Today was great. I got to keep my promise to Ragsy and watched him in his Halloween parade. He was so proud of himself, but he's completely keyed up. He's still laying in bed singing pirate shanties (he's moved on from one of the dirtier one to a man with a monkey named Scurvy Pete) and will probably be up at 2 a.m. - again - demanding to put on his pirate costume. Just like last night.
After the Halloween parade, it was time for my doctor's appointment. I swear, those internal exams drive me nuts. I've been having contractions ever since, right on top of each other. They're not painful, but good grief, they're irritating. I never realized how uncomfortable it was to laugh and have a contraction at the same time until this evening. It's like trying to giggle around a rock. I should enjoy it - my stomach will never be this hard again.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Is it normal?
Am I a horrible person for being slightly uneasy about having a new baby in the house? Yes, yes - if you felt that way, you shouldn't have gotten pregnant. But seriously, it definitely is the end of an era and I can't help feeling both extremely joyful that we're about to welcome a whole new person into the world, but at the same time a little melancholy that Ragsy will no longer be our only child and a little uneasy about all the things that having a second will impact.
Don't get me wrong. I wouldn't change a thing. Well, except the complications with Ragsy. But, as I was lying in bed last night, I began having some really fierce contractions. They were painful enough to wake me up and lasted for about two hours and the only reason I didn't call the doctors' exchange was because they went away whenever I laid on my left side, so I think it was a nerve issue combined with working out last night (I think I pulled something in my butt because I was limping today). Unfortunately, I'm far more stopped up when I lay on my left side, so I was up rolling around and giving myself more contractions while I tried to find a comfortable spot.
Anyway, as I was laying there having contractions, I was thinking, "No, no, no! Not yet! Not yet! I'm not ready!" as if my opinion mattered in this. Then this afternoon, during one of the many times it felt like the baby was just going to drop out of me, I would find myself thinking again, "Not yet. Just a little longer, please..."
I think I felt this way with Ragsy, too, but was so focused on the post-labor complications that I forgot how unsure you can feel right before having another kid. You know you'll love the kid come hell or high water - that's your job. And you'll take care of him or her because that's what you do. But all of a sudden, it's becoming very real that you're actually about to bring forth another person you'll be responsible for and you know even more than you did the first time around, enough to realize that nothing about it is going to be easy.
That includes all the emotions you'll experience (post-partum nuttiness, PPD or not; the absolute terror you feel when they first get sick; that freaked out feeling when they first sleep more than two hours at a time; the frustration and guilt as they get older; and much, much more), all the sleep deprivation - the whole package - and a lot of other stuff you probably didn't think about. Parenting makes labor seem easy.
The worst part of this is I don't know how it'll affect the way I parent Ragsy. Will it make me worse? Better? The same? And what about how I parent this other kid? Will he or she feel hosed? What happens to my marriage? Having a kid was the hardest thing on our relationship; now we'll have two. Will I completely lose my sanity? I mean, I thought about all this beforehand, but now it's about to happen and... God, I really hope I don't screw this up.
Don't get me wrong. I wouldn't change a thing. Well, except the complications with Ragsy. But, as I was lying in bed last night, I began having some really fierce contractions. They were painful enough to wake me up and lasted for about two hours and the only reason I didn't call the doctors' exchange was because they went away whenever I laid on my left side, so I think it was a nerve issue combined with working out last night (I think I pulled something in my butt because I was limping today). Unfortunately, I'm far more stopped up when I lay on my left side, so I was up rolling around and giving myself more contractions while I tried to find a comfortable spot.
Anyway, as I was laying there having contractions, I was thinking, "No, no, no! Not yet! Not yet! I'm not ready!" as if my opinion mattered in this. Then this afternoon, during one of the many times it felt like the baby was just going to drop out of me, I would find myself thinking again, "Not yet. Just a little longer, please..."
I think I felt this way with Ragsy, too, but was so focused on the post-labor complications that I forgot how unsure you can feel right before having another kid. You know you'll love the kid come hell or high water - that's your job. And you'll take care of him or her because that's what you do. But all of a sudden, it's becoming very real that you're actually about to bring forth another person you'll be responsible for and you know even more than you did the first time around, enough to realize that nothing about it is going to be easy.
That includes all the emotions you'll experience (post-partum nuttiness, PPD or not; the absolute terror you feel when they first get sick; that freaked out feeling when they first sleep more than two hours at a time; the frustration and guilt as they get older; and much, much more), all the sleep deprivation - the whole package - and a lot of other stuff you probably didn't think about. Parenting makes labor seem easy.
The worst part of this is I don't know how it'll affect the way I parent Ragsy. Will it make me worse? Better? The same? And what about how I parent this other kid? Will he or she feel hosed? What happens to my marriage? Having a kid was the hardest thing on our relationship; now we'll have two. Will I completely lose my sanity? I mean, I thought about all this beforehand, but now it's about to happen and... God, I really hope I don't screw this up.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Mealtime.
It's stupid the things you worry about when your parents visit. My mom will be arriving (again) next week to help us out with Ragsy while I'm in labor and afterward. We decided that she might as well stay until Thanksgiving, which is going to be a ridiculously long visit.
What's strange is that the part of the visit that bothers me most is mealtimes. Actually, maybe that's not so strange given how much mental energy my mom expends on cooking, and therefore requires me to spend on cooking. My mom was brought up in a household where kids ate early, went to bed, then adults ate a full dinner afterward. She brought us up the same way until we were in high school, when we all ate in separate rooms in front of our separate televisions. I'm sure it's obvious we didn't really bond as a family until we were well away from each other.
Every single time she visits, mealtime for adults occurs no earlier than 8:30, but usually around 9. This annoys me immensely and I never realize how important that time is to me until she's here and I don't get it anymore. It's not necessarily because I'm starving before then (though I often am), but because a) I think that mealtime is an important time to connect with your family and b) I hate having to fiddle with two mealtimes. It's inconvenient because it's a lot of work and forces you to stay up later than you might have otherwise. And c) I loathe going to bed on a full stomach. If I eat that late, I wake up still feeling full, which is code for slightly nauseated because I'm not supposed to have food still in my stomach by the time I wake up. Oh, and it doesn't help that Ragsy still wakes up at 6:30 to announce to us that it's daytime (no, really, it's not daytime at 6:30 anymore, but potato, po-tah-to).
Oh, well. Since having Ragsy, I've become a definite creature of habit. Having my routine thrown off for a prolonged period irritates me, so in a way I've become as reliant on our evening routine as our son has. Weird. Now I throw tantrums, too, when my routine is messed up.
What's strange is that the part of the visit that bothers me most is mealtimes. Actually, maybe that's not so strange given how much mental energy my mom expends on cooking, and therefore requires me to spend on cooking. My mom was brought up in a household where kids ate early, went to bed, then adults ate a full dinner afterward. She brought us up the same way until we were in high school, when we all ate in separate rooms in front of our separate televisions. I'm sure it's obvious we didn't really bond as a family until we were well away from each other.
Every single time she visits, mealtime for adults occurs no earlier than 8:30, but usually around 9. This annoys me immensely and I never realize how important that time is to me until she's here and I don't get it anymore. It's not necessarily because I'm starving before then (though I often am), but because a) I think that mealtime is an important time to connect with your family and b) I hate having to fiddle with two mealtimes. It's inconvenient because it's a lot of work and forces you to stay up later than you might have otherwise. And c) I loathe going to bed on a full stomach. If I eat that late, I wake up still feeling full, which is code for slightly nauseated because I'm not supposed to have food still in my stomach by the time I wake up. Oh, and it doesn't help that Ragsy still wakes up at 6:30 to announce to us that it's daytime (no, really, it's not daytime at 6:30 anymore, but potato, po-tah-to).
Oh, well. Since having Ragsy, I've become a definite creature of habit. Having my routine thrown off for a prolonged period irritates me, so in a way I've become as reliant on our evening routine as our son has. Weird. Now I throw tantrums, too, when my routine is messed up.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
I probably shouldn't have done that.
I just ate way too many cookies. Waaay too many. In fact, I ate so many, I'm not sure how many I ate. And I'm not even full. Yikes.
Ah, well. All is not lost. Ragsy took me and my husband on an hour-long jaunt in the park, so at least I'd already burned off some cookies by the time I ate them. My husband has never believed me about Ragsy's predilection toward running. I'm not sure why, since he's actually seen our kid in motion before. I felt really vindicated when my husband came gasping up to me saying, "Oh, God. He's still going." Luckily I didn't have to run after him this time - I got a nice, sedate stroll in. I was afraid that if I bounced around too much, my water would break. After my doctor's appointment Thursday, that might be a fairly valid fear.
With that in mind, my goal (not that I really get to have one when talking about labor) is to get this kid to stay put until a week from Tuesday. It'll be win-win all around: the kid will have an extra week and a half to bake, my mom will be in town so I don't have to impose on a friend and I'll get to see Ragsy in his Halloween parade at pre-school, take him trick-or-treating for the first time and enjoy a last party before D-Day. Now if I can just get these pesky contractions to stop. What is it with these impatient babies?
Ah, well. All is not lost. Ragsy took me and my husband on an hour-long jaunt in the park, so at least I'd already burned off some cookies by the time I ate them. My husband has never believed me about Ragsy's predilection toward running. I'm not sure why, since he's actually seen our kid in motion before. I felt really vindicated when my husband came gasping up to me saying, "Oh, God. He's still going." Luckily I didn't have to run after him this time - I got a nice, sedate stroll in. I was afraid that if I bounced around too much, my water would break. After my doctor's appointment Thursday, that might be a fairly valid fear.
With that in mind, my goal (not that I really get to have one when talking about labor) is to get this kid to stay put until a week from Tuesday. It'll be win-win all around: the kid will have an extra week and a half to bake, my mom will be in town so I don't have to impose on a friend and I'll get to see Ragsy in his Halloween parade at pre-school, take him trick-or-treating for the first time and enjoy a last party before D-Day. Now if I can just get these pesky contractions to stop. What is it with these impatient babies?
Monday, October 19, 2009
Four weeks and counting...
Well, since my due date is November 18, I guess that means I technically have slightly fewer than four weeks. However long I have, now that I'm getting closer to labor, I can't hide from myself anymore. I am terrified, sometimes so much it makes me a little nauseated. Funny how that works, isn't it? Stupid that I'd be scared of something I can't control or prevent.
At odd moments, I remind myself: the chances of it recurring again are very, very low. And if it does, the chances of actually dying are even lower than recurrence. If it happens again, there probably won't have any brain damage, even. The likelihood of the baby being injured is even lower than me being injured, which is certainly something.
Were my husband and I totally selfish to decide to have another kid? Probably - it's hard to tell until after labor. Stupid? Again, hard to tell until after labor. Just knowing that doesn't make it any easier to mentally prepare myself for labor. I remember getting ready to have Ragsy, thinking that I didn't need to worry about complications because they couldn't happen to me. After all, eclampsia is supposed to happen to less than a percent or two of the population. Then I had it and, well, I always manage to prove myself wrong in the most drastic ways. Hopefully I prove my fears unfounded in as drastic a manner as I proved myself wrong when I had Ragsy.
Just like Ragsy was worth every damn minute of that 32-hour labor and two and a half weeks of migraine, this new baby will be worth it. I know that. I saw it blink today on the ultrasound. It has a face now, one that I can see. I can't tell if it has chubby cheeks because it's so scrunched up against my cervix or because it actually has chubby cheeks. Will it have Ragsy's dimples? That sweet little divot in the chin that I love to kiss? What other defining, unique features will it have? I guess I have to keep my eye on the prize, even if that prize is another 32-hours away from onset of labor.
At odd moments, I remind myself: the chances of it recurring again are very, very low. And if it does, the chances of actually dying are even lower than recurrence. If it happens again, there probably won't have any brain damage, even. The likelihood of the baby being injured is even lower than me being injured, which is certainly something.
Were my husband and I totally selfish to decide to have another kid? Probably - it's hard to tell until after labor. Stupid? Again, hard to tell until after labor. Just knowing that doesn't make it any easier to mentally prepare myself for labor. I remember getting ready to have Ragsy, thinking that I didn't need to worry about complications because they couldn't happen to me. After all, eclampsia is supposed to happen to less than a percent or two of the population. Then I had it and, well, I always manage to prove myself wrong in the most drastic ways. Hopefully I prove my fears unfounded in as drastic a manner as I proved myself wrong when I had Ragsy.
Just like Ragsy was worth every damn minute of that 32-hour labor and two and a half weeks of migraine, this new baby will be worth it. I know that. I saw it blink today on the ultrasound. It has a face now, one that I can see. I can't tell if it has chubby cheeks because it's so scrunched up against my cervix or because it actually has chubby cheeks. Will it have Ragsy's dimples? That sweet little divot in the chin that I love to kiss? What other defining, unique features will it have? I guess I have to keep my eye on the prize, even if that prize is another 32-hours away from onset of labor.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Hello, darkness, my old friend.
I hate that it's now dark when I wake up. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Plus, my son has begun to wake up in the middle of the night again. On the bright side, he's waking up because he feels the urge to pee, not because of continued sleep issues. Unfortunately, he wakes up after he's peed, but it's a sure step in the right direction. Too bad he wants to play after I've cleaned him up. When he woke up this morning at 3:30, once he was clean again, he insisted it was daytime and therefore time to get a pirate costume. Right.
Thanks to a combination of getting kicked, my son singing to himself rather loudly next door and general discomfort, I didn't fall asleep again until almost 5, about an hour before my alarm went off. Then I got up in the dark - again - while everyone else was asleep.
The crummy, wet, gloomy weather isn't helping, either. And I need to rip my tomato plants out and mow the lawn and rake our leaves off the neighbor's lawn and do a zillion other things to get ready for the fall - oh, yeah, and there's the small matter of having that baby - and it's dark and raining all the freaking time. Grrr...
At least I have a changing area together for the baby. That's a step in the right direction. Now if I can get myself on the treadmill tomorrow in addition to the 30 minutes during the day that I force myself to walk in the parking lot at work, I'll be golden.
Thanks to a combination of getting kicked, my son singing to himself rather loudly next door and general discomfort, I didn't fall asleep again until almost 5, about an hour before my alarm went off. Then I got up in the dark - again - while everyone else was asleep.
The crummy, wet, gloomy weather isn't helping, either. And I need to rip my tomato plants out and mow the lawn and rake our leaves off the neighbor's lawn and do a zillion other things to get ready for the fall - oh, yeah, and there's the small matter of having that baby - and it's dark and raining all the freaking time. Grrr...
At least I have a changing area together for the baby. That's a step in the right direction. Now if I can get myself on the treadmill tomorrow in addition to the 30 minutes during the day that I force myself to walk in the parking lot at work, I'll be golden.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
What's on the menu?
My cooking frenzy is off to a good start this Sunday. So far, I've managed two firsts: stew (inspired by a friend's comment on Facebook) and chicken fricassee. Like I said, I've never made either before. I don't know about the stew yet - apparently it's supposed to cook in the slow cooker for eight hours - but the fricassee turned out really well. I mean, the stuff is falling off the bone. I think this is the first time I've ever cooked bone-in chicken on my own that wasn't a roast chicken.
I'm a food snob. Usually if it's not super-spicy to the point where my lips burn for several minutes after the meal or if the dish doesn't have really bold flavors, I don't bother with it. Any form of subtlety tends to be lost on me. It doesn't help that traditional food really isn't my forte. Much like rice krispies treats, which to most are the easiest thing in the world but somehow I manage to burn every time, when I make something that has roots west of India or north of Mexico, it turns out...funky.
Maybe my taste buds have been burned off with all that Indian food. But, since Ragsy's getting to the point where we really can't feed him quesadillas for even half his dinners with us and I keep forgetting to take the spice out of our standard Indian fare, I thought that combining something a little more traditional with our usual would be a good idea. And so far, I've been really pleased. And I'm realizing that I left a lot behind when I cut out the more traditional fare.
So, this week's menu is a choice between beef stew, chicken fricassee, aloo matar (spicy tomato & potato curry) and rava uppuma (a spicy South Indian semolina dish loaded with vegetables and three kids of chili). If I get really brave, I might even try a casserole again.
I'm a food snob. Usually if it's not super-spicy to the point where my lips burn for several minutes after the meal or if the dish doesn't have really bold flavors, I don't bother with it. Any form of subtlety tends to be lost on me. It doesn't help that traditional food really isn't my forte. Much like rice krispies treats, which to most are the easiest thing in the world but somehow I manage to burn every time, when I make something that has roots west of India or north of Mexico, it turns out...funky.
Maybe my taste buds have been burned off with all that Indian food. But, since Ragsy's getting to the point where we really can't feed him quesadillas for even half his dinners with us and I keep forgetting to take the spice out of our standard Indian fare, I thought that combining something a little more traditional with our usual would be a good idea. And so far, I've been really pleased. And I'm realizing that I left a lot behind when I cut out the more traditional fare.
So, this week's menu is a choice between beef stew, chicken fricassee, aloo matar (spicy tomato & potato curry) and rava uppuma (a spicy South Indian semolina dish loaded with vegetables and three kids of chili). If I get really brave, I might even try a casserole again.
Monday, October 5, 2009
That's a new one.
Everyone has gone back to their corners today. Probably because there was no time for anyone to get on anyone else's nerves this morning. I can't wait until these blasted fans are turned off and my mom is gone. Other than that, things are better today.
Mom went with me this morning to fetal monitoring. One thing I often do while there is give the baby a little nudge to move things along. Unfortunately, my plan backfired today. The baby wouldn't stop moving long enough for them to get a baseline reading of its heartbeat, so I was there for an hour. Foiled again.
Oh, well. We were out of there shortly after (after the ultrasound, that is) and got to go to lunch. Now we're stuck in this hot, loud house and we can't open any doors or windows because it's supposed to be as dry in here as possible to make sure the carpets and the pads underneath them get dried. I get to escape in about 20 minutes, though, when I go to my perinatologist.
I'm looking forward to that - I can't even go to the bathroom without my mom asking what I'm up to. Yikes.
Mom went with me this morning to fetal monitoring. One thing I often do while there is give the baby a little nudge to move things along. Unfortunately, my plan backfired today. The baby wouldn't stop moving long enough for them to get a baseline reading of its heartbeat, so I was there for an hour. Foiled again.
Oh, well. We were out of there shortly after (after the ultrasound, that is) and got to go to lunch. Now we're stuck in this hot, loud house and we can't open any doors or windows because it's supposed to be as dry in here as possible to make sure the carpets and the pads underneath them get dried. I get to escape in about 20 minutes, though, when I go to my perinatologist.
I'm looking forward to that - I can't even go to the bathroom without my mom asking what I'm up to. Yikes.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
I hate just about everything and everyone right now.
It's official - I'm going to murder someone. My mother and my husband are subtly "disagreeing," which means my mom is making obnoxious, thoughtless comments and I'm getting flack from both sides. My mom doesn't understand why her efforts to "help" are falling on deaf ears. My husband becomes more livid every time she opens her mouth. I'm the only one watching the kid here, who is understandably upset because he knows I'm frustrated and, despite my best efforts, it's spilled over. Every damn person in this household is following me around, too, talking, talking, talking. In fact, I've just managed to disengage from my son (who's not sleeping, though God knows why since he was up half the night thanks to the fans), only to be followed into my bedroom by my mother. Twice. Luckily, she's informed me that she's leaving, but my husband, who left to get a hair cut, just got back. Oh, great flipping joy.
Why the hell can't anyone shut up? Or at least just go the hell away from me? Or maybe just stop complaining so I don't have to feel like some sort of referee?
Yes, yes...poor me. Another person will be following me around in a little while, but dammit, at least that little person won't be able to talk for a while.
Why the hell can't anyone shut up? Or at least just go the hell away from me? Or maybe just stop complaining so I don't have to feel like some sort of referee?
Yes, yes...poor me. Another person will be following me around in a little while, but dammit, at least that little person won't be able to talk for a while.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Does your carpet splash?
Because mine does. I thought that having to take my husband to the ER was a fluke (he's fine by the way, though we had a scare). Then when Ragsy's daycare caught fire and was closed all week, I became suspicious. Now I'm certain of it. The world is laughing at me. Hard.
Today we had a handyman install a new in-line water filter for us. A simple enough job - it only took him 45 minutes. We just hadn't had the time to do it ourselves and didn't see us making it a priority, so we decided to have someone else do it. So, he completed the job, I wrote the check and we went to lunch.
We got back about an hour to an hour and a half later. The first thing we heard on returning was the sound of water gushing. Water is not supposed to gush unless the faucet is on. We don't generally leave the faucet on when we're leaving. And even when the faucet is on, it's not supposed to gush from two places at once in the house. So, I ran into the kitchen directly into about a quarter inch of water. I could have floated a boat.
So, after I found the valve and turned it off, we immediately began mopping up the mess. As I was running down the stairs, though, there was more water gushing. Oh, holy hell. The ceiling. Water was pouring out a vent and through all the electrical fixtures in the basement ceiling, flooding the carpet in not just one, but three rooms and most of the hall downstairs. And the closet.
So we called the handyman back, someone came over and it was determined that the filter was incorrectly constructed and must have popped off due to water pressure, spewing water everywhere. They're going to fix it anyway and get settlement from the manufacturer (by the way, don't buy an aquasana filter unless you want to be able to float a boat in your kitchen), but we still have four or five fans going 24/7 for the next five to seven days. And the cats are living in the garage since my mom's here in the baby's room. Luckily we haven't lost anything.
I'm hoping that this will be the last thing to happen. You know how they say that bad things happen in threes - I think this qualifies as both bad and number three. I'm still going to check on the cats, though. I'm a little afraid to think of them in the garage by themselves given our recent spate of "luck."
Today we had a handyman install a new in-line water filter for us. A simple enough job - it only took him 45 minutes. We just hadn't had the time to do it ourselves and didn't see us making it a priority, so we decided to have someone else do it. So, he completed the job, I wrote the check and we went to lunch.
We got back about an hour to an hour and a half later. The first thing we heard on returning was the sound of water gushing. Water is not supposed to gush unless the faucet is on. We don't generally leave the faucet on when we're leaving. And even when the faucet is on, it's not supposed to gush from two places at once in the house. So, I ran into the kitchen directly into about a quarter inch of water. I could have floated a boat.
So, after I found the valve and turned it off, we immediately began mopping up the mess. As I was running down the stairs, though, there was more water gushing. Oh, holy hell. The ceiling. Water was pouring out a vent and through all the electrical fixtures in the basement ceiling, flooding the carpet in not just one, but three rooms and most of the hall downstairs. And the closet.
So we called the handyman back, someone came over and it was determined that the filter was incorrectly constructed and must have popped off due to water pressure, spewing water everywhere. They're going to fix it anyway and get settlement from the manufacturer (by the way, don't buy an aquasana filter unless you want to be able to float a boat in your kitchen), but we still have four or five fans going 24/7 for the next five to seven days. And the cats are living in the garage since my mom's here in the baby's room. Luckily we haven't lost anything.
I'm hoping that this will be the last thing to happen. You know how they say that bad things happen in threes - I think this qualifies as both bad and number three. I'm still going to check on the cats, though. I'm a little afraid to think of them in the garage by themselves given our recent spate of "luck."
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