My Cerclage

C'mere You Big 3 Year Old!

2009-08-22T15:08:00.000-07:00

Yesterday Q turned 3 years old. Today at his birthday party someone asked me if I was sad that he was 3. I said, no. Why? Should I be? And my friend said something about how the kids are just growing so fast. Which, I admit, did make me pause for a moment even as I told her that I hadn’t thought of it that way.

When I think about the pregnancy we lost, and how still, it is the hardest thing I have ever been through in my entire life, I am able to appreciate how happy I am now. And when I think about my pregnancy with this little boy and how much anxiety, hope, fear all the rest (totally chronicled on this blog) we went through, I have to take a moment to realize how lucky we are to be here. And, of course, baby O is part of everything now too. Little miss independent is showcasing her skills as a world leader, while my Q, my little man, is quietly waging his own happy (less loud) confidence on everyone he meets. So, of course, once I thought of all of this I admitted to myself that in my effort to survive 2 small children, work and marriage and all the rest, I might not stop to appreciate that it IS going so fast, and these moments are all so meaningful and fleeting.

Of course after this thought process, I ran over to Q and grabbed him for many unsolicited hugs and kisses while he, of course, squirmed away--Like SUCH a Very Big Boy.

Happy 3 years old.

Hey, Don't I know You From Somewhere?

2009-07-20T11:08:00.000-07:00

I practically have a photographic memory for faces. I guess. I don't know what the deal is, but I recognize people from various places all the time. Like when I see that same mom at the playground I saw at Walgreens a week ago, or that friend of a friend of a friend I met once two years ago. Or that guy I went to college with, and that guy and that girl, all SF residents who either don't recognize me or don't want to bother. Which is fine, I am not bothering either. What is annoying about this ability is that if it comes up, meaning, if I actually am the one who says, "Aren’t you friends with?" or "Did you go to __ College?" I deal with a puzzled "yes...?" and then me, “I recognize you. I'm ___" And because not every one has a memory for faces like mine, I usually get a sort of sometimes nice but sometimes are you a stalker response.

I have had 3 encounters with guys I went to college with recently that just make me feel like an asshole.

I met one guy at a party and we were actually sort of friends in college--or at least totally knew each other because we were on a group project together and had to talk on the phone a lot, and meet to study. It was freshman year, but still. I go through the thing, and he totally doesn’t remember me and his wife, right next to him is nice but also giving me the stink eye, like how do you know so much about my husband and he must have made an impression for you to have all this detail.

Again it happened at work, a new family came to clinic. I'm asked to see them because the mom has a history of depression and a new baby, so I am checking in to see how everyone is adjusting (you're more at risk for post partum depression with a depression history) when I look at dad, "hey! You look familiar." it clicks. Did you go to "__ College?" Again they are nice but act like I am a bit strange, plus; they probably felt vulnerable since I had all this info on them. But I mean well, I do.

The next week the husband and I are getting coffee and I mumble to husband about this hipster at the next table, "I went to college with that guy." Husband tells me to say hi, I say no, I've been seeing that guy around hipster coffee shops for years and I haven't bothered yet. Husband reminds me that I am friendly. "You are friendly. That’s your thing. Be friendly." But secretly, I have always thought this guy knew me too and that we give each other the nod and the acknowledgement that we both were never going to actually say hi. We weren't friends in college, why start now? So with the husband's prompting I say, "Did you go to __ College?" He says yes, I tell him me too that I recognize him, and he is not friendly at all! Again, I feel like an idiot, as if there is something special about this guy other than his totally recognizable face.

I know college was a long time ago, but I also know I don't looks so different I am unrecognizable!

We were at the farmer's market at the ferry building on Sat. I say to husband, there are those friends of friend's. He's all, who? I say, you know the ones our mutual friends carpool with, she's an attorney, and he switched careers to finance. He was an engineer. They have 4 kids; we met them that one time? And then the husband is off and running with the awkward, "Do you know __ and ___?" The guy has the paralyzed suspicious face, "yes." he was friendly enough, but, sometimes it feels like more work than it's worth. On that day I also saw the parent who was giving "info" at one of the pre-schools we visited a year ago, another family who I see all the time in our neighborhood, and a resident who worked at my clinic for 1 month 2 years ago.

I can’t wait for the day that someone comes up to me and says, "Hey! Aren’t you..." I will simply combust with relief. And I will be nice, and very friendly. I admit this talent comes in handy for my work, but overall, it is just sort of annoying. I mean, I could go on and on. I have about 6 other stories on the tip of my tongue!

I'm going to end on a good note, because I am feeling a bit whiny in this post. I admit that this trick has resulted in some very nice friendships and nice mom encounters on the playground.

Fine, I wouldn't give it up given the chance.

The Joy of Parenting--No Really!

2009-07-13T13:03:00.000-07:00

I was going to write about Q's tantrums and the fact that if I didn't know anything about child development, I would swear he has an obsessive compulsive disorder he is so picky about every. Little. Thing. He wants it all just so and if it isn't just so? Tantrum! I know that he is trying to be independent from me and that developmentally it is a good thing, his effort at trying to control his little world. I have to be wily to figure out to make him think he wants what I want, but I'm up for it. He's no match for my mental gymnastics! I kid. He's totally more wily than me and it's really annoying. But, wait. I wasn’t actually going to write about this. I was going to write something positive about how freakin' funny he is lately, too.

Yesterday, we were in a "hike" in the park near our house when, "Mommy?" "Yes?" "I have a secret." "O.K. Do you want to wisper it in my ear?" He considered. His head was cocked to the side as if weighing his options. He finally nodded in CEO fashion, like we've decided to shake on a deal--one swift nod. I'm surprised I didn't see the sides of his mouth pull down in satisfaction. I put my head near his ear and he said in a loud whisper, “When you poop you get M&M's." But it came out "enimen's." After giggling a little, I acknowledged that a poop IN THE POTTY does surely result in two M&M's. He paused, nodded again and continued walking.

Growing, Growing, Growing

2009-07-06T11:50:00.001-07:00

I knnnowww. It's been so long. I miss you blog. When did you start to become a chore? I am at work again. Like most moral lapses, it's easier the second time around. This time it is bad too because I actually have a lot of charting to do and phone calls to make and yet. Here I am.

I just had lunch with some colleagues and after a not so subtle ("will you please just update your blog??") request from a friend to blog again, I've decided to dedicate my hard working hours to this post.

Except I have nothing to say. I'm so so boring. Ok my kids. Oh my god I love them so much. Gush gush gush! The problem is its too daunting to describe their impossible beauty and overall amazingness, and trying to touch those things in any way just feels so inadequate. Perhaps I could do better than "I love my kids, gush gush gush." But probably not much better.

I will say, shortly, that baby O is now nearly 15 month old. Q will be 3 in August. They're turning into...kids!! I've even had a few glimpses of them ganging up against me. Like when I gave Q a time out for hitting me (another post). O looked at me like I was insane, and also like I betrayed her by removing her play buddy. She ran to the door of the room where I had (very gently:) put Q for his time out and began pounding on the door and screaming. In between yells, she'd look at me with a murderous, impatient and adorable expression that basically said, "Why are you ruining my buzz?" Quinn was inside also yelling, "I don't want a time out!!" That was awesome.

Another peas in the pod moment was when they took all the clothes out of the laundry basket and gleefully threw them, one article at a time, down the stairs. The baby gate at the top of the stairs was up and I was in the other room (what? I could hear them) and I heard hysterical giggling and pitter pattering of little feet back and forth. I realized that they were just too happy and were most likely deep in mischief, but once I investigated, I couldn’t help laughing at their pride as they demonstrated their well worn path from laundry basket to stairwell. I really don’t think this event would be filled with such glee if they didn’t have each other to egg on.

They for sure have their moments (sharing? What?) and they often fight for my attention, but a new exciting pattern of friendship is emerging. It really is satisfying. It is what you hope for when you have a second. You know, that they lurve each other. So while I am scared for my future—if they can do this now, what do I have in store? I am also so happy to see them bond.

I suppose there was a post in me after all. It's almost like I have a mommy blog.

My Life in Exercise

2009-05-12T22:00:00.000-07:00

Running today I was thinking about exercise. This might be boring. Who really cares about my musings on exercise? But whatever. Isn't this a whole thing a narcissistic anyway? My blog? If I wrote nice birthday milestones for my kids I could try to say it was about them, but since O's bday post had a virtual pat on my back...not so much.

ANYWAY, I am writing my ode to my two and only forms of exercise, running and yoga.Not that I don’t go months at a time with no exercise but when I do exercise, which is more often than not, I actually think a great deal about it.

I cannot deal with a gym. I won’t explain, but it will NEVER happen for me. These two work for me. My fist yoga class was in 1999. I really cannot believe it’s been ten years of (very sporadic at times) yoga.

Running…well, that’s a part of me. I was on varsity (bragging!) track in 7th grade. I’ve been running as long as I can remember. It’s true! I have “running camp” stories ala “band camp.” Sigh. I LOVED running camp.

This is what I was musing about today. I notice that when I am in a running mode, I sort of hate yoga and when I am in yoga mode, I am all down on running. Right now I am big on running. Running is so fantastic. OUTSIDE is the big draw. I cannot fathom spending nearly two hours in a hot room with San Francisco yogis--their tattoos and their bangs and their fancy yoga clothes. All that hugging and smiling. Gag me with a spoon. Also, let’s be honest, no matter how vigorous a class, it can’t match the cardiac pumping of a good run. There’s a reason people want the “heart of a runner.” Plus the freakin' time suck. Driving to class, class, driving home. It can be a 2 1/2 hour deal sometimes.

There is an actual canyon with trails in it near my house. When I am in the back of the canyon running, smelling the earth pretending I don’t live in a city, it is so beautiful. There are so many days when it is foggy. I feel chilled to my bones before leaving the house, but I force myself out and find I have these moments of such unbelievable splendor—especially if all I can hear is my feet rhythmically moving. It is the smell of earth amd fresh air that move me most (I was talking to a friend about how I don’t “match” with my Virgo astrological sign. But it is an earth sign, and when I run, the damp earth smell, more than anything else, is what gets me). I always come back from a run energized.

But inevitably, my muscles start to tighten, even sitting here right now my shoulders and back ache. I never stretch enough when I am running. The pounding starts to feel…well wrong. My body is not flowing. It is stuck all over. Once I feel that way, I drag myself back to yoga for some good old-fashioned healing and whole body care. There have been times in yoga when I’ve been in the midst of some heart opener, and a thoughtful instructor is playing the perfect music and holy shit, suddenly I am crying because I am so grateful for my life. I love the elastic feel of my body after a good yoga class. It is wonderful.

After I ran the marathon (nearly 10 yrs ago—lame me still bragging) I felt so wrong afterwords that I did nothing but yoga for 6 months. I just needed to be told what to do and metaphorically held and healed by this wonderful instructor. I needed to be still.

Finally though, one day, I had a bad day at work. It was time to let out some steam. It was still not quite spring and it was nighttime. The air had some bite (I was living in Brooklyn), but it was so fresh. I walked into my apartment and dragged out my running shoes.

It was time to fly.

Graduation Day for Baby O

2009-04-29T15:26:00.000-07:00

Holy boring work day! I have read and reread all the blogs and now am sinking low enough to blog myself. I am getting paid right now to do something entirely different than what I am doing. I really try to avoid doing this. It feels so wrong, but see. I am already less bored than I was a minute ago.

Baby O is baby no more. My girl is 1 year old! She turned a year on April 20th. Remember?? I went into labor on Passover last year.

O is amazing. Despite the daily abuse (hitting, hair pulling, knocking over and even pinching) at the hands of her only brother, the girl appears to be thriving. She even acts like her brother is the coolest thing since sliced bread. She is a pistol. Every time I worry about some horrible mother/daughter angsty thing because she already seems so strong willed, I have to remember that I love her strength and her confidence. I never want her to feel bad for those aspects of her personality.

Nothing else is new. Which is great. I am so proud of us (reaching hand over shoulder to pat back) for getting through the first year. It was touch a go for the first few months. Seriously? What was wrong with us? I mean, I have friends who had babies in similar age difference who didn't go insane for 4 months. I used to think that everyone was just lying if they said that thing of "actually, it's been ok!" But I have had enough people look at me like I am a little certifiable when I say "Isn't it SO hard?? You are in hell. It will get better, don’t worry!" that I have learned to keep my mouth shut. For me it was just the sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. As one friend said, "I thought my marriage was based on similar values and love and friendship and partnership. But it turns out it's all based on sleep. Good marriage if we all sleep. Bad marriage if we don't." I wouldn't go that far, but I would say that all of us sleeping through the night is a very good thing.

I'm sure I'll have some selfish anxiety freakout to post soon, but I am glad that I have nothing more to say today than: Will this work day ever end?!!

NY State of Mind

2009-04-12T20:21:00.001-07:00

That last post never got finished, because, in spite of the disturbing nature of the few sentences I wrote, I did actually have to stop what I was writing to go parent.

We are in NY for Passover and Easter. We leave tomorrow. I love being here and seeing family. I love the city--it is so vibrant and fun to be in again. I love Connecticut, where we had Easter today with its big houses and windy roads. I love seeing cousins and siblings and nieces and nephews. I always start out our East coast trips totally energized and nostalgic, wondering why we live so far away. But inevitably I move towards being glad we don't live here all the time. The city is hard and Connecticut is snobby.

The husband and I had a lot of help with the kids this trip. We stole away for a walk to the scene of our wedding 5 years ago in Central Park. It was so beautiful out, and a couple was actually getting married in the same spot in the same garden we were married in! We totally told them afterwards. They seemed like they didn’t mind. One night we went out to dinner with friends, and the energy of a NY restaurant--small, crowded, intimate and exciting—I actually felt like I was in my 20’s again.

But I have turned into a California girl. This time the main thing that bugged me was all of our inside time. It seems like people have trouble getting themselves outside here. It’s as if all the barriers to get outside--the apartment door, the hallway, the elevator, the building hallway and finally! Outside. It is too many or something. Sometimes I even felt myself thinking I'd like to get outside and dismissed the idea in the same thought because it seemed like a hassle.

So. Once again, I find myself looking forward to getting the kids home to our little house and our big dog where I can open the door to my back deck and breathe the not too cold air.

Happy Easter and Passover! I feel so fat.

One funny totally unrelated story:

The husband returned home from work the other day wearing a suit, which he rarely does. As he took off his work duds and flung them around the room, Q played and chatted with us. A while later, Q said he wanted “Barack Obama’s scarf.” I was curious, since I had no idea what he was talking about. He then ran to the dresser where the husband had left his blue and white tie and threw it around his neck chanting “Barack Obama’s scarf!!”

Is Brack Obama the only one he's seen in a suit??

The Post that Never was Finished....

2009-04-07T18:22:00.000-07:00

What am I doing right now? The husband is working late. Two kids are by themselves in the other room. I am here, by myself, drinking a beer....

LALALALALALALALALALALALALA

2009-03-12T14:18:00.000-07:00

This weekend, for the first time EVER, the husband and I are going away--NO KIDS. We are going to LA. Sort of random, right? The husband has to go there for work on Friday already, and I've never been. That's right. I've lived in California for many years, and have never been to LA in my life. People think that's strange. I think, why? Why would I ever go to LA? I don't go there for work, and usually, a weekend away includes going away from the city not towards a big smoggy one. Plus, I'm from NY so I get my big city fix at least once a year. It's not like LA is close to SF. 6 hours driving and short (thankfully our route) 45 minutes on the plane. No one thought it was odd I hadn't been to Buffalo when I lived in Brooklyn--same distance! I guess I made it up to Vermont enough....I don't know, I'm clearly rambling. I haven't felt the appeal I guess.

But now's my time! The kids are going with the grandparents, and we are going to be in a hotel for two whole days. If this trip goes how I want it to go, I won't actually see much of LA. I hope to spend the weekend in the hotel. If your mind has gone to some scintillating place when I mentioned a weekend in a hotel with my husband, the pathetic fact is that my excitement has to do with the option of uninterrupted sleep in a big fluffy hotel bed. I'm sure we'll be bored enough to do a little sight seeing. Maybe I'll catch a glimpse of someone famous (one thing I miss about living in NY is my "sightings”), go to a restaurant, drink wine, see a museum, catch up with a few friends...but that is IT. The husband and I have a tendency to overdue it on vacations. I refuse to repeat our history of leaving a hotel in the morning, and not getting back home till after dinner more tired than I was before leaving home. Every nook and cranny of LA does not need to be explored.

I will relax if it kills me.

The Good and the Bad and the Ugly

2009-03-09T10:57:00.000-07:00

Here is my latest observation about my family life. When we are all running on all cylinders, it is all really good. It is busy, and it feels like it is just barely doable, but we do and we do more than good. We do great. The kids are well, my job/family balance is where I want it to be, my marriage is attended too through adult time with the help of grandparents and hired babysitters. Movies are even making their appearance again (I LOVE movies. Going to the movies is one of my favorite things to do, and I am glad to see this option creeping back into my world).

But when something is off, even off just a little bit, we all go to the dark side. Take last week, for a random example. I was geared to take my final licensing exam(Passed! Finally!),I felt stressed and had trouble sleeping. As a result, I got a big cold and stopped sleeping again so I could have hacking coughing fits at night. Add my first reason for not sleeping to my second and images of failing my exam due to bronchitis permeated my unsleeping brain. Because of my apparent inability to function due to the aforementioned medical and emotional issues, the husband was waking up with the little ones early in the morning, since dragging my sorry ass out of bed was not happening. The husband became all run-down too and we were all snappy snappy with each other, “I’m so tired” “No. I’M so tired.” “I do so much” “Not as much as me!” and on and on. I mean really, we both do so much and we both want someone to rub us and tell us how great we are, but that person is too busy with so much to do that everyone feels unappreciated.

All is well again. The husband and I had a gooey love fest, “You’re so great!” “No you are the one who is sooo great!” My cough has faded to the background. Husband doesn't have to take care of me acting like a child (I get a little needy when I am sick) or soley attend to the real children in the AM. I passed the exam. Quinn got into pre-school (yay!) and I am here able to process what the hell happened. Can a little stress and a cold derail my family so much that we feel stressed and grumpy for 5 days? Well…sort of these days. Yes, I think. I am always close to running on empty; I just don’t have option anymore for colds and added stress.

But they come. I hope to deal a little better in the future!

Twilight

2009-02-24T19:55:00.000-08:00

I thought I had kicked the habit of my "light" reading. But then I was out to dinner with a group of people--adults. The group included a very well-educated acquaintance, someone with two Ivy league degrees under her belt. We both admitted our addiction to the TV series True Blood. And then suddenly, and with no shame whatsoever, she started singing the praises of the teen loved Twilight book series. Because I have an ah, tendency, to be susceptible to this kind of book, I found myself very interested. I loved her lack of embarrassment because in addition to the diplomas, she happens to be very smart and normal and fun. This is something that if I did, I certainly wouldn't chat about it out loud to a group of like-minded adults. This kind of reading is my dirty little secret. It was sort of a breath of fresh air. And, btw, it really isn't that often, I blog about it every time I find myself in the trashy world of non-lit lit. I won't go far as list my current reading up to this point, but suffice to say, Oprah would approve.

Anyway, I bought Twilight (was told by the clerk that free movie-poster was included!) and I read it really, really fast. On Sunday we had a friend over for dinner who I dropped off at her apartment after we ate. I didn't get on the highway to go home because I hoped I would find a bookstore (10pm on a Sunday??) that was open so I could buy the second book. I have watched the movie trailer and admit that whoever that guy is, he is H.o.T. He's probably like, 19 or something. Bad behavior for a 35 year old? I don't give a shit. These books are totally addictive. And they are totally addictive because they are freakin' romantic. I am such a girl.

Vampires are hot.

Hiya! How you Doin'?

2009-02-19T09:25:00.000-08:00

I told you Facebook would take over my life.

Very good friends of ours recently had twins, a boy and a girl. And all of you 2 or 3 readers should know by now about our big loss our first go around. The twins.

Anyway, when we went to see these new little buggers and their parents in the hospital, the husband noted that it was sort of hard for him. I rushed in with how much we love our current children, who would never be if the pregnancy loss hadn't happened. He pointed out, quite correctly, that it's more of a unexpected reaction--like PTSD. It's complicated. We love our family (whose the shrink in this relationship?), yet these reactions happen sometimes.

I thought it was interesting that I had actually not had a hard time with our friends’ situation. After all, this friend, who has a 4-year-old boy, lost a pregnancy at 23 weeks in-between her 4 year old and these little ones. She lost a baby girl, and merely a few months later we delivered, safely and happily, baby O. I remember when she lost her pregnancy; one of things she said was that she felt she lost her chance at "her girl". I thought of that when baby O was born. Our friend and husband dutifully came over and saw baby O. They gave us gifts. They made us food. They acted happy for us, and I think they were. Yet I know it couldn’t have been easy. Really, I never begrudged this friend her twins.

I ran into them at the doctor's office where I work and where their pediatrician works. They told a story about their parents of twins group and how all the parents were feeling so special because they had twins. And I remembered that. At least that extra special pregnancy feeling because we had 2 in there. And it stung a little. Funny that the story was actually to criticize the people in their parents group since they love their son, and already feel that having a child at all is special enough.But whatever. I had the reaction.

Still, I don’t envy their life right now. I don't relish those sleepless nights--brutal nights combined with a feeling like there is no end in site. I don't wish for their situation. And I have to say; the twin thing in this city is a little out of control. One friend refers to her neighborhood as "clomid nation". There are multiples everywhere. It’s not so unique these days—that’s right, I have to make it sort of lame to have twins in order to feel better about myself. Will I be totally healed when I don’t do that? I’ll admit that when my snarky “Clomid nation” friend said that, I said, "totally!" But if you happen to be a parent of twins, please know I am just jealous.

So...I don't know what the point of this post is except to say that I once again had an opportunity to say "hi!!" to our loss. I know better than to be surprised, but somehow I always am. The silver lining is that it also gives me an opportunity to say “hi!” to how lucky we are. And we are. Dare I say it, but with baby O nearly 10 months old and Mr. Q going on 2 1/2 , life feels almost manageable. More than manageable. Happy, happy!

It's in the Blood

2008-12-16T16:38:00.000-08:00

Scene:

Q running with excitement into a Chinese restaurant holding his Hannukah boardbook.
Husband beaming with pride and announcing, "I TOLD you he is Jewish!"

What is it with Jews and Chinese food? I swear the husband thinks that beef & broccoli is part of his cultural palate. This might just be a secular/reformed Jew thing, but in the world of my midwestern Irish Catholic parents, there was no Chinese food for me. Not until I went off the the wild world of liberal arts college.

Our kid is fulfilling his duty to love Chinese food easily and happily. You should see his face light up when talk about going out for "noodles".

Q has blond hair and pale skin. Good for the the husband that can finally point to evidence that this kid is half his:)

It must be in the blood.

The Chronicles of Napping

2008-12-11T14:32:00.000-08:00

Or no napping. This is entirely my own fault. See, when we had version 2.0, the Mighty Miss O, I just didn't expect the original version to go so batshit crazy with the sleep issues. And since the original version was the Center of the Universe for so long, Mr. Q has had trouble getting adjusted to the new deal. Mighty Miss, as most second children must, appears to know the order of things. She is already a well adjusted sleeper who, apparently knowing nothing different, sleeps through the uh communication of disagreement from the original version. Why am I writing about my children as if they are software programs? I have no idea. I guess I thought it would be funny.

Anyway, Q loves to sleep with us. He seems most happy when his body is flung over one party or the other so that the cuddles are extra warm and cozy. And since I have always had a secret affection for this cuddle time, I think I helped to establish some bad habits, particularly when I was pregnant with O and living in the hovel. We let him into bed with us. He was primed to continue said bad habits when Miss Thang arrived, given his delicate emotional state regarding the new family member. We worked HARD at undoing these bad habits during Sleep Training, The Second Act. They had reached a crescendo where he was waking several times a night and earlier and earlier in the morning, only satisfied if we brought him to our bed. This coupled with the newborn sleep made for Very Bad Sleep in our house all around. For the most part things are now great, they both sleep through the night until at least 6am. But now, the nap issue is not so good. And see, I really needed Quinn to nap today since we all have colds and I noticed that I was eying the clock waiting for nap time as if the event was akin to a cold fountain of water in the Sahara desert. Get my (sand) drift?

So I did a bad thing.

Oh, did you notice I am blogging mid-day? Well see, the Mighty Miss O is sleeping in her crib. The Mighty Quinn cried for one hour at their door (O slept through the whole thing) until I went up and brought him to my bed where he promptly fell asleep.

I hope I am not undoing all our hard work.It really is a slippery slope with this one. Give him an inch, and let's just say that a hundred miles is a more accurate analogy.

I hope the husband doesn't read this post because I will be getting a big Time Out. Mommy's in trouble.

Also, everyone is sleeping. It is so worth it.

WTF Do I Do Now?

2008-12-04T14:24:00.000-08:00

Q now (theoretically) sleeps in his Big Boy Bed. At first I thought " a miracle has been bestowed on our house" since the man freakin' loved it so much. I figured that I had just waited too long to get him out of the crib, which he did not appear to like anymore. So after a much suffering through Sleep Training, the Second Act, we went ahead and purchased our Big Boy Bed. The joy the joy.

Not so much anymore. It started at the other morning at 5:00 when I awoke to my beautiful son's face a mere few inches from my own. How did that happen? Oh, yes. The Big Boy Bed. Lately, he has not been into napping. For the last hour I have sequestered myself in the home office while listening to the sounds of thunder from above. I do not know what is going on up there, especially since O is sleeping in the same room in Q's previously owned crib, but I swear to god he is practicing some sort of Cirque Du Soleil tryout. What's even more annoying is that he was so tired at nap time. I mean, rubbing his eyes and acting very Time to Go to Sleep.

Honestly, I don't know what to do. He recently has gotten into "jumping" and if I know my son, he is jumping off his low-to-the-ground-bed onto the floor over and over again.

Is there anyone out there whose dealt with this? He's not crying, so I am staying put for now. But he's not sleeping either.

Annoyed.

Facebook

2008-11-20T15:04:00.001-08:00

People tried to tell me. I didn't know. I so didn't know. I entered the world that is facebook. I may never blog again.

Hope and Disappointment

2008-11-10T16:37:00.000-08:00

I'm at work right now. Blogging is way worse than surfing. I'm not even pretending I have something else to do. I can't really do work if I don't have people to see, and with the big maternity leave, I don't really have my "base" of patients to follow-up with. So here I am.

I only have a few minutes before the day ends so I don't want to get to involved in anything big, but ah, did you hear Obama won?? It was truly an exciting night.Unfortunately, it was tempered the next day when Prop 8 passed. Ok. Here I go. Getting into something big. But really, how can people be against marriage for same sex couples?? My latest theory is that it must be ignorance. I live here in San Francisco (as I might have mentioned before) where gay people are everywhere! They are your colleagues,neighbors, friends and business partners. Their kids are not just at the alternative school for their alternative lifestyle, they're right there in your mainstream school because they are just normal mainstream people here. In my case, they are my colleagues, my pediatrician, my OB and my close friends. Yup. That's right. Beloved Peri is GAY!

The point of all of this is that I really don't think that you can know all these people--people trying to give their awesome kid the same love and choices and education that you're trying to give your awesome kid and actually feel like that kid and that family doesn't deserve the same rights as your kid. I feel like it's impossible. Thus, my theory of ignorance. People who are for a ban on gay marriage must not actually know any gay people well, or they couldn't possibly feel the way they do.

Of course, that said, I do see it everyday. There were enough yes on 8 people for me to scratch my head in confusion. But at least we have Obama! There is enough hope there to make me think this yes on prop 8 well have to be something that ALSO changes in my lifetime.

Cry It Out, Baby!

2008-10-23T13:44:00.000-07:00

Holy hell, I am sitting here listening to Quinn cry and I am at my wits end. Here is the issue: We said so long, farewell, see you later alligator to the pacifier--the "night night" as Quinn calls it. He IS 2 and some months now. At bedtime, he ends up crying for about 10 minutes before going down for the night, but the naps are still pretty bad. I just went up there to soothe him, but the truth is, I am just an agitator. I am sure seeing me added on an extra 20 minutes of crying, because that's how long I waited the first time. I swore I would not bug him during naps again while he is learning to go to sleep because of this one time when I thought he needed me. His eyes were actually just closing when I opened the door. Suffice to say, that was a big mistake. This is a trend with my kids. Neither of them (as we have embarked on some sleep training of O as well) seem to like it when we try to go in every few minutes. I totally get it, they look at me like, "Lady, I am CRYING here. A back rub when I clearly want OUT of this crib is not doing it for me. Are you stupid? Don't you get it! Let me out!" In fact, it's worse with Quinn because he can actually talk now so I have to listen to him cry, "Mommy, I want to get dowwn!" So brutal. But whatever. I am over not trying to do it. I need my sleep and am VERY convinced that the version of me without sleep is waaay more damaging to these kids than whatever trauma a week of sleep training does. So keep your comments to yourself if you disagree! Defensive, much?

I did run into one mom in the playground who I didn't realize was soo into attachment parenting. The woman is breastfeeding her two year old at night. How could I not know? It's fine if she wants to do that, but maybe I should have thought before I mentioned that it was a stressful week because we were starting on sleep training of O. Her face got all funny looking and she said, "well, there are a lot of levels to that if you feel like you need to do that." I was all, "Oh yeah. Totally. There are lots of ways to do it." And then she said that she doesn't have any judgment "except when people leave their kids to cry by themselves for an hour." I wanted to say, "lady, what do you think sleep training is??" By the way, baby O hasn't cried for a full hour yet, and it is so satisfying when she is quiet after 20 minutes. I can't say it's been so horrible.

Did I just post about crying it out? On my mommy blog? I swore off posting on controversial parenting subjects because I can't take the heat when people don't like it. Oh well. What's done is done.

In any case, for or against it, I am no longer listening to Q cry. Which means, I am guessing, it is because he is asleep. I better go watch my TiVoed Top Design while I can. Go Nathan!

I Coulda Been a Contender

2008-09-09T09:11:00.000-07:00

There were exactly 4 Olympic sports in Beijing that I did as a kid. Yes, I competed in these events enough to feel that I could, you know, relate to the Olympians on the screen. These sports were, in order of age that they first appeared my life, gymnastics, swimming, diving and track. During the games I would nod sagely as a rely fumbled a batan pass during a track race, and maybe even comment, "those passes are so important. I remember practicing them for hours when I did the 4 by 100. Timing needs to be perfect." I had many such comments for all of these 4 sports, and while you may glean I am making fun of myself, I did truly relate! I did! One can't spend hours doing an interval workout in the pool or on the track and not feel some...similarities. The husband was very patient during these times, only raising an eyebrow here and there to show he wasn't entirely on board with my own athletic glory days. But then one day, I uttered, with confidence, that I could have been an Olympic diver with the right dedication and coaching. The husband balked. I still maintain it was possible. I mean, the truth was I wasn't fast enough for swimming and track, and gymnastics--I was way over the hill when I began. But diving, with the gymnastics history and some good coaching, I swear I had a chance. I tried to say that all I needed was dedication, even starting the sport sort of old. Husband pointed out that the little Chinese girl was 16. I pointed out the American was 30. Eventually, we came to a stand still. Husband refused to buy that I could have been an Olympian with a little elbow grease.

Why tell this story? Because here I am engaging, again, in my own legend in my mind activity of training for a half marathon. Unfortunately, I've been running for so long that I know exactly how much training I need to do to finish the race (it's amazing how half-assed "training" can be). But because I've been a runner for so long, I still manage to spout nauseating self-righteous comments like, "no one understands the world of a runner, except other runners...." This is usually after I have been obsessing about how I am going to get my "long" run in and have said about 400 times to the husband, "but whatever we do, I need to get my long run in because it's important for my training to do my long runs...."

So. I manage to maybe run once a week in addition to my "long" run on the weekends. I have finished two 9 mile runs, which puts me in better shape that the half marathon I ran after Q was born. As long as I get a few more long runs in before October 5, the day of the event, I should be ok. We'll see.

When you are an athlete of a caliber like myself, a near Olympic athlete, one can never tell how it is all going to go.....

I'm Chuck Bass

2008-09-02T10:53:00.000-07:00

'Tis the season! TV is about to get good again. Things are already heated up with my major addiction to Mad Men, but now I have Gossip Girl to add to the list. I can't wait for my other shows going. Dexter, Gray's Anatomy and Top Chef are coming my way. Sometimes the end of summer is a good thing.

More Birthday News

2008-08-25T14:21:00.001-07:00

Mamma had a birthday, too. A half-way to 70 birthday. Yesterday. August 24. Here's a story:

Saturday was Q's 2nd year birthday party. The husband announced to me that we had dinner reservations that night for my birthday. I said, "But my birthday is tomorrow." and "It's 5 o'clock and I just had a cupcake and a hot dog! I won't be hungry." He was all soothy, "My folks are already babysitting." "It will be nice and relaxing." "Time to celebrate YOU!"

By the time 8pm came, I received my first gift. The in-laws announced that they were taking both kids for the night. The whole night. OMG, OMG, OMG I was about to sleep through the night for the first time in 4 months. I was beside myself with happiness. I decided it was the best birthday ever for that reason alone.

I bounced out of their building thinking a nice dinner out sounded quite wonderful. Images of goblet's of red wine filled my brain.But then we got to said "dinner" location. It was a bowling ally. I was annoyed. I sort of guessed something might be up when we arrived for bowling, and even then, I was put-out. I had worked myself into excitement over civilized eating. Eating where I didn't have to make nice with anyone and someone pampered me. The husband said, "it's just you and me. I thought it would be fun. Something different." I sighed and recalled the husband telling me I forgot socks when we left. I had looked down at my strappy shoes, and said, "socks?"

See, but then present number 2 happened. I walked into the bowling ally and saw two lanes filled with my closest friends. And they were partying like it was 1999. It warmed my heart. Really, I saw them all and got a little misty eyed. When they saw me, there was much jumping up and down and hugging and there was a beer put in my hand and with my smile not at all tentative I proceded to have the BEST bowling birthday party EVER!

But that is not all. Present number 3 arrived when I woke up the next morning to my spa day. 3 blissful hours of spa treatment. I came home afterwards and the husband and the kids were still not back. I went on a long run.

I loved my 24 hours off of mommy time, but I could not have been happier to see my little people at day's end. My husband got big wet kisses and lots of "you are the best husband who threw me the best party and gave me the best spa day and the best break from parenting!" You'd think he'd be thrilled by this attack of glee and kisses, but he was all squirming away.

Seriously, though. By the time it was time for my birthday dinner, nothing sounded more luxurious than Chinese food with my family.

Happy Birthday to me!

He Must Be Two

2008-08-21T16:06:00.000-07:00

Today officially ends the reign of "two under 2". My little man is having his birthday today. His sister went to the babysitter and my guy and I have had a great day together (he'll celebrate with his friends over the weekend). I can't help but notice some decidedly 2-like behavior, I guess to make sure as if I didn't already know, that he is actually 2. Every time there is a tantrum or the word "no!" is uttered, or some other grasp at independence is observed, I find myself smiling and saying "Is somebody 2? Seems like somebody is 2 years old!"

Even though mighty miss O was awake for half the night last night--she is happy, she just wants to yell and smile instead of sleep--and conversely so was her mommy, I feel like things are getting easier. I'm not sure why. Maybe just because she is becoming so much more lovable as she wakes up to the world, and little Q appears to finally accept her place in our family.

Happy birthday to my big boy!

Insomnia

2008-08-15T12:20:00.001-07:00

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. We were lucky enough to spend a week in the land of island breezes with the two kids--we got back from Hawaii nearly a week ago. The jet lag and the 4 month old who thinks it's time to wake up for the day at 4am are killing me.

This is what happens. Tired and cranky I drag myself to bed way later than I should. Who knew fencing and synchronized diving are so addicting? And to Michael Phelps I say, "Damn you!"

Anyway, I finally drag sorry self to bed. When the light goes off after a little bedtime reading, I start down a fruitless road that does no one any good. I think about how little miss will wake me up so I should really be asleep. It starts with worry about the upcoming night, then turns to worry about the next morning and then on and on about how I will be a mess and never sleep again. Once this anxiety is engaged in, it happens that every single noise (I try to say he's snoring, but maybe it is husband's loud breathing that bothers me) is as if someone is right at my ear torturing me. Eventually I get to sleep, but sometimes it takes a few hours. And horrifically, given my love of keeping myself awake, I go through the whole thing again after feeding little miss--not every night, just some nights.Add to this baby and 2 year old having their own sleep issues, and well. You can only imagine how fun I am in the morning. Yes, babies and insomnia are NOT a good mix.

The kids are both mercifully napping right now. Now I go to do the same.

On Having Two

2008-08-10T22:55:00.000-07:00

I finally reached out to a few friends who also have two kids.

Here are some quotes:

"Two is really friggin hard, let me tell you; I'm amazed I'm not living in Rio under an assumed name."

"Two kids is kicking our ass."

And this response from a dear friend (and mother of two) when I chose to rant about how hard my life had become:

"Keep your eyes on the prize. Every day/week/month you get through is a glorious victory. It will get better and it will go by much faster than Q's first 4 months. And then you will ferberize the hell out of her in a few short days and forget the incredible suffering you experienced and move on with your life and fast."

I really love the lack of sentimentality on that one. I'm not kidding. I do. I love it.

Then there is the moms group where a lot of moms have kids slightly older than Q and newborns similarly aged as baby O. One mom finally admitted that the hours late in the afternoon were hard for her (now I know why it is "happy hour" at 5. Because honestly? The end of the day, say around 4pm when nap time is a long ago memory and bedtime isn't till 8pm? Yeah. That is the longest freakin' hour of the day. 4pm to 5pm. I was wondering how people got through it, and then I realized, oh! "Happy" hour). Finally, one honest mom said, "Late afternoon? I'm counting the hours till bedtime immediatly after she wakes from her nap!"

Despite this negative tone, it is all wonderful too. Especially when Q is making baby O cackle her little head off and you, as a parent, realize they have a relationship totally their own already. There are other aspects of joy as well. The love you have for these little beings is so beyond amazing it is impossible for me to put into words. But that said, I am really glad to have the above quotes to know that I am not alone in the toddler newborn struggle. Really, everything would be fine with a few good nights of sleep (now a distant memory).

The sad part is that even as I write all of this, I get that it will be over before I know it. And knowing me, I'll even miss it:)

What's a Blogger to Do?

2008-07-16T09:41:00.000-07:00

Hi. Ho. Hey there. Remember me? What's a blogger to do when they are unmotivated to blog and actually, not very good at mommy blogging? Especially given that there won't be any angsty pregnancy posts for a loooong time, or never. Pregnancy posts are the kind of posts I am good at. Or, at least am motivated to do.

There are so many amazing mommy bloggers out there. I am not so good at it and for some reason I don't like putting my kids lives on the internet as much (but I recognize what is great about it and will probably be bummed out not to have a record of all we are experiencing)as my own life. Maybe I will blog when I can selfishly say, "it really is all about me." In any case, if anyone is still reading, perhaps a post here and there, but maybe not so much as things have definitely changed around these parts.

One thing I don't mind sputtering about is my stupid post pregnancy weight. July 20th will mark 3 months post-partum. I am fighting for every.Single.Pound. I hate it. Hello trying to loose weight at 35. I am exercising, I am eating well (pretty well) and yet, the scale remains where it is, or it takes a few weeks for a pound. It SUCKS. It would be one thing if I weren't doing the work. But doing the work for no results? Bah.

On that happy note, I leave. Hopefully it will be less than a few months before I blog again!

Yay for Gay Marriage!

2008-05-16T11:13:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted due to lack of motivation, exhaustion and fear that I might post something awfully negative and people might accuse me of not loving my new daughter. I do love her very much, and in fact she is pretty chill. Not colicky or anything. That said, I guess I blocked out what happens in "infant" world because for some reason I have reacted to the pain in the ass of breastfeeding every 2 to 3 hours 24 hours a day every day since they day she was born with no end in sight with shock that it's hard. I've never done well without sleep. Here I am again. Also my other sleep issues, the ones that are there baby or no baby don't help.

One way to get through this time, I’ve noticed, is finding dumb TV shows to download on my computer and watch. I watched 7 episodes of a show called Lipstick Jungle, and have now forayed into the world of Gossip Girl. It’s so bad, but it is so good. At night the husband and I have discovered The Wire. No shame there. At least I am reading good books again. Here's my last few: "Divisadero" by Michael Ondaatje, "Out Stealing Horses" by Per Petterson and "10 Days in the Hills" by Jane Smiley. I have to admit that last one was a little scintillating, but the woman won a Pulitzer, so she can write. Next up is "When We Were Orphans" by Kazuo Ishiguro. It really is better to read good writing. Every time I come out of a “light” reading phase, I wonder what I was thinking when such great writers are available to read.

Why am I writing all this when I wanted to write about how happy I am that my lovely progressive state has overturned the ban on Gay marriage!? Oh, right. I wanted to write something positive so that people won’t think I don’t love baby O. I am very psyched about this recent turn of current events. People talk about the "San Francisco bubble," meaning that when you live in such a liberal city, you are surprised when other places are more conservative. And it's true that happens. It’s weird.

Anyway, I don’t know what my point is exactly, except that I, for one, am glad my bubble is making national news. Yay for Gay marriage!

Two Weeks and Counting

2008-05-05T10:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday marked two weeks of Baby O as a family member. She's doing fine, and Quinn is handling the changes nicely. Daddy is taking care of everyone. I am taking care of O. I forgot that initial breastfeeding isn't like when they're 6 months and know how to plug themselves in during the night. You know, do it so that we both mostly sleep through it? Right now I am still trying to teach this little one that feeding lying down is the best way, but right now, she is only a master of the football hold.

The other thing is that, with Q, I remember feeding him and then passing him to the husband for diaper changes and for settling him back to sleep. But now that the husband is on full time toddler duty, and therefore toddler breakfast duty (actually, the husband has always done breakfast, great guy that he is), I feel more responsibility to take on the nighttime stuff since I know I can't deal with Q's morning routine and be up at night. That extra time, of changing the diaper and trying to settle her back down? It adds up to a lot less sleep.

These complaints are minor. I know we're lucky to be a zombified state of exhaustion because baby O is here. And honestly, despite all of this, including still recovering from the delivery and the sore boobs and other physical complaints, I am so glad I am not longer pregnant and I am so happy to have O. Just sleeping on my back is a miracle of miracles.

We woke up one morning to O squawking in her little crib in our room, and right as I got on my elbows to see what the fuss was about, Quinn overturned a laundry basket spreading dirty clothes all over. He then put the lightweight basket over his head giggling uncontrollably the whole time. As this was happening, Man's Best Friend decided she heard some prowlers and decided to bark her head off. It was 6am and the husband and I just started laughing.I think I said something about monkeys running the asylum.

I'm not complaining. This is what we signed up for.

Why Is This Night Different From All Other Nights?

2008-04-25T12:05:00.000-07:00

The very evening of my last post, right in the middle of the matza ball soup, I went into labor. And by 8:46 the morning of April 20th, we became parents again! We have a little girl. Let's call her baby O for now (I am struggling, as Q gets older and more recognizable with how anonymous I want to be on this blog. Part of me wants the whole world to know it all, part of me wants to keep it less identifiable. But this is a post for another time; right now I have as story to tell)

On the way to Seder dinner with the grandparents, my in-laws, I started having some contractions. I noted to the husband that these were a bit more intense than usual and "this could be it! Pease, God, make it be it."

We arrived and met up with my brother and sister-in-law and the grandparents. Funny, it was a Passover dinner filled with more gentiles than Jews, and you could tell. It was the most pathetic Seder rendering I’ve seen, and at this point, I’ve seen a few. Husband's family is quite funny. They are of the NYC Jew variety. They're obviously very Jewish, but they are not at all religious. For example, most Jewish holiday celebrations in their house involve conversations on whether Zabar’s is better than Tall Bagel for supplies. It’s always about the food. At our Passover dinner, Husband’s father waved his hand over the plate with all the stuff on it sort of said something about tears and the desert and "blah blah blah, let's eat."

By this time, I had told everyone that I was having some pretty intense contractions, but we had nothing regular going on, so there was nothing to do but eat. I did feel irritation as everyone would stare at me and say "was that a bad one?" with a look of gleeful hope on their face as I grimaced in pain.

Finally, by the time we got to dessert, they were coming regularly. About 10 minutes apart. It was time to go. We decided to leave Q where he was and go home, get the hospital bag, call the dogwalker to pick up Faithful Lab and make sure all was in order before jetting to the hospital.

I had a few tears as I said good-bye to my little man. I told him next time we met he'd have to make room for me to love another. He responded by pointing to his "Brown Bear" book, which I read for him through my tears. I finally decided I had to go lest I begin to freak him out. I was feeling very emotional.

By the time we got home things had slowed down. I must complain about all the waiting around of labor. We had to wait until 11pm before anything was regular enough to justify going in, but during that time, I was still contracting and in massive pain and getting tired. My first "hello!" contraction started on my way to dinner at 4pm. By the time 11pm came and it was time to leave, they never were more than 20 minutes apart, but I knew enough to know we’d be sent home if I arrived any earlier. As it was, they only admitted me because my labor with Q had gone so quickly. Otherwise, they might have made us go away.

I was about 4 cm dilated when arrived and the contractions had grown closer, more like 5 minutes apart. They agreed to admit us and put us in a labor room. The contractions started getting very intense. Last time, when I had Quinn, I had vaguely bought into all the natural childbirth holistic fanatics of San Francisco and was all "I'll try to do it naturally." Things had gone fast and I had a baby a mere few hours later. As the contractions got worse this time, my memories of natural childbirth came flooding back, as well as a distinct feeling of realizing I have nothing to prove this time. I’ve been there and done that with the natural childbirth thing and it wasn’t all so fabulous. It wasn’t horrible, it just didn’t feel necessary to do again. I asked for my epidural.

I have my weird blood pressure issues. My blood pressure runs very low, and when they give me anesthesia is seems to get lower. As a result, the anesthesiologist decided that I needed a very low dose of whatever they give in order to keep my blood pressure stable. While the epi certainly helped matters, I was still in a lot of pain despite its presence. And it seems that getting it did slow things down. I do wonder if I could have just dealt with the pain if it would have been a quicker evening. But who cares. There were no major complications and by morning I had a beautiful daughter.

We waited all night for things to get moving faster. Finally the overeager resident gave me some Petossin. Then she broke my water bag (Guru would be horrified I allowed all this “intervention”. But honestly, I just wanted this part of having the baby over with. I wanted the actual baby! Anything to speed it up was ok with me.) Finally our extremely awesome experienced nurse informed the resident that I was pushing and told the resident, who was trying to leave the room, that she probably shouldn’t leave the room and actually, she should check me again. I was groaning and making guttural pushing noises as I involuntarily started pushing baby O out.

When it was officially time to push (again, thank god for awesome nurse who called for an attending and another nurse to help) I was determined to get her out. I think it was less than 10 minutes of actual pushing before I heard her cry. It is the best sound to hear when you’ve just delivered a child. It is seriously the best sound.

There was much crying and holding baby O and husband and I gazing adoringly at her and then at each other. Q visited later in the day and all appeared to go well. I wasn’t holding the baby when he came in, we had a present for him from the baby to him. We gave the baby a present from him that he had picked out earlier in the week. I don’t think he got any of it, but he did enjoy playing with all the hospital stuff.

Since our arrival home, the husband has primarily taken over the care of Quinn while I have grappled with the familiar feeling of sore nipples, boobs and midnight feedings. I still find it complicated to understand how I love and want to love baby O with all my heart, and still feel a pang of loss for little Q, who will now share me forever. Overall, the joy of having a sibling far outweighs how hard it is, but there are times when he’s been calling for me and I can’t go to him because I am breastfeeding or something and my heart does break a little for him. Still, he is doing fantastic overall and I can’t say that I’ve ever heard anyone say that having a sibling ended up the biggest trauma of their life.

The husband, Q and Loyal Lab are at the park. It is beautiful out. Baby O and I are enjoying some coffee on the back porch as I finish this post. Life is good.

Seriously. Seriously, the Longest Week

2008-04-19T09:19:00.000-07:00

Still here, a family of 3 (plus the lab). They stripped my membranes yesterday. My fluid looked fine.I am close to 3 centimeters dilated. All that and here I am.

Here's the silver lining.I assumed I'd have a new kid by now, in fact, I assumed I would have a new kid a few weeks ago. As a result my schedule is completely clear. Even the husband has little to do as we wait.

The last few days with Q have been the most wonderful gifts. That is a nice reframe, right? They're gifts, you can really look at that way. We've spent the days together. I feel like I've had time with him that I haven't truly had these last pregnant months when there was the no lifting and the working and the stress of not being home.

I guess I get at least one more precious day with him today.

Due Date

2008-04-18T08:22:00.000-07:00

Hiya! It's my due date! Where's my new baby?? Not here yet. I was up for a few hours early this morning with some very strong lower back pain and a few contractions, but here it is 8:23am west coast time and there's nothing doing.

There still is a chance that I could be induced today since my fluid was a little low at antenatal testing earlier this week. Did I tell you about that? I probably avoided it because the only reason I go in every week is because I am so OLD.

Anyway, they saw me Wednesday and my amniotic fluid had gone down to just this side of normal. They want to see me today.

We are bringing the hospital bag and the infant car seat. Wishful thinking, I suspect.

A Moment of Zen

2008-04-16T13:56:00.000-07:00

No new baby yet.

HOWEVER, I feel like I have settled down the crazy the last few days. Maybe it's the amazing quality time with Quinn, which feels so wonderful. He is so fantastic right now--so verbal, so funny and so unaware that he is so funny. I smile so much when I'm with him. It's hard to even write about. I read back what I wrote and it seems so hollow compared to my experience. Ew. Gush.

Then there is the fact that we are back home, the licensing exam is done, work is done, the old baby clothes are unearthed (yes, I will have a baby girl in blue onesies) the new diapers purchased. Even I am having trouble finding new nesting habits. Between the in-laws, the nanny (who we still have full-time until the end of this month) and myself, everyone is chomping at the bit to spend time with Quinn, so I get to rest when I need rest and spend time with him when I feel like I can. This new space of not having 1,000 things to do while waiting for the arrival if little girl actually is sort of nice and has forced me to relax. I don't have that much to do, so now I actually pick up a book or take a bath.

Yesterday, at my yoga class, I was meditating with my hands on the belly. I realized that here I am 40 freaking weeks pregnant(!!) with a healthy happy child and a lovely home. Why am I am complaining? During this short period of enlightenment, I sent some yummy thought waves to the little girl and actually, for one whole moment, felt very content.

When I got home I noticed all the dust that is still in the house from construction, realized that we have no place for the dog (poor, poor dog--such an afterthought) when I go into the hospital and found a few other tidbits to obsess on. But really, overall that moment of zen in yoga has continued--in it's way. Maybe I have to get here for my body to get there.

Friday is 40 weeks officially.

I'm Still Cooking

2008-04-14T10:52:00.000-07:00

I woke up yesterday morning with some nice contractions. It was 4am. I was so psyched. I thought the time had come, it echoed my experience with Quinn so nicely. But no. They didn't last.

We went to a movie last night. Same deal. I had some good activity beforehand and while they weren't regular, I had about 5 good and somewhat painful contractions. None of them were more than 25 minutes apart. They stopped, too.

I woke up today with no apparent activity in my uterus (not including the movement of little baby girl).

Poop.

OK, how much of a baby can I be? Did I just write "poop"?

I'm going upstairs to clean out the changing table.

The Longest Week For Real

2008-04-09T21:49:00.001-07:00

I think that at a certain point in pregnancy, every week must feel like it lasts forever. I blamed last week on the exam. But here I am still pregnant and feeling like time is going by so slowly. On Monday I thought it was Thursday, on Tuesday I thought it was Wednesday, today I mentioned something about someone dropping by who isn't coming until tomorrow. It must be wishful thinking because time has apparently stopped.

Throughout the pregnancy I questioned how I would handle having two under 2. I don't question that anymore. I don't care. Anything sounds better than being pregnant. Even the husband, usually extremely patient with my pregnancy emotions, broke down and yelled at my belly, "Give me back my wife!!" I think I was in the middle of one of my recent outbursts of..um...feedback.

People with two warned me the last month is the worst. I didn't believe them because I figured that with the whole pre-term labor issue, I would just be so happy to make it to term that I couldn't feel badly at the end. It’s true that I am happy and grateful to be here. And the other is true, too. In some ways it IS the hardest month. Why? My moodiness, the exhaustion, the hips, oh the hips, the back, the apparent brain damage (I know that one doesn’t actually go away, my inability to form coherent sentences is just beginning) and the lack of sleep are all aspects of month 9 that I can no longer abide.

If I make it to Friday, it will be 39 weeks. Q was born at 39 weeks and 4 days. Despite my efforts at trying to encourage labor--like lifting Q a hundred times a day, a practice I suspect is giving me permanent back damage while not seemingly increasing contractions--I think this little girl may give him a run for his money and try to make it to her due date, a week from Friday.

I'll keep you posted.

The Longest Week

2008-04-04T18:23:00.000-07:00

So this week was the longest of my whole pregnancy. Not because anything happened regarding the pregnancy or Quinn or anything, but because, just for fun, just to make things more interesting than they already are, today I took my licensing exam! And this week of anticipating the exam ended up taking for-ev-er. That’s right. I’m nuts to have done this. With every thing else, I don’t know why I added this anxiety of studying for a major exam while parenting a toddler, remodeling our house and enduring high-risk pregnancy. It wasn’t fun. Just ask the husband; he’s the one who dealt with my emotional responses to this pickle I’ve created.

Here’s the deal. When you have a MSW (Masters in Social Work) and practice in the state of California, you jump many hoops to become an LCSW (Licensed Clinical Social Worker. Ooh! Aaaah!). You need about 3,000 or so hours of direct supervised service, you have to take classes and then, when all those hours and classes are finally signed off on and approved, you have to take not one but two big exams. You do all that work just to change the three letters after your name into 4 letters after your name. There are other advantages, but this post is already probably boring.

It usually takes about 2-3 years after graduate school to get licensed. I graduated in 2002, then I worked for a few years, then I moved out of state, worked there, came back and lazily started the process of getting all my hours accounted for and signed off on in 2005. Then I got pregnant for the first time. I dropped the ball. Since then I’ve been busy with other stuff.

But this last year, I started noticing this awful phenomenon of people getting licensed who appeared to be so spankin’ fresh out of graduate school. It started to bug me. How come they got to become LCSW’s when I have so much more experience? At work there is a “LCSW Study Group” for people in the process of preparing for their exam. I expressed interest in attending. The leader, and extremely experienced colleague, innocently said, “You’re not licensed yet? I always think of you as licensed.” Gee, that might be because I have been out of graduate school for 6 freakin’ years!

Anyway, I decided to get my ass in gear. I finally dealt with getting all the paperwork together and was eventually approved by the powers that be to take my exam. I scheduled it for today. The day I turned 38 weeks pregnant.

I had about 5 weeks to prepare. I studied in a half-assed way and told myself that if I failed, who could really blame me? I am barely studying and mucho pregnant. But I thought, if I pass, how great would that be? One major step towards licensure finished, never to be redone. I couldn’t imagine trying to get this done with a new baby….It would mean putting it off until I started work again, at the very least.

This last week I took practice exams every day, and mostly did dismally. The week went so slowly, especially as I have become more and more uncomfortable. Sitting in café’s for 4 hour stretches….it’s not good for the hips/back/psyche. Plus there was that nagging fear that whatever preparation I did would be for nothing if I went into labor before taking the test.

I didn’t blog about this process because I would have been too ashamed to admit to my failure (even though I kept on telling myself it was no biggy) and I didn’t want to jinx anything.

Which, if you are Sherlock Holmes-ey enough to notice that I decided to write this fascinating post about the process of social work licensing in the state of CA , you have probably already guessed that I passed!! I am so relieved.

One more exam in the next year, and you can call me KMW, LCSW. Actually, on second thought, maybe I should just stick with “Master KMW” and focus on my family. Put that way, it has a nice ring for now.

Babysitter Blues

2008-04-01T11:44:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my last day of work! Yay! It couldn't have happened a moment sooner since walking from the parking lot to my building felt like hiking up Everest.

I managed to put myself in a tizzy of guilt (yes, a familiar theme with me) about the fact that we still have our babysitter for little Q. We needed to guarantee her a certain amount of hours when I required her full time, and nothing has changed yet in terms of our contract. We are trying to figure out our summer plans and what to do to keep her happy since we'll need her again when I go back to work in the fall. She is so great we don’t want to lose her. But obviously, I am home now, and will be home all summer. So, long story short, nothing has changed yet. We're still paying her for a lot of childcare.

My plan, until I deliver, at least, is to give little Q his time with his pals and main squeeze, D (the nanny), and to also make his day much shorter with her and have several hours with his real main squeeze, ME. The mommy.

My guilt is that now that I am able to be with him all the time, I feel like I should be with him all day. Especially when things happen like at the 2 year old birthday party on Sunday where a few moms mentioned that they see Quinn at the playground. The playground that they go to with their children while my child arrives with Nanny D.

Everything is about to change for him, I really feel like some QT, one on one with me, is important. After all, he will never have me in this way again. What he will have will be great in it’s own way, it just won’t be Quinn! The center of the Universe!

The reasons I am not taking him back fulltime are a) we are paying D anyway, might as well take advantage b) he’s got a good thing going with his friends and I don’t actually think taking that away from him to be with grumpy tired me all day is necessarily better for him, and c) I am so freakin’ tired. As the husband said, “You’re not working now because theoretically you can’t. You are too pregnant. You should not feel bad because taking care of him is hard. You need to take care of yourself, too” Right.

This morning, I decided to drop him off nice and late. We were at the grocery store getting some food together for his lunch after a great morning of playing (we still don’t have a kitchen, but we should have one by Friday, thank god). My back was hurting. I had a big cramp going down my leg from some nerve in my lower back. Whatever. It’s par for course at this stage, right? Quinn started to melt down in the store. Eventually, I knew he was going to need to be picked up. With my groceries in one hand, I scooped him up in the other arm (“Ouch!” said my lower back). He took his toy train and walloped me in the head. “Ouch!” I said “That hurt!”

I finally got him, with me panting and with a shooting pain down my leg, to the car. I finagled his arching tantruming body into the car seat while he tried to pull my hair and pinch my face. The joy of toddlerhood never ceases to amaze. I hoisted myself into the driver seat. I looked at him pointedly in the rearview mirror, “Time to go see D, little man.”

I called husband up after dropping him off and confessed that I couldn’t manage a few hours on my own with him. What is wrong with me? He assured me that it is because I am 9 months pregnant and told me to go home and take a nap.

I am picking Quinn up early this afternoon. Here’s hoping it goes better.

Still Pregnant

2008-03-25T21:39:00.000-07:00

I'm here, I'm cerclage free, and I am still pregnant.

Now that you know the main facts, I will now bitch about my issues with anesthesia. Yesterday was mostly fine. The anesthesiologist appeared competent. She was very attentive when I told her that I felt sensation (to say the least) when the cerclage was placed in October. I forgot to tell her my other side effect, which is that my blood pressure plummets and I get totally nauseated. They call it a "vagal response.” There’s something about all these needles—needles in my veins, needles drawing blood, needles in my spinal cavity. I really hate it and I get very panicky. Especially when I can’t breath and think I’m about to throw up. So, as I said, Dr. Anesthesiologist was very attentive and pushed some other stuff into the IV when I started saying, “I can’t breathe!” and “I feel like I need to puke.” I don’t know what she did, but those drugs made me feel better than I have in weeks. It is the only good thing I will say about the anesthesia.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the blue screen draped between my head and the rest of my body, Dr. Cerclage was taking his time trying to get his famous stitch out. He told me he was about to give up hunting (which means I’d be scheduling a c-section) when, “aha!,” he finally saw a little piece of thread he could grab hold of. Snip. Dr. C then asked if my throat hurt because "that's how far up the stitch was."

I immediately dilated one centimeter. "I'll give you the first one for free, you have to work for the rest," Dr. C announced. He says these obnoxious-sounding things, but he is so twinkle eyed and caring and paternal that you can't help not minding one bit. I was out of the stirrups and out of the operating room in 20 minutes total.

But I digress. The anesthesia took forever to wear off. Twenty minutes in the OR but hours in the recovery room waiting for the drugs to get out of my system. I was wiped last night from all the drugs but happily had my first good night sleep in weeks.

Unfortunately, story doesn't end here.

Today I had the worst headache since my bout with meningitis when I was 8 years old. It lasted all day and was an awful, throbbing pain that made me totally incapable of doing anything but moan. I was nauseated. I finally left work. I called the husband and he could tell I was beside myself. He called Dr. Cerclage’s trusty assistant. She called me immediately and told me I was having a "spinal headache" and that I needed to go back to the hospital right away and get a "blood patch." I did as I was told. It sucked. It involved ANOTHER IV, another needle in my back and another needle in my arm. A new anesthesiologist drew blood from my arm and immediately squirted it into my back—to “patch” the leaky hole in my spinal column that was giving me that headache. Disgusting. But the headache is gone.

I swear to God I am considering natural childbirth just to avoid all the needles. If I went into labor tonight, there is no way would let anyone near me with another syringe. Famous last words…..

Removal

2008-03-23T21:36:00.000-07:00

My husband read my last post, and rather than tell me how sorry he felt for me and empathize with my situation--of which he is intimately involved--he said, "Aren't you going to write about the fact that your cerclage is coming out on Monday?" I replied a little wounded, that my cerclage removal wasn't what was "coming up" during last post's process. He responded, again, quite unsympathetically, "But your blog is called 'My Cerclage.'” Really. It’s as if that tidbit were enough to guilt me into actually writing about…well…about my cerclage.

The husband is right that I should post about this considering that removal is more intensive than last time. Dr. C made an incision to get it in, and it will be a minor surgery again to get it out. I'm having a spinal. Yuck. I hate that damn needle in my back. When we discussed it and I said as much, Dr.C, in his usual humble mode, pointed out that I can't have it both ways, "You don't get a stitch up to your ears and then think that you can take it out snip, snip." In fact, Dr. C says there is a chance he won't be able to get it out at all. That's another story, of which I won't bother telling unless I have too.

In other news, I am relieved to announce that I am blogging from my home after moving back today. There is STILL work to be done and we will remain in a bit of camping out status for a week or so, but being in my own bed is so sweet, and the house looks great.

Also, I am thrilled to be over 36 weeks with nary a day of bed rest all pregnancy. Wish me luck for my long day at the hospital waiting for the spinal to wear off so that I can go home, completely stich free and hang out with my little man. Thankfully, my mom is in town to be with him for the day so the husband can give me the much needed empathy I need:)

I'm Too Sensitive

2008-03-19T22:06:00.001-07:00

For my job! Thank God it ends soon. Next week is my last week. I wish my last day were tomorrow. Last week was very intense. Intense is often a part of my work. It's just that now I am ill equipped to manage it. Hearing of terrible domestic violence, or poverty or, and this was unusual, a baby who died in intensive care...it is just too much. I'm too affected. Of course because I work in pediatrics there are always children involved. I just can't see their little faces and know some of the sad, sad truths about their lives right now. I sound very dramatic because, honestly, I often find my patients inspiring and I encounter a lot of hope at work. But as I said, I'm too sensitive these days. It’s funny how these aspects of pregnancy do turn out to be true. I cry at nothing. Everyone says you're more sensitive, but for some reason now, at the very end, it is really happening in a way I can really see. I don't often well up in tears because a patient tells me they're having trouble paying their rent. I'm serious. That happened. I shouldn't be interacting with these people anymore.

Monday night I slept very badly. On Tuesday my husband all but forced me to call in sick. It was a great idea. I had just finished reading The Other Boleyn Girl, which as far as I can tell, is one step above a trashy novel. It was sort of like a soap opera--everyone having sex and backstabbing each other. It was great. I'm back to my usual inability to read anything serious during pregnancy. Yesterday I went to the 11:45am showing of the movie. It stunk but that’s probably because after just reading the book I was bound to be disappointed. Still, the guilty pleasure aspect of going to a stupid movie after reading a stupid book wasn't lost. I needed it. Afterwards I picked up Q and spent the afternoon with him which was lovely, especially because I was well rested and in good spirits. Today back at work and my heart is not in it. My last day is Thursday the 27th.

It can't come soon enough.

Why Am I Awake?

2008-03-05T23:27:00.000-08:00

Tell me? My husband is snoring next to me. The baby is asleep in his temporary room (oh yes, we are still living in the hovel. We will not be home until the weekend of March 22nd!!) I am totally exhausted.

Why I am awake?

I'm making a list:

1. I am living in a hovel.
2. I am nearly 34(!) weeks pregnant and my body does not get comfy easily at sleep time.
3. I am a terrible insomniac.I have been my whole life. In fact, I can't believe I haven't dedicated more blog time to my sleep issues. They're major.
4. I am filled with anxiety over nothing and everything (hence: sleep issues). A few of things I can do nothing about at midnight that make me worry: ruining my son's life with a new baby, preschool for said son, labor--this subject will get its own post soon, having two children under two, my unfinished house and my poor dog.

You know what? I'm really tired after writing all that. Maybe my list worked as good sleep hygiene.I am ready to put my issues to bed (no pun intended) and actually drift away to dream land.

I know you can't tell me why I am awake anyway.

I Can't Handle the Truth

2008-02-25T21:41:00.000-08:00

My big brother arrived back from Europe! He is back in the Bay Area to stay and I am no longer the lone West coaster of my family. He landed with a new family member, just 4 months old.

Little Q and I went to visit his new cousin. At first he was very into her, smiling and gently touching her. But then I decided to help out and feed her a bottle. He pushed at her little body. He slapped my thigh and looked at me. He eventually dissolved into tears, inconsolably whining "Mooommy! Mommmy! Mommy!" as he pushed at her again.

I told him in no uncertain terms that we do not push and hit and that I am feeding his cousin and will continue to do so for one more minute. I finished giving her the bottle (one more minute's worth). Then I gave him a hug.

My brother and sister-in-law didn't know that their new kid would be used in this experiment. They looked a little stunned, but overall seemed to be okay with it.

What have we gotten ourselves into?

Cheating, Who Me?

2008-02-23T13:07:00.000-08:00

Apparently, the teething was the main issue. Poor guy. Despite round the clock Motrin, Quinn was having a hard hard time with the new big fat teeth. It seems like they've arrived, and now he is much happier and also back to himself a bit. In addition, we have all gotten used to the hovel and everyone is sleeping better. That first week was tough. Teeth, hovel, pregnancy and all the rest were too much for me. Good news, because two weeks left before returning home turned back into 3 weeks. I'm hoping we'll be back home before mid-March. We'll see.

Nothing else to report. It is raining here today. I am by myself with Quinn. Yes, I spend time with him by myself because I am a cheater. I started cheating at 28 weeks. I looked in to the archives of this blog. That's when I started cheating last time, too. I pick him up now and then. We do all sorts of things I shouldn't do. Dr. C gets mad and compliments his great stitch, implying, as usual, it has nothing to do with me. In fact, he implies the only reason disaster hasn't struck is his handiwork--given my level of non-compliance. Hey, at least I tell the truth. I'm not hiding that I cheat.I think Dr. C has it wrong. It's my cervix that is so great. It doesn't help my motivation that nothing changes on every ultrasound in spite of my increased activity. It gets worse and worse as I get further along because I tend to rationalize now if the stitch is so great, it will probably hold if it needs to.

They set me free at 34 weeks during Q's pregnancy. That's just two weeks from now. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that all continues to go well. Dr. C hasn't given a firm date for "regular" activity, but knowing him, it won't be until he removes his amazing handiwork at 36-37 weeks. Still, that's not too long from now. Not long at all.

Who is this Child and Where is my Son?

2008-02-20T10:20:00.000-08:00

18 months. The joy. Luckily, I have read some info on the trusty internet and I have learned about sleep regression, tantrums and the general insanity of the 18 month old. It isn't cold comfort since it helps me know I am not insane, but I can't say the advice is so helpful. Books have some advice, but the real moms on forums just say wait it out. It goes away and your loving child comes back. It gets better again at 20 months. Only problem here is that at 20 months the plan is to have a newborn. Maybe he is training me for what is to come in terms of sleep deprivation and patience.

Quinn throws a tantrum every 5 minutes. He has started waking up at 4am, totally inconsolable. He throws food. Teeth are budding. He is miserable. He wants only Mommy, who is 7 1/2 months pregnant and living on a hovel (violins, please!). Last night as I fell into bed so exhausted having been up since 4am, I prayed this morning would be better. No such luck. I am about to get into the shower to go to work and do a shitty job since I feel nauseated I am so tired. All the forums from the mommy's of 18 months olds talk about how totally tiring it is. I can't help but note that it is so much worse for me (violins, again! Please?) given my delicate condition.

I am such a martyr. Really. This is another problem of fortune I am overall grateful to have. I have a child who is doing developmentally exactly what he should, and I am nearly 32 weeks pregnant—a milestone that for me that is cause for trumpets.

Yet, I would like my son back. The sweet one who pretty much sleeps through the night and who smiles, plays independently and eats almost anything you put in front of him. This new kid doesn't sleep, he tantrums every 5 minutes and he hardly eats anything or throws what you give him to the floor if it is not to his liking. The only saving grace is the poor guy is so miserable that you can't help but feel for him. It's a saving grace because I DO have some empathy for this new spawn that helps me be loving and kind despite wanting to scream and run away. Honestly, sometimes he looks so beseechingly at me, like "Help me! I am trying to tell you so much but I CAN'T and it SUCKS!!!" I am able to say "I know little man. I know."

Some good news (I'm finding it's helpful to end on a good note). The painters say we can be back in two weeks. I thought it would be 3. I know I will be able to handle this better at home in my king size bed. The hovel is taking its toll.

A List of Complaints!

2008-02-13T20:00:00.000-08:00

Day 3 in the hovel and it is superbad. Not in a Super Bad "I'm a bad motherfucker way" like Samual Jackson's wallet, but in a super NOT GOOD kind of way. I'm not sure why I didn't realize that we would also have to pack up all of our belongings with the issue of the new paint and new floors, but after talking to the contractor yesterday, it became clear a long night was ahead of us. The husband and I stayed packing till 11. Q was with his Granny, recently renamed "Nanny", his version of "Granny." Honestly, I can't think of a more appropriate nickname for her since he is with her ALL THE TIME and she has become our nanny of sorts. Actually, she is trying to steal my child! No, no, she is a big help (insert self-conscious laugh and a “where did that come from?” here). She is totally a big help to us, and also, she wants to steal my child. Um, just kidding. She is a big help (steal child!)

The other night we were at her place, and Q was having a little meltdown as I helped him into his PJ's. She walked in and of course up when his arms and "Up!" said his little voice. She whisked him right out of my lap. He looked down at pathetic mommy, who remained sprawled on the floor, calmly and without the recent tears. Nanny held out her hand for his PJ bottoms and matter of factly said, “I’ll do it." I imagined myself morphing into a tiger, as I roared “No you will NOT. Give me my child, you thief!" But what did I do? I dumbly handed her the PJ bottoms. I'm sure you've figured out by now that this grandmother is not my mother. Had it been my mom I would have just said, "Go away, Mom. I got it." I'd say it with an eye roll and in a totally irritated tone. It's so unfair how I tend to revert to the obnoxious teenager with her. Poor Mom. But that's another post....

The real truth is that Nanny (husband's mom) is a very, very nice dedicated grandmother and usually very careful about undermining the husband and me as parents. In normal times, I feel extremely lucky to have her so actively involved in his life. I can't lift the baby and he needed to be hoisted up to calm down. I'm sure she was trying to be helpful knowing my limitations right now. I am just going through some emotional moods as I encounter the very end of my rope.

Knowing that these are my last 10 (9?8?) weeks with baby Q before Miss Thang comes along, and wracked with guilt over why we are doing something that means extra stress on him when we are about to bring extra stress on him with Miss T's arrival AND when I already feel like I can't do so many things for him...whatever. I can clearly go on for hours. Exhausted and overwhelmed, I find myself in tears at least once a day. The not sleeping probably isn’t helping, either.

Of course I hit a low tonight feeding Q "dinner." We forgot pots and pans, so we have nothing to heat the eggs, beans, pasta and other warm things we brought (cheap pots and pans will be purchased tomorrow) from home. Pickings were slim in the fridge. Little Q got Cheerios for dinner. And there was something about that, feeding him cold Cheerios, which I found totally depressing. Especially since the hovel is pretty freakin' depressing on its own.

You guys SAID I could complain. Oh, wait!! Good news! I will end on a good happy note.

I had an appointment with Dr. Cerclage today. Ultrasound showed cervix over 4cm. Dr. C was very pleased. His eyes twinkled with joy as he congratulated himself on his great stitch. Dr. Cerclage really is an original. I congratulated myself and he congratulated himself. Win win. I will be 31 weeks Friday☺

Problem of Fortune

2008-02-11T19:33:00.000-08:00

I swore I would not complain about this issue because this situation truly is a problem of fortune. I recognize that. I do, I really, really do.

We were able to buy a small house in SF several years ago. An old, paint peeling off the walls, tile coming up off the bathroom floor, Victorian type SF house. When we moved in we said that we would do some "work" at some point. While not bad, the place needed a face-lift. We put our TV stand, a TV stand bought at a garage sale 10 years ago, in the corner of the living room. We declared, "this is just a temporary spot" on move in day. We saw the curtains leftover from the previous owners. "Ug" we said. “Those are horrible.”

Needless to say the TV stand with its hulking TV perched on top remains in it’s “temporary” spot, as do the gross curtains. There was never a point in redecorating because we knew the whole place needed a paint job and why design for this gross paint when we’ll need to change it anyway?

Soon after moving in I became pregnant. Then I was not pregnant. Then I was pregnant again a few months later. Then we were new parents. And finally, when Quinn was not quite a year old I became pregnant again. Here we are. This time we decided to try to deal with our house before becoming a family of 4. We probably started the process in September/October. Meaning, we started talking about what to realistically get done. Decisions were made and contractors blew us off. 5 contractor conversations and the holidays and holy shit it was late January but the project began.

I promised I wouldn't complain. After all, it is a problem of fortune to be able to repaint the interiors of your house and retile your bathroom. But then I learned we have lead paint in our old Victorian built over 100 years ago. And I observed even without lead paint a lot of chemicals are swirling around when people are “refurbishing” your old original doors (what is "bondo" anyway?) These smells gave pregnant mommy a headache and heart attack as I worried about my 17 month old child and my unborn child breathing in the fumes of our problem of fortune.

Our pediatrician took it in stride, noting that many a family has repainted an old Victorian in SF and they actually don't see many consequences if the painters ventilate properly. My beloved Peri said "get out of there. I don't want you breathing that air." My anxiety level alone meant we probably had to move for a bit. We knew it was a probability anyway given that in this problem of fortune we decided to redo our floors too.

I told myself NO COMPLAINING. A lot of people do not have the resources to do such nice work to a house and your house will be pretty and shiny when it is done.

We're living in a hovel!! I am 30 weeks pregnant and we moved into a dusty shitty in-law apartment some friends are gracious enough to let us rent. We are sharing a FULL size mattress. Our belongings are in boxes. I am hitting the third trimester fatigue and I am beside myself! We have a hundred decisions to make everyday about tile and paint color and insulation. And, in the meantime, I had to move all my belongings, maintain my job, be a mommy to a toddler and do it while hugely pregnant.

Who the hell thought this was a good idea to do in the last 10 weeks of pregnancy??? Pregnancy with a toddler?? A toddler you can't even pick up????? WHO?? WHO??? Oh, that's right. I did this to myself! I said to myself that if we didn't do it now, and then managed to have a newborn, the TV stand would stay the way it is for the next 5 years. It was just driving me insane. But now I realize that I must have been insane when I decided to do this.

Don't get me wrong, though. I am not complaining.

Hillary Vs. Obama

2008-01-29T22:15:00.000-08:00

What is a girl to do?

Let me start by acknowledging that I am proudly registered as a Democrat. Are you surprised? No, I don’t think so. Clue #1: I am a social worker. There aren’t that many Republicans as among us (I’m not saying that it's true across the board,it's just mostly true across the board). Clue #2: I live in San Francisco. There are not many Republicans among us, either. Put those two truths together and really, there is no doubt. Lest I go on an anti-Republican rant (you’re not all homophobic, racist people, right? You just support policies that turn out that way….) Shit. I ranted right there in the parenthesis. Sorry. Here I go again. Lest I go on an anti-Republican rant, let me get to the real point of this post.

I cannot decide between Obama and Senator Clinton. I fear I will be flipping a coin on Feb 5th to make this major decision between two worthy candidates. Here’s the rub. I like Obama better, but I do not want to like Obama better. Why not? Because I can’t believe that in America, the land of opportunity, the land of the free, the land of anything can happen in this country if we work hard enough—that in this country, we have shamefully, yes I wag my finger at us, shamefully, never elected a woman as a president of the United States. It is outrageous. Pakistan managed to do it and we haven’t?? WTF?

Here we are with a viable female candidate, one whose politics I generally agree with and whom I do believe would be a strong leader and yet…and yet I am about to vote for the guy. I am trying so hard not too. At first I just thought it was some societal sexism I have from growing up in our culture. Really, if there is something I can’t stand it is when women (like my mom, actually) just shake their heads and say, “I just don’t like her. There is something about her.” I hate it because I find it so small minded. But I also know what they mean. I wonder do we not like her because she seems cold, ambitious and power-hungry? And are these traits we would even notice in a man? Would I wonder if a man going for arguably the most powerful position in the world was “power-hungry?” I generally celebrate the differences between men and women and am very glad for my lack of testosterone, but there is a part of me that must ask if I am off-put by Hillary because she exhibits qualities that I am not traditionally used to seeing in a woman. Hence, I wonder if I am sexist. Then I decided. Nah.

Hillary has a sucky personality. My evidence is Madeline Albright. When I hear or see hear interviewed, I hang on her every word. I find her inspiring and powerful and truly admirable and not cold and robotic. I love Madeline. I’m down with women in power.

I have been watching the speeches after each primary. Time and time again, I watch Hillary (who I notice I refer to by her first name, and let the men have the respect of their last names. Maybe I am sexist after all) and I am unmoved. I want to be moved. But I am not. When Obama gave his speech after South Carolina, I was crying. Tears!! The husband walked in on me blubbering “Yes we can!” When Obama speaks, I listen. I want to take action. I totally buy into the whole thing. Change!! I simply have a stronger response to Obama. Plus, there is the pesky issue of the nepotism. How can we say this is a country for all if we end up having a Bush/Clinton/Bush/Clinton White House?

Don’t get me wrong. If Clinton wins the nomination, I will surely happily vote for her and shamelessly insist all women should do the same. But right now, my heart is with Obama!! Yes we can!!! I guess I am not torn after all.

Go Giants!

2008-01-23T10:11:00.000-08:00

I can't say I am much of a football fan. I do come from a family of football fans. Even though I grew up with 4 brothers, it's actually my Mom who puts us all to shame with her fan hood. She watches sports all the time, and literally stays home on Sundays during the winter for the football games. You should have heard her last week, "I've been listening to Mike and the Mad Dog all week and they don't think it looks good." If you don't know who Mike and the Mad Dog are, it just means that you, like me, are not a sports fan. And also, you don't live in or around New York.

When I do engage in sports excitement, it is usually for hockey, not football. I can honestly say I was a true Rangers fan in high school. I knew the players, I knew the game and when they won the Stanley Cup and the curse was lifted, it was a great day. But I digress. We are talking football now. It is my family's curse to be die hard NY Jets fans. We tend to go for the working class team. I like the Mets. I like the Jets. The bridge and tunnel team with the embarrassing fan base that gets arrested for sexual harassment. That's always the team we supported in my house.

In any case, growing up, the message was clear about the NY Giants. If the Jets aren't going to make it, we root for the Giants with no shame. We are New Yorkers after all. That meant a lot of supporting the Giants since the Jets haven't won a super bowl since 1969. Have they even been in a super bowl since then? Husband grew up in Manhattan. The Giants and the Yankees are more his speed. What can I say, I am a suburban girl, and he’s a sophisticated city boy.

Last Sunday he wanted to watch football. It was unusual to see my intellectual husband jumping up and down and acting like a frat boy, even though his hipster glasses and sneaks scream that the word "Dude" is not actually a part of his vocabulary. Quinn and I were hanging upstairs listening to clapping and screams of "yeah!" that brought back images of childhood. All three of us watched some of the overtime, and the husband, bless is dorky heart, looked much more like himself when he looked at me all worried-like and bit on his finger in distress as the winning field goal was kicked. I like him much better than that jumping up and down "dude" guy.

Looong story short is that I am actually kind of excited to watch the big super bowl game. So...Go Giants (since I can't say go Jets. Sorry Jets)!!

The Biggest Loser

2008-01-10T09:09:00.000-08:00

All is well. All is very well. Quinn is the cutest ever right now. He's running around and talking up a storm. He understands so much and repeats so many of our words. It’s so fun when I actually understand what he says. He’s getting a real personality. I love it! And, it seems like life has settled into some sort of normalcy for us which feels good.

Yesterday we had a good doctor's appointment and ultrasound. Cervix is nice and long and closed. My contractions have diminished significantly. I like to spew that there is no proof that bed rest is useful, but I must say that consciously settling down does seem to have had an effect. Even before our little trip to labor and delivery on New Years Day, I had felt a lot of braxton hicks contractions. At the time, we were entertaining visitors, and while I wasn't physically walking more, all of the car hopping, restaurant sitting, party going, entertaining of out of towners and general psychological attention to these events seemed to be too much for my uterus. Now, even though I am working and arguably as physically active, just being back into our routine of home at night and my 5 hours of work a day seems to have done wonders. I also very consciously rest at least one hour a day now. Before, the hours before or after work were spent doing little chores or hanging with Quinn. Now I rest, even if it means and extra hour of Quinn with the nanny. I just have to do this, at least until 30 weeks. I do think it helps.

In other news, I saw the nutritionist at the doctor's yesterday because I was worried about gaining too much weight. It was extremely comical. At 26 weeks along, I was told that I am "done" with my weight gain since I have already gained nearly 30 lbs. Hahahahahahahahahaha! When I was pregnant with Quinn, I gained a good 40 lbs total. The rate I am going I am on track to gain more than that this time around. It’s ironic since I am not doing bed rest so far. In any case, the idea that I can't gain anymore is very funny to me. She did concede that if I do need to gain more weight in the next 14 weeks, I should keep it to about 5 lbs and that "people who are forced to do it for medical reasons can do it, so it is possible." I tried to keep my laughter about this concept that I won’t gain any more weight at bay as we plunged into my diet.

The news there isn't as dire as I thought. Apparently I don't eat horribly because I enjoy lots of fruit and veggies and drink a whole bunch of water. My big problem areas, apparently, are portion control (what is wrong with 3 heaping bowls of pasta?) and takeout food. Even as she was talking, our appointment starting hovering near the 5pm time frame and fantasies of pot stickers entered my brain. It's true, my mind wandered to the evening’s dinner and I thought, "maybe Chinese" right as she said, "takeout is really bad." She also said I need to eat more often because my portion problem can be linked to my gigantic appetite by the time a meal comes. I did try to have a healthy snack before dinner last night and when I ate dinner I did "start with my salad" before my pasta so I wasn't as hungry for my many bowls. Still, when it was all said and done, my instinct is to out cry and strike at this punitive approach to eating. I am freaking pregnant, and there is some terrible injustice to dieting while pregnant! I know I will have to watch it afterwards so why punish myself now? If there is a real risk to baby, then I will do what I need to do, but if it is just me?

Maybe a LITTLE more attention will be paid to healthy eating, but, um...pot stickers will still end up in my diet now and then. No doubt about it.

Happy New Year

2008-01-02T22:55:00.000-08:00

The holidays were great. Except that I did waay too much and didn’t relax at all. You should have seen Dr. Cerclage's big furry eyebrows (he looks like the Grinch who stole Christmas—the kindly version) furrow with concern when I said we were hosting Christmas Eve and also having tons'o' East coast visitors. He said, as always, that all he wants is to reduce my stress and said, once again, that I could continue working, but I can tell he doesn’t love it.

The visitors all left last Saturday after 7 days of holiday activities. By Sunday, we had our first trip to the ER with Quinn. He got in a fight with a metal slide, and the slide won. The actual injury involved a few chipped teeth and a bloody gum. I didn’t think we needed to go to the hospital, but the advice nurse we called from the pediatrician’s office insisted that he must be evaluated. We spent hours waiting just to be told that there was nothing to do but follow up with a dentist if we felt like it. It was especially gratifying when the first year resident looked at his purple gum and chipped teeth and said, “hmm….teeth aren’t really my thing.”

At this point I was so exhausted that I was just grateful that we had another holiday so I didn’t have to go to work the next day.

So the next day, New Years Eve, we spent the entire day at multiple car dealerships! Even I am at the point of wondering if our 1995 Subaru that has over a 100 thousand miles on it is safe for a child anymore. The good news is that we ended the day getting a car (yay!!). The bad news? It took all day and something that started around 1pm didn’t end until 7pm. The visiting grandparents took Quinn for the night so husband and I could have a crazy night out.

We went out for dinner where I insisted we celebrate New Years on East Coast time (9pm). We yawned the whole meal through. We were in bed by 10pm. Asleep by 11.

Then yesterday, New Years Day, while still exhausted from all of this great activity the Braxton Hicks contractions (a daily part of life I sort of ignore) decided to go haywire. I had 6 cintractions between 9 and 10pm. I called the Labor and Delivery department. How many weeks? 24 or so? A cerclage? Come on in! So….the grandmother was called out of her bed and into our house. Husband and I went to the hospital where we remained until 1am. No contractions. No cervical changes. Cervix still looks about 3cm.

While I am extremely relieved, I am also feeling a little like maybe I need to slow down. The trip to L&D was a little wake up call. No need to play with fire while I just am touching viability. I am not anywhere ready to meet this little girl.

I have visits with all the peri’s in this week and next. I hope they don’t make me stop working, but I’ll do whatever they say. I promise. I am so not interested in any more emergency trips to the hospital for me or any family members!

Playing with Fire

2007-12-18T19:30:00.001-08:00

What I did this week:

1. I drank half a glass of red wine. I planned on drinking the whole damn thing, but its been so long I felt buzzed and flushed after only half.

2. I ordered and ate eggs cooked over easy at a restaurant.

3. I went out to sushi for a friend's birthday and had approximately 5 pieces of uncooked fish.

4. I lifted Quinn 3 times up and down the stairs and 1 time out of his crib. (He's sick! Ear infection, fever, cough--the works!)

5. I walked several blocks Christmas shopping both Saturday and Sunday.

I have an ultrasound on Friday. Wish me good luck. I will (hopefully) be 23 weeks along.

I'm Fat

2007-12-13T08:26:00.000-08:00

I work with a bunch of women on their first pregnancies. This is my third pregnancy in a pretty short period of time. This multiple pregnancy thing is my excuse for the gynormousness of my body and belly. These ladies, so young--they are mostly just reaching 30, and so pretty (what is it about medical residents--specifically pediatric residents? They’re all chipper and pretty and graduates of Ivy League schools and medical schools. I hate them.) They have that thing where you can't tell they’re pregnant until they are at least 5 months along. One if them is about 10 weeks ahead of me. When I was 14 weeks, our bellies were similarly sized. She was 24 weeks. Now at 22 weeks (yay!!) we are STILL (I think) similarly sized. I avoid the one with the same due date all together. How embarrassing. Everyone likes to point out how we are due the same day. After that, I think I note uncomfortable silence as they take in the difference in our sizes.

Side note: This mini rant I’m about to do is a post for another day, but it IS amazing how these bright young women are so clueless about some of the things they oh-so-confidently and insensitively spout to families. It’s amazing how differently the few who have children address parent’s concerns compared to those who don’t.

Peri gave me a talk last appointment, “you are a little off the curve.” I looked at her hopefully, “I should eat more?” She narrowed her eyes as if she doesn’t like to be played with, “not of the curve that way.” Then she went into this whole thing about not gaining weight so quickly and being careful. Peri happens to be overweight herself so I resisted saying, “why don’t YOU go on a diet??” Especially since I had lost all the excess between Quinn’s birth and this pregnancy. I mean, this is really a pregnant problem, not a me problem.

Thing is, I am just…SO HUNGRY. I used to go to restaurants and often crave salad (pre-pregnancy), now I routinely ask, “do fries come with that?” I am just an eater in pregnancy. I get really freakin' hungry every few hours. Actually, I’ve always been an eater, never one to really diet, but overall, it comes out okay. I feel fine when not growing a child. I exercise, eat pretty well and I don’t have to suffer like so many of my brethren with rigid eating and weird weight consciousness and attention. How exhausting.

Yes, really. There is just no way to make any adjustments anywhere. While that prior sentence is a bald face lie, I will admit it is very hard for me to “slow down”. The only thing I have managed to do is stop eating Milkeyways from the fully stocked candy bowel at work.

I think that’s plenty of effort. But can I still eat french fries AND still bitch and moan about how I hate being fat? Why yes. I decide yes. It's my blog and I'll cry if I want too:)

The Latest and Greatest

2007-12-04T20:11:00.000-08:00

I have to admit to no blogging inspiration lately. Even now I am forcing myself to get something up because it's been too long. Far too long.

I am (finally) over not lifting and carrying the little man. For one thing, I can spend a lot more time with him alone now that he is walking. The hours I need to have him with the nanny are slightly fewer. Not much fewer, but shorter enough that I feel a LOT better about my time with him. I also understand now that he really enjoys his time with his pals and with his nanny. I have multiple instances to use as evidence of this new understanding, but suffice to say, the kid is happy. What more can a mother want? It’s true what Peri said when she told me this would be way worse on me than on him.

It also helps that I like my job a lot lately. It's good for me, if I can't be with Q, to have something that makes me feel like I add value in some way. This is me we are talking about. When I first learned I couldn’t lift Quinn did I tell myself this circumstance was beyond my control and not my fault? Nope. My most critical self was sneering, “You are a failure as a mother! You can’t even care for your own child!” Luckily I have other voices too (not actual voices! I’m not psychotic!) which disarm that yucky one. Still, given my makeup, I know that my work life helps to mitigate the evil sneer voice. And since my hours are reduced, I never work more than 5 hours a day. Very manageable. OMG if I were on bed rest I would be such a catastrophe. An honest to god horrible catastrophe of horridness.

Finally, the very good news is that we had an ultrasound today and my cervix, at nearly 21 weeks of cooking, measures 3.7cm, long and closed!!! Woohhoo!! Jump up and down! Only a person with my history finds it necessary to write my cervical length as the most important news of my ultrasound.

We actually found out a few weeks ago, but it was confirmed again today that I’m having a girl. I am thrilled, but I truly didn’t care. I grew up with 4 brothers, no sisters. I love Quinn with all my heart. Boys are fine with me. But did I mention I am thrilled? I am.

Legitimate Pet Peeve or Bitchy Pregnant Lady?

2007-11-12T11:24:00.000-08:00

Everyone has pet peeves, but here is one that makes my blood boil. It’s always made my blood boil.

I HATE it when people take a table at a café before ordering their food. You know, put their stuff down and have their friend save the table. The table that everyone already in line has a legitimate claim too. It happened this weekend. It practically ruined my one-cup-of-caffeinated-coffee-happy-moment. In this case, the offenders were at the end of a long line of people in a very crowded sparsely furnished cafe. I saw the table when we walked in. I noticed it was nice and large and perfect for a pregnant lady and a stroller and a husband and a Sunday Times. I understood that there were two of us so one could save the table while the other ordered. I was tempted, but I refrained because I think it is the wrong café etiquette in these situations (here I nod emphatically).

In walked a group of singles. One of them sat the table and casually threw down their Sunday NY Times. Another sat and shrugged. The rest stayed in line. Grrrrr.

I used to sometimes say things in these situations, but unfortunately, saying something never made me feel better. People never respond with the "Oh, right. You are totally right. Thank you for pointing that out to me. I wish someone had enlightened me earlier. You know what? You’re a really good person." They just sort of look at you like "Crazy uptight bitch." Furthermore, I did say something one time and the person did say sorry and got up and even that was totally unsatisfying. I ended up feeling guilty and started spewing, “It’s no big deal. Stay.” Even uttering a dreadful, “Sorry!”

Now I have settled on this totally not useful passive aggressive thing where I say loudly, "That is so rude,” while staring at offenders and shaking my head disappointedly. If any one of them actually looks at me as if to speak, I look away red faced and caught. None of this is good.

Luckily,on Sunday, another table opened after we ordered. I still couldn't help staring daggers throughout my meal. And like I mentioned, I almost took no enjoyment from my one-cup-o-day.

Anyway, if any of you are fond of this practice, let me just say to you, it's rude. It is just rude and unfair. I don’t know that people always get that this is an obvious rude thing. But it is. Especially in well known popular bakeries on Sunday morning. Please don't do it. You might be causing some hormonal nightmare of a pregnant lady a lot of undue stress.

Reality Bites

2007-11-07T09:54:00.000-08:00

I knew I wasn't up for this blogging everyday stuff. Good thing I didn't sign up.

Here's my latest keep-me-up-at-night-with-you're-a-no-good-mommy-thoughts. At nearly 17 weeks, my multiple perinatologists like to tell me I am entering the "danger zone" for IC, and that I have to be very careful these next few weeks. In fact, they've been giving me a lot of guff in general about my activity level, "its fine for now, but everything is ultrasound to ultrasound." I hate that. Long story short, to deal with these issues, we've had to put Quinn in babysitting fulltime since being alone with him, for me, is not an option. It's an option for a little while, but inevitably he needs to be picked up and I can't do that. This is where I say “why do we live 3,000 miles away from helpful grandparents??”

Luckily, we have the most fabulous babysitter, who I know takes amazing care of Quinn. Thing is, she takes him away for babysitting. We're in a sharecare with another family. Our nanny has a sister who nannies, and a mom who nannies and all the kids get together everyday with their caretakers, mostly at this one house. Which is not our house. Why can't they all hang here? It's just difficult. Quinn is the new kid in this already established situation, and honestly, our dog is a menace and we're not totally childproofed or have the space that the other family has. Now, don't get me wrong. I love what this situation does for Quinn. He has learned so much from the other kids and this family our babysitter belongs too is fantastic. Really, he is getting so much more than I can provide for him right now (trips to the beach, the zoo, socialization, activity). So much more, except that he is not getting his mother!! And it breaks my heart. I think I am feeling this acutely since he was away all weekend, and yesterday he was so tired and jetlagged he probably would have benefited from a quiet day at home. But that's not in the cards right now. Yessir we are in a fulltime childcare situation and it is just not what I imagined for my kids.

The OB says that I am just going through now what every mom goes through when they have their second and can't be there for their first the way they were, "just a few months early". Plus she made a good point about how disrupting it is for the first child when the second comes along, and that if we have some things we can keep stable in his life (i.e. his friends and his babysitter) that’s good. And certainly, he seems happier than ever, gleefully waving good-bye when they leave for their day of excitement. His share-care friend is Audrey. While he can't say much, he often chants "aud-dey, aud-dey" out of nowhere. Finally, the point the husband makes is that he and our babysitter are primarily taking care of Quinn, its true, but I am taking care of the other one. Just inside the belly. He says, "if you couldn't do this because you were breastfeeding the new baby, you wouldn't feel nearly so bad. You are simply doing what you need to do to keep this one safe." All of these rationalizations make a lot of sense. They do. Unfortunately, they feel like cold comfort when I realize that I am only seeing my baby a few hours in the morning and in the evenings on week days.

I love high risk pregnancy.

I'm Free! To Do What I Want! Any Old Time...

2007-11-03T17:40:00.000-07:00

The husband and the baby are in NYC. I am here in San Francisco. They went for the weekend. I was supposed to go, but Dr.Cerclage put the kibosh on traveling. I've had to sit at home by myself. It is torturous to watch TV in the daytime (something totally forbidden with Quinn around), get a pedicure, go to the movies, go out to dinner AND stay up until midnight. And lest I forget, sleep in. Just till 8:30-it’s all I can manage. This body is used to waking up for child rearing.

I am so tired with pregnancy that it is really nice to have the weekend to put my feet up. Even with the fact I am doing less with Quinn due to high risk pregnancy, I am still dead tired after a day of ushering him around the house and playing on the floor.

I do miss them, but to say that I am not enjoying the break would mean lying. I'm not a liar. Plus, a daddy/son weekend is a good thing. I hereby declare they should do a father/son weekend every year. Just for fun. Yes. Daddy should take the kids (notice how I slipped in a plural) away every year and leave me be. I'll have to tell the husband. A declaration.

Tonight, "Lars and the Real Girl". Tomorrow, a play. Monday, back to real life.

If you blog everyday, are you a little boring? I feel a little boring....

You're a Good Man

2007-11-02T10:40:00.000-07:00

I am very proud of us for making Quinn's Halloween costume. Actually, I am very proud of the husband for making his Halloween costume. By "making" the costume, I mean cutting up an old t-shirt and gluing it to a new sweatshirt ($4 at Old Navy!) It might not sound like much, but had I tried to do it, a disaster would have happened. I swear. I am totally incapable of this kind of thing. Thus, the pride. In the husband. Which I get to take credit for. Happy Halloween (a few days late)!

Sorry the picture is so small...like I said, technical difficulties. Really, its MAC difficulties since "blogger" is so PC friendly. MAC wants you to do things in their MAC world. It's boring and I am not so interested in spending the time needed to figure this all out so this little poor quality picture will have to do for now.

To Join or Not to Join

2007-11-01T22:15:00.000-07:00

Today I was going about my business checking up on the blogosphere as usual. Seems every blog I read has committed to this NaBloPoMo business--this craziness of posting every day for a month. My first reaction was excitement that I will get to read so much material without the disappointment of no new posts. I hate no new posts. I didn't commit to this foolery of daily posting myself. No way, not me. I’m not one to put undue pressure on myself. Still, in the back of my mind I kept thinking I should post something today. No reason. Just ‘cause its been a little while. You know.

I decided on posting the cutest picture of Quinn in his Charlie Brown costume. He was so adorable yesterday I can't get over it. We took advantage of the fact that at 14 months, he has little hair and what he does have is pretty fair. He made a perfect Charlie Brown for Halloween. And here in San Francisco Halloween is bigger than Christmas so it was a great fun day. But I was foiled by technical difficulties. The picture is not posted. During this very frustrating process, I thought, forget it! Why do I care? If its not going to happen, it’s not going to happen. No post tonight. No biggy. No reason I need to post today.

It's after Grey's Anatomy, which means it is after 10pm. At this point in the evening I am usually happily and safely under the covers, all bedtime rituals complete. But here I am feeling the need to post something. Today. Before midnight. Hmmmm….

I guess we'll see what happens tomorrow.

My Cerclage, Take 2

2007-10-20T19:20:00.001-07:00

Remember the birth of this blog? The very first My Cerclage post?? What fun getting that cerclage was. Wow. I wish I could do something like that again, because it was awesome! Oh, that's right. I did it again last week, and it sucked just as much as last time (Do you hear my sarcasm? Do you??) I hate the way doctor’s talk about preventive cerclages--they’re all “minor procedure” blah blah blah. I think I must be world's biggest wuss, because AGAIN, I felt all sorts of pain when they went to work. Even with my lower half numbed with a spinal anesthesia. Admittedly, it was a much more invasive procedure this time. They actually cut tissue and put the stitch way higher "half inside, half out." I have stitches in addition to The stitch. In any case, I do trust “Mr. Cerclage” (he called himself that!) and feel like his reputation as expert is well deserved, but STILL.

At our follow-up appointment after surgery, I expected him to be all "whatever you want" about my activity. This expectation was born from knowing my beloved Peri (who we still are seeing) from last time was so conservative, and from my denial, which I also love and think protects me very much from massive breakdown. So you can imagine my surprise when I found myself in a major negotiation with this guy about my work schedule, my work day and my general activity. The conversation came to an abrupt halt when he said, "Look, I don't want to see this baby in a plastic box when it’s born. The rest, to me, is background noise." What am I to say to that? I was all, "Um. Yes Sir. That makes sense to me, too. I'll do whatever we need to do to ensure that won't happen."

It is so much better than last time, I feel like I really can't complain. But it is so much worse than last week , I still find myself bitter. I love my walks with Quinn and I am dreading the conversation about my work schedule with my employers. But geez. At least I am talking about my work schedule rather than telling them I'm not working at all. What, really, do I have to complain about?

Denial

2007-10-09T21:44:00.000-07:00

My name is KMW and I have a bum cervix. Saying it out loud is the first step, yes? I delude myself that my cervix issues are only in the world because of the twins--since multiples are so risky in general. The problem is the doctors keep on telling me otherwise. Seems my cervix is already on the "short side of normal" and that whatever part of it is on the outside of my anatomy is practically non-existent. So I met with a specialist who apparently has perfected a procedure that is more invasive than a regular cerclage, but should do the trick. Remember my last preventive cerclage and my useless stitches? I now understand that I hardly had any cervix them for them to get the stitches around in the first place, which is why they slipped so easily. This guy's version allows them to get "under my bladder" and put the stitch way up high. It is not quite as serious as doing a transabdominal cerclage (if you don't know what it is, I can't bother explaining, but you can read Sarah's blog to find out). He says that they'll have to continue to monitor and they won't do bedrest unless it is indicated, and while he did say I should have a short threshhold to stop work, he also said that I can plan on being back at my job the Monday after the surgery--which is next Wednesday.

ANYHOO, the hardest part about this stuff this time around is not worrying about all this cervix stuff(at least not so far), it's that they told me I cannot pick up Quinn. Ug. It breaks my heart (not to mention the bank since we're hiring the nanny full time now) when he lifts his arms to be picked up and looks at me with his big eyes. I get on the floor, give him a hug and say "Mommy can't lift you up now, but I can give you a big hug." He starts communicating in no uncertain terms that this floor hug is NOT what he meant.

Funny that I am posting regularly again now that I can talk about myself all the time. While I like my mommy posts, it did start as a pregnancy blog....

Version 2.0

2007-10-07T10:05:00.000-07:00

I have a story and I hope you'll think it's a good one. A few months ago, right before leaving on our big East coast trip, I went for a run. We were leaving on a plane for Boston the next morning, where we would then drive up to Maine to my college roommate's wedding. During my run I felt awful. I said to the husband after returning home, "What the hell?! I am totally exhausted. I felt like shit on that run, and furthermore, I am running all the time and I am just feeling flabbier and flabbier. I felt better about myself 2 months ago when I was barely running at all!" And then, it was like something clicked in my head. My period had only graced me one time over the last year (breastfeeding is good for something!). That one menstrual cycle suddenly seemed like an awful long time ago and with a tingling sensation I announced to husband that I better pee on a stick ASAP.I happened to have a pregnancy test, but I had thrown out the box for some reason, and it was just one of those symbol kind. So the husband and I are looking at the results, and sure enough, there is decidedly a "plus" sign in the window. There was a lot of "That means pregnant, right? Wait. No. It can't be." We scurried to the internet. Yup. Pregnant. He said, "I don't know, it looks faint." A minute later we looked again. Bold. Not faint at all. It was practically lighting up it was so not faint.

How do I begin the to describe the next few months? I can start with my denial, "I am going to a wedding where I haven't seen people in nearly 12 years and I can't have a drink!?! Or look cute now that I am flabtastic?" I don't know about you, but my body responds to pregnancy by just letting go, it's like, "why bother? We both know where this is going so let's just get going." Then there was the excitement, "Oh my gosh! Another little munchkin!" And then came the fear, "I am NOT going on bedrest! I hate my cervix! How will this work?" And finally, the sickness. Let me tell you, the sickness has trumped everything. I mean throwing up several times a day, barely functioning exhaustion and overall just trying to get by. It seems that the sickness is finally diminishing, and now we are dealing with the reality of our situation (cervix specialist, cerclage, no lifting little Quinn and hopefully no bedrest, but we'll see).

I promise for more of an update on the pregnancy stuff, but I figure I should just get this out. I am sorry not to announce earlier, but the superstition about miscarriage and the unbelievable debilitating illness took over my life. We are thrilled, of course, of course. If all goes well, we're talking about a 20 month spread between siblings. Easy peasy, right??

This Month

2007-09-23T10:35:00.000-07:00

September 14 was the anniversary of losing the twins. The husband and I didn't even remember the day until I received an email from my mother saying she was thinking of us. Once I did remember, I did really remember and the husband and I had a few minutes of crying and being sad before we moved on with our day caring for Quinn, who is SUCH a joy these days.

But it did get me reflecting on loss and the ways it still can hold you. One aspect of losing twins is that...I lost twins. Two. The other day when husband and I were walking down the street, a twin stroller walked by us (with a mommy attached) and he squeezed my hand. I was all, "I'm okay now." And for the most part I am okay now. Working at pediatric practice means seeing twins all the time, and I "oohh and ahh" at the babies and work with those families and I am really fine.

I recently overheard someone ask a mom, "do twins run in your family?" The mom grimly replied, "They run in my fertility clinic." I KNOW that many of the twin mothers have had their own struggles towards having a family. Yet when I was told the story of an acquaintance recently pregnant with twins, I felt a stab of jealousy. Now I happen to know this woman and know that she has had a very hard time getting pregnant. I had become pregnant, lost my pregnancy, became pregnant again and had a baby, now 13 months old and just heard she was pregnant for the first time very recently. I have been told that all that time she and her husband were "trying," eventually in the form of multiple IVF attempts and that this pregnancy is the result of her most recent IVF attempt. It's just strange that I would feel jealous of her, knowing her struggles. How can I still can have those reactions for something I really feel like I've resolved--I mean, I cannot conceive of my life without Quinn and we are very happy these days. More than anything else, I think it is interesting how loss does still find ways to needle you. And that's what it is. Needling. Not overwhelming, not debilitating but just there to say "Hi!Ho! You thought you were done, but I like to rear my ugly head here and there!"

In a way, these reminders are good because they also reminds me to notice that life is going so well that I almost forgot the date of their anniversary, or that it takes something shown right before me (like my hearing of an acquaintance’s story) to notice that I still have feelings on the subject. Yes, overall everything is going very well and I hope it continues to stay that way, and I will continue to acknowledge that we did have a loss and that loss will still be a part of my life too.

Birthday Bananza!

2007-08-31T17:50:00.000-07:00

Our trip east was great, but too busy! Watching everyone around town lumber out of their homes with their wheelies for the long weekend just makes me giggle with relief that we don't have to go anywhere.

While in Maine, Boston and New York, we got to celebrate Quinn's big 1 year. It was fab--all the grandparents and east coast siblings and nieces and nephews were on hand. We even got him his own cake, which he stared at in a confused manner. I tried to swipe up some frosting and put it on his tongue while singing, "this is different than fruit for desserrrt!" He was having none of it. I had to eat most of his cake for him. As a mother I try to sacrafice.

But enough about Quinn and 1 year old. Really. The real celebration happened 3 days later when I turned 34. Oh yeah! Whooohhoooo! That's right! Party allllll night LLooooonggg!!! Mommmy had a birthday. Ha! I've given up my birthday. Now that Quinn is here and 3 days older than me, I am ofiicially screwed in bday land. My mother didn't even get me a present. Good news is that Quinn's presents FEEL like presents for me and I am just as excited by them. I did get to swim in the ocean on my birthday (Hamptons, baby!) and that is for sure one of my favorite activities and practically an impossibility here in the wild west unlesss you're wearing a wet suit. So...what am I complaining about? I had a great birthday:)

Don't Stop Believing

2007-08-14T22:13:00.001-07:00

Just when you thought it was time to give up on me, I come back at you with this admittedly lame post.

Quinn turns one next week. We will be on the east coast starting tomorrow for 10 days of family fun and "relaxation." Wish us luck.

This picture was snapped mid-July. Bad parents that we are, I have nothing more recent!

Nap Strike

2007-06-22T09:01:00.000-07:00

The bottle issue resolved, and now I am so freaked out about it happening again I am considering weaning. Sounds like extreme measures, I know. You see, the whole bottle thing happened because I thought I was drying up after a particularly busy week at work where I only pumped once a day for 3 days. After that, there was the sickness and the feeding round the clock, plus extra pumping at night to boost the production. This glorious time peaked with the bottle strike. That finally ended (thanks to the husband getting up at the crack of dawn and offering the bottle when baby is most hungry).

Fast forward to my current situation. Again, I’ve hardly pumped at work this week, and I refuse to go through what we went through before. I had the nanny feed half breast milk and half formula. The kid had formula! And he likes it just fine. I did not pump at night to makeup for the extra lack of milk my one pump a day brings home. A relief. He is also so much wigglier so breastfeeding is becoming a huge pain anyway. Still, I have that little voice telling me I was going to exclusively breastfeed for the first year. It's not like I can't do it.... it’s like maybe I won’t do it? The breastfeeding crazies will hopefully avoid throwing bottles at me as I walk down the street and say how I am a failure as a mother. And all this angst while I am STILL breastfeeding! I am just adding formula now, too. It’s only two months till 1 years old!! I am crazy.

Speaking of crazies, I was forced to read Weissbluth again because baby stopped napping in the name of development. He pulls up to stand in the crib now. And the naps, oh lord the lovely naps. They went flying out the window. He is happy lying down when mommy is standing above him cooing, but when tired mommy starts to leave, he rolls over and sits up before said tired mommy has even left the room. It's pretty cute, actually. I have come back a few times to have baby standing up with his tomato red face screaming. His chubby little baby legs look so totally edible. I don't like to see him suffer, but it is really cute. It is.

Weissbluth is a certifiable sleep Nazi. After reading a chapter, I feel sure to win worst mommy of the year for going into soothe him because of my guilt. Weissbluth wants to know, is it to make baby feel better or is it to make mommy feel better??? He says let him cry, let him cry let him cry, for god sake woman, let him cry. Baby needs to learn to sooth himself! (I do confess to some CIO scenarios earlier in little Q's life, and I didn’t blog about it for fear of the mean comments--it did work and it was short lived.)

I didn't like what Weissbluth had to say so I picked up trusty Dr.Sears. If anyone will disagree with mean old Weissbluth its warm fuzzy Dr. Sears. It is true he disagrees, but he also makes one feel a wee bit inadequate for total opposite reasons. Baby needs to know that his needs are being met. He says, do not do any CIO! It's bad for babies. Instead, take a nap with baby in the family bed! He'll get the message that it is sleep time eventually.

Uh. No, thank you. I do not want the only way he naps to be when I am there. No! So....I let him cry for 1 horrible hour today ala Weissbluth (please no mean comments! Please!) I finally went in, rushed in, really. Baby smiled at me and said, the way he says it, "let's play!" I grabbed him. We went for a walk where baby promptly fell asleep in the stroller for an hour and a half. Weissbluth would NOT approve. Now I have made my son suffer an hour of unneeded crying, only to fold with the stroller nap so he knows for sure there is no reason to sleep in the crib.

I am so tired.

Hunger Strike

2007-06-03T09:50:00.000-07:00

What with the sickness and the Memorial Day, baby got a lot of round the clock boob the last few weeks. Last Tuesday, the one-day I worked and his first day back to the bottle, he decided to say, "I'm not settling for second best!" He refused the bottle all day. He only ingested milk when it was cereal, with breast milk as a sauce.

Tomorrow I go back to work for 3 days. Baby is sticking to his guns. Up to this point, I have caved for the benefit of his nutrition and given him the boob when he refuses the bottle from Dad. I even left the house for hours when I knew he was hungry to let my husband work it out. We have purchased multiple nipples and sippy cups. I even tried to feed him the bottle. Baby says, “blech!” to our efforts.

The hunger protest starts in earnest tomorrow when mama goes to work. Let's hope he folds. We're willing to negotiate and give into many of his demands. He can have boob first thing! We’re willing again around 5:30, and AGAIN at bedtime before sleep (even though that last one is hardly a feeding). His only response? "Listen, Jerkies! It's the boob and only the boob!" He doesn't appear to want to compromise. Mama is a little stressed. Baby needs to eat!

It's Hard Out There for a Dog

2007-05-30T10:41:00.001-07:00

Help me! When did it become normal for my head to rest on a pile of blocks? And the petting. It's changed. It's more like tiny pinches as I watch my skin twist and tufts of hair waft into the air. Groan. At least I get away with more licks than usual. The food situation has improved, too. More droppings are to be found for sure. But the doggy pats and the this bed of blocks must be addressed. Look at me! Can't you see I am suffering??

Inside Day

2007-05-23T19:56:00.000-07:00

I was sick! We all were--baby and the husband, too. Yes, they were having a tough time, but as always, when blog post is rumbling, it is all about me. Confined to my home due to illness, I felt myself in familiar territory. So. I like my job pretty well, but like most people, an unexpected day off is a good thing, right?

I know I've mentioned not having enough time to do my job as adequately as I should (or could if I were willing to work more hours) before. When I arrive at work, I check my many messages, my email, and then, like whirling dervish, I am off. I am either seeing patients, charting or on the phone all day. I feel like I blink and it is 5pm and I am desperately trying to leave with notes unwritten, phone calls still to be made and "sign-out" to my colleague undone. But whatever, I get out on time because it's time to see my guy. The long point is that my day goes by very quickly.

First the husband was sick. Sore throat. Yuck. It seemed like he was sick for days and days on end. Then I got it. Mine was a sore throat/cough combo. Then baby. The poor little guy had a sore throat/cough/fever mix. Then me again. Fever Sunday night. Fever Monday morning. I stomped and huffed. Finally, in a weirdly primly way, I said, "That is it! I will not feel this way anymore!" I called in sick. I called the nanny and said, "Don't come!" I decided to have a mommy/baby INSIDE day. We would nap, play, eat and hang inside all day. By the end of this day of rest we would become better. I was kind of happy not to have to deal with the hustle of work. It was an unexpected day off.

By 3pm I was so insane with boredom that I said very loudly, "I wish I were at work." WHAT??! It's not that I don't love the bonding with the baby. But, you see, usually my baby days I feel good. We do stuff. We go to the park. We go on walks. We drink caffeine. On our sick day, he was cranky--probably bored, too. How many times can you play peek-a-boo, really? I felt like shit and and I was just so…so having a hard time sitting around all day (especially if you have a no TV rule like we do)....HEY! Wait a minute?! Maybe it was so hard to sit around because I was having some sort of traumatic memory that makes sitting around extra hard for me.

The point of this story (sorry, I am two glasses of wine into my evening) is, I thank God that I am not on bed rest anymore and that I have such a wonderful baby who makes me so sublimely happy. I was all complainly about being tired from my workdays, but a taste of the couch put some perspective back into my life. I am so so so so so so s so so so so lucky to have such a wonderful boy and such a wonderful husband. And even though I am ashamed to admit that INSIDE day was harder in some ways than being at work (By the way, it was a success. We got better), I will say that it truly does make me love how happy all my days are (as opposed to how unhappy they were). And I am very much looking forward to my day off on Memorial Day--blue sky and all.

Mommy and Baby Party

2007-04-21T08:22:00.000-07:00

I'm a bad blogger and I'm tired from work and have less time blah blah blah. After writing "sorry I haven't blogged in so long" for the hundredth time, I stopped myself to wonder when that particular sentiment gets old. I guess it is a sign that life is, for the most part, good. WhenI was on bed rest, blogging was my salvation. I guess I don't need it as much now because, despite some minor issues, I am so happy to have little Q. That said, I always find a way to bitch. And this minor bitch is about my physical state of exhaustion and the easily predicted lack of time to do anything—much less blog.

I hadn't anticipated the exhaustion of going back to work. I had anticipated the emotional hem's and haw's and the worries about being away, as everyone knows (since mucho blogging space was directed towards that topic). Despite thinking of myself as enlightened about most things (pretty egotistical, yes?), I find myself totally surprised at how physically tired I am. On work days I wake up super early and do morning feeding, changing and bathing. Then I attend to the baby. Hahhahha! Apparently, I think I am pretty funny over here. By the time I deal with the baby and myself and get out the door by 8am, I am pretty frazzed. Then work all day, come home by 6 and do dinner, bath, story and nursing before sleep. Maybe around 8pm I start my own dinner (hopefully with American Idol thrown in--go Blake!) before my bedtime. Quick disclaimer about the pity party nature of this post, I should say that the husband is an equal contributor in all of these tasks--it just sounds more pathetic if I write it like its all me:)

I notice on my non-work days I feel very protective of my time and little energy. My mommy group? Hell no! I don't need to spend a precious hour of my time listening to everyone discuss eating and sleeping and nannies and snore. Even when I had all the time in the world the mommy group wasn't always my cup of tea(no offense to anyone out there--I think the problem is me, not them. For some reason my "mommy group" has a gag me with a spoon component I just can't shake). When a very nice mommy suggests a walk or brunch with the babes, I clutch Quinn close and stare a the phone when the call I'm screening comes in as if this perfectly well meaning person is just trying to suck my time away.

The problem is that with work and the days with the babe at home being so apparently precious to me, I have all but stopped socializing. It is the mommy/Quinn lovefest and it seems no one is invited. If I know me, and I like to think I do, this too will pass. But for now it is just me, the baby and the dog. It's the Mommy/baby/Lab lovefest (poor dog, forgotten again until the very end). At least it is a lovefest, and it will have to do for now.

I'm Cute!

2007-04-06T10:34:00.001-07:00

I have no real post. Hopefully I will have one next week!

Having It All

2007-03-21T13:21:00.000-07:00

Remember those commercials, I think they were in the late eighties, involving scene’s of attractive people living fantastic lives—sailing, running, smiling at their families. A voiceover in a very assuring male voice asks, “Who says you can’t have it all?” I think they were for American Express or something.

So…here I am having it all. Last night’s scene: Me still in my work “flats” and cashmere sweater, hair all over the place and determined expression on my face as I leaned towards the tub, food covered naked baby in arms. Naked baby decided to pee all over the expensive sweater before making it to the water. The husband was working late. Who says you can’t have it all?

Actually, working is turning out to be mostly good. I work Mondays, Tuesdays and every other Wednesday. Approximately 20 hours a week. I work at a medical clinic as a pediatric social worker, and while I am there, no joke, I go hours without even thinking about the baby. A reality I never thought possible. I am engaged, busy and hopefully, helpful. I also think I am not there enough to really serve the families I meet. I know the docs would like more hours from me, this work schedule was a compromise on their part. During my workday I think—mostly when I am telling a family that I can’t be reached until nearly a week after our meeting---“I need to work more hours to do this job properly.”

But then while racing home to see my guy for his dinner, bath and bedtime, I begin the process of mentally leaving work and I start to wonder if he’ll adequately remember me after not seeing me since 8am. And on the three-day weeks, of which I’ve only had one; I am a mess by the time I get home to see that guy. It feels like too long!

Despite my guilt (and if you haven’t figured it out by now, it is a sensation I torture myself with. Just look at this post! Guilty at work and guilty at home) and mind numbing exhaustion (which I am still deluding myself is brought on by “adjusting to the new schedule”), overall the pros outweigh the cons. I won’t get into them all, but it is turning out that I am more satisfied person having both an out of home life and a home life than just one or other. Even if it does seem like they both get the shaft in some ways. Still, I firmly believe that modeling happiness for myself is good for the baby. Plus, I am more satisfied in general, which must translate to him. There are cons though. When will I have time to blog?

Her Life as a Dog

2007-03-09T10:25:00.001-08:00

I have a friend whose cat was the center of her life, more of a child than a child. That is, until she had an actual child. I remember asking after her first son was born about the cat, how’s the cat handling the baby and vice-versa. She responded, “Oh right! Turns out that the cat is a cat!”

Poor dog. The lab was similarly the love of our lives, and fulfilled her duties as “best friend” with aplomb during bedrest, and even those dark weeks after we lost the pregnancy. It was hard to cry when a long lab nose started nudging your face and licking the tears away. So I dedicate this post to her because I feel badly about how I have handled the unwelcome changes in her life these last 6 months. See, she is in her dog adolescence right now, and like any older sibling, she hasn’t appeared pleased about the bundle of joy. How has she showed her displeasure? Not by harming little Q in anyway. No, unless he can be hurt by dog kisses, which are plentiful, he is mostly fine (“mostly” because of the odd tail whack here and there). She shows her feelings by acting out. Oh yes. Apparently, child development applies to dogs and like children, any attention is better than no attention at all. Quinn will fall asleep (finally!) and suddenly, the lab needs to bark her head off at a passerby outside the window. When you hiss, “No! Quiet” she looks at you with ears up curiously as if to say, “You talking to me? You finally talking to me?” No need for her to remember that the passerby walked by earlier. At that time, she appeared not to notice passerby’s presence. She was also being rubbed and patted during that particular passerby walkby. Hmmm.....

She gets in the way during floor time since she wants to be part of the fun. She goes into the garbage if it is not totally out of reach. She pulls on her leash after not being walked for a few days (before the bundle she was walked every day). My interaction with her has turned into several incarnations of the word "no." Whether my "no" is finished with “barking” “pulling” “hanging around.” The dog has heard “no!” for 6 month’s straight.

When our friends were here last weekend, she got a lot of dog love. There were more hands, more hanging out, and more petting. And guess what? She was much better behaved! A few times I caught her sleeping contentedly when the 6 of us were together, her pack fantasy fulfilled. She always has been happiest with a group of people around.

How can I explain to her that things will be great for her in short order? The food alone will make her happy as Quinn progresses into toddlerhood. She has already figured out to hang under Quinn’s high chair while we experiment with rice cereal, squash and other yummy’s. She practically gets a second dinner when he eats his dinner (like a champ these days), and like any lab, she lives up to her breed’s stereotype regarding food. And Quinn has already started smiling and reaching for her. Now she just puts up with it, but soon she will understand that the way back into happiness is through the unwanted bundle. He’ll give her all the positive reinforcement she needs.

In the meantime, I am trying to give her more pats and love when she is being “good” and seeing if some positive attention balances her need to act out for any attention at all. Poor lab.

Workerbee and Quinn&Domingo

2007-03-07T15:55:00.001-08:00

I am back in the workforce! It was so weird putting myself together for the first time in..ah...a YEAR (bedrest and 6 months maternity leave a year makes). I was waiting for the bus all business casual, lipstick, latte and everything. I was sizing up the other commuters wondering if they could tell it had been a while. Could they tell I had new shoes and a new purse? And did they notice, no, that is not a huge laptop, it is a breastpump? I am not really this narcissistic. I know that no one but me noticed my new shoes, er...or noticed me at all.

It was hard to be away from Quinn for so long, but it was also okay. And I enjoyed being that person who is needed in a professional setting for a skill set that I have put a lot of time and energy into learning.

We had a great weekend with Domi, Chris and Alice. Domi and Quinn seemed to manage their new friendship with panache. They stared at each other, they shared toys, they shared a bath and they culminated the weekend with a crying symphony. They harmonized side by side in their car seats, their parents helpless to comfort either of them until the carride ended 20 minutes later.

Seriously, it was a great visit and we are very impressed that Chris and Alice actually followed through with the hard-core dealing when visiting friends in another city. They were also wonderful to me while I totally freaked out at least once a day about going back to work yesterday. Good friends are good to have.

Happy 6 Months

2007-02-22T15:29:00.001-08:00

Little Quinn turned 6 months old yesterday. To celebrate, we gave him some rice cereal. It didn't go over very well. I'm sure he ingested more dog hair yesterday than he did rice cereal.

Normal Is as Normal Does

2007-02-15T10:55:00.000-08:00

I have been tagged by Sarah to write 6 weird things about myself. My first thought in this challenge, “well, that’s easy, but who wants to tell the world all the secrets?” I mean private lives are considered private for a reason.

1. I think everything is weird. I mean it. For example, sometimes I look at my dog, who is 75 pounds, and who has FUR and I think it is SO WEIRD that this animal is roaming around my house, sleeping in my bed and living, many would say, a very nice lifestyle. I mean, if a rodent were 75 pounds, I am sure I would have no interest keeping not one but two “rodent beds” around. So…sometimes I will say to the husband, “how weird is it that we think it is normal to have a dog?” He will then roll his eyes and say “here we go…” In fact, my list should consist of other bizarre aspects of my life: I live in San Francisco, I chose my friends, I chose my husband, I became a social worker…everything is weird if you think about it enough.

2. I have some weird OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) traits. This is odd in that very few would consider me OCD. I am not fastidious about cleanliness, organization or general day to day…anything. Even today, Q dropped his pacifier on the street and it was swooped up and back in his mouth in seconds with a mumbled “30 second rule” by mom. So, it is more than strange that there are a few things that I cannot abide. I already let you in on the truth about how totally disgusting toothpaste is. Now I shall tell you some bedtime freakiness (no, not like that). When I go to sleep, the sheets must be “smooth” when they are over me, and my feet must be under the covers. I need to fall asleep in a dark room and the even the husband’s breathing, yes not snoring, but breathing is a problem. I look like a corpse at bedtime--Eye mask, ear plugs, and lying flat on my back with the covers across me all serene-like. But my arms must be outside the covers since I experience an overwhelming sensation of claustrophobia if they’re in, yet my feet must be covered. This ends up causing many nighttime negotiations with the husband since he is the opposite: feet out and hands in. His approach is decidedly NOT smooth. What’s odd about all this is the sense of alarm if any of this is out of place. OCD, I tell you.

3. I am totally and completely addicted to coffee. Is this weird? I don’t know. However, it does take up an enormous amount of space in my life. You know, the attention towards needing my daily dose, the screeches if we are out of beans or, god forbid, milk. This addiction is purely a nurture thing. Everyone in my family is a coffee fiend; I think I was drinking caffeinated coffee by 7th grade. I even have this memory exemplifying how crazy my family was about coffee. I happened to grow up in a big rambling house. There were 5 kids. Anyway, one day there was no toilet paper anywhere in the house and it had been that way for a day or so. Even in the guest bathroom in “the back” where no one ever set foot was out of toilet paper. I ran into one of my brothers by the guest bathroom, both of us in search for toilet paper. The situation was gross and getting serious. We also were out of coffee. The next morning, I entered the kitchen to see 2 of my brothers closing in on my mother, one of them holding the empty coffee tin, the other looking murderous. My poor mom, hands up in surrender, was saying, “I know. I know. I am going to the store right now.” When understanding hit me, I looked at my mother with fury (poor mom. She was such the “mom” no one, least of all her, ever questioned whether she should bother getting our coffee.) She grabbed her purse, ran to the door and after she was out someone yelled an afterthought, “by the way, we have no toilet paper!!”

It’s so bad. You should see me every morning with Quinn, “and here are the beans, and here is the water and this is where we keep the milk….” The kid has no shot (no pun intended) at survival. But like a true addict, I don’t think I have a problem. I LIKE my coffee.

4. I take a bath everyday. I am a bath person. When I used to rent apartments, no bathtub was a deal breaker. I don’t understand it when people say, “yeah…I’m not really a bath person.” I soak with a book pretty much every evening before bed. My doc didn’t let me have baths on bedrest—something to do with the stitch. That was horrible (but you can bet I had some coffee while pregnant on bedrest). I take these baths in addition to regular showers. I won’t win awards for conserving water, but I might win some for cleanliness.

5. I really like weather. Not watching the weather reports, but weather in general. I think I can appreciate something about all kinds of weather. I remember running in Seattle in the winter when there was a soft rain. If I stayed home, it was depressing, but if I went for a run, I appreciated the beauty of the NorthWest—its special eeriness way up there in the corner of the country. Sometimes during these runs, the clouds would break and there was sun shining through, clearing some sky and allowing a glimpse of the Cascades. I’d come home to my roommates, who were watching TV trying to get through a dreary day, and I'd feel, truly, like Seattle is a beautiful place. Generally if I am somehow being active in it, I like all weather. It happens to be one of my few complaints about SF. While the weather is good, it’s pretty much the same all year round. I like seasons. I like weather.

6. Weird or not, this last bit is true. No matter what if I “shoot it out” like “once, twice three, shoot!”, I loose. I tried "Rock, Paper Scissors". Same thing. NO MATTER WHAT. The husband has figured it out so if there is ever a task, like taking out the garbage or attending to the crying baby, he always hopefully suggests, “I’ll shoot you for it?”

Alice! You’re up. 6 weird things about you!

Clear Eyes, Full Hearts Can't Lose

2007-02-05T21:44:00.000-08:00

I have written about my TV addiction, right? It sounds like I watch a lot of TV. I actually don't watch a horrendous amount, but I have my "shows" that I am shamelessly addicted too. See, the English major in me used to be all "Who me? Stupid TV? That wasn’t me you saw watching Party of 5, I am too busy reading classics!" Then one day I decided to stop the lies and in my effort to be truthful, I became, and still remain, annoyingly proud of my TV watching. It is very silly.

During the half marathon that I FINISHED in 2 hours and 20 minutes on Sunday (about 11 minute miles—not my old pace, but who cares, right?), I had bit of a hard time around mile 10. I was looking for inspiration and thought to myself that I should have rented that Mathew Modine wrestling movie, Vision Quest, to get myself psyched up. You know, where he goes running in a silver sweat suit? So good. But since I didn’t think to rent Vision Quest (this isn’t a joke, this thought process happened), I tried to think of something else inspirational. That's when I began chanting the cheer from Friday Night Lights, my current TV fave. “Clear minds, full hearts can’t loose!” At first I thought of it jokingly, “wouldn’t it be funny if I started saying ‘clear minds, full hearts can’t loose’ to get through this, like on Friday Night Lights?" Unfortunately, desperation is powerful, and eventually I was chanting sincerely. Pathetic! Truthfully, it didn't really work since Friday Night Lights is only fronting as a football show. It’s really teenagers having sex. It’s the OC repackaged. Genius.

I have given up on 24. It is the same thing every season and I don't care anymore so I have no Sunday show. Monday night I watch Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. Tuesday’s I don’t think I have anything (usually Monday’s TIVO’d Studio 60) Wednesday is Friday Night Lights and then Top Chef or whatever Bravo incarnation they are doing. Thursday is a triple whammy with The Office, Grey’s Anatomy (sucks I’m not also watching Scrubs since it conflicts with Grey’s) and ER. I have been watching ER for over a DECADE. I think I started in ’94. Is that possible?? So…that’s my regular TV line up. It’s’ not too much, right? Oh. I also don’t watch ANY during the day. For some reason TV in the daytime makes me depressed. Like I am home sick, or on bedrest.

In other news, the very controversial Supernanny started today for half a day. She was fantabulous, and I was happy to have a few hours to myself.

The Running Life

2007-02-01T09:04:00.000-08:00

I can't believe I am going to write this post about running because it is so weird how much space--emotionally and physically--running has taken in my life. Seriously, it's strange. In high school, I was part of a running team that was nationally known. My coach was recognized as one of the best in the country and I ate, slept and breathed running. I actually went to running camp. I even told stories about running camp (the shame!) Fall was cross-country which eventually gave way to winter and spring track. I was a sprinter, hurdler and high-jumper and also I was very average on this team. But it was a HUGE part of my identity and I still recognize myself as a "runner" today. It's in quotes because "runner's" don't see themselves as "jogger's" and runner's wear "running shoes" and not "sneakers" and "runner's" give each other a nod of solidarity on the trails, the "runner's wave" if you will. I am a "runner" (huge dork).

Hahhhahhahhahhahhahhhhaaaahhhaaaa! It's funny that I have this totally pretentious thought process about a sport, the reality of which is that I have no business identifying with. I waddle, barely the pace of a shuffle in "running clothes" from high school or freshman year of college (only a novice still runs in a cotton t-shirt. No wicking fabric for me) and come home so spent and claim, "I just went for a run." Well, this delusional me signed up for a half-marathon 5 months ago that takes place this Sunday in Golden Gate Park. I have, in my shuffle state, actually gotten myself through two 8-mile runs, the last one being a few weeks ago. Now. Since I am seriously deranged, I often think I can do more than I can because I've been a "runner" for 20 years and have a history of finishing half-marathon's (remember Vancouver, Alice? That was the last one!) at various points of my life. Since I suffered through 8 miles somewhat recently, I am telling myself that if need be I can workout and extra two to make 10, at which point I only have 3.1 left to complete a half marathon.

Call me crazy, but since I paid the fee, I am showing up this Sunday morning to see what happens--waddle butt, two jog-bras (thank you new milky pregnancy boobs), cotton-tee and a grim set of my jaw as I say to myself "I am a runner. I am a runner...." Wish me luck!

Sad Days

2007-01-30T17:06:00.000-08:00

We just arrived back from a week in NYC due to a death in the family. Husband’s aunt died. It was not unexpected, but it was still sad. Despite our melancholy basis of the trip, it would be a lie to say it wasn’t also really nice. In this case, spending time with family in the wake of his aunt’s passing was special—people seemed more open, more giving, less afraid of emotion, more real. I think this outpouring of good will is due in large part to who she was, and also that she was no longer suffering. Also, all accounts suggest that Q was quite the nice leveler in a time of pain. It’s hard to cry when a 5 month old is grinning ear to ear at you.

No one knew we were in town since we came so spur of the moment, and it wasn’t a social visit. That helped to alleviate the hustle, and ironically, this trip was almost relaxing. Especially given that if Q was awake, usually someone else (read: grandparent) was holding him. I actually got a break.

However, what you must really be wondering is, were we in NY on the record breaking coldest day in years??? Why yes. Thank you for asking. We were (this is where I nod in self-congratulatory way for getting through a harrowing experience. My eyes are closed and I have a very earnest look on my face). How did we handle such weather you want to know? We were totally unprepared. It was horrible. I screamed when the air hit my face. But we managed to get through it somehow (commence nodding).

Actually, “somehow” came in the form of a suggestion to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. My mother took young Q and me. I was willing to go only after hearing that there was an underground parking garage (who knew?). It was actually the perfect activity. There was lots of walking around with plenty to look at. No one told Quinn about museum manners, so he decided to comment on the art in the form of screeches, babbles and oohs and ahhs. He commented very loudly. He thought the art was okay, but the light fixtures were really something worth talking about. We had three hours to kill, so I even paid for the head set for my tour. But it was a bad one. I like it when they tell the dirty back-story on the artist and their lives (e.g. “Pollack was a terrible drunk and at the time of this painting was a shameless womanizer.” Or, “Van Gogh was certifiable when he painted this and cut off his ear the following week”). This headset just went on and on about the actual art. Bor-ring.

But it was still great. It seemed that everyone with a stroller in NYC decided the Met was a good way to escape the apartment on a freezing day because there were babies everywhere. I hadn’t been to the Met for years. When we entered the glass room that holds Temple of Dendur, it really felt…well sort of religious. It was beautiful.

Now we are home. The baby thinks he should wake up at 5am everyday and forego naps.

He Can (sort of) Sit Up

2007-01-17T21:41:00.001-08:00

I am getting over my sensitivity, and I am posting a picture of my baby to prove it. Why I am totally over the issue of my previous post?? Because I got the love from the blogosphere! Thank you!

Quinn managed to balance like a tripod for a while today, imitating sitting up. A few minutes after I took this pic, he succumbed to gravity and was fully bent in half, cheek on blanket. He didn't seem too distressed, though. He must be a Yogi.

A Comment About The Comments

2007-01-16T21:39:00.000-08:00

I am a little irritated and annoyed. I write prior sentence in the spirit of full-disclosure before I write a post I am feeling obligated to write -- addressing my feelings about the mean person in my comments section. I am irritated I even have to deal with this. But I do because the comment from Jada Sanders gave me a feeling that isn’t going away. Although, I guess I do have to give her credit for leaving her name because the last time I posted about going back to work, I received similarly mean comment from an anonymous reader.

I was warned that people’s feelings about working and not working could get pret-ty prickly. Apparently, I underestimated the issue. I truly don’t think working moms have all the answers. Being a parent is a tough job. I could defend my reasons for working, explain my clearly misconstrued posts and even point to research that shows how working is not harmful, even beneficial. But I have a feeling that Ms. Sanders’ mind is made up on this subject. The generation ahead of us fought for the right to work, and now our generation is grappling with the results—results I am happy exist. I will not apologize for working, or for having questions about how to approach the issue.

My question is, why are we so hard on each other? (That was a rhetorical question. I am not actually interested in any more negative feedback on my blog, or interested in any more comments from JS.) I guess that is where the sting comes from. I hate it when women are mean to other women---especially when the charge is that we’re not womanly enough. I thought we were on the same team, yet I find time and time again, women end up the worst aggressors to each other.

Of course, I read that comment and felt hurt instead of angry. I hated the negative tone about “headlines,” as if childcare providers are abusers rather than the wonderful caring people that so many of them are. It just made me feel icky all over. Then I realized that this mean person has seen pictures of my child, and I honestly felt that this blog---this source of support for stressful situations---is potentially a place I don’t feel comfortable posting anymore because it won’t feel fun/supportive/safe.

Yup, JS’ comment packed a punch for me. Funny how it works that saying/writing hurtful ideas do actually hurt people. I wonder if JS teachs her 3 kids about judging others. She sounds like she has all the answers, so there must be no glass house for her.

I don’t have the answers. I’m doing what feels right for me and my family. That doesn’t mean it was an easy decision.

This blog was born out of a time of stress after a time of profound grief and it has mostly been such a great support—especially through bedrest. I have kept it up since Q’s birth in large part because of the support you all have given me. I’m hoping that this JS is a fluke and I can continue to ramble on about my life and get happy comments.

Oh. I am SO ANNOYED! I just checked the blog and JS wrote another comment! I really don’t have the time to defend myself. I am feeling very misunderstood, and I am not going to get into it. Like I said, I am irritated to have to deal with this in the first place. But since JS has been a regular reader, I am requesting that she not comment on this blog anymore. I can tell this lady thinks she really is truly trying to offer support, but I am not interested in the variety.

A Wash

2007-01-12T09:06:00.000-08:00

We did all the research. We conducted the interviews. We met Supernanny. We called her references. They raved. It's a done deal. I crunched the numbers (why not do this beforehand you ask? I have no idea. Some sort of denial mechanism, I think.) It appears that I am going to be paying Suppernanny for the pleasure of working. What I mean is, the income doesn't cover the nanny. Not entirely anyway. The day we hired her I aslo read a parents message board where neighborhood parents poo pooed nanny's and sung the praises of daycare. Socialization and all that. Daycare happens to be much cheaper--with daycare, I could possibly be bringing in some cash, like a dollar fifty an hour! Forget it. I am DONE. For the first 6 months of work while the baby is still an infant, we will pay the big bucks for supernanny. We do get our benefits from my job, what with the husband working for himself. And as I found, evidenced my my pregnancies, the healthcare counts as something pretty major. Still, I deluded myself into thinking that I would be contributing something more financially to our family and it is harder to justify going back when I see how expensive childcare is in this damn hippy town. Now I cling to the healthcare like it's a million dollars "if not for me...we'd have NO healthcare!" Imagine emphatic nodding as I say prior sentence. Reality, which I am firmly ignoring, tells me with a little effort we do have other possible options to resolve how to get benefits if I couldn't provide them. But I have to feel like working is good for something! Ah yes. Once again, knowing Supernanny is a total wash is an opportunity to figure out if I really want it. I still come out feeling like it's a good decision for now. It is 20 hours a week and while I don't necessarily feel like I need to go back now, I think I will want the option of working later. I encounter this nagging instinct that if I stop, it will be hard to ever go back, and I think I want to keep abreast of life in my career world enough to keep my hand in the pot. So, I am keeping up my 20 hours--banking them now for the future career woman I intend to be.

The funny thing is that when people used to come back to my job after having kids, freaking like me, I totally thought they were uptight and insane. Now I am them. Lucky me!

Happy New Year

2007-01-10T11:47:00.001-08:00

Sorry to be so incredibly lame with my blogging. I have had a few posts in my head, but they have not made it to the computer. And when I did try, I had technical difficulties in getting some pics up. Even now I am having trouble. Here is an attempt, and a placeholder until I can put a real post online. This is Quinn performing his first snow angel in Lake Tahoe over New Years! It is his first snow angel....or maybe he has been placed imobile on a snow bank whilehis dad hovers over him with the camera. You decide.

Are You Christmas or Are You Hanukkah?

2006-12-21T19:50:00.000-08:00

That's the question a friend of ours used to ask the other kids at school when she was a kid. She would then proudly say, “I’m both!” Well, we’re both in this house and I am starting to think it is a pain the ass. I used to think it was very convenient that we didn’t have to negotiate where to spend the holidays like some other friends(more true when we lived in the same area as our families). Christmas and Easter with my family. Hanukkah and Passover with the husband’s. Easy peasy.

This year we are staying here and our families are coming to us. First of all, you might wonder why the husband’s family needs to visit when we spent Thanksgiving at their house. You weren’t wondering that? Oh.I was. Well, since you may have been wondering, they say they HAD to come for a friend’s 60th birthday. I know that Hanukkah would not usually merit a plane trip. I KNOW it. Passover is a much bigger deal to them. Christmas is my Passover. Hanukkah is their Easter. Get it? If you don’t, I can’t explain.

Last night we had a huge Hanukkah celebration--lit candles, said a prayer, the whole bit. On Christmas Eve, we are having the whole world to our house, my mom, my brother and the in-laws, plus some friends, their parents, etc.

Before (like in my twenties) double the holidays meant extra parties. But now that I am a full-fledged grown up with an actual child to prove it, I realize that I am in charge of parties and double the holidays just means double the work. Bah Humbug.

Did I mention I have a cold? I have a cold. I'm also a very bad patient.

Death Cab

2006-12-12T10:59:00.000-08:00

Recently, the husband and I went out with our non-parent friends to see a rock show! I am actually going to start this post with a long “I used to be cool” sentiment. I was cool (actually, I was always a dork who was sometimes mistaken for cool). My coolness manifested itself through my superior music taste and when I lived in Seattle in the 90’s (Grunge? Perhaps you’ve heard of it??) my favorite cool girl activity was going to rock shows. And I did. A lot. Maybe “rock show” is an overstatement since my musical taste lies squarely in the wussy rock category (i.e. Bell & Sabastian, Elliot Smith, The Shins, Wilco, Magnetic Fields etc.) In the last few years (truthfully, my penchant for going to shows waned long before parenthood. Once I entered my thirties, arriving for a midnight show appealed less and less) when I went to a show, I felt familiar pull of nostalgia and enjoyment. I often turned to the husband or the friends to declare how I love going to shows and why don’t we go hear music more often?

So when a friend told me recently that she had tickets to one of my favorite bands, Death Cab for Cutie, I jumped. Death Cab has enjoyed quite a bit of commercial success of late, so having tickets to a sold out show seemed exciting. We dropped off Quinn with other friends…you know, the kind who also has a baby and don’t mind hanging out with our baby. We skipped dinner with the group in order to put Quinn to sleep and then arrived for the 9pm start of the band. While I could write one of the annoying “I knew them when they were unknown” posts, which would include information about small rock clubs and loose uneven performances, I won’t. Because the 33 year old me was quite happy that their popularity meant comfortable assigned seats and a start time guranteed to start on-time at 9 instead of “around” 11 or 12. So…was it a rock show when that’s how we saw it? Also,and this is neither here nor there, it was quite disturbing to see how perfectly we fall into a certain wanna-be-hipster-but–we–are-really-yuppies-in-chunky-glasses-in-their-30's demographic. Said demographic can also be found at Belle&Sabastian, Wilco, Magnetic Fields etc…performances.

When the show ended at 10:30, and I RAN (in my Chuck Taylors and designer jeans and also completely sober) to the car to get home to the baby. Death Cab was incredible, but polished. And I was too far away to see it well. We hardly saw our friends since we arrived for the band and left as soon as it was over. But we were out! And it does count as a show because even the band, gazing at the crowd, encouraged us stand and dance even noting as if they weren't sure, “after all. It is a rock show.” If Death Cab says so than it was.

The Sturgeon King

2006-11-29T17:24:00.000-08:00

When I first started dating husband over 7 years ago, he insisted that we frequent this famous oldschool Jewish deli called Barney Greengrass, The Sturgeon King. Back then I didn't quite understand why people waited hours to sit at the cramped tables and suffered the not so friendly service. My only excuse is that maybe I didn't get it because, you know, its not in the blood (I am sure that I am the only gentile around when inside BBG). However, over time I have embraced the husband's culture in the best way I know how. The food. Chopped liver, gafiltafish, bagels, lox...bring it on!! We always make time for Barney Green Grass when in NY, and these days, I am the first to excitedly ask about non-menued items, "any ladkes today??"

It wouldn't be a trip to NY without a trip to The Sturgeon King. This picture was snapped on Quinn's maiden voyage. He doesn't look impressed. But I wasn't impressed at first either:)

I Left My Heart....

2006-11-27T09:30:00.000-08:00

I will admit that the weather was not really so bad, and that despite purchasing a snowsuit at REI, the boy had little reason to wear it. Friday and Saturday after Thanksgiving, it was practically San Fransiscan weather it was so warm. We had lovely walks in Central Park, and I even wore my "must-be-with-me-at-all-times-because-a foggy-day-will-turn-blindingly-sunny-at-any-moment" sunglasses. These sunglasses are very stylish, but never cost more than 13 dollars since they are reincarnated at least once a month. I have a very bad habit of losing everything that is not attached to me. In fact, in my high-school yearbook the "where will they be 20 years later" section said I would be "looking for her wallet."

I can often be found waxing nostalgic about NYC. Despite growing up in the suburbs (which for some reason when talking to a "real" New Yorker, feels more shameful than say, growing up in Omaha. For some reason 20 miles a way gets you much less credibility than 1000 miles a way), I lived in the city for a few years. It started with a summer in college. After college I lived in the NorthWest for 3 years, but then decided to move back closer to my family and attend graduate school in NY. 3 years of living in Manhattan and Brooklyn and it was time to try the West coast again, this time with my now husband. That was 2002. I have more or less been in California since, with frequent visits to NY several times a year to see family and friends. So. The husband’s entire family lives in Manhattan. Husband grew up there. My mom is still in the (gasp) suburbs. I have 3 brothers in and around the city.

These factors often contribute to my wondering why we live thousands of miles from home--especially now, with the new guy. I am often heard talking to the husband about how, with Brooklyn, we could have a lifestyle that is okay and all the help of the various grandparents. Quinn would be close to his multiple cousins and NY is so great!

We hadn’t been back for a long time. We were back a year ago, June, for my father’s funeral. Before that it was April for Passover with husband’s family (mentioned only because the funeral week hardly counts as a fun trip to NY). That September, we lost the pregnancy and had already planned on being in California for the holidays since I assumed I would be hugely pregnant with twins. By December, I was pregnant again, and there was no traveling for this pregnancy given my incompetent issues! So, the mighty Q is now 3 months old and we decided it was high time for a visit.

I found out I like California. We had such a wonderful time seeing everybody. We were nuts, but it was great. And we saw life in NYC in its easiest possible incarnation (read: people who can afford to make it comfortable) and I left thinking, “you don’t have to live this way! I’ve been to the West coast!!” (I know! I know! I don’t have to live on a coast. Places like Chicago exist. But I feel it’s too late to complicate things even more…). No yards, crowded all the time, even a movie at an off time is guaranteed to have every seat filled just because of how many people live in NY. Even when I went to Brooklyn, where a friend has her own brownstone, with a yard, I was surprised by my reaction. She has the same square-footage as our house here in SF. I held my tongue when I called her from the Upper East Side and she said she’d see me in a hour. I used to live blocks from where she lives and I should have known it takes an hour by subway, but when you live in NY you start to think things are normal that are actually insane. Like taking an hour to meet someone for lunch. I exited her stop expecting to feel very nostalgic for my old digs, but instead noticed that it is packed in Brooklyn too. I remember sighing with relief when I got to Brooklyn when I last was a New Yorker because it was so mellow. I guess it is mellow compared to Manhattan, but compared to SF? Not so much.

Like all things like this, if we lived in New York again, we would make it work and it would be fine. When I moved back for grad school from Seattle, it was a tough transition, and when I left for California I was hooked on NY again. There is nothing like a beautiful fall day walking around NY. Nothing. Still, I when we walked into our home last night, and I opened the door to our back yard, I ushered the husband to our deck to smell how fragrant the air is here in the city of San Francisco. I am so relieved to be home, and glad to get away and appreciate it again. For months it was a bedrest prison, but now it is a happy and (literally) sunny place. I think I’ll stay a while.

If You Can Make It Here

2006-11-21T08:14:00.000-08:00

We are in NYC for Thanksgiving. I don't know that I can make it here because, despite growing up around these parts, I am fa-reazing!! The people here make ridiculous comments about the weather, "it hasn't been very cold" or "it's good it's not that cold." When these fantastic statements are made, I gather Quinn close and I whisper in his ear, "it's so cold. I know it's so very cold." My blood has thinned. I have truly become a Californian.

Working My Way Back to Work

2006-11-16T10:23:00.000-08:00

So I have a start date to go back to work. March 1st. Quinn will be a little over 6 months old. I have so much ambivalence about this, but somewhere in my gut I think this is right for me. I have learned, since embarking on this process of figuring out my new work life, that this is one of those controversial parenting subjects. It’s right up there with breastfeeding and sleep. I mention that for two reasons. One, it causes me more anxiety as I figure it all out. And two, I understand that this is totally personal and my feelings on it apply ONLY to me.

It seems the way I make the big decisions in my life have nothing to do with logic. I am not a terribly analytic person. Usually if a decision is wrong, it feels wrong, like bodily wrong. I usually stay in good touch with my body, my sense, and wait for something to feel right. And sometimes it takes a long time for something to feel right, and sometimes things that feel wrong are right and vice versa. So, it doesn’t always work for me, but it’s a system that I’ve grown accustomed too.

Before I had Quinn, I used to happily spout that I would be a better parent through having work in my life because I would be more balanced and therefore give him a more satisfied contented version of me to hang with when around. You know, the take care of yourself in order to take care of others mantra. Now that I have met Quinn, I am not sure that I can use that as an excuse. I don’t know that being back at work will make me a better parent. Plus, I will probably come home from a work day pretty tired, and maybe not the best me I can be. I don’t know that spending less time with me will be better for him. So why go back?

It all boils down to a need to feel like I have a purpose in life in addition to parenting. I feel like this last year and a half, my entire being has been given over to trying to get pregnant, being pregnant, losing the pregnancy, trying to get pregnant again, high-risk pregnancy and now parenting. There is a part of me that wants to stake a claim that all of the “must be a parent” energy isn’t the only part of who I am. Had I worked right up until my due date, I might feel differently. But at this point, it will be a full year out of work by the time I go back and sometimes I wonder what happened to the other me, who was good for more than the baby effort.

There is also something else. Again, this is totally personal. But it might be important for me to work to keep up with the version of me I imagined I’d be as a younger woman. I can’t help it; I am a product of a liberal arts education, where men and woman were totally equal. It’s not to say that the husband and I are unequal, it’s just that I envisioned a life for myself that wondered less traditional paths. I figured for a totally egalitarian relationship in every way. And, much to my surprise, I find myself in a position where the husband pays the big bills (I can’t help it if in our society the job title, “social worker” earns far less money than the job title “attorney”), and I do the bulk of taking care of Quinn (mostly because I have the boobs, but also because husband is out bringing home bacon—don’t misunderstand, he is very hands on and takes care of Q as much as possible considering he does not have breasts.) I am mostly okay with this surprise, but there is a part of me that feels a need to fight entirely becoming my parents. Again, I don't mean to suggest that taking care of a baby is any less important a job than a bacon job. In fact, I am sure it is more real/meaningful in the most important ways. It's just that I start to freak out when I am covered in spit-up in my pajamas and the husband comes in with his suit and breifcase and someone says "honey."

I also get incredible satisfaction out of the work I do. It’s a place where I feel successful, valuable and responsible in an adult way--a professional way. It’s not that I don’t feel successful with Quinn, but let’s face it; it’s a bit overwhelming, and frankly, sometimes boring. No one is saying “great job” when I am rinsing spit-up out of my hair. When some colleagues asked me if I was coming back, I heard myself say, “definitely.” That decisiveness tells me something. It's informatiton for me (given how I make decisions).

So, on March 1st, at least for 20 hours a week, I will say good-bye to seeing my guy during the day. And here, my friends, is the rub. No matter how I decide this, how much I do actually analyze this, no matter how much I feel like this is the right decision for me and okay for him, it just doesn’t change that I get less time with the boy. The little guy seems like he grows napping, how can I leave him for 8 hours at a stretch??? But I will. On Mach 1st I will.

Happy Happy

2006-11-04T13:49:00.000-08:00

I was looking at my blog considering whether I had a post in me, and I somehow got sucked into the "previous posts" section. As I looked over some of the bedrest posts, I realized how truly difficult bedrest was, and how truly unhappy I was during that time. I had a physical sensation which I can only describe as "icky" as I read my previous rants. Despite the sometimes overwhelming issues with parenting, I understood clearly as my body remembered how I felt then, that I am also much happier. I will even dare to say that I am very, very happy.

Raider Nation

2006-11-02T10:17:00.000-08:00

Last weekend we took Quinn on his first airplane trip for a short, short weekend to Seattle to visit some old friends. It seemed like a good trip to take, especially since we will be plane bound to NYC for Thanksgiving and wanted the plane practice.

The trip was great and Q was a champ on the plane. We had received advice to take BART (SF’s excuse for a subway) to the airport, and therefore back home. We flew out of the Oakland Airport, which happens to live next to the Oakland Coliseum where the Oakland Raiders play.

On our way home Sunday everyone was exhausted. I was suffering from my first hangover in years and hadn’t slept well with all the nerves of Q’s first trip. We arrived in Oakland so tired and so ready to be home. After exiting the airport doors, we noticed a number of people in the telltale black and silver Raiders colors wandering around. I knew this might indicate something ominous, but I decided to firmly ignore the instinct. However, arriving at the BART station, it was clear my denial had to be denied. Who would think that a BART platform would be crowded on a Sunday afternoon? Not me and that is why I bought the cheap tickets for our hour and a half flight to Seattle rather than coughing up an extra hundred bucksto fly out of SFO (a mere 20 minutes from our house).

There were hundreds and hundreds of drunken Raider fans EVERYWHERE. The entire BART station was crawling with them. There were a few miserable travelers like us, suitcases in tow, but mostly, it was Raider Nation.

Quinn’s eyes were like saucers as he sucked the life out of his pacifier Maggie Simpson-style. We got to the platform and a group of fans descended. And actually, thank god for Quinn because Raider Nation was quite taken with him and demanded to know his name, his age and his football allegences. Weirdly, one of them said, “he looks like a Jets fan.” I looked up sharply because my family has had season tickets to the Jets for years and really are very big Jets fans. I said, “He is a Jets fan.” The Raider fan said, “I knew it. I can see it in his eyes.” His opened his eyes wide to demonstrate. After that odd exchange, the guy didn’t say another word to us, but everyone else started yelling at us to not ruin his life by making him a Jets fan. The husband smoothed things over by saying that since he’ll grow up in SF, he’ll likely become a Raiders fan regardless. Luckily that made them happy enough to continue their friendly interest in Quinn.

All the trains were coming slowly, and it felt like it would take a miracle with the crowds to imagine actually get ourselves inside a train, especially with all of our crap. Again I say, thank god for Quinn because for whatever reason, these drunken guys decided that Quinn needed to get on the train, and that it was their job to make it happen.

When the train finally came they announced they would “block” for us. They actually did not let anyone on the train until stroller, wheelies and Quinn’s parents where safely inside and settled. They yelled “Go Quinn!” when the doors opened and they “blocked" anyone else from entering as promised. I must admit, it was sort of sweet. Despite the fact that it took two and a half hours to get home, I am feeling like maybe we will consider becoming Raiders fans after all:)

The Mighty Quinn

2006-11-01T22:20:00.000-08:00

Fatty Fat Fatty

2006-11-01T09:35:00.000-08:00

I had a post on Quinn's amazing two-monthness. I also had a great post about how brave he was during vaccinations. I had another breast feeding post (I still think it's a pain in the ass) and I could do a very cute Halloween post. I am not doing a Halloween post because, as cute as he was in his pumpkin hat, it's not really what's on the brain. The other posts, they are lost to time gone by.

What's on the brain these days? I will just say it. I hate being fat. I know, 2 1/2 months post partum don't expect much, it takes time, yadda yadda yadda. A long time ago, I was a normal girl. Then I got pregnant with twins, lost the pregnancy in September a year ago at 19 weeks. I was pregnant again two and half months later, this time with an extra 10 pounds from the previous pregnancy. Add 40 pounds and 6 months on bedrest and tada!! There is a new me wondering around compliments of this last year, and I am not so psyched with my new physique. Luckily, I don't own a scale (because I would be on it 10 times a day if I did), so I have no idea where I am now in terms of weight gain (or weight loss).

I don't care about all the disclaimers, it just sort of sucks to not be able to fit into any of my old clothes. When I am able to get to a yoga class or try a run, I have lost so much muscle mass, and my body responds in such strange ways to previously known entities that it all feels a little defeating. I have the new body I don't like, and the inability to enjoy excercising like I used too. It's a bummer.

I know that other people can relate to this. I have never gone down the eating disorder path, but I admit to having some lifelong body image issues (leftover from high school, I am sure) that rear their ugly heads in times like this. And maybe I am wrong, but show me a woman who grew up in this country without any, and I will be very impressed. I hate being fat.

Blogging in my Head

2006-10-18T09:59:00.000-07:00

This post I am writing? I began it yesterday afternoon. It is so short and I still can't get it posted. How many posts have I written in my head? A lot! I'm so sorry. I am bummed to be such a bad blogger. Not only in my inability to actually get a post online, but also in my uncanny nack for posting boring, terrible material. Motherhood has changed me. I am a dud. Every morning, I wake up and make a mental list of all I have to do, and blogging is always on it. I manage to start every project, but at the end of the day I complete no projects. One would think I would just chose one task and finish it. It will be a miracle if this post actually makes it to the virtual world. I have all but stopped proof-reading. It's true, I go back and see typos, grammatical errors (sorry Sarah, I know the English teacher in you must cringe)and poor writing. This blogging freeze has got to be temporary. The trick is to somehow get the posts from inside my head onto the computer. It is a superhuman task worthy of a superhero. THAT is how hard it seems to be to find the time, concentration and energy to make it work (am I quoting Tim Gunn from Project Runway?). But since I have some superhero-esque traits, I feel I might just be up to the challenge.Please stay tuned....

Bad Blogger!

2006-09-28T15:34:00.000-07:00

I am such a bad blogger! Bad me! I swear, in the haze of whatever it is I do all day--and I must say that I don't think I actually "do" anything, I have lost the will and the way to blog. Sometimes, I will be sitting around, spacing out in a sleep deprived haze, and I will think that I should blog, I sometimes even have the workings of an actual blog entry rumbling around my brain. You know, something witty and clever. But when I sit at the computer to make these rumblings come alive, I have that same expression I wear most of the day--the sleep deprived, spaced-out haze look. And that look is an outer sign to a very comatose version of myself. This new me is unable to put coherent sentences together, let alone witty and clever ones. In fact, now that I am writing this, I wonder, what do I do all day? Today I did not get out of my pajamas until 2pm.

When I would hear people talk about how they had trouble showering or even brushing their teeth with a newborn, I felt a little judgment. My first instinct was to think, really? I mean, REALLY? And even in the first few weeks of Quinn's life I still felt that way. I figured because of the lifestyle curtailment of bedrest, I was ahead of the game. I mean, I can MOVE because I am not pregnant anymore. I like that I can scurry instead of lumber up the stairs. And, with movement, I can also go on walks and visit people. I really thought, well this isn't so bad, what's all the brewhaha about??

Now that Quinn is approaching 6 weeks old, I am realizing that it was easy because he just slept all the time. He sleeps a lot still, but he has decided he only wants to sleep in my arms. Even now, at this very moment, I am able to type because of the grace of the sling. But take him out? Put him in the bassinet? Noooo sirreee that will not do. And the kid, because he is only 6 weeks old, gets a free pass in terms of doing what he wants for now. And he wants to be held. So, in holding him, I forego showering, brushing my teeth, getting dressed or blogging. What I do all day, I now undertsand as I gaze (in true space-cadet fashion) around the squaler of my house, is take care of my baby.

One Month Yesterday

2006-09-22T13:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday the little guy turned a month old. He is already growing out of his first newborn clothes and getting so fat on his arms and legs. I love it! He is also awake so much more during the day, and I swear he has smiled at me twice.

We celebrated by putting him in his own room to sleep instead of ours. I woke to some crying at 3am. I wonder how long it had been going on before I heard it and attended to his feeding. One of my older brothers recently gave me some cynical parenting advice, "The key to parenting success is for you to be as negligent with your first child as we have been with our third." Hmmm.... Even my mother, who is a mother of 5 grown children, appeared to observe with a wry smile how concerned we were about weight gain, "I just figured if they ate, they were gaining weight." Oh. But wait. She then paused for a second as a memory appeared to enter her brain. Funny, my youngest brother, the last of the 5, actually hadn't been gaining weight and the only reason she noticed is that my grandfather mentioned something along the lines of, "that kid looks a little scrawny." As my mother told this story I was duly appalled, "What did you DO?!" My mother didn't seem to be able to recall, and finally said, "Oh. you know. The pediatrician put me on some plan, and I think it got resolved." So...a little 3am crying for the first month, no biggy, right? Self soothing is a good skill!

This week was not only exciting because of One Month; it was also premiere week (that’s right, this overzealousness is not about the kid, it’s about TV)! I am a shameless TV watcher and I will admit that I toasted to my son’s one month birthday with a glass of wine and a nod to the TV as "Grey’s Anatomy" filled the living room with its comforting, familiar, narcissistic angst ridden characters.

How To Mark an Anniversary

2006-09-14T10:43:00.000-07:00

A year ago today we lost our twin girls. Interestingly, I realize as I write this I will tell a bit of their story, but last night I had decided that while I would write something, I was not going to write their story because it would be too hard. But it wants to come out, so I will write it.

My husband and I had a routine ultrasound appointment which the techs tried NOT to do since I had been there two weeks earlier and everything looked great. They called my doctor (my famous perinatologist) and she told them with all twin pregnancies, she has them done more often. So the tech grumpily got to work, saying our babies looked “totally healthy” just two weeks ago. What would change?! She was very quiet during our ultrasound, and then suddenly the actual radiologist was in there looking at our stuff. We didn’t get it. We didn’t know enough then that to have the real doctor decide to take a looksee signified something bad and not something good. The radiologist disappeared and then came back to let us know that our doctor wanted us to go up to labor and delivery. She said our doctor would meet us on the way up. She told us to wait for someone to take us. I said something along the lines of “oh, I work here, I know where it is.” But then a nurse showed up with a wheelchair and my first feeling of fear started creeping in.

Our doc met us on the way, and explained the situation, but it was still confusing. I still thought that we might get monitored for an hour and sent home. I think I was feeling a little cavalier about it. When we got to the front desk at L&D, my friend and colleague was there. She said, “oh no!” and I started crying. I still didn’t really get that something was really wrong, but somewhere something was being understood because I couldn’t stop the tears.

Finally, we met with the attending doctor on call. We were told we had a “50/50 chance” of saving the twins. My cervix was practically all the way open, water bags bulging. They would perform an emergency cerclage. It was my first time hearing the term. They said they would do it first thing in the morning, and asked that I sleep with my hips up all night to try to get the water bags back where they belonged in my uterus. It was a terrible night. We cried all night, and, although I wasn’t sure, I felt leaking every time I used the bed pan. In the morning they decided to check me before surgery, a surgery everyone managed to remind me was only a “50/50 chance of success at best.” They told me that I would be on bedrest the remainder of the pregnancy. It was all so scarey and overwhelming. During the exam before surgery, my water bag broke all over the place. I was still so naïve, I remember saying, “what was that warm liquid?”

This is where things get bad, and where I notice I am not feeling much like writing anymore. We had a lot of decisions to make about whether to induce, to do a D&E or to let nature take its course and wait for me to naturally go into labor. We had one twin still floating around in her unbroken water bag, and inducing seemed very awful knowing she was still in there healthy and clueless. But the risk of infection was high, and any chance of saving her was grim. I remember my doctor giving me a speech about her first priority being my health, and that infection could be very harmful to me and my ability to have future pregnancies. We decided to induce. It was awful decision. Later, we found out that the placenta had already become infected. It would have just been a matter of time. Still, that moment of deciding to end the pregnancy was one of the worst moments of an ordeal of horrible moments.

The good news is that we had a very caring doctor and nurse for our night of hell, and it turns out that it mattered. They were wonderful, and I think of them still. The social worker was my work supervisor. Odd, but comforting. We had an epidural. I remember the anesthesiology resident saying something about it being early for an epidural, and the nurse cutting him off and saying, “she’s in pain and she doesn’t need to feel pain.” It all happened quickly. I hardly felt the delivery, they were so small. We held them, we said our good-byes. We cried. The next morning, we went home and those first dark days began.

I was wondering how I would feel today given what happened a year ago. I also wondered how you mark an anniversary like this, especially with our son, who is not quite a month old, and who I love with everything I have. On the first anniversary of my father’s death a few months ago (yeah, it was a shitty few months last year) and I remember thinking that these anniversary’s are important, not because of the symbolism or the rituals, but because they force you to think of that person or that day. You can’t avoid it. I hadn’t thought of my dad too much day to day several months before his anniversary, and I don’t think of the twins everyday anymore. Yet, because it is the anniversary, I have written this story and I already feel some relief by doing that.

It also gives me a chance to think about the last year. If there is a silver lining to losing my twin girls it’s that I appreciate my life so much more. I don’t take nearly as much for granted and having gone through something so powerfully painful has and made me a better, maybe even more interesting person. When we lost the girls, pretty much the only people who understood were people who had gone through tremendous loss themselves. Knowing you can heal, or find some peace after something like this…it’s hard to explain except to say my perspective on almost everything is shifted. It’s shifted in a good way. Again, if you have to find something good about it…believe me, I am also wondering today who we missed knowing, who our girls would grow up to be, and I am feeling the sadness of that for sure.

As I write this, I glace up at my baby, who is napping at my side, and feel so much love for him. It is a thoughtful day, but it doesn’t have to be a bad one.

Breast is Best

2006-09-06T11:25:00.000-07:00

I know that this picture of baby sleeping is just totally fascinating to everyone. I really can't believe myself. I am suddenly sending out pictures similar to this to friends and family on a daily basis assuming that they are as interested in watching Quinn sleep, eat and have occasional "eyes wide open" moments as I am. I am so boring these days. I have nothing else to blog because I have become so uninteresting. Except maybe how annoying breast feeding is. I can do a post on that. Okay I will.

Actually, the feeding is going pretty well for the most part. He is now got the "latch" down, and I am less stressed about how much he gets with each feeding now that the all important birth weight is regained.

On day three of his life, we ended up meeting with a breast feeding consultant because so much of my milk came in that I was totally engorged, and the poor kid was bouncing off my boobs. I was so tender, it hurt just to touch the skin, and my nipples were sore and bleeding due to the multiple vigorous attempts by the boy to work it out. I ended up renaming the lactation consultant "Jesus" because I decided after meeting with her that she is my personal savior. In many black humor moments after that meeting, I could be seen tearily attempting to feed him at 4am crying, "What would Jesus do?" Even my husband started many sentences with "Jesus said...." (BTW, I really hope I am not offending anyone. This kind of humor is how I get by sometimes, and I totally respect peoples beliefs and don't mean to make light of, or make fun of a true belief system.)

All seems to have improved greatly. But here's is my gripe: I feel like I am supposed to LOVE breastfeeding. You know the whole "bonding" thing, like it is this beautiful moment between me and the kid where we connect. People swear I will get there, but right now? Now I still gear up for each feeding (How's it going to go? Will he latch? Will he get enough?Did he get too much? Will he burp?) . I am so relieved afterwards that it is over and that I get nearly 3 hours before doing it again. I admit it, I DREAD feeding. There. I said it. And I feel ashamed about it. I can be pretty hard on myself (like I also have this voice in the back of my head saying, “are you kidding me?! You are posting about breast feeding and baby pictures? You have become a cliché!”), so any societal judgment will definitely get filtered in my neurotic brain. Welcome to the new me—you might recognize me from previous hyper-anxious bed rest posts:)

Day Three

2006-09-03T11:17:00.000-07:00

I am still having some technical difficulties (we have a whole new camera and computer system since I last posted pictures). However, I am hoping this is a successful post of a picture from day three of Quinn's short life. I probably already sound like an obsessed parent, but I will tell you, he has already changed so much since this picture was snapped! I am still working on getting a few more recent pictures uploaded.

How I was Tricked into Natural Childbirth

2006-08-29T18:48:00.000-07:00

First of all, I am over the moon with joy over here! We had a baby boy last Monday, and his name is Quinn. Thank you to everyone who helped me to manage the last nine months. I mean it; this blog has been a surprising source of comfort and support. Thank you to everyone whose blogs I read regularly and to all the great supportive comments. And I WILL post pictures, as soon as I figure out a few technical difficulties. Now that Quinn is here, all bets are off in terms of being shy. In the meantime, here is how Quinn happened to enter into the world.

I should start by saying I went on a bonifide hike on Sunday, and I went into labor early Monday morning. It was short hike, but it was straight up. I was determined to shake him out; even my husband said “if you don’t go into labor tonight, you are not going in for a few weeks.” That night I couldn’t sleep. I went downstairs to watch TV. Watching TV when I can’t sleep is odd behavior for me. Usually when I can’t sleep I just sit around miserably until I do. I had a few contractions and I remember thinking something along the lines of, “I don’t think I am going to sleep tonight.” But I still hadn’t put two and two together that the reason I might not sleep is because I would be in labor.

Eventually, around 2am, I went up to bed. I woke up husband to say that I had been having contractions, but no pattern and at the time I think I said, “They can go on like this for hours so I don’t think anything is happening tonight.” But then, 4:30am and hello! I woke up with a huge contraction. And then I had another. I woke up the husband, he timed them, and they were 5 minutes apart. I did that for an hour. I called the hospital; they were all “well, sounds early. Why don’t you hang out for a few more hours and give us a call.” So I did. The whole time the contractions were 5 minutes apart, and they were increasing in intensity. But I used my yoga breathing and was managing them just fine. During that time, I took a bath, I ate, and I even slept in my 5 minutes off. Finally, around 7:30 we called the hospital again, and this time they told us to come in. Even then, we took our time. I wanted donuts (donuts? I love donuts, but I had only had about two throughout the whole pregnancy. I guess I wanted the last of my guilt free eating), so we got some donuts and coffee and meandered toward the hospital.

Once there, they put us into triage and told us that they might be sending us home, since people can have contractions for hours before anything is happening. But they said they would “check me” and see. The midwife, who was awesome and whom I had never met before did check me and stated that I was already 5 centimeters dilated. Great! It was time to go into a real labor and delivery room.

This is where everything Guru says about hospitals starts to become untrue. Did I get pressure to do things a certain way? Sure. Was it with medical intervention? No! That’s what you get for living in a progressive city. My first suspicion should have been my nurse. She was so great and so nice. She said, “Why don’t you take a bath?! We’ve had some people labor in the tub until right before it is time to push! It can be really comfortable.” I did get into the tub, and it was a little better. My second clue should have been the other nurse. She looked to be in her mid-sixties and was clearly an authentic San Franciscan hippie. Like a real one, from the sixties. I can’t say exactly what it was about her, but when she showed me her moon pendant from the Renaissance Fair, I knew. She waved her hand towards a “birthing stool” that I could go “play around with if I wanted.” At this point, I was hanging over the side of the tub moaning. Things were starting to get intense for me. The contractions were coming quickly, and they were hurting a lot more.

Finally, the anesthesiologist entered. He arrived when the nurses and midwife had momentarily left the room and I looked at him gratefully. He told that he is “not trying to sell me anything” and then indicated the emergency situations that would involve him (e.g. emergency c-section) and then said that he does also do epidurals. At this point, I had left the tub, was ignoring the birthing stool and was clinging to the bed. By the time he finished talking I said, “Okay, I want an epidural. Now.” He said, “Great! I’ll go get the tray.” He left and the nurses and midwife came back. We told them our decision. Renaissance Fair said, “He won’t tell you this, but an epidural will really slow things down. You’re doing so great.” The other nurse said, “Hmm, why don’t we check you to see where you are before making a decision.” And the midwife said, “There are some other pain relief options before an epidural. Do you want to start with some nitrous oxide?” They checked me. They all clucked with approval, “7 centimeters! Wow! Wow that was faasst!!” They were nodding at each other and smiling. It felt like a show. I weakly looked at all of their calm, warm womanly faces and said, “Okay, I’ll try the nitrous.” I vaguely remember the poor anesthesiologist being shooed away when he tried to come back in. I started on the nitrous. I don’t think it did SHIT. Renaissance Fair admitted afterwards that she doesn’t think it does much and even said, “I think yours wasn’t on right anyway.” Great. I tried it for 10 minutes and threw the mask down.

And then I knew for sure. It had been at least an hour since I tried the “other interventions” and I knew that I was probably close to 8 cm dilated. I was past the point of no return. I gave up thinking that I was going to get relief. They tricked me. I was suddenly in the midsts of natural childbirth.

You know how people say that you forget the pain of childbirth after it happens? And that if you do it naturally it is somehow more beautiful or you are more connected to your baby? Well, um, not so much. It hurts and it is scarey and it is like nothing I have ever felt before and I don’t know that I would do it that way again. That said, I am secretly proud of myself (not so secret anymore) and I do think things were moving fast and would have slowed down had I gotten the epidural. I also think my recovery was a lot faster since I was easily able to walk around immediately after giving birth. But, let’s just say I am not feeling like I need to go that route again. It hurts!

It seems that right when I realized I was done with other options, everything got hard. I started screaming during the contractions, which appeared to be coming one after another. I found out later that I always had a little break, but that’s not how it felt to me! Poor husband was so distraught while taking care of me; during a contraction he would put his face near mine and moan with me. He rubbed me, he got me cool washcloths, he told me how great I was, how strong and beautiful. At one point I decided to try to pee, and I had such a bad contraction that I remember getting up and saying, “somebody help me!!” before collapsing into his arms and clinging for dear life.

The rest is a blur. I guess at some point the noises I was making during contractions indicated that it was time to push. It’s strange, they say you can’t help pushing, and I guess I started making pushing noises. My “team” looked at each other knowingly and the nurse decided to check me to see if I was fully dilated. She couldn’t tell because my unbroken water bag was in the way so she went to get the midwife. I remember yelling to husband, “I think he’s coming out!” We were alone. I told him to go get them. He started towards the door and I screamed, “Don’t leave me!” Luckily, the midwife came in at that moment, checked me and said, “yup, time to push.” Again, the rest is a blur, except that I still remember that scary feeling of needing to push. It’s somewhat analogous to throwing up (which I also did a few times during the process). It’s involuntary, and it is awful, but it has to happen. Husband was right in the thick of things, holding up my thigh for me. I guess one nice thing about being drug free is that you can move around. I was in so many positions it was crazy. They kept on mentioning the birthing stool and the bed birthing bar and really, for the most part, I was clutching the side rails of the bed squinting in pain. I wasn’t going to actually move anywhere. I yelled “Why isn’t he coming out?” I know I yelled that a few times. There were lots of “Okay, push!!” and then some “take a breath” and then more “push really hard!” At some point, I heard my husband say “I can see the head!!” After they got the shoulders out, the rest of him just tumbled out. They put him on my chest, and I swear he looked right at me. That was beautiful. The truth is that childbirth does stop hurting immediately—it’s the worst pain of your life, and then it is over. Crazy how primal all this stuff really is.

Afterwards, we all heard a woman making the most insane sounds from the labor room next door. Everyone chuckled knowingly. Except me. Damned if I was going to laugh at her, I knew what she was going through.

The rest is history, and I am waay to tired to write anymore for now. Again, pictures will come, but for now I am loving being home with my baby and adjusting to the new saga called “breastfeeding.” More to follow on that.

From The DH

2006-08-23T15:05:00.000-07:00

Dear all,

This is just a quick note on my wife’s behalf to let you know that our perfect little boy was born happy and healthy on Monday, August 21 at 1:01PM. Everyone is doing great. We’re in the clouds. Details to follow soon.

Dear Baby Boy in My Belly,

2006-08-15T22:04:00.000-07:00

I know that I have spent this whole pregnancy telling you to "stay inside!" It is true that every night before sleep I religiously imagined my cervix closed and I imagined you inside unable to get out because my cervix was double triple locked. Believe me, it has taken some getting used to for me to imagine that cervix door unlocked, so I can understand that it may be hard for you to know that IT IS OKAY TO COME OUT NOW. Actually, not only is it okay, I am requesting that you PLEASE COME OUT NOW. I am a little tired of being pregnant and I am very anxious to meet you. So. If you don’t mind, can you please come out now?

Still Baking

2006-08-13T18:14:00.000-07:00

Two nights ago I woke up with a mother of a contraction at 5am. I woke up with so much "menstrual like pain" that my first thought was, "I need an epidural." Good to know that the natural childbirth fanatics of San Francisco haven't completely gotten to me. My wimpy self is still in place. My second thought was, "it's time!" I woke up the husband right away even though I had just felt one contraction, because, frankly, it really freaked me out--that level of intensity. I told him that I woke up with a contraction and that I think I had had some in my sleep before that one. We both decided to train our eyes on the clock by the bed and see when the next one would come. Then it was suddenly 9:30am and I woke up again. I guess that is a lot of time between contractions. Since then I have felt stirrings of cramps, plenty of braxton hicks, but nothing indicating that imminent labor is on the way.

Tomorrow we see a new provider. I am not feeling so good about that even though I know it is the right thing to "widen the net" of people to meet in the practice since I all but know Peri won't be at delivery. I think, in my twisted way, I became very attached to Peri and her controlling hands on support. I am high risk, damn it! A midwife? How will she understand the nature of my high risk pregnancy? Of course, all of my questions have to do with topics that are not high risk and very much in her scope of practice, but STILL. I feel like meeting a new provider at 38 1/2 weeks pregnant--it feels wrong somehow. But Peri told me to do it, and I do what Peri says. Despite my seemingly complicated relationship with her, I credit her for getting me here and as usual, Peri knows best.