Friday, August 10, 2012
Teacher's Pet...
So we're going to this "Prepared Childbirth" class, given at the hospital. We paid $85 for 6 classes, but they are a bargain at any price. We have learned SO MUCH! Next week is class four, and I'm really looking forward to it. We practice breathing and relaxation techniques, and for two hours, my husband has to do EVERYTHING the teacher says. So I get massages, and we slow dance to relax and he counts my breathing, and for two hours, I feel like I don't have to give ANYTHING, just receive. He's active and interested, and on the way home, we talk about what we've learned. See what I mean? A bargain at any price :)
But I'm such a big goober.
I'm pretty sure the teacher doesn't LOVE me. Like, she likes me well enough, but, she doesn't LOVE me. I feel I answer all the questions wrong and she just nods and goes on to someone else. Or like, last night we had to write things on the board that motivate us. I said other women that aren't pregnant motivate me (them in their pants with waistlines, ugh. Look at them go.) I think she was looking for activities. I tried to follow up with a quip...she didn't laugh. I'm pretty sure she hates me, actually. What happens with parents that fail the class? Can that happen? Do they confiscate the baby? Is there a big red mark of shame on our hospital file that reads, "Better keep an eye on this one..."
But the teacher REALLY likes Amy. She likes her because Amy asks lots of questions. Amy Amy Amy. I bet she's going to get an A. A for Amy. Blah.
To spite not being Teacher's Pet, I've made a few decisions about our birth. The teacher really encourages us to be responsible for our own bodies, and to know what we want when we get there.
1) Don't ever take my husband from my side. Hear me? Never. I understand if he needs space or air, I will NOT understand if he's told he's not allowed somewhere. That man knows me inside out. He knows what I like and what I hate. He has brought me water and cleaned my puke off the walls. I need him to be with me ALL the time. No exceptions.
2) I want to tell them when I want meds. Right now, I'm leaning towards the epidural. Strongly. But you can't depend on something you'd never had. And in class we have talked about how to get the baby down into place and how to ease pain and tension without drugs. My friend Alison just had Baby Grace, and she doesn't remember any of her pregnancy because she was so drugged up. Now, I'm no hippie. There will be drugs administered. But I want to be lucid. I want to remember this.
3) Breastfeeding- it's going to be happening. After he wiggles his way out, I'm opting to breast feed him immediately. I want that skin to skin everyone talks about. I'm determined to make this work. After that, they can bathe him and do whatever, but I want to get him first.
4) I want a dim and quiet room. That's it. Just Andy and myself and a few nurses. No commotion. No parade of people in and out. Just. Quiet.
And that's it. Those are my demands. I know there are many other things that people could be picky about, but those are the four I'm going to be picky about. It's my day. It's OUR day. It's my son's birthday, after all :)
But I'm such a big goober.
I'm pretty sure the teacher doesn't LOVE me. Like, she likes me well enough, but, she doesn't LOVE me. I feel I answer all the questions wrong and she just nods and goes on to someone else. Or like, last night we had to write things on the board that motivate us. I said other women that aren't pregnant motivate me (them in their pants with waistlines, ugh. Look at them go.) I think she was looking for activities. I tried to follow up with a quip...she didn't laugh. I'm pretty sure she hates me, actually. What happens with parents that fail the class? Can that happen? Do they confiscate the baby? Is there a big red mark of shame on our hospital file that reads, "Better keep an eye on this one..."
But the teacher REALLY likes Amy. She likes her because Amy asks lots of questions. Amy Amy Amy. I bet she's going to get an A. A for Amy. Blah.
To spite not being Teacher's Pet, I've made a few decisions about our birth. The teacher really encourages us to be responsible for our own bodies, and to know what we want when we get there.
1) Don't ever take my husband from my side. Hear me? Never. I understand if he needs space or air, I will NOT understand if he's told he's not allowed somewhere. That man knows me inside out. He knows what I like and what I hate. He has brought me water and cleaned my puke off the walls. I need him to be with me ALL the time. No exceptions.
2) I want to tell them when I want meds. Right now, I'm leaning towards the epidural. Strongly. But you can't depend on something you'd never had. And in class we have talked about how to get the baby down into place and how to ease pain and tension without drugs. My friend Alison just had Baby Grace, and she doesn't remember any of her pregnancy because she was so drugged up. Now, I'm no hippie. There will be drugs administered. But I want to be lucid. I want to remember this.
3) Breastfeeding- it's going to be happening. After he wiggles his way out, I'm opting to breast feed him immediately. I want that skin to skin everyone talks about. I'm determined to make this work. After that, they can bathe him and do whatever, but I want to get him first.
4) I want a dim and quiet room. That's it. Just Andy and myself and a few nurses. No commotion. No parade of people in and out. Just. Quiet.
And that's it. Those are my demands. I know there are many other things that people could be picky about, but those are the four I'm going to be picky about. It's my day. It's OUR day. It's my son's birthday, after all :)
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Moving forward...
So after the frustration yesterday, I went into my boss and got her to write down all my time off for the entire year. I checked it all, and it's all correct. Actually turns out that she was very nicely not charging me time for all the little 15 minutes here and there where I left early for a doctor's appointment. Andy helped me figure out the rest. And now I feel better. It's an awful feeling when you think you're being cheated or treated unfairly.
So I'm moving forward. And we're going to make it work. And God is going to provide.
Today, I saw a foot protruding from my body. This was followed by a huge contraction. I informed the baby he could not kick his way out, but thanks for the effort!
This weekend is our shower...I know I know, I've said it a million times. But I'm excited! Well, a little. My inlaws are coming down last minute, mostly because they don't want to stay with my parents (which they have to, because where would they sleep otherwise?) I'm not excited for the drama, just for the gifts and the baseball cupcakes :) Mmmm...cake... I just got word today that my sister won't be coming. This is new news, but not big news. She's the one supposedly planning it after all, so it's only natural for her not to be able to come. Not being grumpy. Just stating the facts.
In closing, this is one of our cats, getting acquainted with the baby clothing:
So I'm moving forward. And we're going to make it work. And God is going to provide.
Today, I saw a foot protruding from my body. This was followed by a huge contraction. I informed the baby he could not kick his way out, but thanks for the effort!
This weekend is our shower...I know I know, I've said it a million times. But I'm excited! Well, a little. My inlaws are coming down last minute, mostly because they don't want to stay with my parents (which they have to, because where would they sleep otherwise?) I'm not excited for the drama, just for the gifts and the baseball cupcakes :) Mmmm...cake... I just got word today that my sister won't be coming. This is new news, but not big news. She's the one supposedly planning it after all, so it's only natural for her not to be able to come. Not being grumpy. Just stating the facts.
In closing, this is one of our cats, getting acquainted with the baby clothing:
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Keeping the Faith
IF there's one thing that being pregnant does for you, it helps you enlarge your faith. Because deep down you know that there's nothing you can do to to keep that baby safe inside you. You can eat right, you can work out, you can follow all the rules, and you could be in a car accident on the way to work one day that ends it all. Life is short and it's beautiful and it's terrifying to know that you JUST have to rely on God to bring you through. Even the people with the strongest faith find they are just big hypocrites when a baby is placed in their care. Because immediately you want to take care of it and nurture it and be the best parent you can be, in a really broken world.
So today, at 31 weeks, which I totally forgot until Lauren text me about it, and then Andy text me later about, I'm plagued with the knowledge that every time I've been taking the last 15 minutes of the day out to go to a doctor's appointment, they've been docking me an hour. That's policy. That's policy I had no prior knowledge about. So down from 80 hours, of which I was fairly sure I had most of left...I've got 31. 31 hours of vacation time left. I have at least 5 more appointments, which will dock that at least 5 more hours.
And here's my lack of faith. We were trying to get me four weeks vacation, using savings for two of them, and then using vacation for the rest. We'll be lucky if I get 20 hours of vacation out of that, after all the appointments are done. Another clincher is, my office isn't open on Black Friday, but we can't work either, but we don't get paid. Fast forward to Christmas. We aren't open the week between Christmas and New Year, but we don't get paid either. That leaves LOTS of time where I don't get a paycheck.
Where are we going to get the money?
When you start to lose faith, you start to doubt. Lack of faith equals lack of hope. And when you believe there is no hope in a situation it's a slap in the face to God- the author and illustrator of the Universe. I'm sorry, you think your money problems are too big for God? No, but sometimes I wonder if the starving children in Africa aren't more important than making sure my son makes his way into my white, middle class life in style. If money for the people who don't eat on a regular basis takes precedence over me having a few more days off to be with my son.
Maybe what frustrates me more is that Andy is working so hard with the money to make sure we have enough for me to be off. I've gotten a decorating job to cover my time off, and he's been painting on his days off and just making sure we're not going over budget (which we manage to do many times). He's trying to make ends meet for his new family. And now this. He says to me, "I just want you to have enough time off to heal." My precious, precious husband.
So instead of counting my pennies, I'm going to reaffirm that all things are possible with God and start counting my blessings again. (How much things can change from one blog post to the next...) Our shower is on Sunday, and we will be surrounded by friends and family. Lauren's shower was on Saturday and she loved her blanket. Here we are together:
Enough of this pity party. Time to get back to work.
So today, at 31 weeks, which I totally forgot until Lauren text me about it, and then Andy text me later about, I'm plagued with the knowledge that every time I've been taking the last 15 minutes of the day out to go to a doctor's appointment, they've been docking me an hour. That's policy. That's policy I had no prior knowledge about. So down from 80 hours, of which I was fairly sure I had most of left...I've got 31. 31 hours of vacation time left. I have at least 5 more appointments, which will dock that at least 5 more hours.
And here's my lack of faith. We were trying to get me four weeks vacation, using savings for two of them, and then using vacation for the rest. We'll be lucky if I get 20 hours of vacation out of that, after all the appointments are done. Another clincher is, my office isn't open on Black Friday, but we can't work either, but we don't get paid. Fast forward to Christmas. We aren't open the week between Christmas and New Year, but we don't get paid either. That leaves LOTS of time where I don't get a paycheck.
Where are we going to get the money?
When you start to lose faith, you start to doubt. Lack of faith equals lack of hope. And when you believe there is no hope in a situation it's a slap in the face to God- the author and illustrator of the Universe. I'm sorry, you think your money problems are too big for God? No, but sometimes I wonder if the starving children in Africa aren't more important than making sure my son makes his way into my white, middle class life in style. If money for the people who don't eat on a regular basis takes precedence over me having a few more days off to be with my son.
Maybe what frustrates me more is that Andy is working so hard with the money to make sure we have enough for me to be off. I've gotten a decorating job to cover my time off, and he's been painting on his days off and just making sure we're not going over budget (which we manage to do many times). He's trying to make ends meet for his new family. And now this. He says to me, "I just want you to have enough time off to heal." My precious, precious husband.
So instead of counting my pennies, I'm going to reaffirm that all things are possible with God and start counting my blessings again. (How much things can change from one blog post to the next...) Our shower is on Sunday, and we will be surrounded by friends and family. Lauren's shower was on Saturday and she loved her blanket. Here we are together:
Enough of this pity party. Time to get back to work.
Friday, August 3, 2012
And now for something COMPLETELY different.
Sometimes when you're pregnant, things happen to your body and you google it immediately to make sure it's normal. Especially with your first. Because NOTHING is normal about pregnancy when you've never had anything to compare it to.
But last night when my Handsome Husband and I were enjoying each others company, he may have noticed that my breasts were...um...how can I be discreet? Well, they were wet. And he points this out to me! "Hey, your boobs are wet!" And IMMEDIATELY I start to cry. And he starts to panic, because I'm crying. "What's wrong, what's wrong?" I'm like..."It's too soon!!! I'm not ready to have the baby!"
Do you know what it's like to get BACK to enjoying each others company after that? Not hard for the male, obviously. (And because it's my blog, I can talk about things like this. It's the open and honest blog. We don't sugar coat here.) It's harder for the woman, though. AT least it was for me. The birthing class lady told us it would happen, but I thought she meant it would happen to OTHER people. Like, the girl next to us with breasts already spilling out of her shirt. I mean, I haven't even changed bra sizes.
So that's the story.
Yesterday the baby did this maneuver and turned around and elbowed his way to a more comfortable position, which happened to be right on my bladder. Glad you're comfy, baby! However, oddly enough, a girl at birthing class last night said the same thing happened to her. Perhaps it's the moon...it IS full, you know.
But last night when my Handsome Husband and I were enjoying each others company, he may have noticed that my breasts were...um...how can I be discreet? Well, they were wet. And he points this out to me! "Hey, your boobs are wet!" And IMMEDIATELY I start to cry. And he starts to panic, because I'm crying. "What's wrong, what's wrong?" I'm like..."It's too soon!!! I'm not ready to have the baby!"
Do you know what it's like to get BACK to enjoying each others company after that? Not hard for the male, obviously. (And because it's my blog, I can talk about things like this. It's the open and honest blog. We don't sugar coat here.) It's harder for the woman, though. AT least it was for me. The birthing class lady told us it would happen, but I thought she meant it would happen to OTHER people. Like, the girl next to us with breasts already spilling out of her shirt. I mean, I haven't even changed bra sizes.
So that's the story.
Yesterday the baby did this maneuver and turned around and elbowed his way to a more comfortable position, which happened to be right on my bladder. Glad you're comfy, baby! However, oddly enough, a girl at birthing class last night said the same thing happened to her. Perhaps it's the moon...it IS full, you know.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Count your blessings...name them one by one.
This was me last night:
Thanks to my husband. He's my number one blessing. We got this bucket with the intent purpose of soaking feet in it. Last night after working, teaching, and a wedding consultation, it was 9:30 and I had a serious case of the cankles. He poured the water and then offered to put ice cubes in it for me if it wasn't cold enough. He has taken the back seat for so many months now. I can't wait to spoil HIM again.
My number two blessing are these people:
My family is my number two blessing. A few years back, my dad lost his job and took a huge pay cut. Like half. And in the past he was able to help us out if we needed it, but now he can't and I know he feels poorly about that. Which he shouldn't. But he does. His health has failed considerably since then, maybe out of worry, maybe out of age. But he does what it takes to get the job done, and I have learned that from him. Do what it takes to make it work.
My sister is 18, and she's slowly becoming a beautiful young woman. Our tastes and personalities are different, but I wish I had an ounce of her "devil may care" attitude sometimes. She's not afraid to speak her mind.
My mom is the hardest worker I know. She's not afraid to get her hands dirty, and has tried her best to instill that in me. But I do wear gloves... It's been a long time coming, that I could have a relationship with my mom, but I view her as a woman now and not just a mommy, and that's been the key to our friendship.
My number three blessing is my little son. Because he has kept me praying, and dreaming, and wishing, and hoping. He has enlarged my faith that all things are possible. He has kept me expectant on God. From the girl with PCOS who they said wouldn't conceive without a little help, to getting pregnant on the first try, to having a healthy little guy in there...it almost seems like a dream. He moves and he kicks and he responds to my voice. He already knows me and loves me. He is the ultimate miracle.
Those are my blessings. My support group. As I think I have it bad, sweating through this pregnancy, feet in a bucket, TRYING to get comfortable, I think of all the women who wish they had a Handsome Husband to bring them a bucket of water. As I struggle with mood swings and hormone changes, sore breasts and constipation, I think of all the women who would give anything to feel those changes as they struggle to conceive. As I get frustrated with my family and my inlaws, I think of the women who have lost parents, who will cry extra tears on the day their child is born, wishing those people would be there to see their grandchild.
I. Am. Blessed.
Thanks to my husband. He's my number one blessing. We got this bucket with the intent purpose of soaking feet in it. Last night after working, teaching, and a wedding consultation, it was 9:30 and I had a serious case of the cankles. He poured the water and then offered to put ice cubes in it for me if it wasn't cold enough. He has taken the back seat for so many months now. I can't wait to spoil HIM again.
My number two blessing are these people:
My family is my number two blessing. A few years back, my dad lost his job and took a huge pay cut. Like half. And in the past he was able to help us out if we needed it, but now he can't and I know he feels poorly about that. Which he shouldn't. But he does. His health has failed considerably since then, maybe out of worry, maybe out of age. But he does what it takes to get the job done, and I have learned that from him. Do what it takes to make it work.
My sister is 18, and she's slowly becoming a beautiful young woman. Our tastes and personalities are different, but I wish I had an ounce of her "devil may care" attitude sometimes. She's not afraid to speak her mind.
My mom is the hardest worker I know. She's not afraid to get her hands dirty, and has tried her best to instill that in me. But I do wear gloves... It's been a long time coming, that I could have a relationship with my mom, but I view her as a woman now and not just a mommy, and that's been the key to our friendship.
My number three blessing is my little son. Because he has kept me praying, and dreaming, and wishing, and hoping. He has enlarged my faith that all things are possible. He has kept me expectant on God. From the girl with PCOS who they said wouldn't conceive without a little help, to getting pregnant on the first try, to having a healthy little guy in there...it almost seems like a dream. He moves and he kicks and he responds to my voice. He already knows me and loves me. He is the ultimate miracle.
Those are my blessings. My support group. As I think I have it bad, sweating through this pregnancy, feet in a bucket, TRYING to get comfortable, I think of all the women who wish they had a Handsome Husband to bring them a bucket of water. As I struggle with mood swings and hormone changes, sore breasts and constipation, I think of all the women who would give anything to feel those changes as they struggle to conceive. As I get frustrated with my family and my inlaws, I think of the women who have lost parents, who will cry extra tears on the day their child is born, wishing those people would be there to see their grandchild.
I. Am. Blessed.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
We're closer than we've ever been!
I'm not by trade a procrastinator.
But I can put things off a little. Like, a whole week of blogging.
But it's not my fault!
No, it is my fault.
So here I am at 30 weeks. The biggest changes in me are my hormones are just rushing and I just feel very teary and sad many times. More sad that normal. Actually, so sad that my friend who is a counselor at a women's half-way house suggested I talk to my doctor. It's not that I never laugh! It's just harder for me to see the good in things than it was before- and I'm no pessimist.
Also, my feet are swollen. And my back is achy. But it's worth it when he moves around in there. Andy will lay in bed with his hand on my belly, and the baby will just kick and kick. Especially late at night. It's just these incredibly close moments that I'm going to miss. Sure it's going to be amazing when he's actually in front of us, kicking and cooing. But there's something about just me, and Andy, and Baby, just being together. Like Andy and I had this bond to begin with, and the baby just wiggled his way in there, and we were fine with it.
At the grocery store, Andy was weighing squash, after hearing that the baby was 3.1 lbs, and about the size of a squash. He found one about 4 lbs, and then we held it up to my belly. Ah, these are the moments :)
We had an ultrasound on Friday, and it was very reassuring. He's still a "he"...which I ask every time, and they show me every time. And he's in the 57th percentile with his size. So over all we have a very very normal little boy. His heart is healthy, his brain is healthy, his little kidneys are functioning well. My placenta is at the right place, and functioning normally. The amount of amniotic fluid is right on with the size of the baby, and the umbilical cord is doing what it's supposed to. I'm thankful. SO thankful.
He looks like this :
We asked him REALLY nicely to show us his face, and instead he covered it with his hands. And his feet. And then he hid in my hip bone. So he's bashful. And he doesn't like his heart beat taken! He kept kicking the technician! Little snot :) She couldn't get a clear reading, so they had to try a few times.
The nursery is painted, thanks to my dad, and hopefully on Friday, we can get the crib over to our house, and the little table from when I was growing up, and get our act together. I always get these urges to clean...while I'm at work.
This past weekend we went camping with my family, and it proved to be quite the event. But we had a wonderful time, and it wasn't TOO bad, hovering to pee all weekend. However, my belly was too big for the showers so...I came home a little stinky. It felt good to wash at home without my belly touching that nasty shower curtain...
That's it for now! We're closer than we've ever been!
But I can put things off a little. Like, a whole week of blogging.
But it's not my fault!
No, it is my fault.
So here I am at 30 weeks. The biggest changes in me are my hormones are just rushing and I just feel very teary and sad many times. More sad that normal. Actually, so sad that my friend who is a counselor at a women's half-way house suggested I talk to my doctor. It's not that I never laugh! It's just harder for me to see the good in things than it was before- and I'm no pessimist.
Also, my feet are swollen. And my back is achy. But it's worth it when he moves around in there. Andy will lay in bed with his hand on my belly, and the baby will just kick and kick. Especially late at night. It's just these incredibly close moments that I'm going to miss. Sure it's going to be amazing when he's actually in front of us, kicking and cooing. But there's something about just me, and Andy, and Baby, just being together. Like Andy and I had this bond to begin with, and the baby just wiggled his way in there, and we were fine with it.
At the grocery store, Andy was weighing squash, after hearing that the baby was 3.1 lbs, and about the size of a squash. He found one about 4 lbs, and then we held it up to my belly. Ah, these are the moments :)
We had an ultrasound on Friday, and it was very reassuring. He's still a "he"...which I ask every time, and they show me every time. And he's in the 57th percentile with his size. So over all we have a very very normal little boy. His heart is healthy, his brain is healthy, his little kidneys are functioning well. My placenta is at the right place, and functioning normally. The amount of amniotic fluid is right on with the size of the baby, and the umbilical cord is doing what it's supposed to. I'm thankful. SO thankful.
He looks like this :
We asked him REALLY nicely to show us his face, and instead he covered it with his hands. And his feet. And then he hid in my hip bone. So he's bashful. And he doesn't like his heart beat taken! He kept kicking the technician! Little snot :) She couldn't get a clear reading, so they had to try a few times.
The nursery is painted, thanks to my dad, and hopefully on Friday, we can get the crib over to our house, and the little table from when I was growing up, and get our act together. I always get these urges to clean...while I'm at work.
This past weekend we went camping with my family, and it proved to be quite the event. But we had a wonderful time, and it wasn't TOO bad, hovering to pee all weekend. However, my belly was too big for the showers so...I came home a little stinky. It felt good to wash at home without my belly touching that nasty shower curtain...
That's it for now! We're closer than we've ever been!
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