labor soon. I am pretty well done. My hips feel like they are splitting in two. My back is killing me. The BH contractions are really uncomfortable. Going to work is like torture (seriously, and I have a desk job, how do people who are on their feet do it?). I now understand why evolution had to make the third trimester suck so much. How else does squeezing an eight pound thing ever sound like a good idea?
3. The extra day off tomorrow.
4. Maternity leave. My company really does have a pretty good policy. I mean it's not Canada good but at least it's something. For this country that is amazing. And J and I are in a position where I should be cobble together 12 weeks off without sending us into the poorhouse. That is lucky and I am aware of how many women do not have this option.
5. My front loader washer and dryer. Taking on loads of baby stuff in a single bound.

Did I Mention the Cinnamon Buns?

This morning we went to Ikea to get the piece fixed that wasn't right for HomeGirl's dresser. And then bought a couple of hundred dollars worth of other stuff (a bed and bedding for J's mom who will be here in OMFUCKINGG a week). I am now completely exhausted from walking around. And sore. Because walking requires an elaborate musculature I just do not have? No idea.

But still. . .BEING POSITIVE, the gratitude flows for:
1. Ikea cinnamon buns. Who knew? Such deliciousness for a dollar. If they had more icing they would be perfect.
2. That my Mama and Daddy loaned me a car. J is taking mine to California Thursday and though I could probably get his to work (PROBABLY) it was stressing me out just thinking about it. If I wouldn't have to drive myself to my baby shower next week (location: THE ENDS OF THE EARTH) then it would have been fine, maybe. But I do and I am so glad I am not going to end up on the side of the road somewhere weeping about the clutch.
3. Brow powder. Somehow my eye brows have become really patchy and sparse. I've always used brow powder because they are so light but now I need it just to not look bald.
4. The 13's are here! Anyone not reading Julia's story, she has had a long journey to get here, including 11 miscarriages. But her twins are here!

Strong

I missed my massage this morning. Because I am a moron who lost her own keys. I managed not to cry though. Through great strength of spirit. I really wanted that massage though and so gratitude is very hard to come by today.

1. Online tetris. To pass the time I should have been getting a massage.
2. J's offer to rub my feet. Which I didn't take because I really wanted my MASSAGE.
3. That I really did manage not to burst into tears over not getting the massage. SUCH A STRONG WOMAN

I Am Squishy With Fluid

I started to panic today when I noticed my thighs were bigger and more ripply than they used to be. So far I have carried this baby all in front, just blasting my boobs and belly to ridiculous proportions but not doing much else (besides the inevitable hip spreading SIGH) so adding really super fat thighs to the mix (not like they were Heidi Klumesque before) was not helpful. Then I noticed that there was fluid just MOVING under the skin.

This is a joyous time.

Continuing on my theme of gratitude:
1. Traffic this week--if I have to work at least the rest of the world is off and not clogging the I-5 corridor. Tonight I got home in less than an hour. On a Friday.
2. Wireless internet--this post brought to you while I am pooping (TMI?).
3. The massage I am getting tomorrow. Probably the last of the pregnancy but lo do I need it.
4. Peanut butter. Protein baby.
5. My I-Pod. I swore to J that I didn't need it and certainly didn't need the big one. I was oh so wrong. There is no way to quantify the amount of crazy that thing insulates me from on the bus. Setting aside the hours of music and electronic entertainment it has brought, the anti-crazy benefits more than paid for the thing.

Gratitude

Work has been such a clusterfuck of suck the last couple of weeks that it has made me angry and bitter. Add that with the general shitty feeling of the third trimester and you have some one who is really pissed off (and anxious--dear GOD the anxiety) all of the time.

So I am doing something cheesy but trying to focus on the positive (like that bright and shiny leave that comes with the baby--we won't focus on that whole labor and pain thing just yet or the whole no sleep thing). So today I am grateful for:

1. Strawberry ice cream. Every day. I am already fat anyway.
2. My knit gauchos (that really went out of style a couple of years ago but please they are so comfy and pass for work appropriate), we won't think about how J mysteriously lost them.
3. My Heavenly Bed (it's in the name)
4. Dachshunds who lay in bed with me for hours.
5. That J is putting together the dresser for the baby and not me.

Bright and Shiny Jews

This week we finished our conversion and, in the words of my friend L (who I won't bother linking because girl never blogs anymore) became "bright and shiny Jews."

It has taken us a long time to get to this stage, even though we have considered ourselves to be Jewish for a long time, the whole process has taken a couple of years. Most of that work was internal, if you were raised in a Christian home it just takes time to decompress and figure out if this is really what you want to do. It's a new paradigm of thinking and there are a lot of things that have to change about your life.

That being said, we knew that this is what we wanted for ourselves and for our family and I am due in six weeks so it was time to get cracking. I feel very fortunate that since our rabbi left a rabbi from another temple was so kind to help us. We felt so welcome in their community that the full court press we got about joining their synagogue didn't feel too much at all.

I was nervous. This shocks no one who knows me well because I get nervous about any situation that I cannot control ( or predict) and it's only gotten worse since I have a horrible case of the pregnancy anxiety jangles. I am nervous to do anything, even oh so complicated things like get up in the morning right now, and it's just part of the hormone shift.

All we had left to do was our mikvah immersion and we were all set. I'd never been to a mikvah before and had only a elementary understanding of them. Mikveh are Jewish ritual baths, created out of "living water" (in this case rain water is collected and filtered and heated) and used for purificated. The only mikvah in this area is associated with an Orthodox temple but also utilized by a number of communities and they are wonderful enough to allow it's use for conversions for Reform Jews (which a lot of communities do not allow). Having a mikvah immersion as part of our conversion allows it to be seen as kosher by a much wider scope of Jewish communities. It also allows us to be eligible for the Law of Return to Israel. I've read and been told that the mikvah can been very emotional and spiritually moving. Since I am just not that kind of person that made me all the more nervous, that I would be expected to feel something that I am just not hardwired to feel.

They had never done this sort of double conversion before (which makes sense, it is unusually to have two partners convert) and I think the rabbis enjoyed the novelty. The second rabbi was alarmed when he saw me since I know he was told I was pregnant but was not expecting me to be so large and alarming (I have become very accustomed to scaring people now). I have to admit I did have a moment where I was like WHAT IF MY WATER BREAKS IN THE MIKVAH? Since both rabbis and our third witness were men, I missed part of what they were talking about because I was in the women's section. They did let me into the men's section so they could explain what to do to both of us at once and also so they could show me that while they would be in the room with J during his immersion that the would just stand by the door for mine and wouldn't be able to see me. I do understand that people are modest and of course keeping men out of the women's section is very important in that community but I did think it was pretty funny how worried they were that I would think that they were going to peep at me. No one wants to see me naked at this point I am pretty certain.

J went first and I sat waiting. It was interesting to hear since both of our Hebrew is HORRIBLE. When it was my turn all four of them were crowded outside the door (they decided J should be nearby in case I fell that way they had some one to deal with the large naked lady) fretting like old ladies about the stairs into the tub. It was set up nicely for me though, with small stairs and a handrail (older ladies use it too so I imagine this is a good feature for them). And the water was fantastic for my back--not a spiritual note at all but man I could have stayed in their all day.

I had been talking to the third witness (who also worked for our temple but isn't a rabbi) who is also a convert before it was my turn. They were all curious about why we hadn't finished our conversion last winter like we planned. And I explained about the miscarriage and how it just stoppped our lives for a while. He said that a lot of people use the mikvah to recover from events like that--that he used it when he got a divorce and also when he came out a few years later. That the mikvah can help open new life stages.

I wasn't thinking about the miscarriage in there though. I was glad to be doing it pregnant, like we were all converting as a family together (though she will not be a convert which was the point of doing this before she is born). A weird note, your center of gravity while pregnant is different even in the water so I tipped over and splashed loud enough that the nervous Nellies almost sent in the Calvary.

The conversion didn't change anything for me (or for J judging from our conversations). Which to me means that we were definitely ready.

And I am unduly amused that J's Hebrew name ends in a sound that is very similar to yahoo.

Oversharing for the Holidays

I've been rolling this around in my head (obsessing about it endlessly) since we got the letter and though I have promised J I will move on (I will! But haven't!) I just can't seem to stop.

My parents send out a Christmas letter each year and this year it had two things that made me lose my shit. One angrily. And the other is sadness.

The anger one is slightly petty and I am almost over it. They announced our baby's name. They were just excited first time grandparents and I am sure it didn't occur to them that maybe her parents would want to do that. You know, on the BIRTH ANNOUNCEMENTS. We're glad that you are excited but could you just hold it in a little better?

The sadness one. . . let me preface this that while I acknowledge that my parents are not perfect and did many things I would do differently they are really great parents and I aspire to be like them. I grew up in a healthy home, felt loved every day of my life, had my needs met and more, and now have a great relationship with two people who are able to be my friends too. I know that my parents would never intentionally hurt me. But.

They put my miscarriage in their Christmas letter. And it broke my heart.

I know that it is almost impossible to understand if you haven't been through it. But losing that baby was the worst time in my life. And though this pregnancy helps (and it does even though it SUCKS) it doesn't replace that baby. I know that J feels this way too. It's a strange feeling, because we want this baby so much so it is pretty much impossible to wish that the miscarriage hadn't happened (because she wouldn't exist) but at the same time . . .It is just still a painful event, intensely personal and something that we haven't shared with everyone we know, not even people we know very well.

And my parents announced it to every damn person they know. Some of whom I have never met.

It's been a few days and I am still crying about it. My father wrote the letter and he treaded very lightly on the subject and was tactful about it. But, like the name only more so, it wasn't theirs to share. I forgive them, of course I do, they didn't mean to do harm. But I am not over it. I feel exposed and raw and just sad. It is ten days until the anniversary of my D&C and I really didn't need to read about it in my parents' holiday greeting.

Merry Fucking Christmas indeed.

RIP Croc

So . . .the Croc is closing.

That bang you just heard is the door slamming shut on my teens y'all.

I saw my first all-ages show there (illicitly!), I saw my first show using a fake ID there. I saw Nirvana there and a bunch of other Seattle bands. J and I just saw Everclear there last spring, the night that I am pretty sure Miss Thang was conceived (what? Art gets me hot I can't help it the man has guns).

After an ugly relationship I stopped going to concerts. Didn't really do that scene at all anymore. But I have a million memories (ok hazy nights) of that club.

POSITIVE

Last week I had a variety of discounts and coupons and bought the Fekkai Glossing collection for my hair. This collection gets rave reviews in magazines and on beauty boards for making your hair shiny and soft. Since I am currently not loving much about my appearance trying to make my hair look prettier (for the low low price of 18 dollars) seemed worth a shot. I got the shampoo, conditioner and cream. They actually seem to work pretty well, my hair certainly is soft and shiny. A lot of people made the styling cream sound like the Holy Grail and sadly no such thing. It's probably the best blow-dry cream I've ever tried but I think I want the unreasonable. I really want a cream to put in my damp hair that will keep it from being poofy if it air dries without any heat styling products. I thought this is what straightening creams were for (when they first came out I actually thought straightening creams would actually straighten my hair--I was so so blind) but I have never had one be successful.

But it's a great blow-dry cream and my hair is very shiny and soft.

I also have a big giant stretch mark under my belly button. But we are focusing on the positive here.

The Real Survivor

I am now thirty three weeks pregnant. And really really want this baby to stay in for another month (once she is fully cooked she can feel free to fly her way down to freedom as far as I am concerned). But sadly, I kind of want to have her now because I really do not understand how I am going to make it another seven weeks. Or another seven days honestly. I am so exhausted from just going out with friends last night that I can barely move. And this week is the week that I stopped being able to breathe. Which is more troubling than you might think. Turns out that I really enjoy breathing. Who knew?

I don't know exactly how much weight I have gained--other than the rather vague A LOT. At least thirty pounds, maybe as much as forty, I don't actually want to know. I feel lucky that it's really all the belly and boobs (except for the HORRIFYING amount of fluid chilling in all my joints). The only issue with it all being in these spots is that I look like a cartoon (and scare people) and it's thrown off my body so much. My pelvis feels like it has been cracked in a million pieces, my lower back is swollen and bruised and while I can get up out of a chair pretty easily by myself (my chiropractor complimented my stomach muscles in that respect) it is pretty painful each time.

Billions of women have been through this and I am pretty sure they are all tougher than me. I am grateful for the experience, not because I really wanted to be pregnant (I have spent years trying to convince J that he should give it a go) but because we want a family and this is the right way for us to do this. I am not going to pretend at all that I have loved even a SECOND of being pregnant because I haven't. And this baby would be smart to come out very cute and also possible a good sleeper. I am just saying. I think that people who enjoy being pregnant for the most part have easy pregnancies. I have been sick every day of this time. I am in pain. I am pretty sure Miss Thang will be an only child. But I am sure she will be worth it. And we'll have our family. That's the important thing.

That and that somehow I survive the next few weeks.

A Week Later Is Anti-Climatic No?

This cold continues to be ugly--reducing me to a teary, weeping mess multiple times in the last week. FYI a sore throat and heartburn are very hard to tell apart and treating both simultaneously can cause crazy amounts of puking. Also, the third trimester is just sort of damp and we'll leave it at that ok?

I am having elaborate fantasies about not having to work much longer. Getting up for work feels like an unreasonable chore and my patience is so thin that I am white-knuckling a lot of human interactions. I am like a bomb ready to go off.

Mercy

Had a doctor's appointment today with fairly good results. All the things I've been doing, staying off my feet, resting, etc. are working and my blood pressure is down. The sour note? I am measuring at 33 1/2 weeks. Which would be groovy except I am only 31 1/2 weeks.

Oh little miss, please do not break my pelvis in two on your way out.

I Really Miss Lying On My Right Side

Things I used to do without any pain--or any thought at all--but now makes me whimper in agony:

1. lying on my right side
2. putting on pants
3. getting out of bed
4. getting into bed
5. waiting longer than half an hour to pee
6. wearing shoes
7. standing up
8. walking even at a snail's pace
9. laughing
10. breathing

Can you even stand the glamour of it all?

A Rant in Honor of Hanukkah

The miscarriage derailed a lot of things in our lives last year. And one of those things was our formal conversion to Judaism. We were pretty battered with grief for a long time and were not up to taking a big life step.

Of course, we hadn't counted on temple politics lending itself to no rabbi to help us. And that is how I found myself a few months ago begging around trying to find some one. We have, and our conversion is scheduled for a couple of weeks from now.

I have taken a lot of shit from many people, friends and busy-bodies alike, about "worrying too much about technicalities" when it comes to this conversion. And this pisses me off to no end. It is another case of people from one religious tradition (in these cases Christianity) and applying those norms to all traditions. And judging those traditions rather bitchily at that. Because in Christianity faith is the most important thing and the rest can be sorted out later. No child is born Christian and many sects require an adult baptism anyway--so not being baptised as a child is no big deal. But Judaism is defined by laws and traditions. The law is a very important thing. You can have faith and be part of a community but if you are not legally Jewish than you aren't--no matter what your identity is.

Our community doesn't much care about it's members being Jewish. But other communities do. And there are many rights that are afforded Jews that are not non-Jews. Since we are going to raise our daughter to have a Jewish identity, than I feel like I owe her those opportunities and protections. Liken it to being a citizen vs. having a green card. Citizens have a lot of protections that are just not available to others. Being legally Jewish could mean that for her, she would have her life cycle events within the temple if she chooses and has rights to the Law of Return (the rabbis in this area take care to make converts eligible for this). This is especially important in our current political climate (for those who think I am being paranoid look at what has happened to Muslims in this country since 9/11)--I just don't think that anyone can guarantee that Jews will ALWAYS be safe in this country.

I make a sincere effort to recognize the differences in structures between Judaism and Christianity so that I can understand where my friends, family and colleges are coming from. And I do recognize that this is easier for me since I was brought up in a Christian home. But goddamn people, have the ability to accept differences between people and their beliefs.

It's the same thing with Christmas. I recognize that many people, including Jews, celebrate a secular sort of Christmas with Santa Claus and presents and I am glad that this works for those families. It doesn't work for us. We'll do Christmas with my parents in a we-celebrate-this-with-family kind of way. And we won't be celebrating Hanukkah as a Christmas substitute. Again, the holidays are not related and are not the same tone at all. Pretending otherwise is really disrespectful to both Jews and Christians. And getting up in my face like I am scarring my kid who isn't even fucking born yet is just annoying and sanctimonious. In my experience Santa is all about the parents. Little tinies don't understand Santa and are frightened of him. Then there are a couple of years where kids enjoy it. And then they figure out that he isn't real and there is this weird betrayal time (which is an interesting thing to do to a kid in connection to a religious holiday--Santa isn't real but God is trust me would I lie? OH WAIT).

I don't judge parents for doing Christmas, regardless of their religious beliefs. I don't judge them for doing Santa. I don't judge anyone for raising their kids with the value system that they feel most comfortable with. People do what they think is best.

It's weird how these things don't apply to those of us with beliefs outside of Christianity.

Cake = Divine

100% of babies agree.

He Promised

I haven't really gotten dressed in four days. Even yesterday, going to the chiropractor and Target, I just did the Tim Gunn horrifying sweats thing (with a thermal and faux Uggs!) and now today even though the snow is melting we are just chilling at home in our PJs.

My main activity today is waiting for J to make a cake. HE PROMISED.

What? Target Is Exhausting

It's snowing like a motherfucker here. It'll probably (hopefully) all be gone tomorrow, but for now it's making staying inside and napping all the more appealing. As if I needed something else to make it appealing.

This morning I went out for the first time in more than forty eight hours. I went and got a neck adjustment and massage and while my head is still sore, it is worlds better than it was two days ago. I am not wanting to die at this point which is a lovely improvement. I am trying not to take any medication for it today, just to see if I can. The meds make me so sleepy and so out of it that they won't work for a word day so I am trying to do all the right things to get ready to work on Monday.

Missing work stresses me out, not because anyone says anything (they don't) but because I am desperately afraid that they are going to fire me. I know that this is a pretty baseless anxiety but I can't seem to help myself. My boss has asked me if I want to go down to six hour work days and I can't help but worry that means she is trying to ease me out. WHY AM I LIKE THIS?

It doesn't help that people think I am huge. Well I am huge. I am carrying entirely in the front, which is a good thing I think, but there is no escaping the big giant belly. I look nothing like the glowing Heidi Klum. I just look large and threatening. At the chiropractor's office this morning the receptionist thought I must be due in December (I keep rounding up and telling people late January). The chiropractor himself said, "But you are SO BIG!" He is a doll and meant it nicely but really folks, I had an early ultrasound, my dates are not wrong. My mother carried this way too and so it isn't a huge surprise to me. But it is pathetic that when I get into an elevator the other passengers look a little panicky like they might be forced to deliver me.

I do think that I will probably be a bit early (which means I have DOOMED MYSELF to a late delivery) just because she is so large. And if I feel like this, so tired and worn, than I won't even be attempting a natural birth (that sound you heard is J laughing since he plans on forcibly medicating me if necessary). I have no desire to feel the pain or anything, I just kind of believe that it's best to not have too many expectations (FOR ME). But yeah, I don't think I would be making it very far as of right now. I get worn out going to Target.

Losing My Shit

On Wednesday night I was admitted to the maternity triage unit for observation. I had a headache that laughed in the face of Tylenol and some swelling. These are symptoms of pre-eclampsia. Everything turned out to be fine and J got to hear Little Miss Imitating Dancing With The Stars thrashing about and we came home.

My headache got worse.

And worse. In the top five of worst migraines I have ever had category. Which I was taking on basically unmedicated. I stayed home from work yesterday and tried everything that have ever worked on even taking the EDGE off of a migraine for me. Heating pads, ice bags, icing my hands (this does work sometimes), stretching, attempting to nap, dark room, light room, massage, pressure points . . .I tried it all. And nothing helped, it just got progressively worse. And I . . .well I lost my shit.

I have found in the past couple of weeks that I have lost some of the control I had of my emotions. I cry more easily (FABULOUS), my moods change quickly and I am anxious. DEAR GOD I am anxious. The books say this is normal, all having to do with hormones and well damn that makes sense plus I have some serious stress in my life about work and you know, some life changing shit happening. I have tried to have patience with me.

This was scary though. Because I really did start to believe that this headache was never going to stop. That I would have it forever. Those who have migraines, especially the kind that go on for weeks know that despair. But this was worse. Because I REALLY believed it. And I started crying and couldn't stop. I kept throwing up. I just couldn't get a grip on myself.

Fortunately, the doctor called in some pain medication for me and J went and got it for me. And basically forced it down my throat. And then lectured me for not calling him and telling him to come home (does anyone else see my point that it seemed weird to make my husband come home because I had a headache though). The pain tapered off enough that I cheered up a lot.

I still scares me though how anxious I was, how I could not get a hold of myself. I really felt crazy. With my history of depression I have been cataloging all kinds of resources for myself post-birth. Our hospital provides a lot of support for PPD and I have already brought up my concerns with my doctor.

But does anyone have experience with this pregnancy anxiety? Is there anything that can help you cope? I have long enough to go that I need to figure out a way to get a grip. And I am at a loss as to how to do that.

Doing the Best We Can

So I landed in Triage at the hospital again tonight. Had a crippling headache with an aura that wouldn't be touched by Tylenol. To me that screams migraine to OBs that screams Pre-ECLAMPSIA RUN BITCH RUN.

After the girl pulled her usual tricks of kicking the monitor (she really doesn't like everyone all up in her business) she impressed the nurse with her loud-ass slam dance routine she likes doing in there. And we were released.

I am just going to love all the bills I am going to get from the hospital aren't I?

I still feel like shit. Headache going strong, dizzy as hell and so sore I can barely move. But we're just trucking along here. Doing the best we can.

I SMELL LIKE THE WEIRD KID IN THE BACK OF THE ROOM?

This morning I had to sit next to a smoker on the bus. Not a casual, I just had a morning cigarette smoker, but a it's 6:30 and I have had a pack and might light up on this bus even though it is illegal kind of smoker. She reeked. The cigarettes were leaking out of her pores.

Even though I used to smoke I really hate the smell. And when I did smoke I was really paranoid about anyone smelling me. I am sure I fooled very few people but I made the attempt. And now I am really sensitive to the smell.

But the smell sort of clung to me and halfway through the morning I just freaked out. When you were a kid remember your friends' house would smell really different than yours? Not like bad but just weird. Like their parents smoked in the house, only stopping when they had their surprise baby, and they fried everything in oil (not that there is anything wrong with that) and never wiped the grease off the hood? Just me?

I smelled like that house and WOE WOE WOE why did I smell like that? No idea. But it was making me crazy. I scrubbed my hands. I went and sprayed myself with perfume. And obsessed about it (SHOCKING).

I came home and showered and scrubbed and I still cannot quite shake the feeling that I smell like fried pork chops.