Ways to go from totally relaxed to stressed to the max in less than four hours

Hear the nurse practically wail “the doctor said please let this woman have an induction date” after viewing your NST report

My first thought is that my child is in distress when really the apparent goal was to see if scaring a 42 week pregnant woman would break her water. It was not my doctor who viewed the NST, the results were fine, and I’ve just become the ultimate anomaly in a highly medicated world. So no, I cannot be induced, but all is well.

Consider castor oil
While talking to my chiro/acupuncture doctor, he tried to enlighten me on the benefits of castor oil to induce labor. It worked for his wife twice. I have read up a ton on castor oil, and the only for sure thing I can really glean is this: It’s not if you get diarrhea, it’s when and if you survive it with your butthole in tact. Now, if I knew for sure this would work, I would drink that junk straight from a shot glass and call it a day. However, there are no 100% guarantees with anything. The idea of ending up with horrible diarrhea and still no baby, or in labor having diarrhea on my baby, or with a c-section having diarrhea when I can’t even feel who I’m pooing on because of the spinal has kept me from committing to this procedure. However, just thinking about all this poo has stressed me out.

Telling your husband he was right about something that is so wrong

This is a Christian blog and I am going to assume that most Christians value and understand the importance of sex within a healthy marriage. With that being said, don’t read this if you are easily grossed out.

My husband came home last week after talking to the guys at work and informed me that sex was not the only way to induce labor; his guy friends at work clued him in on another highly effective way to get things moving: drink semen. I stared at him, told him research would be done and if he and his friends had devised this plan to trick a majorly overdue pregnant woman, then he might not be alive for the birth of our son. All of my research came back negative, and we laughed the whole thing off. Then on the phone with my natural birthing teacher a few days after that, she started a sentence in an eerily, familiar way: “you know prostaglandins in semen are absorbed through the gut ten times more than through the vagina, right?” Great! She knows this stuff, has the research to back it up, and now my husband gets to be right about something that no man should be able to hold over your head when you’re big, fat, whale size pregnant and on the verge of drinking almost anything(see castor oil above) to get the baby out. My choices for inducing labor: drink castor oil or semen. Further proof that the Lord of the universe has a much better sense of humor than I could have ever imagined.

Having the sonographer ask you to answer questions about pregnancy, induction, and VBACs

I love my sonographer. We have been through the trenches of low fluid levels for what seems like eternity, and I value her dearly. However, I think when you are in the medical profession and you see an overdue woman these should not be the first words out of your mouth: “Oh my gosh, I was sure you’d be pulled off my schedule by now. How are you still pregnant? What’s wrong? Did the doctors tell you why he won’t come out? Why isn’t he out?” My first thought was to tell her I wasn’t drinking enough semen, but I refrained. She’s nice, and though she has a couple kids of her own, she’s not someone I can see appreciating semen jokes. She might have cried, and as frustrated as I was, I didn’t think making her cry would make me feel better. So I told her everything was fine(uh, she’s been doing the ultrasounds so she should know this) and we don’t know why he won’t come out. When she asked again why I can’t be induced, I explained I was VBACing. Then, though she was induced and I would think would know this, I had to re-explain the risks of medical inductions to a woman VBACing or a woman who’s not since there are significant risks to both. I also had to explain the risks to the baby. By the time I left, I felt I should have been rewarded a doctorate because when you pass 42 weeks, everyone expects you to have all the answers, even if they went to school for this stuff. Why am I not getting paid for this? And why don’t people in the medical field know these facts? Scary stuff.

“The truth is I don’t really even like camels”

We went to the mall to let Wren run off some energy in the play area yesterday, and I had the most awkward conversation with a five year old. Here it is:

Little girl: What’s in your belly?

Me: A baby.

Little girl: People with big stomachs look funny.

Me: Uh, thanks?

Little girl: The truth is I don’t really even like camels.

Me: Okay.

Little girl: Can I take your daughter for a ride?

Me: No.

I’m not completely sure about how I reminded this child of a camel, but I have to admit it was odd to have a conversation that was weirder than the ones I already had last week or anticipate this week. All my conversations last week stemmed around three questions: You’re still pregnant? Well, is my abdomen still protruding beyond what’s normal for the average human being? Then the answer is yes. When is the baby coming? Hold on, let me get my crystal ball out and give you an exact date! Where is the baby? With this one, I just look at my stomach then back at the individual who asked and shrug. I mean, really?

People are concerned and get nervous when there’s no plan, and the last few days have been evidence of that. Parents have the option to get their kids into the world by a ton of means, and I guess that’s okay. It’s just with all the planned inductions, life becomes a little harder for us wait it out types. No one has a clue what to do when the due date passes and the baby is still not here. They all want my contingency plan. Currently, we don’t have one. I have never seen anyone stay pregnant forever, so I do believe Samuel will come out. That’s about it.

I do admit that I am human and have been very tempted to jump on the proactive planning train, especially lately. Words like “fluid dip”, “c-section”, and “zero dilation” are not wonderful to hear when we want no drugs, no surgery, and absolutely no medical intervention short of being provided a hospital bed to birth near. But I cannot focus on the what-ifs or try to lay out a concrete road for how this birth is going to go. It’s pointless, it stresses me out, and stress does not lead to labor. My doctor, as previously mentioned, is amazing! She trusts me, she trusts Sam, and she is all about a woman’s body and its ability to birth. IF, and I pray it does not come to this, I end up with a c-section it will be because Samuel needs it. Otherwise, she’s content to let me ride this out as long as he is. Being that we are cut from the same strong-willed cloth, we may be waiting a while.

So as I somewhat dread going back to work tomorrow, I’m trying to look for ways to make it entertaining for myself. I think when people ask if I’m still pregnant I’m going to say no and give them indignant looks. I might fake going into labor during my classes just to make my 8th graders squirm. Some of the things they do give me nausea, so I think it’s fair. I am fully planning on wearing a sign taped to my stomach that says, “Yes, I’m still here and still pregnant.” My hope is that if I make the answer that obvious I can avoid answering the same question all day. Not having to answer the questions will help to avoid throwing me into thinking about all the what-ifs and messing up my zen mama calm. And if all else fails, I’m just going to take a cue from the five year old and say, “the truth is I don’t really even like camels.” Everybody will think I’m nuts, but I’m pretty sure the question and answer portion of my day will come to an abrupt end.

In all honestly, I may try all the above mentioned strategies. However, I'm also going to work on being more grateful for people who stop and care enough to ask how I'm doing. I'm lucky to have them. They're better than camels.

A letter

Dear Contractions,

I am not trying to tell you how to live your life or do your job. However, your recent choice to just drop in and out of my life, cause me pain, and not offer anything(a baby!) in return has not gone unnoticed. I feel it’s come to a point where I have to say something.

Consistency is key in relationships. Deciding to conveniently appear Monday at my doctor’s appointment and cause me to have to stay on the NST machine for over an hour was not cool. I also did not appreciate you setting off the NST machine’s alarm. I’m still not exactly sure how you did that. It would have been fine if you had kept appearing regularly, but no, you just stopped. When you then waited until later that night to appear and interrupt my sleep, I tried to understand. It was very inconsiderate though.

Last night you made me try three yoga positions at 11 pm before I could get comfortable. You popped in twice at consistent intervals, then you just dropped off. I am grateful for the night of sleep you finally decided to offer me, but after standing on my head, flipping on both sides, and squeezing the crud out of my husband, I thought this was the real thing.

Know that I’ve waited for you for a long time and am grateful you’re here. I’m just a commitment girl; I need to know you’re going to hang around and our relationship is going to result in something beautiful(the delivery of my baby) as opposed to just hurt, sleepless nights, and never-ending doctor’s appointments. You don’t seem to consider any of this. You are so unaffected. Please consider my feelings before you play with my emotions and my uterus. That’s all I’m asking for.

Sincerely,
Kristy

Waiting

Dread permeated the air. I felt it before I even entered the building. Returning from a break to resume business as usual at school is never easy, and the looks on the faces of my students made it clear that they were not going to jump right back in, ready to learn. In an effort to cheer up my first period, I reminded them that we only have three weeks left until winter break. After sharing this news and putting on my best smile, one of my more pessimistic boys dropped his head down on his desk so hard I thought he might have given himself a concussion. When I asked him why this was bad news he said, “Because I thought we only had two weeks.”

It seems we’re all waiting for something, and patience isn’t a game any of us are good at as far as I can tell. I know for a fact that I am not a picture of stillness and calm right now. On my waiting for list are the following:

Waiting for Sammy to arrive

Waiting to discontinue the daycare drop off while Wren is home with me after Sammy arrives

Waiting for Dennis to finish finals and graduate(keep your fingers crossed, Wednesday should be the last day)

Waiting for Wren to get to the point where she’ll just say Grapenuts instead of staring at the pantry crying the fake fit cries until I make her use her words(seriously, she never stops talking, but when she is in a particularly divalicious mood, which is not often, she expects me to respond to groans, cries, and huffing sounds. She’s not an 8th grader yet, so I’m not sure how she has reached these development milestones so early in life. She must be a genius!)

Waiting is inevitable, but here’s the problem: sometimes I find myself focusing more on what’s going to happen when the waiting is over than enjoying what’s happening now. Seeing this behavior in my 8th graders made it easier to see in myself. They have three days to create their own multimedia project using the computer labs and their imagination. On any other day, this would be what they considered an awesome assignment; today they came back to school just waiting to leave again, so they half heartedly began their projects. I viewed this as very ungrateful, which it is. So am I. I have a great husband, wonderful daughter, easy pregnancy, no real complaints, and all I could do was try to get through the morning routine to get to work. In my mind, I thought maybe I wouldn’t be going back to work, that Sammy would make a Thanksgiving break appearance. He didn’t, and quite frankly, it was naïve to expect him to. He’s not due until the 7th, and if he arrives before Christmas that’s fine with me. My children really dig the fashionably late statement. But I want to meet him. I want to go into labor(I’m not nuts, I really WANT this experience). I’ve been reading a book a friend lent me about natural childbirth experiences, and I’m even more anxious to have a shot at this now than I was before. I’m ready for Dennis to not have to give up hours of his day to homework. He already works so hard.

But focusing on all of that has left me missing the now. I love Sammy’s kicks and his little hiccups. I won’t feel them inside of me once he arrives. And really, I love being pregnant. I feel great and the fact that there is a little life inside of me is still awe inspiring.

With the grunting, sometimes tantrum phase, Wren has also started saying please and thank you often. She doesn’t call us mommy and daddy but says “my mommy” and “my daddy”, which is adorable any time of day. Her go to foods are apples, corn, and homemade protein bars. There is so much about this phase that is amazing, and the tantrums are a very small percentage of the overall day.

As for Dennis and college, well, I’m just ready for that to be over. I know I cannot be as ready as he is, or as Wren is for that matter. He doesn’t see her from Monday night until Thursday morning, and they NEED to see each other. They both have tantrum tendencies when too much time goes by without each other.

My goal for the week is to focus on the now, the great events happening at this moment without so much preoccupation with the future. When Sammy gets here, he gets here. I’m trying to convince myself he’s not due until Christmas so anything before that will be a pleasant surprise. When Wren gives me the sounds that express dissatisfaction instead of the words telling me what she’s actually dissatisfied about, I’ll just think about the “I love yous” and the way she kissed both cheeks, my forehead, and my nose before I got out of bed this morning. College we only have to contend with for three more days. We’ll get through it. Life is about now, and our now is good.

A few things...

Things that make me smile

Starbucks offering buy one get one free holiday drinks this weekend

Wren’s positive body image. After putting on her clothes this morning, she looked at me and said, “I so cute in red pants!” I could learn from this child. I had just been examining the situation that is my upper thighs now touching.

My grandmother coming to clean my house before Sammy gets here. I love this woman. I know she goes home after scrubbing my baseboards and cleaning under my refrigerator and wonders how something like me flowed from her genealogical line, but I don’t care. I’ll take the judgment for a spotless house.

No TV. Really. We have no channels. My grandmother may flip when she gets here and there is no Dr. Phil. Don’t worry, I’m keeping the house super messy so she won’t have time to think about it! I’m mercilessly hard on this 79 year old woman.

Wren taking her eye drops that I believe actually contain the word “acid” in the ingredients without a fuss. It took a few rounds, but she’s a pro now.

Date night

An unexpectedly large check from the side business

Things that make me put on my look like I have gas but am really just frustrated face

My 8th graders acting like writing a persuasive paper is a NASA assignment after three weeks of being hand held, spoon fed, and checked in on while working on this very assignment. When one of them had the audacity to ask me what a thesis was today, tears literally welled up in my eyes. We’ve only been covering that for 12 WEEKS! That paired with hearing the word “Seriously?” bathed in sarcasm when I tell them for the 500th time they cannot use the word you in a formal paper makes me so grateful for Thanksgiving break next week. I might be resigning if there wasn’t a break near.

Being asleep when my husband gets home from college. He came home at 10:10. I had already been out for at least two hours. Such a waste of time together.

Falling asleep while thinking about all the things I need to get up and do. I was running a list in my brain of the chores that would be great for me to get started on when I zonked out next to Wren last night. How very productive!

Missing Bible study and prayer time after starting the week so strong and truly enjoying it. It’s amazing how quickly I get apathetic about the things that matter.

And so it begins

I thought about not blogging about this. I thought about not talking about it, but my mind has been occupied for almost a week, so maybe putting it in words will get it out of my head.

This pregnancy has been so normal and easy and is still going great. So you can imagine my surprise when I received a call from my doctor’s surgery coordinator on Thursday informing me that we would be starting weekly biophysical profiles(BPP) and twice weekly non-stress tests(NST) as well as me seeing the doctor every week from here on out. I won’t even be 32 weeks until Tuesday. The reason? I have a thyroid disease. Here’s the shocker: I have had a thyroid disease since I was nine, and we did not do this with my first pregnancy. However, Wren almost ran out of amniotic fluid, I am older now, and Sammy’s due date seems to be a massive moving target because his measurements aren’t exactly adding up to his due date and none of the sonograms have added up to what they originally thought the due date was. I’m going to pick my doctor’s brain a bit more tomorrow about why we maybe couldn’t have discussed this before I was 32 weeks pregnant because the shock alone almost sent me into labor. However, I think a few things just added up weird and they’re being extra cautious.

Honestly, I feel like Sammy is just fine. Is he measuring a little small? Sure, though sonograms are notoriously off on measurements, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he was tiny. His sister is not large and we don’t tend to make big babies. Plus, if he is coming out the good old fashioned way like we hope, I’m okay with him not being a 10 pounder. But the fluid thing was scary. It didn’t happen till I was overdue and we caught it, but I know it would have been on my mind this pregnancy despite my promise not to worry about. No fluid equals bad things for baby, so it will be nice to keep tabs on those levels from here on out. And maybe that’s why this happened. God knows me, He made me, so maybe He didn’t want the last eight weeks of my pregnancy to be marred by stress over fluid levels.

I don’t know. This is really not something to stress about, but it’s made my mind sort of misfire and malfunction for the last few days. If everything is fine, why are we doing this? The obvious answer to that question is to keep things fine, but a small seed of concern has now been planted that wasn’t there before and is making me worry about I don’t know what. During the non-stress test I am supposed to lay with a fetal heart rate monitor on my belly for half an hour relaxing while they see if anything is wrong with my child. How non stressful is that really going to be? And the biophysical profile can take up to an hour. I’m not sure how happy Sammy is going to be having someone push on my belly with a jelly covered wand for an hour. The child is so active he may start kung fu kicking the wand and then hide.

I’m glad tests are available to monitor things like this, but the crazy testing news came on a day when I was thinking that if Sammy’s birth went well, maybe giving birth at a birthing center would be possible next time. Maybe having one successful VBAC would lead to us being more comfortable with the idea of a birthing center birth like we really wanted the first time. I really don’t know if we would have done it, but it seems like that option might not even be worth thinking about now, and that’s okay. Healthy babies are the goal. I just don’t love interventions, but neither does my doctor. That’s the beauty of being with a doctor I trust; I know she is doing this for a reason and feels that it is the best thing. She’s pretty hands off otherwise. Unfortunately, that leads to the question of what is the reason, and is she really concerned something is going to happen that is out of the ordinary? This is the loop my mind has been running for too long now. I’ll talk to her tomorrow, pray constantly, and try to relax during my hour and a half non-stress/profile appointment. I don’t really know what else to do.

The Second Time Around

The second pregnancy is different. Some things are the same: I’m still referred to as the happy, pregnant woman, I’ve still never had morning sickness, I still didnt have to shop for maternity clothes(thanks Amy). God has seen fit to bless me with easy, wonderful pregnancies both times, and I am so very grateful for that. The difference this time is more in how we’ve prepared for Sammy’s arrival, or not prepared.

With Wren we had four showers and the child had more clothes than Dennis and I combined before she was born. We spent $500 on a crib that has now become a glorified doll holder since we co-sleep. We took natural birthing classes for eight weeks. During the first pregnancy, we had time to do these things because we didn’t have a child yet.

Yesterday I bought Sammy clothes. This puts him up to a total of six pairs, more than enough I say until we see if he actually needs the newborn or zero to three months size. Sammy is getting a bassinet from my sister that she received from a friend because we know another $500 crib would be empty anyway since he will be in our room for night feedings and, when he’s big enough, our bed. We haven’t even been able to squeeze in a refresher course for our birthing class, but thankfully our birthing coach from last time has offered to doula if we need her. Between that and reading our birthing book from last time, we’re considering ourselves ready to go.

It’s not that we care less about this pregnancy or this child; it’s just a more mellow attitude the second time around. Sleep deprivation? Been there, done that. Putting together a nursery my child spends no time in because she’s attached to us all the time, which I love? Did that too. I have friends who decorate for fun, but I decorate because people walk in my house and think we’ve lived there for two weeks instead of over two years. It does not rank high on my priority list. If I thought Sammy would be in his nursery a lot, we’d be working on turning the office into a nursery a little bit faster. I know where he’ll be though; attached to me nursing or riding in his baby sling so he can hear my heart and get acclimated to the outside the womb world in his own time.

This time around, I want no showers. Wren’s clothes are now separated into three bins: two are full of clothes that still don’t fit and one is full of clothes she outgrew before the tags came off. I’ve already given away two bins of never worn clothes. When Sammy is given toys, we will have to start using our kitchen cabinets as storage space because Wren’s are already flowing freely out of her room and to every other corner of our house. Plus, most of Wren’s are unisex, so Sammy will have his fair share of toys just waiting. Dennis and I feel like we’ve hit the jackpot because my school has offered us diapers and wipes in leiu of cake and punch, and being second timers, we know how awesome this offer is!

I think for us it comes down to seeing our reality. Despite the fact that Wren has been showered with material possessions, and I’m sure Sammy will be too, it’s not what means the most to her. We mean the most to her. Our time spent working on puzzles, reading books, chasing her around the house, going to the park, is all she really wants. It may just be that she is too young, but so far she has never attempted to take a toy she likes from the store. She plays with it at the store, puts it on a shelf and walks out with nothing more than mine or Dennis’ hand and never throws a fit about it. If we were to detach her room from the rest of the house, I think she would honestly care less. As long as dad’s there to play and I’m there to sing, she might not even notice.

Our reality looks different than I expected because I was more of a boundaries person before we had kids. I thought there would be places in our house that were off limits or grown ups only. I cannot imagine it being like that now. Somewhere in between feeding a child from my body, watching her sleep, and obsessing if her temperature was 99 instead of 98.6, I lost all boundaries. I am like one liquid woman who feels connected and flowing through every member of our house. It’s amazing. Dennis and I were watching her sleep last night and he said he couldn’t imagine her not sleeping in our bed. Me either, and I know the time will come when she doesn’t want to.

I don’t want Sammy to feel like the hands me down baby or like we didn’t care enough to do all the first baby things with him. It’s not that way at all. Like I said, it’s just a mind set difference and the fact that we were so overly prepared with Wren that we can still use what we have to avoid being wasteful. Sammy and Wren are already distinct, unique, perfect little beings on their own, and any difference in how we prepare for them is not a reflection of our love. It’s just us meeting their needs. Every child is different. You don’t prepare for them or raise them exactly the same. It doesn’t mean you love one more than the other or expect more or less from one than the other. It means you are looking at them as individuals and making your decisions accordingly instead of adopting the one-size-fits-all version of parenting. Though I’m sure we’re destined to make mistakes everyday, I am comfortable with where we are now and how we got here. And I can say this: the excitement of adding another person to our family is just as awesome the second time around.

Rubber Ducky, You’re the One

I tired of the idea of multitasking months ago. Honestly, I believe that I can have 10 things on my to-do list and I will get them done faster if I work on one at a time, not five at the same time. What I finish is actually quality, and I’m not losing my mind trying to juggle returning a phone call while answering email and cooking dinner at the same time. I usually end up emailing the wrong person while not listening to the person on the phone and burning dinner. It’s not quality.

Apparently I even need to stop multitasking on some of the tasks that should be somewhat intuitive, at least while I’m pregnant. This realization came courtesy of an unfortunate bathtub incident on Sunday. I was running bath water, stepping in the bath water while having a conversation with my husband and trying to reach for my daughter who wanted in the bath with me when it happened: I was violated by a rubber ducky! Wren has about six rubber duckies, so I’m not completely sure who the culprit was, but I sat my tush on a ducky beak, flung my whole body backwards and sat in shock. Luckily, this fall did not lead to contractions and an emergency room visit, though it did lead to some laughs from husband and daughter.

It was amusing, but it did bring back the thought that multitasking is a myth. The brain needs to focus on one thing at a time to truly comprehend. It’s safer(that’s a shout out to all you crazies who text while you drive) and I feel healthier when I’m not doing the chicken-with-my-head-cut-off dance. It took me a long time to realize the root of my disorganization was just my tendency to take on too much and not prioritize what needed to be done first. Even if I could get it prioritized, I still never felt like doing one thing at a time was good enough, like I was cheating because I wasn’t 100% stressed and ready to scream. Luckily, I’m over that feeling.

I have to credit one huge change in our lives that has helped me eliminate the need for multitasking and that is pretty much doing away with our cell phones. I know, this is blasphemy for most people, but it is absolute bliss! We installed a home phone in June, went on a prepaid plan where we have so few minutes a month available that it has to pretty much be emergency only and life became much simpler. Here’s why:

People can’t find you, therefore they stop looking:
I remember when my phone would ring and it always seemed like I had to answer it. There was a sense of emergency revolving around the fact that someone was calling me right then and what if they needed something. Even if I didn’t answer, I had their voice message or text just waiting and this lent a feeling of needing to respond when a need wasn’t really there. Now, people call my cell, it’s usually off or not with me, and then they call the home phone if they really need something. I check the home phone at the end of the day and call back who I want when I want. And when people don’t really need anything, they stop calling and this frees up a ton of time you spend calling them back just to find out they only called you because they were bored.

Relationships are better when they’re not casual:
Speaking of people who call when they’re bored, don’t you just love the people who call because you’re their from here to there person? You know, that person they call on the way to the grocery store or to pick up their kids? They don’t need to talk to you, maybe don’t even want to, but they are so used to doing something all the time that sitting in the car in silence or with only the radio freaks them out. They call you, fake interest until they reach their destination, and then you don’t hear from them again until they are going somewhere else and happen to see your number in their phone. Yeah, these aren’t quality conversations. I am now a fan of the old school style phone conversations that involve putting my child to bed, getting something warm to drink and having a conversation with a person where this is no predestined time for it to end. Those are good, and honestly, I don’t have as many phone conversations as I did before giving up the cell, but they’re better when I do.

Texting…I just don’t have words:
I hate it. I am not a technology hater, but I hate texting. I realize this confession will make me unpopular with 99% of the population, but I'm ready to be honest. I hate it because 8th graders think you spell you as u, and cause as cuz, and they get seriously offended when this is not accepted on a formal paper in my class. I hate it because on a regular basis I am having conversations with people who then pull out their cell phones and respond to a text from someone else. By the way, this is not multitasking, it’s just rude. Really, if I bore you that much then just walk away. It would be less irritating. I hate it because by the time I type out one text, I could have called and said what I needed to say therefore making it a huge time waster. I just hate it.

Anyway, that’s my rant for the night. Rubber ducky bum violation = bad. More time with family doing one thing at a time and not living glued to a cell phone = good.

Meshing

We are in the middle of ear infection hell. Allergic to pretty much any effective antibiotic on the market, Wren has had the same ear infection for 10 days and the only change is it is now in both ears instead of just the one it originally started in. Not exactly the progress we were hoping for.

I realize in the grand scheme of things this is not the end of the world, but it has thrown ours slightly off balance this weekend. We now have to see an ENT to check for hearing loss, our regular pediatrician to start food allergy testing so we can pinpoint why a child who has never had strep, a respiratory infection or any other illness cannot shake ear infections, and we have to honestly consider the possibility of tubes despite how hard we have fought it for 20 months.

In the midst of this, I saw why Dennis and I balance each other out so well. This morning, a Sunday no less, when Wren was screaming, grabbing both ears and on the verge of hyperventilation, I was torn up inside. Dennis was too, but I think he handled it better. I didn’t handle it well because it was the waiting period. Wait for an emergency care center to open, wait to see what they say, wait to see what our pediatrician on call will say about what the emergency care center person said, and on and on and on. I don’t wait well. Dennis does. But the tables turned when I spoke to our pediatrician and we started making a plan. Within minutes I looked up all the ENTs she recommended, including their age, number of children, office hours, and the mood and temperament of their office staff. I had phone numbers listed, stats and risk on procedures documented and a slew of questions written in my spiral. I was armed. The illusion of control was intoxicating. Waiting was over. When phones are turned on in the morning, I will strike with a vengeance. By this point, Dennis was the lump of a mess I had been hours before.

It’s not that he wasn’t ready to act. He knows the food testing, poo collecting, and hearing test are all necessary to try to continue to avoid tubes but also figure out if there is any other viable option. It’s just that his mind went a different way than mine: are they going to puncture her eardrum this week to test the junk inside? How do they food allergy test? Is the new antibiotic she’s on going to cause her to be sick(diarrhea was pretty much guaranteed, so fun for the week we collect poo!)? How traumatized is she going to be after a week of probing, testing, and feeling sick?

All of this had crossed my mind and still does, but I saw it as doing something, a means to an end that will hopefully include the end of all ear infections forever. Yes, it will be a messy week or month or whatever, but we’re moving. I’m the person who would rather be going 10 miles an hour in slow traffic than just sitting even if it means I have to do the whole stop and start thing constantly. I like to measure progress. Maybe it just means I’m not patient.

Either way, I expect it’s going to take both of our personalities to weather whatever the ear future holds. Whenever one of us struggles, the other just seems to be okay or at least functional at that moment. It’s a nice balance in a situation that seems to have no balance right now. But I am afraid it may prove what I already feared: I haven’t learned much about patience. That illusion of control still appeals to me a little too much. Then again, I found an Indian proverb that says “Call on God, but row away from the rocks.” Maybe I’m the rower. While Dennis sits patiently in the boat seeking guidance, maybe I’m the one who feels better with paddles in both hands, praying but using what little skill I have to row. I don’t know. I’ll pray, I’ll row, and somehow, we’ll hopefully land in a place that doesn’t involve ear infections, allergic reactions, or words like poo and collecting lumped together.

A year and two sizes later

Trying to convince my husband that buying panties while pregnant is not a good idea has failed the last couple of months, so I took some of the birthday cash I received and decided to surprise him. He had a final in college on Thursday, and I thought it would be perfect if he came home and could see my new undies in the Victoria’s Secret bag since he has been complaining that I’ve had the old ones too long. I overcame the voice in my head that kept saying, “Do not buy panties while pregnant, do not look at your butt while pregnant, none of this is smart.” The lesson learned from this is always listen to the voice.

Wren and I set out on my 31st birthday and had a pretty good first trip to Victoria’s Secret. I picked out undies, she put some on her head and roamed around, and we were out of there in under ten minutes. It wasn’t until she was napping that I decided to try on my new purchases. I wasn’t expecting any major surprises; I had purchased the same size I always wore. There was a surprise waiting when I put them on though: they disappeared. That’s right, my pregnant butt ate them! Now I have been trying to tell Dennis that with this pregnancy my butt has also become pregnant, but in his always supportive way he says that it’s not true and I’m just being paranoid. The panty eating butt incident is proof.

I didn’t get too upset. I mean, I knew my other ones were a little snug and you can only blame that on too many trips through the dryer for so long. So, Wren and I trudged back to Victoria’s Secret to trade them in, something you can do if you’ve tried them on over underwear and they are not “obviously worn”. Who tries to return obviously worn panties I wonder, but, I digress. This second trip was a little different. Wren tried to use a bra as a slingshot and actually got her arms tangled up in some bright orange panties. However, she was distracted and happy, her slingshot aim wasn’t great so no one got hurt, and it gave me some time to stop and really think about my butt size and what would fit over my newfound ten pounds of cellulite. I decided to go up a size. That’s right, one size. I even consulted a 17 year old, size 0 sales associate before making this decision. Her advice: “Maybe you can just buy what you think you will need after the baby comes, you know, when everything falls back into place. By the way, get the ones with the lace at the top because those will stretch while your belly is still stretching.”
And yes, this individual is still alive. I was even so full of the love of Christ that day that I didn’t bother to shatter her no body fat world by telling her that things don’t fall back into place after you have a child, they just fall. You try to catch them with underwire and big butt cheek covering panties. I just smiled and resisted the urge to tell Wren to aim the bra slingshot at her.

So, we left. Why did I not try them on at the store, you ask? We were running startlingly close to bedtime, something I don’t usually do, and locking Wren in a small room with me while I tried to analyze the amount of butt coverage this size offered just didn’t seem wise. Besides, I went up a size. That should be good, right?

Well, the birthday panty plan failed. When Dennis came home all he found was a wife who had tried on five more pairs of panties that didn’t fit(one actually cut off circulation to my thighs) and was trying desperately not to blame him for the fact that I now know EXACTLY how much bigger my butt is. He had good intentions. And really, I love my pregnancy body, I loved it the whole pregnancy with Wren. This pregnancy has been no different until now, and I finally know the difference: I never looked at myself from the waist down before when I was pregnant. I definitely was not stupid enough to look at myself in a full length mirror wearing nothing but underwear. Am I getting dumber with each pregnancy?

I still love my pregnancy body, most of it, and I don’t feel 31, whatever that is supposed to feel like. This experience showed me that I have matured, and I don’t just mean put on weight. This experience five years ago would have led to tears for most of the day. Now, Wren and I laughed, put panties on our heads and called it a day. My body makes babies and milk, so I think that makes up for my bottom being a bit on the J. Lo side right now. I don’t want to teach my daughter that panty size is a defining factor for self esteem. Plus, I did realize that I’ve been letting some things slide, important things that I need to address soon. If I am going to push a child out of my body without drugs in less than four months, I need to start getting my body ready for that. I wouldn’t sign up for a marathon without practicing my running, so I don’t think I should enter labor in the not so wonderful shape I’m in now. And that’s when I realized I’m more concerned about my health than my clothes size, more concerned about keeping my body in a healthful condition than having no cellulite. Don't get me wrong, rock hard legs like I had when I spent the better part of my day exercising would be nice, but that's not my long term goal, even after the cellulite shock. I want to teach my children to focus on health, not numbers on the scale or sizes on clothes because I think when your focus is right the rest of it just falls into place. That was my a-ha moment: after 31 years, I have finally discovered how to put on my big girl panties(literally) and be the example I want my children to see. I won’t just be saying it, I’m going to live it. And really, only 31 years to learn. I’m a pretty quick study.

Great and Real Expectations

Baby Alive farted today. This may not sound eventful, but it was actually kind of scary to see and hear a doll with such life like features fart and then scream “hug me” repeatedly for 20 minutes. Wren started freaking out a little and I thought about putting a pillow over Baby Alive’s head to muffle the sound. However, I had visions of Wren in a few months trying to quite Sammy’s cries with a pillow to the face and thought better of it. That would totally be my fault. So we just laid her on the bed and let her freak out until she closed her huge eyes and fell into a peaceful slumber.

Baby Alive was only acting this way because her batteries are low. She’s usually polite, not too demanding, one of Wren’s favorites. It was a great visual demonstration of what can happen when our batteries get low. It was also a freaky reminder of that Chucky movie from when I was a kid.

It’s easy for me to forget the tired, run down times when I’m not tired or run down. Right now, I feel so alive and like I’m accomplishing so much. Wren and I have our summer schedule pretty ironed out, the house is generally in some kind of order, and I feel completely rested. Dennis is about to embark on his last semester of college before receiving his Bachelors in December. It’s good. The second trimester rocks. And though it’s not easy thinking about taking Wren back to daycare, I feel like we could be on the cusp of life changes that will eventually eliminate that need and allow us to grow our family even more. I’m not looking forward to returning to work, but I am working hard on doing it with the enthusiasm my students deserve. Plus, I have maternity leave just around the corner.

There have been days in the last two weeks when things have fallen so beautifully into place that I actually felt like I should be wearing a Suzy Homemaker tiara and sash. However, I have to remember that there will be days I want to toss the tiara and hang myself with the sash, days that dinner isn’t hot and on the table at six, days that my house is not clean and I am not functioning on eight full hours of sleep. There will be days I’ve been locked in a room with 75 eighth graders and all their attitudes, and I will want to scream. I can’t wait to meet Sammy, but I know that I’m going to be a Jersey cow for the better part of the first two years of his life, and I’ll be trying to sleep and keep up with a two year old the rest of the time. I remember the first few months with Wren as a newborn as some of the most beautiful moments of my life. I didn’t care that nothing was clean, that I pretty much just served as a milking machine-in fact breast feeding was one of my favorite parts and I’m sure will be again-, and that we only ate because people from our church brought us food. I knew I was accomplishing the most important task by just being with my child and not being anal about everything else. I know it will be that way with Sammy too, but I also know I won’t be napping when he naps unless Wren happens to be napping too. I know we’ll be doing play dates for Wren so she’s not bored instead of just laying in the recliner semi-unconscious together. And I am looking forward to balancing both. However, I know one thing my daughter and I for sure have in common: if not well rested and well fed, we are beast. We are Baby Alive farting and begging for love and not wanting to be hugged when someone finally does approach us. We’re nuts. And I do anticipate the double or triple or more sleep deprivation that comes with having two children instead of just one. So I’m trying to recharge now, rest, cook, play, and just take it one day at a time. I figure if I get into the habit of this it will be easier to accomplish when I am run down with low batteries.

I will not set unrealistic expectations. When Sammy is born and I am chasing one child and constantly feeding the other, I will not scrub toilets, cook if I’m exhausted and need a nap, try to pretend I have it all under control. I will laugh and enjoy every moment and remember that at some point I will be able to clean with my two little helpers beside me, return phone calls, sleep through the night. Every moment with them is so unique and fleeting. I won’t miss them because I’m worried about doing something else. Even when my battery is low, I will bask in the happiness of the moment and remember that real grown up junk is always going to be around for me to do. Little ones grow too fast.

Should my plan of just letting go and not stressing fail and you find me having a Baby Alive like tantrum, please don’t put a pillow over my face. Just cover me up with a blanket and let me nap. That’s probably all I’ll need anyway.

They’re just not that into me

Well, I finally heard back from a job I was interested in. Let me clarify: I didn’t hear back. I stalked their office line dumping my story on the first poor soul who answered the line and was told what I think I figured out weeks ago. If they were interested in me, they would have called, they’ve started and almost finished filling the positions I applied for, and that email they went to the trouble to send saying I would hear from them by phone or email soon was, well, not true. Plus, they haven’t taken the jobs off their site to show they have been filled because then they wouldn’t get calls from girls like me, and who doesn’t want to hear from me? I did have the privilege of leaving another message for HR, a different woman than the first two who never returned my calls, just to verify that my resume is somewhere in a shred pile. I was told to leave a voicemail, but she’s a very busy lady. Apparently it’s busy work hiring people who aren’t me.

I’m not upset about being passed over for the job. Honestly, I was qualified. You could compare everything they asked for with my resume and I fit the bill completely. However, I’m sure about a thousand more applicants did as well. My issue is with the lack of any kind of follow up. I get it; if 10,000 people apply for a job, all of them will not be called and told they’re not needed. However, when you send communication over a two to three month period that says you will hear back, that’s another story. I have emails that say I will be contacted. If you’re going to go to the trouble to send an email, here’s one I’d like to see:

Dear Applicant:

We will contact you by phone or email if we are remotely interested in your skills. For the rest of you, if we don’t contact you by such and such date, you are never going to hear from us. Your resume has been shredded. You are either under or over qualified, don’t have exactly what we want, or the font on your resume gave us nausea. Better luck next time.

Sincerely,
HR

It’s honest. I could so get on board for a company like that. The band aid rip pain that would occur from such an email and never being contacted again would be so much quicker than the months of false hope offered by one line that was never meant to be taken literally. “We’ll call you…yeah right.”

The good news is this didn’t ruin my day. It actually didn’t even interfere with five minutes of my day unless you include the time I spent calling, being rejected, and leaving a voicemail. I think I’m growing a little, even slowly. I read a quote somewhere about God punishing us by giving us what we pray for. I’ll try to find it because it’s much more eloquent than my short version, but it basically says that if God really wants to punish you, He’ll give you what you think you want instead of what He has planned. This must not have been part of the plan. I’ve been blessed by unanswered prayers before, or prayers that were answered with a resounding no. I’m pretty sure I prayed to marry my first boyfriend. Nice guy, but he’s not Dennis who is my puzzle piece and father to Wren and Sammy. I am glad that one was a no. I’m sure I’ve prayed for a lot of things that have not come to fruition, and maybe I should remember to thank God for that. In my mind this was the perfect job. In reality, it may have been a nightmare. Or maybe I’m meant to work for this company at another time in my life. Whatever the case, I like answers. I can handle nos. I can handle the fact that I will not be what every person or company wants. Just tell me. I’m not good at reading between the lines. The only time I try to guess at what someone is thinking is when I ask my daughter if she needs to go poopy and she doesn’t answer one way or the other. Then I watch for signs. Even then, I’m wrong 50% of the time. I wish she’d just say yes or no or her famous, “oh, poop”.

Plus, I have a job I’m going back to in August. Though I don’t even allow myself to think about the pain of the daycare drop off again, it’s a job I love with people I like. I know how lucky I am to have it when almost everyone we know has been affected by lay offs at some point over the last couple of years. We’re just trying to future plan for when I will need to be home to homeschool the kids and still bring in income so we can both retire comfortably and our kids can go to college. And other opportunities have shown themselves in the last couple of weeks. It may not be the thunderbolt, arrow pointing confirmation I was hoping for, but I think we’re heading in the right direction.

Mission (sort of) Accomplished

Our only real goal for the weekend was shoes. Dennis needs another pair of brown work shoes, but due to his weird, wide feet, finding shoes in his size is a nightmare. However, the brown work shoes are dead. They cannot be revived. I’m embarrassed he’s worn them this long.

We left the house this afternoon with that one mission in mind. Our schedule was already off because we missed church due to Wren’s very odd sleeping schedule lately. She won’t nap until three and goes to bed at a decent time at night, but she can’t stay in a deep sleep for more than three or four hours. This is a new, exhausting development and we’re all struggling because of it. I guess I did get what I asked for a few weeks ago when I wished she would stop waking up at six am. Now that she can’t sleep at night, I get a couple of extra hours of sleep in the morning. However, it’s more exhausting than before because the night is so restless. Just more proof that God has a great sense of humor and isn’t afraid to show it.

Anyway, we just needed shoes and knew she wasn’t napping anytime soon. Our first stop did not render satisfactory results, so we decided to go the mall and look there. Plus, Wren could roam around and hopefully get tired enough to nap. We walked the mall, hit up all the sample trays because it’s a great way to eat unhealthy foods in small quantities so you can convince yourself they don’t count, and rode the carousel. Watching the ice skaters took up almost half an hour, then we left. Wren fell asleep in the car with food in both hands and slept for two hours.

As Dennis and I cooked dinner, we marveled at how easy that nap had gone and how maybe we were pulling out of this crazy sleep phase. It only occurred to us an hour after coming home from the mall that we had no brown work shoes. In fact, we did not even enter a store in the mall to look for shoes. We became so preoccupied with just marveling at our daughter’s every move that the reason we left the house completely escaped us. Technically, I guess this means we did not accomplish our mission, but I still feel a sort of accomplishment. I never want all the things on the to-do list to get in the way of a really good day, the kind that has no agenda and no goal. This wasn’t supposed to be one of those days, but I’m glad it turned into one. Unfortunately, that makes some other day this week find shoes day. God bless the weird, wide feet.

Poop Diving and other things to do during a power outage

We lost power tonight due to something big breaking, I don’t know what, but the whole neighborhood was out. In honor of this occurrence, I want to share a few fun ideas for activities you can participate in if this ever happens to you.

Play how do I get in my house

We pulled into our driveway and I pressed the button on our garage door opener, but the garage door didn’t open. After trying several more times, we tried Dennis’. Nothing. Dennis thought there might be a power outage, so we went through our back door which was only made possible because we had Dennis’ keys, not mine. I misplaced my back door key after a long argument I had with it one day for getting stuck in the key hole. I removed it from my key ring as punishment and then it ran away.

Try to find things to eat that don’t require heat

We came home for the purpose of eating, but with no stove, microwave, oven, and the things in our fridge getting ready to ruin, there wasn’t much appealing going on in the food department. I settled on cereal, Wren had granola, and Dennis is still holding out.

Inadvertently teach your child the word “nipples”
Still not sure how this one happened. Wren has always called girl parts milk because of breastfeeding, but tonight she grabbed her milk makers and started pinching them. When Dennis told her to stop pinching her nipples, she then pinched them harder but screamed nipples while doing it. Who needs TV, radio, or internet when you have this to watch?

Go look for your purse only to realize you didn’t lose it
I hid my purse when we went into a store and then left it in the car when we realized the power was out. I decided to go back out to the car to get it, which means I went from one horrible, hot situation to another one outside. I could not find my purse, so I tromped back inside and searched the house before sadly deciding it was lost. One more trip to the baking car revealed that I hid it well, but it was still there. After this, I was actually hotter than before which I did not believe was possible, and I was suffering from butt sweat.

Poop Dive

Oh, a favorite and a first for us! We decided to let Wren play in the tub because it was cool and she loves water. After five minutes of Dennis supervising Wren’s bath playtime, I heard him scream for me. I then heard him say to Wren, “you didn’t do anything wrong, it’s okay.” I had guessed by that point, but confirmation was available in four poop logs floating peacefully in our tub. Wren watched them from outside the tub as Dennis and I tried to decide how to get them out. Dennis claimed it happened so fast, that she said diaper-her code for I’m about to poop-and before he could get her out, she assumed the hands and knees position and started launching. I told him it happened on his watch so was technically his clean up responsibility. He retrieved the poop shovel we took on our Oregon hikes, which prior to tonight never actually touched poop. His first attempts only split the logs into smaller pieces. I offered to take a shot but played the pregnancy card when I realized how nasty those things were up close. I even threatened to throw up. He retrieved them all, we disinfected the bath tub, and we’re hoping to play this game again…oh…never.

Get naked and show your neighbors

I’m pregnant. It was 86 degrees in my house. And really, I don’t need an excuse to run around completely naked at 20 weeks pregnant in my own house. All the same, I may have created quite a situation for the neighbors to discuss at our National Night Out block party in a couple of weeks. I was walking in the living room in all my naked glory when I started to wonder why our kitchen nook, where Dennis was trying to work on homework, was so bright. I quickly realized it was because he had opened the blinds to get some light, and our neighbors’ window is right outside our window that was providing that light. Hopefully, they didn’t see anything in the short time it took me to get a blanket around me. I guess I’ll find out if I get stranger than usual looks at the block party.

Visit the neighbors you haven’t streaked in front of and show them your underwear

All the neighbors started convening outside to watch the men try to fix whatever was broken that caused the outage. I was holding Wren and had neglected to button my shorts because it was hot and I’m a little big for those shorts now. My neighbor politely informed me that Wren’s leg had hiked my shirt up and she could now see all my business, which thank God just ended up being my panties because I was wearing underwear. At first I was embarrassed, but then I remembered that this woman answered her door naked one time when I came over, so I figured we had both shared our business, and I didn’t do it on purpose.

All of these activities are memorable, free, and will give you tons to talk about with friends! Try them today, and pass this on to anybody who might ever be without power and find themselves bored. I’m so happy to have provided this entry all about free, wholesome family entertainment.

Air conditioners and helicopters

It’s 83 degrees in my house, and though I’m not super huge pregnant yet, I’m not very comfortable either. So if my writing is a little off, it’s because I’m suffering from heat exhaustion or just general discontentment due to the humidity radiating through my home.

This is one of those topics that has been creeping up on me for a while, but I really haven’t known how to write about. Everyone has different parenting styles, but I guess when you’re a parent the differences are just more noticeable because you start observing other parents more. I have heard the term helicopter parent and have used it to describe certain parents I know, but Dennis and I are not hovering helicopters. At least, that’s our opinion.

It started when we took Wren to a play area. There is a height requirement at the play area, but it is not enforced whatsoever, so you have little 19 pound Wren running around with a 5th grade boy who is leaping the play area toys in single bounds. It’s a little unnerving, but the social interaction is good and Wren likes it. Dennis and I just keep a close eye on Wren and we stand where she is playing moving with her as she navigates through the different areas. After a few visits I noticed a some things: we were the only parents standing; we were the only parents not on our blackberries, probably because we don’t have or desire blackberries unless they are the fruit version; taking a kid from the play area without a parent noticing would be super easy; for most parents, play area time is break time whereas for Dennis and I it’s an Olympic hurtling sport to make sure we keep up with our child and she doesn’t get trampled by other people. Does that make us helicopter parents?

This incident was followed up by our first visit to the splash park. Dennis wore his swim trunks, Wren wore her bathing suit, and I wore a pair of shorts with a tank that did not completely cover my pregnant belly. Dennis assured me it was a cute look. We were going to a splash park so I assumed we needed to be ready to splash right along with our child. However, after 10 minutes there the startling realizations started to hit me again: no other parents were splashing; no other parents wore bathing suits; all the moms were wearing summer dresses, oversized hats, and heels with their makeup perfectly in tact; my child would be screaming and mortified if she was able to process the comparisons between me and super mommies. But again, Wren was the tiniest one there, though not the youngest. Sometimes she would get caught with all the splashing aimed right at her and it was good to have one of us there to help her out. She ran and played on her own, but we were there for back up and she liked having us around. I know one day that may not be the case, so I’m soaking it up while I can.

Finally, we went to an event where we regularly go to that provides childcare so Dennis and I can participate together. Wren had been to this childcare set up before and was fine with it, but she did not want to go this time and almost worked herself into a hyperventilating fit every time I attempted to let her go. Dennis and I did not leave her at the nursery and we came home perplexed because we really feel like attending these events regularly, but we couldn’t leave Wren crying. We don’t leave Wren crying(more on that later). We knew this behavior was abnormal for Wren; I leave her at day care during the school year, and I have never left her crying. She doesn’t cry when I drop her off. In fact, she waves me out the door half rolling her eyes if I try to stay and chat up the teachers for too long. So for her to cry, something wasn’t right. We had just weaned, she was cutting a tooth, she had been home with me for a couple of weeks. It could have been a variety of things, but we weren’t comfortable leaving her there. For all those who say if we’d have left she would have stopped crying when we were gone, think again. Some kids do that. Wren might even be a kid who does that. But I have discovered a nasty little secret that no one tells you: some kids don’t. I have walked into Wren’s daycare and been accosted by a little girl crying so hard she was almost sick. Her little arms wrapped around my legs and she called me mommy. When I checked the sign in log to see how long ago she was dropped off, it was about 30 minutes and the daycare workers said she hadn’t stopped crying since. It happened almost every day. They were doing everything they could, but she was hysterical. I never regretted not leaving Wren crying after that, and I didn't regret it even before this incident.

Dennis being the fixer came up with a solution. We’d talk to the daycare director and see if one of us could sit in there with her until she was okay being left alone. If one of us had to sit there the whole time, so be it. Eventually she’d be okay with it, and we’d be there with her no matter how long it took. I loved the idea, but I anticipated the eye rolls that were going to come with it when we tried to explain it to other people. See, being unashamed attachment parents has caused us to be confused with helicopter parents before. I was asked if I was planning on breastfeeding my child when she was in college. I was told that the fact that Dennis and I didn’t look for at least a weekly opportunity to leave her with someone else meant we were dysfunctional. I’ve been told that the fact that she has not spent the night at someone else’s house yet means we are not preparing her for adult life. Here’s the really great thing: I have faith in the way we are raising our daughter, and there is tons of research to support that attachment parenting actually creates more independent children and adults. You’re not scared to take chances if you know you have someone to catch you. It’s not an insult to anyone else’s way of parenting. It’s just a fact that this isn’t some hippy commune belief that carries no validity. It works, it’s research supported, and pretty much every other country on the planet does it.

Anyway, the daycare worker was more than fine with it. We explained the weaning, teething, this just isn’t Wren behavior information and she was amazing. So Dennis sat in the floor with her, and I was about to walk out the door to go to the event when a woman I had never seen said, “Oh, so you’re daughter has attachment issues?” I should have just smiled and walked out. However, I am idiotically honest. If you ask, you get the full story. So here’s how the conversation went:

Me: “No, actually, she just weaned, is teething, and realized that she has a new sibling coming along. It’s just been a lot of change the last couple of weeks.”
Her: “Yeah, my daughter has attachment issues like your daughter. That’s why I love my foster kids. I can leave them anywhere and they don’t care. They’re used to abandonment.”
Me: (stunned look on my face) “Yeah, well, my daughter doesn’t have attachment issues. She goes to daycare most of the year just fine. We’re in a transitional period.”
Her: “Honestly, you need to just start leaving her places. Don’t let anything be predictable for her. Change everything you can on her without any notice. That’ll toughen her up. Oh, and don’t go to her when she cries. Let her figure it out on her own. Responding to crying is the worst.”
Me: (horrified) “My daughter’s fine. Good luck with your kids. Bye.”

Less than five minutes later, Dennis joined me and Wren was happy in the nursery room playing on a riding cow toy when we went to pick her up. She didn’t cry the rest of the time she was there. Plus, she went back the next time and Dennis was out in less than five minutes again. She wasn’t upset, she trusted us to be there as long as she needed, and she realized she didn’t really need us that long if there was a riding cow toy involved. We knew what was normal for our child and what wasn't and we responded to her need. Is that helicopter parenting?

My definition of a helicopter parent is the parent who is going on job interviews with their child at age 25(or ever really). It’s those parents who call college professors when their child’s grade slips. Granted, I only have a 19 month old so I can’t say for sure, but I am pretty confident that I will not be doing this. I will teach her to problem solve by being an example, and I will teach her trust by being someone she can trust. If this makes me a helicopter parent in the eyes of some people, bring on the propeller. We’re pretty content at our house except for the sweltering heat.

Recovering

Sometimes you get what you think you need or want. I sincerely believe that’s how I ended up tripping over my toddler, eating tile and living the last 48 hours in excruciating pain.

Wednesday night Dennis and I were working on our relaxation techniques to prepare for the natural birthing experience we want to have. The hard part about practicing relaxing is that there is no way to know what will relax you when you’re in pain until you are actually in pain. Since I had to have a c-section with Wren, I never had a contraction and have no idea if I will want to be massaged, have my hair played with, or just be left alone. I offhandedly mentioned this fact to my husband when we were practicing the other night and said that the ice in a baggy that I held in my hand during our birthing classes just wasn’t uncomfortable enough to be a true indicator for me. My hand got wet, I wiped it on Dennis, and that was that. It wasn’t a contraction and was not near the intensity I’ll deal with in labor.

Mind you, I was not asking for some practice pain, only making a comment. I guess God wanted to prove He was listening though, because less than twelve hours later I was in the ER after my fall having contraction like pains in my back and abdomen. Then, I had them again yesterday and Dennis and I were able to practice our relaxation techniques for real. How great, right?

Fortunately, I am on the mend though the pain is not gone and I fear it may be more like weeks instead of days before it is. But more than recovering from a physical injury, I think I’m still trying to recover from a mindset problem as well. It’s the idea that my plan is best so God must see my infinite wisdom and be ready to get in line with whatever I think is good for me. I’ve been struggling with this for a while, and honestly, I don’t think I’m making much progress. I still make my plans and wait for them to happen instead of seeking God’s plan and going for that. It’s called ambition and we’re rewarded for it everyday in our society. I call people who don’t know what they want and don’t have a plan indecisive and sometimes lazy. Maybe it’s just called being patient.

I want a natural childbirth. Dennis wants it too. We had to have a c-section with Wren because she was breech, but we fought it down to the last minute. I don’t regret doing everything we could to turn her, and I don’t think God saw us doing that as a bad thing. It just wasn’t the way it was meant to be with her. Two days after her due date she ran out of fluid and the decision was made with finality for all of us. If we wanted a safe baby she had to come out and she was only coming out if we came in and got her. It was a beautiful birth and I will always remember it.

The chances of Sammy being breech are so minimal because there was nothing wrong with my uterus that forced Wren into a breech position. I think she just liked lying that way. But when we had our level 2 ultrasound on Friday, Sammy was breech. It’s too early to stress about, but it does not give me that warm I-just-know-this-is-going-to-end- in-natural-childbirth feeling. Add that to the fact that Sammy could be in the right position the whole pregnancy then run out of fluid like Wren and I’m still in for a c-section. Doctors will most likely not give Pitocin to a woman who is attempting a VBAC(vaginal birth after caesarean) because of the increased risk of uterine rupture. Trust me, I don’t want Pitocin, but if it’s inducing labor to get the baby out for his own safety or a c-section to get the baby out for his own safety, I would have chosen the induction so I could have at least had a trial of labor. Turns out, that option is off the table.

So again, we wait. I will pray for natural birth, for a non-breech position, for my fluid to hold out until Sammy decides to evacuate the uterus. Overall, I will pray for a safe, healthy baby, and however God sees fit to deliver him will be His call. I have vowed to stop the obsessive internet searches about chances of a breech baby twice, chances of running out of fluid twice, vbac success stories, etc. I have tried to stop flipping to the breech section of all three of the pregnancy books I’m reading(yes, I’ve been pregnant before, but I’m reading the books again so each child will feel they were treated equitably), and I will not constantly try to feel for a head under my rib cage so I can panic. God knows what I want. He knows what we all need. To keep from losing my mind, I’m going to have to know that’s enough.

Note: For those of you I haven’t already assaulted with reasons we want natural childbirth as opposed to another c-section, message me anytime. You’ll probably regret it because I’ll never shut up, but it’s an awesome prospect for people who may not have considered it.

Material Girl

I only have about four million things I have been meaning to blog about. I have caught myself meaning to do a lot of things lately, but life gets in the way. Some things I don’t really miss; cleaning toilets has never been super high on my list of priorities. However, I need to write, need to be working my side business more, need to make sure that every decision I make for my children is the right decision. That leads to this blog which is probably going to be a plethora of random thoughts.

In Texas during July, I seek shelter. When I’m pregnant in Texas in July, I really run from the heat that seems to saturate every part of the state. No matter how much Wren says “outside”, I have to say no. We find an alternative, and I’ve noticed lately that the alternative seems to be the mall.

I am not a shopper. I hate shopping, even for groceries. All my maternity clothes were given to me by my sister, and we’ve been passing them from friend, sister to sister, back again for years now. I love that this kept me out of a store. That’s how much I hate shopping. But our mall has proven to be an entertaining place for my daughter that also happens to be air conditioned. There are all the future ice skating champs practicing in the morning, the carousel, play area, and Barnes and Noble story times. We go to the mall and essentially roam around for free for hours. Maybe the $2 spent on the carousel counts, but that’s the extent of our spending. My daughter runs herself into a nap and no one breaks a sweat. Sounds like a good day to me.

However, I read that if you want to teach your children not to be consumed by a materialistic world, all your outings should not be retail based. Not all of ours are. We go to the library, play dates, the water parks, but the mall offers the ability to shift gears when Wren gets bored without actually having to leave the building. Some of our play dates are at the mall because other moms have caught onto this fabulous idea. And we are very much outside, walk everyday people when it is not mind numbingly hot. Plus, I never buy anything at the mall. Am I still teaching Wren that retail therapy is good? Am I, the most non-shopper ever, teaching my daughter how to be materialistic because we go to Pottery Barn Kids, push around the doll stroller and buy nothing? By the way, I’m sure those employees love us!

This leads to another issue I’ve been having about overall physical wellness. Dennis and I are pretty picky about what we feed Wren and what we eat ourselves. I think what we eat has a lot bigger effect on our health than people want to admit. Lately though, I’ve been making sure Wren gets her broccoli and carrots, but I have then been throwing down cookies on top of mine. I don’t think almost 20 weeks into a pregnancy hormones can be blamed, and I have lived with essentially no sugar in my diet before. I was blissfully happy that way. It’s just hard once you start again. Plus, Wren is going to get too old to play with blocks while I hide behind the fridge with my cookie, and the little boy in my belly needs good food for brain growth, not chocolate chips. We have to regroup.

Adding to the list of things I worry we aren’t doing enough, I read Eco Bear Wears Green while Wren and I visited the library this week and was convicted about how not environmentally focused I am. Yes, I was convicted by a children’s book. I want to teach Wren to be environmentally responsible but when I looked at the list of eco things that the eco bear does, I fell short on almost all. I don’t think of how the decisions I make affect the environment all that often, so my daughter is not getting a great example.

All of this stuff is fixable. It’s just a matter of tackling one issue at a time. However, the constant conscience parenting sometimes just makes me feel like a bad parent. It’s easier to think about the things we are doing like finding a great church or Wren completing her library program already this summer. Unfortunately, there is so much room for improvement on my part that it’s naïve just to focus on the couple of things I have right. Parenting is my most important job and I need to make sure I’m doing the best for both of my kids that I can. In that spirit, I will tackle one improvement a week so I’m not overwhelmed and can see progress, and this week is cookie elimination. I eliminated most of them before dinner, so my job is half complete as long as I don't bake anymore! It’s a start.

Lessons from an 18-month-old

I seem to get schooled on a regular basis, picking up lessons I’m supposed to learn from unlikely places; eighth graders, people I have nothing in common with, and my toddler have been my latest teachers. It’s quite humbling and refreshing at the same time.

Take my endocrinologist appointment last week. My mom was luckily in town so she came with me to hang out with Wren because my daughter has an aversion to all doctors’ offices, not just the ones intended for her. The trigger seems to be the scale. Once the scale is visible, she pretty much starts the pouty lips. Maybe it’s because she’s had her ears irrigated, poked, and drained at doctors’ offices after they weigh her, or maybe she’s just a girl and doesn’t want anyone to know what she weighs. Either way, it tends to go down hill after that.

Having my mom there was a gift because Wren was pretty much occupied until the nurse started unwrapping the syringe to take my blood. I assured Wren, as I had all morning, this appointment was for me, not her. No one was going to touch her, mess with her ears, make her get on a scale. We had been having this conversation for an hour prior to the appointment. Still, when the needle was visible, the lower lip started quivering. She sat in my mom’s lap just staring at the needle while I tried to figure out why she thought they were going to stick her. The tourniquet was wrapped around my arm and she was five feet away. I kept telling her it would be okay and no one was going to touch her. Finally, my mom stated what should have been pretty obvious: she wasn’t worried about her, but she was pretty devastated that someone was about to hurt me. It proved to be true. When I didn’t cry and assured her I was okay, she held in her tears, though the bottom lip never stopped quivering, and she gave the nurse one of the nastiest looks I have ever seen come from anyone.

It was empathy. It went beyond feeling bad for me; she felt my pain in a way that hurt her. I saw it again the next day when a little boy started crying and sticking his fingers in his mouth due to teething pain. Wren, in the throes of trying to bust through that last eye tooth, began crying with him. She couldn’t make him feel better so she just wanted him to feel less alone.

I felt like a jerk for not making this connection sooner. Empathy? Who knew? That’s why last week at my OB appointment when the doctor picked up the baby’s heartbeat with the Doppler, the little heartbeat had to compete with the wailing sounds coming from my toddler. I thought she was just mad because I wasn’t holding her. Actually, I’m sure the jelly and the magic Doppler wand being spread over my stomach might have looked scary to a kid. I didn’t assure her everything was okay because I had no idea that’s what she needed. I am a not so smart mommy at times.

It’s sad, but I find empathy to be a pretty foreign idea to adults, or at least to me. I don’t hurt for others much. I feel bad for them, but mostly I’m glad I’m not hurting. My daughter still has the ability to care about others as much or more than she cares for herself. Obviously, this example has not come from mom. However, if I’m lucky I can pick up on her example and do better in the future. Christ gave me this child, I thought, to train and raise. Now I’m wondering if I’m the one getting the raising. Either way, it’s working out.

I’ll save the lessons she’s taught me on adaptability for another day. Let’s just say she gave up her cow’s milk and took to drinking unsweetened coconut milk without complaint. I have yet to try the coconut milk and chugged organic whole milk straight from the carton after she went to bed tonight. Enough said.

Luxury Items

When I became a mother, I was warned that I might suddenly disappear. For instance, I would have no time to myself, no time for random leisurely afternoons strolling through the park or sipping coffee at a book store with no particular agenda or schedule for the day. These are luxury items, and it was explained to me that I would have to fight to protect them, that being a mother would snatch them from my open arms and throw them to the wind.

I never lived in fear of this and I don’t now. While I still have well meaning individuals, mainly mothers, telling me that I better start hording opportunities for myself, I’ve discovered that I never knew luxury until now. Here is my list of luxury items/events, and these are just the ones that occurred this week:

My house is clean and I didn’t have to do it. My grandmother deep cleaned every nook and cranny.

My husband came shoe shopping with three girls because Wren gets a little excited in the shoe department, and I needed back up to keep her from snatching shoes. This is the 2nd or 3rd time he’s had to participate in this event in a week, and he does it joyfully.

My mom told me I was pretty when I had no makeup on, half dry hair and acne left over from the first trimester hormone surge.

Dennis cooked an amazing enchilada dish while I napped for two hours with Wren.

Wren is saying I love you. She hasn’t breastfed in two days, and though she’s still a little bitter, it’s getting easier every day. At least it is for her. I still want to cry pretty much every second.

My husband and I watched a movie together on the couch while cuddling. Since I’m usually in bed way earlier than him, this was sweet. It sort of felt like a date.

The baby started kicking.

A phone call to my sister made me feel better about my baby bump, or lack there of, at this point in the pregnancy, even though my doctors are not happy. I did this with Wren so I don't know why it's a huge surprise this time. I pop out during the third trimester.

Father's Day came around, and I have a great dad and a husband who is a great dad.

I have hot water. My mom and grandmother realized the pilot light was out on our water heater, and my mother-in-law drove to my house in rush hour traffic to light it because there was no way I was going near something that operates using gas with fire when I have no sense of smell and don’t really want to explode. By the way, Dennis and I had ignored the no hot water issue for two weeks because we didn’t know what was wrong and just assumed it would come back. This is either God making us content or we’re just idiots.

This may not look like much to some people, but it’s why I don’t need the coffee laced afternoons, pedicures, massages, hair appointments, me time moments everyone told me to collect when I became a parent. Nothing is wrong with any of those things, but my life is already pretty luxurious. And as I discovered driving home from dropping off my grandmother today, I don’t enjoy just me like I used to. I’m good being alone, but it’s not the same now. Instead of blaring the radio or daydreaming of some exotic location or the book I want to publish, I just wished to be with my husband and daughter and tried to stay below the speed limit though I was tempted to floor it just to get home. My life of luxury is defined by the people who make it so great, the ones who clean my house, make me enchiladas, light water heaters with fire, say I love you even when I can no longer give them milk. Too much time away from any of them would make me disappear or at least make me want to.

A Time For Change

The first three days of this week have taught me that nothing is the same after a year. Last year, I had a six month old. I spent my summer working around nap schedules, nursing schedules, Texas heat, teething, all the fun infant stuff. This summer, some of that hasn’t changed. However, what needs to be done to work around it has.

Last year, I would not take Wren out of the house if we were near a nap, near a feeding, teething, or showing the slightest signs of sleepiness. Couple her hate for the car seat and any of those other factors, and taking her outside of the house felt like child abuse. She didn’t enjoy the outing, screamed the whole way there or back or both, and I ended up feeling like I had left the house for my benefit, not hers.

I knew things were different this year, but I didn’t understand to what extent until today. Comparing my today and my yesterday revealed the truth. First of all, my child is a social butterfly. She needs kids her age. She loves me, but after a few hours, I am not enough to keep her completely entertained. This is probably a good development, but it’s a little difficult because I could just sit around and play blocks with her all day. She’s the one who bails on that plan. My first attempts to enhance her social life minus daycare failed miserably. Apparently we are the only people at the park or the play area in the mall before nine am. Maybe this is not a shocker to anyone else, but I was sure other people had kids who woke at 6 or 7 am, ate breakfast and were ready to head out the door. It’s possible that our school year schedule has programmed her for this, but if we are not in the car heading somewhere engaging by 8 am, then I have a cranky pants on my hands who only wants to nurse. Since we’re weaning, that’s not good.

Dennis and I decided last weekend when planning my first week home with Wren minus tons of nursing that after our morning outing it would be good to have something for her to do until her naptime near noon. That way she didn’t fall asleep too early, take a wimpy nap and wake up cranky, or just beg for breastmilk all day out of boredom. Tuesday, however, I forgot we were dealing with an 18 month old who likes constant stimulation and regressed back to how I would have treated my six month old. When we got back from the park around 9:30, I decided not to take her to the library at 10 for story time. I justified it by saying it was too much, she wouldn’t want to be in the car again, and she would be cranky because she hadn’t had time to wind down. This would have been true for a six month old. But she’s not anymore, and my refusal to acknowledge this change caused suffering for everyone for the rest of the day. Home with no distractions, my daughter remembered that she loved nursing. In fact, she fixated on it for the rest of the day. I went ahead and nursed her down for her nap, but when she woke up, that wasn’t enough. When I wouldn’t give in, Wren was not happy, and the child can hold a grudge. For the rest of the day we played the all the reasons I do not like mom game. Being the mom, this was not a fun game for me. Wren cried, gave me pouty lips, and ultimately I felt like in her mind she thought that daycare was much better than mommy time because mommy had something she wanted(milk) and refused to share. At least the kids at daycare share.

Today, we started over. Obviously, thinking of my child as she was last summer instead of how she is today failed. So, we went to the store first thing this morning, then we hit the mall to watch the girls ice skate, then we came home and had a wonderful play date with our friend in the inflatable kiddie pool. At one, having had absolutely no break or I-want-booby breakdowns, she crashed for almost three hours. The rest of the day was cake. This is what my child now considers a good day. I had a great time too because she was happy. Everybody wins. So why didn’t I do this Tuesday?

There’s no excuse really. Dennis and I had a plan. If I had stuck with it, the disaster we will call Tuesday never would have happened. And the thing is, I really have no issues with change. Sure, I like it better if I initiate the change, but I’m fairly adaptable. Why I regressed to my old way of thinking is beyond me. I wonder if subconsciously it really is hard for me to see her grow up so fast. Do I crave the days when she just laid in the floor and cooed at me and that was enough? Yes and no. I love the age she is now. I will have another cooing in the floor at me soon. I wouldn’t change anything about who she is and where she is in her life. But I have noticed this need for independence in every area of her life except for nursing, and it makes me proud and sad all at once. She wants to be her own person and she is. She wants to be engaged by other people and things other than mom. We can’t go back to the days of sitting in the recliner, breastfeeding and smiling at each other all day. It’s not the same, and that’s okay. Each day with her just gets better. Even if we’re playing all the reasons I don’t like mom game, I’m still glad to be a part of the game.

Check it out for summer

This is not a traditional post, but when I was looking at one of my favorite sites today, I found some disturbing information about sunscreen. I'm crazy obsessed with what chemicals we are exposed to and how to get rid of them in our environment, so this freaked me out!
You can see how your sunscreen rates and then go from there.

http://www.ewg.org/2010sunscreen/

Also, check out the site I saw this on at http://www.askmoxie.org/
It's awesome!

Praying for Aunt Sherry. Wren misses you!

Pics of Ms. Wren