The Last Birth Story

20 Mar

Time for another quarterly update!

First things first…I’m not pregnant anymore! I had a baby two months ago which is reason numero uno for my lack of blogging. Here’s the story on our baby girl, our last baby…we’ll call her Baby T.

I started nesting like a freak of nature about two days before Baby T came to be. I decided that I was D-O-N-E with pregnancy and I was going to nest until this little bundle of joy was born. Of course, this nesting did not include anything that would be helpful for my co-workers. I dusted, I vacuumed, I cleaned the ceiling fans which have not really been cleaned since we hung them seven years ago. I swore my house had been attacked by ninja spiders because it seemed that there were suddenly spider webs every where I looked. D took pictures of my giant pregnant self teetering on a wobbly kitchen chair to clean the ceiling fans and texted it to my mom, just to see how fast she would call our house phone to yell at me to “SIT DOWN, ALREADY!!” and yell at D “MAKE HER SIT DOWN, ALREADY!!” We both giggled and she told us we were nuts. All was right with the world.

About the time the kiddos were in bed, the last spider web vanquished and D on his way for some Rooster’s wings (with Donkey Garlic sauce because I was NOT messing around), I sat down, turned on the TV and my water broke. Not a trickle, but a raging river of amniotic fluid. I couldn’t move. The dogs stared at me. I finally managed to waddle/slosh myself to the bathroom. M met me in the bathroom, of course, since he hadn’t yet been tucked in 458 times, questioning my every move. Shouts of “Mommy needs privacy!” were ignored, as always. I called D and he didn’t answer. I called my mom and told her I was apologizing on behalf of her granddaughter because we were on our way to the hospital that night (She had taken a little too much allergy medicine and felt like total crap and had told me the baby couldn’t be born until Tuesday). I called Sister and said please come to my house because mom feels like total crap. She did because she is Sister. And then I got on my work computer because I was about to leave a pile of proverbial crap on many desks Monday morning.

Sister arrived. D came home with wings that I decided not to eat, instead opting for a banana and protein bar. M refused to go back to bed. C was sound asleep at this point. After an hour or so of work, we headed off to the hospital and the contractions started up. At the hospital the idiot nurse questioned me down about my water braking. I asked if she would like to see the cushion to our sofa. Eventually she concurred that yes, we actually had broken water. Then I found out the crap news, Dr. I Hate His Guts was on call that evening. If the baby were to arrive before 8am he would deliver her. I hate this doctor because he is a gigantic a-hole. He’s rude, degrading and makes off-color remarks, and I’ve only had the pleasure of meeting with him ONCE. I did not want that clown ruining my daughter’s birthday, so I asked if I could opt for a midwife or a nurse or if we could just go home and have the baby there. They said I could have a midwife so I took it. I was validated in this decision when every nurse on the Labor and Delivery floor said they would have done the same thing because he’s a good doctor but a major a-hole.

The labor began to pick up. D and I walked the halls. I wanted so bad to make it through the labor without drugs just for the personal accomplishment, but Baby T was positioned funny and I had the world’s worst back labor, so 3 cm in, I got the epidural. I debated getting it that early. I was so scared it would stall labor and I would end up with a c-section, but I was also terrified that if I didn’t, I would be too worn out for the final stages of labor (after all, I had just scrubbed my house from top to bottom). The epidural was sweet relief. I slept for a bit and expected to be ready to push the next time the nurse came in. But I wasn’t. In fact, I hadn’t changed at all. I started to freak out a little thinking I had done it and was on my way to a c-section. Dr. I Hate His Guts was called and said to put me on pitocin at 7am. It was 5am. I had pitocin with C and only remember it as horrible. While I was thankful c-section didn’t come up, pitocin wasn’t my favorite subject either.

As luck would have it, my doctor, Dr. I Love Her To Death, happened to be awake around 5:30am, feeding her own newborn and saw all the notifications that I was hanging out under the care of Dr. I Hate His Guts. She knows I hate his guts, so she called in and told them to start the pitocin right away and that she would be in as soon as possible. With that, they started the pitocin around 6am and by 8:39am our beautiful girl was born in one push! It’s amazing how much easier the labor is with subsequent pregnancies. The pregnancy was extra crappy, but you are rewarded with relatively easy labors.

One of the things I was most excited about for Baby T’s birth was that I would finally be able to donate her cord blood! I had tried to do this with M, but wasn’t able to due to the location of the hospital where we would be delivering. In four years, things had changed for the better and I was able to get a donation kit through a cord blood donation program. They had me fill out an online questionnaire and then followed up with a phone interview before I was eligible for the kit. Once I received the kit, there was an additional questionnaire and I had to ask my doctor to become certified by taking a brief online course. I was so proud that we were able to do this and I’m so frustrated that there isn’t more information about this out there. The blood can be used to treat cancers or for research. If the blood isn’t used or destroyed and our family should need it, we can request it. To me, it’s a win-win for everyone and I hate that not many people are aware of it.

Now, off my soap box and back to Baby T. She was adorable and our tiniest baby at 7 pounds 15 ounces and 20.5 inches long. She had a smidge of brown hair (M said she had “Daddy kind of hair) and blue-gray eyes. This was also the first time I had decided to have the doctor lay the baby directly on me after birth. For many years, I have held the belief that this was the most disgusting thing ever. But after M was born I was changed in my view. He came out and I remember instinctively reaching for him, only to have the nurses take him to clean him as I had asked. It bothered me more than it should have, so with Baby T, I decided to suck it up and hold a grossly fresh newborn baby. I can’t explain it, but I’m so glad I did. She was so calm and precious.

We’re very lucky that she came out so calm and precious because after her birth, chaos erupted in the form of sick kids, obnoxious dogs, two polar vortexes and colic. More on that later.

In other news, I’ve lost my mind

30 Dec

This blog is quickly turning into quarterly updates with random major news thrown in to keep it interesting. So, I finished up football/volunteer season only to have the holidays blow up in full force, along with uncertainty in the future of my children’s school. And by the way, I’m still pregnant with a girl which translates to I’m currently the biggest, hormonal jerk of all time and I don’t even care. If only the rest of the world could stop being stupid, then I could be nice.

Yeah, so all of THAT going on and then one evening the neighbor, who’s home is for sale, stopped by just as I got home from work with my two psycho spider monkeys. While the kids screamed and climbed all over the rental car (mine is in the body shop and will be forever), the neighbor explained how things were going for them. I’ve never been more grateful for my blessings that sometimes seem like burdens. In the course of the conversation, she asked if we might be able to take their dog (the dog that I kind of think of as half our dog anyway, and the kids and husband like better than the dog we already have). I told her yes, absolutely, but I would have to ask D. I told her not worry, if he said no, I’d declare a democracy and the kids and I would surely out vote him. So 3 days later, we were the proud owners of an obese golden retriever. The kids have decided she is their dog and I can have the beast.

The beast and the neighbor dog are getting along quite well. The neighbor dog seems to have adjusted better than the beast. The only issue is that she refuses to go to the bathroom on a leash. Since we live in the country I’m not too terribly concerned about it. I do need to get her to the vet to find out what to do about her excess poundage, but that has to wait until I have my car back because I’m not sure I can or want to try to fit her in the rental. Otherwise, I’m pretty much feeling like Caesar Milan since we’ve made it a week and neither dog has killed the other.

 For those reading this and trying to do math at the same time, yes, that means we now have two dogs, will have three children in less than a month, and I haven’t been drinking.

What I’ve been doing that’s not blogging

29 Sep

Hi! Remember this blog? It’s been the thing below the thing that is the lowest thing on my priority list. Life is just blowing up folks. I mean this in the best way possible. Here’s a brief run down since my last post, two and a half months ago:

  1. Hey guess what? We switched babysitters AGAIN! It’s like I strive for total inconsistency in the lives of my young, routine-dependent children, but it had to happen. If C made one more remark that sounded remotely like that of a PMSing 16-year-old, she was destined to lose all of her baby teeth at once. Needless to say the language and behavior my two lovelies were learning from the other lovelies at the old sitter’s house wasn’t settling well with me. As fate would have it, our babysitter before this babysitter (you might remember, I ran over her cat.) moved back to our town in the same house they used to live in. While M still throws a fit every morning about getting out of the car, he has stopped screaming in my face and routinely assaulting D and me at home. I consider this a stunning improvement over our summer.
  2. In another fun twist of fate, newish babysitter ended up with another cat. A random stray decided to spend a week with their family. I believe Ollie’s ghost warned new cat of my driving and new cat continued on his way.
  3. We’re back to school!! I have a love/hate opinion of back to school. I love it because the kids aren’t “bored” anymore. But hate it because none of us get the chance to be bored as the routine rules our lives. M started 3-day preschool and couldn’t be happier about it. He LOVES school and was apparently craving the independence required of him there. He demands to walk in by himself and is loves that so much responsibility is demanded of him. This doesn’t really carry over at home, but as long as it’s happening somewhere, I’m happy for it. C is off to 1st grade and has decided it is the worst ever. There is only 1 recess. There are no snacks. There are no naps. Her hand hurts from writing so much and she doesn’t understand why all we ever do is read, read, read. The only good things are lunch and Mrs. P.
  4. Volunteer work has taken over my life. I’m in the second year of a two-year term as the communications coordinator for our parent-teacher organization. Last year it was a piece that I needed in my life. This year I’m pretty sure it’s going to kill me. I’m circling closer and closer to becoming a psycho PTO mom. You know the type that starts screaming at people when they ask dumb questions, sends scathing emails and can’t hide her snarkiness? Yeah, that will be me in a few weeks. I’m required to coordinate 25 or more volunteers for each home game of the local university’s football games. These volunteers work a concession stand and we receive a hefty donation from the university. Great fundraiser, if you can get people to work. I’m having trouble with that this year. The hardest part is seeing the people who give their time week after week and balancing that with the people who make up ridiculous excuse after excuse as to why they can’t work. That peppered with the dumb questions are getting to be more than I can take. Only 4 more games left.
  5. C and M are sharing a room now. Do you want to make yourself go completely, over-the-top insane? Move your two kids into the same bedroom, go on vacation, go camping, start school and throw a new babysitter into the mix all at once. Your children will simply stop sleeping. Because all of that, combined with BUNK BEDS, is more than their brains can manage at one time. It’s been over a month and we are just now starting to see improvements in our bedtime routine. Meaning the threatening of lives (ours and theirs) has dwindled to only 2 times each evening. It was a constant barrage from 8:30pm until 10pm. EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT.
  6. Why make your kids share a room you might ask. First of all, I think it’s good for their social development. D and I both shared rooms with our siblings and I think we’re better off for it. But the bigger reason is that a new little heathen will be joining our family in a few months. And since new little heathens tend to have unpredictable schedules and wake several times over the course of an evening, she’ll be getting her own room until she can handle a big girl bed. No sense in disturbing the sleep schedules of the older siblings.
  7. So yes, we finally made a decision and are so excited for this little lady to join our family. We’re going to be working on her name up until she goes to college. D and I are at opposite ends of the naming spectrum to say the very least. I would like it if she’d be a little gentler in her kicking, rolling and elbowing me. I’d also like the sciatic nerve pain to settle down so I can stop dressing like a hobo at work. This pregnancy has been a trip for sure. I’m slowly starting to feel more normal (aside from the sciatic nerve). But to properly document all my aliments for future reference, I have suffered from the following: hives, crackled eczema, two rounds of steroids, migraines, nose bleeds, ridiculous round ligament pain, sciatic nerve pain, and mood swings. I’m currently under the care of our local urgent care, a dermatologist, acupuncturist, OB/GYN and will soon add a chiropractor or physical therapist to the list. Whoever makes me not feel like crap first wins naming rights to the baby. Just kidding, sort of.
  8. The new little heathen. I mentioned she is not a gentle fetus. Meaning there are times I go to, you know, breathe and she takes that as an opportunity to move so hard that I yelp and double over in pain, certain that my uterus has just performed its own c-section. I only have one ultrasound picture where she doesn’t look like a blur. Every technician and doctor has commented on what “an active baby we have here.” I’m wondering if I start taking something now, if it will settle her down before birth. I don’t want to defy what she’s intended to be, but I’m running on zero most days and her siblings are already “active” children. A lazy baby, who self-soothes, sleeps through the night and potty-trains by two would be nice.

So that’s the past two months. I’m sure there are many details I’m forgetting, but these are the major highlights. I’m hoping to do a much better job of journaling our family over my maternity leave in the spring.

The Epic Meltdown

1 Jul

After this weekend’s epic meltdown courtesy of M, I’m quite confident we are failing miserably at parenting. This kid has been B-A-D. Like Justin Beiber kind of bad. Complete disregard for anyone but himself. And to be quite frank, I have absolutely no idea what to do with him. I called my mom and even she didn’t know what to do with him and she deals with children whose parent’s were addicted to illegal substances when they were gestating. I’m writing this out so that I won’t grow up and sugar coat how horrible he was as a three-year old. So I don’t forget this feeling about being a parent of small children. The feeling of powerlessness and fear that you’re raising someone who will land their little out of control selves on the evening news. I think I’ve forgotten some of C’s antics already.

Or mentally blocked them. Like I did with the labor.

It started Thursday when I asked him to please stop reciting the “This is Bob. Bob says hi. Here is Bob when a car comes by. Splat.” at the dinner table. I mean, that was totally a ridiculous request, right? So OF COURSE he doesn’t stop because this little word play to just too stinkin’ funny to stop. D removes him from the table and goes to put him in timeout. And then M proceeds to freak the freak out. Like behavior disorder freak out. Hitting, punching, spitting, kicking, screaming, biting, crying, head-butting and my personal favorite, kicking the crap out of his bedroom door. I’m so waiting for the day he drops his little size 9 straight through our 1970’s faux wood doors. We’ve got maybe a week max.

After an HOUR of this, with D and me trading shifts, he finally calms down enough to serve his 5 minute timeout. We try to move past the insanity that was Thursday evening. On Saturday, the two heathens managed to escape the day nap-free. And then we decided to all go to a movie. Isn’t that nice? Nice-y nice, doing fun family things together. Except we didn’t get home until 10pm. And Frick and Frack didn’t have naps. M didn’t even wake up when we carried him from the car to his bed. He did wake up at 4am when he soaked his whole bed. I got him cleaned up and settled into our bed (again-this bed sharing is an on-going issue).

On Sunday, I thought we should get ourselves together and make it to church one Sunday in June. This was our last chance. M seemed fine when left for church. After we got there, got settled and made our mid-service bathroom trip, he decided he needed held the entire service. Okay, whatever. I can hold 30 pounds for an hour. I love it. Free workout. Until that 30 pound weight decides he needs another bathroom break and then throws a mini-fit when you tell him no and attempts to pull up your dress in middle of church because he’s not getting his way.  And then takes a few little swings at your legs while giving you the hate stare. Thankfully, the service ended and he forgot what he was mad about.

We get home and eat lunch. M has a yogurt. Then decides he needs another yogurt. I tell him no. The meltdown initiates. I tell him he’s going to sit in the timeout corner. The meltdown accelerates. I take him to his room. The meltdown reaches full lift off. For an hour, I battle this kid to sit in his bed. I took away all of his toys. I placed him back in his bed 8,000 times without making eye contact or speaking to him. I racked my brain for every Nanny 911 tactic I had ever seen. He goes through his arsenal of physical abuse tactics and I work really hard to maintain my composure. Thinking the whole time that if another grown person treated me the way he just had, they would probably be in the hospital. But when he reached for my hair, yanked it for all it was worth and wouldn’t let go, I lost it. I left him in his room, grabbed my keys and phone and walked outside. I was shaking and ready to cry. How in the heck did we get to THIS point? Over a freaking yogurt tube?

I called D and I called my mom. I discovered our driveway isn’t nearly as long as I need it to be. I breathed a lot. I wished that I smoked because I think a cigarette would have helped me more than it would have hurt at that point. I waited and breathed some more. Eventually I went back in. I wish I could say the fit stopped then, but once M realized he was still not getting a yogurt or to go to his dad’s softball game, he lost it again. But not as bad this time.

Once he sort of settled, I got him a glass of milk and some applesauce. He asked sweetly if he could watch his shows and sleep in the living room. I didn’t scream “SERIOUSLY YOU LITTLE HEATHEN! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN FOR THE LAST HOUR OF OUR LIVES? DO YOU EVEN KNOW YOUR MOTHER?” Wasn’t that good of me? I’m putting that on my Mother of the Year application, along with ‘haven’t screamed obscenities at my children.’

I finally got him down for a nap in my bed (bed-sharing problem again). I then texted D to see if he could bring me home an M&M McFlurry because I earned every last M&M while he was playing softball. M still wasn’t himself when he woke up, unless this is his new self and then I need to get a family counselor.

He wasn’t quite himself this morning either. That probably has something to do with the fact that he didn’t fall asleep until after 10pm and then had to be moved back to his own bed 3 times throughout the night. I also found a pen and ink drawing he made of D on his wall at some point last night. I’m raging about the destruction, but equally impressed with how his drawing has improved.

I’m starting to wonder if he’s sick because, like a wild animal, he generally shows no signs of illness other than extreme aggression. I expect when I call the pediatrician they will tell me he has rabies. It’s the only diagnosis that makes sense at this point.

Dr. Google Says…

19 Jun

I have a condition known as acute internet diagnosis addiction. I am off to a flesh and blood doctor this evening to confirm. The flesh and blood doctor will be the local urgent care because, who over the age of 18 and under the age of 65 has a regular doctor? Not me. I have Dr. Google, over the counter medication, a nurse sister, an acupuncturist and the herbal section of Whole Foods. None of those require a co-pay. I hate paying co-pay for something the internet or sister can tell me for free. Sister is usually the last resort because she typically refers me to the flesh and blood co-pay suckers.

What’s so wrong that Dr. Google has referred me to the flesh and blood doctor? Poison-freaking-ivy. I have explained to my dear husband how highly sensitive I am to poison-freaking-ivy and so far he has politely nodded his head, indicating that he thinks I’m being overly dramatic, but not actually saying so. Poison-freaking-ivy almost always requires me to get a steroid shot to get rid of it. The last time I had poison-freaking-ivy, I went to the urgent care to get the shot because it was creeping onto my face. Unfortunately, I got a shot IN THE REAR and the world’s loudest nurse who had never seen thong underwear before. It was one of the more degrading moments of my adult life. So now that I have poison-freaking-ivy again, you understand why I’ve been so desperate to get rid of it on my own.

The current crop of poison-freaking-ivy has been on my left leg for approximately 5 months. For the first 4 months, I didn’t know quite what it was because it didn’t behave like regular poison-freaking-ivy. It was a mutant dormant poison-freaking-ivy that was just waiting for it to get hot before it exploded. During the not knowing phase I treated the patch like it was poison ivy, eczema, and ring worm. Then one day I thought maybe I would pick at it a little. That was 4 weeks ago. Picking was a bad choice.

The poison-freaking-ivy spread all over both legs. My first treatment was to soak it in alcohol two times a day, then apply calamine lotion. Next I threw a poison ivy wash into the mix. Next I added IvyRest. It wasn’t spreading as fast, but it wasn’t going away either. A friend recommended the extremely expensive Zanfel and promised amazing results. After using Zanfel, plus the other treatments for the past 4 days, today I woke up with poison-freaking-ivy on my ears. I immediately googled Zanfel to find out if this was normal, how long I was supposed to wait before the poison-freaking-ivy disappeared and I could shave my legs again.

Google’s answer…systemic poison-freaking-ivy. Meaning there’s poison-freaking-ivy in your bloodstream and the only way to get rid of it is the steroid shot, otherwise it just keeps showing up. But that’s not the best part! I’m also wearing thong underwear again!! So it’s like dejavu with the poison-freaking-ivy. I may deal with the itching ears and legs until tomorrow when I make a more modest undergarment choice.

A Little Update

23 May

Hi! Worst blogger in the world here! My consistency is terrible and since my dear friend and partner in crime linked my blog to her blog, I thought I should at the very least provide some fresh material. Here’s a little of the recent happenings in Clownville.

They’re at it again. Those kids. Frankly, they are always at it which is why I’m so stinkin’ tired.

Last night I was tucking C into bed and asking about her school day. After discussing the latest and greatest recess drama amongst the kindergarten and 1st grade girls, she quickly informed me of her own recess activities. Apparently, my little instigator has been screaming at recess in her Oprah voice,

 “WHO LOVES THE DEVIL?!”

Need I remind you, she attends a rather conservative Christian school. I don’t know if she’s trying to make sure they haven’t been infiltrated or if she just stirring things. Either way, I’m certain I’ll be getting a call soon….if her poor teacher s have any energy left after 9 months of these 8 wild girls.

C has also decided that she never, ever, not ever does she want to play soccer again. I’m relieved and angry. Relieved because it’s the suckiest spectator sport EVER. And angry because I think her coach had a lot to do with her decision. How one manages to suck the fun right out of kindergarten soccer I will never understand. But I think it had something to do with running laps at 6:30 in the evening after a whole day of school. I wanted to remind him that they didn’t keep score in this league, but I don’t think he would have heard me because he was too busy keeping score.

So for our next adventure we are trying swimming and figure skating. I’m already CPR/First Aid certified and they have our insurance card scanned and waiting at the local urgent care. We’re ready.

Now on to that boy child. We’ve really turned a corner with him. Three-year olds are the most draining people alive. I seriously thought he might end up in a traveling circus before Easter. However, his behavior is changing and while he’s still having raging meltdowns, they aren’t nearly as raging as they were six months ago. He’s just hilarious now. Yesterday while riding to the babysitter’s house he tore all of the stickers off C’s sticker picture, held it up and proudly proclaimed, “C is going to love dis!!” with a glint of ornery in his eye. I thought this was kind of funny, until I found the stickers all over my emergency “it’s too cold in my office” sweater.

This past weekend, we took our little sweethearts out to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. As soon as we were seated M discovered a piece of ABC gum stuck to the underside of the table. He was SO thrilled with his find because gum is the latest obsession in our house. I’m so thankful for D’s reflexes and that he had the gum out of the hand and the sanitizer on the hand before M knew what happened. Otherwise I know that gum was headed straight for his mouth.

D talked to the two monsters last night about the recent tornado in Oklahoma. I was so proud when I came home last night and found that they had gathered all their change in an envelope to send to the Red Cross to help the tornado victims rebuild. Flash forward to this morning and my car ride with M. I missed my turn and had to go down a back road. We happened to pass some of the not-so-well kept homes in our town and a construction site. M immediately thought this is where the tornado had hit and wanted to know where his money was so he could give it to these people. He also said they were not doing a very good job rebuilding their houses because they didn’t have any glue.  

M has also taken to wearing C’s sticker earrings and attempting to paint his nails with her hair mascara. I just don’t want anyone to be surprised when he’s changed his name to Michelle and is shimming around in hot pink spandex and fishnet hose.

That is all I have today folks. I’m sure I’ll be back with a few more stories in a couple of months.

Bubbles, Level 70 and Other Nonsense

3 Apr

Okay, the genealogy project is quickly losing steam. It was replaced by the Bubble Blaster app on my stupid phone. Word to the wise…do NOT and I repeat do NOT download Bubble Blaster on your phone. Sure it would be fun game for your kids. But it will also be a fun game for you. Until your mom thinks she’s funny and steals your phone. While giggling at her cleverness, her technically challenged fingers will push a bunch of buttons while she asks intrusive questions and some how she’ll lands you on level 70 of Bubble Blaster. You may have already passed the ridiculously hard levels 65-69 and be feeling EXTREMELY proud of your bubble blasting skills. You may have intentionally not started level 70 because you wanted to bask in the glory of your level 65-69 accomplishment. You realize this is a completely pathetic life accomplishment, but now you’re committed and you will be fighting your hardest to get past level 70. Only you have kids who bump your arm and ask for more water when you are this close to beating level 70. You have to go to work and actually work. Your dog will bark incessantly because the neighbors also have a dog. Your husband will come home from work and expect that you talk to him, all while you are trying to beat level 70. No one realizes or respects the focus needed to beat level 70! It’s pure h-e-double hockey sticks.

I reached my breaking point yesterday evening with level 70. I went on an app deleting rampage. In the deletion process, the rage shifted from stupid Bubble Blaster, to stupid Droid. Why can’t I delete the apps you gave me Droid? I don’t need the NFL app or Google+ or about 20 other apps that are currently sucking up precious memory space and I don’t use. Droid, don’t make me go all iPhone on you. Need I remind you what happened to your cousin Samsung flippy phone? Oh, what a terrible accident that was. Semi-truck tires and fragile cell phones do not mix.

I do not know what prompted this blog or what the point was, but I feel better. Thank you for joining me on this little journey.

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