I hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday season. It's hard to believe that I started this blog over a year and half ago ranting about my pregnancy woes and joking about birthing unicorns; now I have a real life 10 month old that has all those same magical and mystical powers, minus the horn and hoofs. Despite what many of you repeatedly told me over the longest 10 months of my life, I never believed that I would be sitting here again at my computer, functioning like a normal human being, and glowing about being a mother. On February 2, 2010, I was certain that for the next 18 years I was destined to be a frantic, anxious, unbearably unattractive, painfully tired and secretly resentful, pitiful woman. Yet here I be, a mere 305 days later, with a new normal and a surprising sense of ease.
As promised, I have not updated this blog with hugs and kisses recaps of my own personal baby story...I have waited until a volunteer came along to discuss the pre-baby horror that is pregnancy. A very good friend reached out to me recently to inform me that she has been feeling the tick of her biological cuckoo clock and isn't sure what to make of it. She has been toying with the idea of considering the possibility to begin thinking about having a tentative discussion with her husband about the status of her uterus. Needless to say, she is not at the point of making a decision today, but is looking to learn more. After following the blog during my pregnancy, she knew I would be honest in response to her inquiries about money, time, and life in general after baby. As a fan of the blog, a friend, and supporter of twisted humor, she has volunteered for us to further examine whether or not she is indeed ready to contemplate fertilization.
When doing a quick looksi lou online regarding pre-pregnancy considerations for this write-up, I found several quizzes, which contained questions like these: "Do you take a daily multivitamin?" "Do you keep a written record of your menstrual cycle?" and the obvious "Do you have a reproductive life plan?" He he he .. ...apparently I was grossly under qualified for pregnancy - perhaps this explains my overall experience? Duh, a reproductive life plan would have made my gestation period so much more comfortable.
So friends, lets take a look at 10 categories below that I’ve randomly deemed important and rate them on a scale of 1-10, with 1 being "sew it up" (her vagina) and 10 being "toss your pills tonight!" This will be the Lyssy Pre-Pregnancy Preparedness Predictor (LPPP).
LPPP (not to be confused with OPP, which she is in fact not down with)
Age: She is 30. I give her a 10/10 in this category. She had her 20’s, he had his 30's - grown up enough to deal with a child, still young enough to have fun. Of course they can have a baby these days at 65 if they'd like, and her being a scientist I'm sure she could make that happen. But ew.
Size/Build: My height, thin and in shape enough to make me bitterly jealous. She is strong like bull; her score is an 10/10.
Relationship: Married for 5+ years. Her husband is 9 years her senior. Score is a 10/10. Plenty of women have babies all by themselves. Plenty of same sex couples that are not afforded the "luxury" of marriage have babies.
Domestication rating: I'd give her at least a 5 of 10. I believe she tends towards my school of thought when it comes to cooking (I'm a 1 out of 10 for those of you that don't know), BUT she has acquired a recent profound interest in baking cupcakes (tick, tick, tick). Given the fact that I would score myself a 1, and above I indicated she was at first thought a 5 – compounded by the fact that my baby is still alive, her overall rating doubles to become 10/10 in this category as a predictor for pregnancy preparedness.
Pets: 3 dogs, which she adores more than most people do their kids. She loves her dogs; my dogs are unfortunately peripheral to me at this point. I'm sure some women do much better at maintaining that relationship with their pets - but thank goodness my husband is still so good and attentive with them. I score her a 4/10 here, this is a hard and sad transition (at least it was for me).
Housing: Suburban dream in a good school district. 10/10. Doesn't get much better than her digs. Sure, the mortgage is high and babies are expensive. But I live in a dump and our repair bills per year are outlandish, and yet our house never gets nicer. This week I have found a ziploc baggie, cheese curls package, hangers, a miller high life 40 ounce bottle and bathmat in my driveway. Yes, a bathmat. Luckily, the owners came to claim it (WTF???) In all fairness, the 40 could have been my husbands.
Hobbies: We played volleyball in college together - she has managed to keep it up, apparently is a runner now, and does something with a large group of people in the mud on occasion (what the hell were those photos on facebook by the way?) There isn't anything listed here that is life altering. If her hobbies were swinging and/or knife fighting there might be some issue. Volleyball and running can be resumed. Kids like mud. 10/10.
Occupation: Scientist. Really, like the cure cancer kind of scientist. The published, John Hopkins, breed of scientist. 5/10. I can take my work home, hell I can even fart around like I am right now in my very important "business" world - I don't think it works that way with beakers and test tubes. However, I'm pretty sure she wouldn't be the first scientist to have a baby, but it may slow research for the next big publication, or delay the cure for Alzheimer’s.
Stress Tolerance: High. A former division 1 athlete that graduated with honors, works in a highly competitive field, has stayed married for over 5 years. Nuff said. She is a cool cat, I’m pretty sure she could handle anything thrown her way, including baby poop. 10/10.
Comfort with the Unknown: Low. She is a scientist – she knows more than most of my other friends combined (no offense friends, she just really is a genius). This is the real issue: she isn’t sure she will like being a mom and is looking for me to offer advice. My friend, it is a leap of faith…and seeing as how neither of us are destiny/fate type gals - I know it seems incomprehensible to take this risk when the stakes are so very high. I will not lie- it would really suck to go through all the horrors of pregnancy and not like your baby. And I cannot promise you would like your baby. As a scientist, you could do a statistical regression based on data I could compile by conducting an engagement and satisfation survey of passerby new mothers – oh wait, that’s what a statistician would do. What would a scientist do? What Would Darwin Do? Do they have that bracelet for that yet? I guess you could try to find the answer in the Origin of Species or some might argue the Bible, but then you get your vagina involved in all these academic /spiritual discussions that it really doesn’t want or need to hear. I think you should treat your discussions about your vagina and its capabilities much like those discussions at office happy hour – stay off the subjects of religion and politics. I know, I digress, only to avoid the score here of 2/10. You’ll know when you’re ready, or you’ll get drunk and forget to take your pill. Either way, your current level of preparedness in this category is low.
The official LPPP score is 81. Good enough for me, yes – for a future Nobel prize winner, I’m not sure.
Love you girl, hope I made you laugh, you'll figure it out.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
Shark happens
Suprisingsly, on our first date night in months my husband tells me I'm a good writer and he enjoyed this blog during my pregnancy. I didn't even know he read it. Then he revealed that some of the stuff I said about him made him uncomfortable, but it was all true, so he never said anything about it. Readers may not know that Chris was a stand up comic for many years. So if you have previously read this blog and thought that perhaps I was too harsh on him, or maybe I was airing too much dirtly laundry, please keep in mind that I have sat in a room full of 100+ people, while he tells a joke that is wildly inappropriate about me (or us) and had everyone turn and look and laugh at me. And usually I would laugh along too - one thing Chris and I have in common is an appreciation for what is funny, regardless of the appropriateness of the joke. Needless to say I've given little thought to him being uncomfortable with strangers reading about my valid frustruations with him...if he can dish it out, he should be able to take it!
After the nice compliments about my writing style, humor and content, he let loose a "but..."
As soon as I heard the "but" I prepared myself to get angry, and that's when Chris nicely informed me that my blog had jumped the shark. For those of you not familiar with that term, please refer here. Of course, my initial gut reaction is to fire back, "I'd say your career jumped the shark," but I held my razor tongue and listened to his rationale.
I've let it marinate for a bit, and I must say I agree with him. This blog was created out of the pure hatred of pregnancy. Now I have a beautiful, wonderful, healthy baby girl - and while I have shared some rantings about the frustrations that accompany being a parent, the writing does stray from its original intent. I don't need a blog to write about the nuances of everyday family life. Plus, actually having the baby here is pretty cool, its the whole pregnant part that sucks.
Do not fear! I would like to keep this blog alive, with a return to its original programming -but I will need your help. I will be asking my friends/family - and maybe random preggers I see on the street (b/c they will love it, maybe I'll touch their bellies while I'm at it) to let me interveiw them about their worst pregnancy stories. I'll try to write about it in a way that will make you chuckle.
Any volunteers? If need be, we can keep the story anonymous - I get that some of you may not be as free as I am in sharing boob stories.
After the nice compliments about my writing style, humor and content, he let loose a "but..."
As soon as I heard the "but" I prepared myself to get angry, and that's when Chris nicely informed me that my blog had jumped the shark. For those of you not familiar with that term, please refer here. Of course, my initial gut reaction is to fire back, "I'd say your career jumped the shark," but I held my razor tongue and listened to his rationale.
I've let it marinate for a bit, and I must say I agree with him. This blog was created out of the pure hatred of pregnancy. Now I have a beautiful, wonderful, healthy baby girl - and while I have shared some rantings about the frustrations that accompany being a parent, the writing does stray from its original intent. I don't need a blog to write about the nuances of everyday family life. Plus, actually having the baby here is pretty cool, its the whole pregnant part that sucks.
Do not fear! I would like to keep this blog alive, with a return to its original programming -but I will need your help. I will be asking my friends/family - and maybe random preggers I see on the street (b/c they will love it, maybe I'll touch their bellies while I'm at it) to let me interveiw them about their worst pregnancy stories. I'll try to write about it in a way that will make you chuckle.
Any volunteers? If need be, we can keep the story anonymous - I get that some of you may not be as free as I am in sharing boob stories.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Rollercoaster of Love
Apparently I never had PMS before I got pregnant.
I thought I did, but evidently me thought wrong because the surge of emotions I felt for my first visit from Aunt Flo post baby was horrifying. I didn't connect the dots completely until I was driving home from the grocery store, with Mila in the back seat, and started to get inexplicable road rage. I was white knuckling the wheel and flipping the bird to anyone and everyone that would look at it. Wondering why I was so infuriated, I got home and saw on the counter my birth control pills with the row of whities being the only ones left. It was an ah ha moment, and I warned Chris that he should stay away from me for a few days - I wasn't in the mood for shenanigans. Did he listen? No. Is our screen door now broken? Yes. Later that night, I thought I was having contractions again - waking up in the middle of the night panicking that there was a late twin stuck in there or something. Apparently I had never really experienced cramps before either.
Is this the body I will be stuck with now? Once a month not only will I be sagging, drooping and scarred, but now I can look forward to crampy and cranky as well?
They say every pregnancy is different and every woman has a different experience, why does it have to be my experience both pre and post partum to be a raving lunatic? If you ask Chris he'll say it has nothing to do with the baby, but if you ask me I'll say Chris is an expletive. So looking forward to that row of pink pills!
I thought I did, but evidently me thought wrong because the surge of emotions I felt for my first visit from Aunt Flo post baby was horrifying. I didn't connect the dots completely until I was driving home from the grocery store, with Mila in the back seat, and started to get inexplicable road rage. I was white knuckling the wheel and flipping the bird to anyone and everyone that would look at it. Wondering why I was so infuriated, I got home and saw on the counter my birth control pills with the row of whities being the only ones left. It was an ah ha moment, and I warned Chris that he should stay away from me for a few days - I wasn't in the mood for shenanigans. Did he listen? No. Is our screen door now broken? Yes. Later that night, I thought I was having contractions again - waking up in the middle of the night panicking that there was a late twin stuck in there or something. Apparently I had never really experienced cramps before either.
Is this the body I will be stuck with now? Once a month not only will I be sagging, drooping and scarred, but now I can look forward to crampy and cranky as well?
They say every pregnancy is different and every woman has a different experience, why does it have to be my experience both pre and post partum to be a raving lunatic? If you ask Chris he'll say it has nothing to do with the baby, but if you ask me I'll say Chris is an expletive. So looking forward to that row of pink pills!
Saturday, May 8, 2010
She works hard for the money
Three weeks ago I started back to work full time. I had originally started writing this post prior to my return - I had several paragraphs of ranting on the archaic nature of our inflexible workforce, rampant sexism, reverse age discrimination, et cetera. I deleted those thoughts (although they were valid!!) and began anew below.
My first day back went something like this: cried leaving the house, yelled at Chris for not understanding why I was so upset, begrudgingly rode the train into the city, walked the half mile to work sniffling, stared teary eyed at my computer wondering where to begin, decided to look at photos of Mila online, Oops! time to go home. Thought that Chris would tell me how hard his day was staying at home with Mila... thought Mila would be hysterical from being at home with Chris all day. It was a piece of cake for him and when I scooped her up for kisses she couldn't stop looking at her daddy. Peas and carrots those two, I guess I should be grateful and not jealous.
-Unfortunately I think I lost some of my edge because I find myself not willing to risk it all everyday. I generally get a lot done because I'm willing to put it all on the line - you either love me or hate me. I'm finding myself holding my tongue more often, and yesterday I even said "considering the politics of the situation" - uh oh, I'm starting to dance for them! But they do pay me well and now I have more than myself to think about....this thought process in itself is humbling for me.
-The biggest change is that my fat ass has nothing to wear. Who knew the belly band would come in more use post delivery than while I was actually pregnant. I've lost too much weight to wear maternity clothes, but not enough to get back in my old clothes. You should see the gem of an outfit I have on today. Good times.
My first day back went something like this: cried leaving the house, yelled at Chris for not understanding why I was so upset, begrudgingly rode the train into the city, walked the half mile to work sniffling, stared teary eyed at my computer wondering where to begin, decided to look at photos of Mila online, Oops! time to go home. Thought that Chris would tell me how hard his day was staying at home with Mila... thought Mila would be hysterical from being at home with Chris all day. It was a piece of cake for him and when I scooped her up for kisses she couldn't stop looking at her daddy. Peas and carrots those two, I guess I should be grateful and not jealous.
Days 2, 3, 4...15 have pretty much gone the same way, with a tad more work getting done each day - but I still take the time to look at my baby girl photos over and over again. Now the harsh reality of being 4 months behind on 3 projects is setting in, and I have a mild panic attack around 2PM everyday.
Some ways my work life has changed since becoming a mom:
-I find my arch Nemesis amusing rather than infuriating (at least for the time being)
-I think I've been inducted into a secret club that I never knew existed. Its very strange - but nice- to get approving glances from female colleagues as if only now am I truly an adult.
-While presenting at a board meeting recently, I was asked to show photos....I smell leverage!-Unfortunately I think I lost some of my edge because I find myself not willing to risk it all everyday. I generally get a lot done because I'm willing to put it all on the line - you either love me or hate me. I'm finding myself holding my tongue more often, and yesterday I even said "considering the politics of the situation" - uh oh, I'm starting to dance for them! But they do pay me well and now I have more than myself to think about....this thought process in itself is humbling for me.
-The biggest change is that my fat ass has nothing to wear. Who knew the belly band would come in more use post delivery than while I was actually pregnant. I've lost too much weight to wear maternity clothes, but not enough to get back in my old clothes. You should see the gem of an outfit I have on today. Good times.
Friday, April 23, 2010
a mom and a baby walk into a liquor store... (insert your own punchline here)
Well, the baby technically wasn't walking, she was being carried in her car seat.
Is it bad that Mila is only 4 months old and I already have 2 funny liquor store stories??
One involves a $6.99 sale on Yellow Tail and the other a broken bottle of tea vodka and a disapproving security guard. I won't go into the details, I'm sure most of the people reading this with kids have their own babies n' booze stories. For those of you that don't, kudos on your sobriety.
Is it bad that Mila is only 4 months old and I already have 2 funny liquor store stories??
One involves a $6.99 sale on Yellow Tail and the other a broken bottle of tea vodka and a disapproving security guard. I won't go into the details, I'm sure most of the people reading this with kids have their own babies n' booze stories. For those of you that don't, kudos on your sobriety.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Exercising Demons
Just in case anyone was snickering at my misuse of "exorcising" in my previous post, I agree, what a dope! In retrospect, I think my mistake may have actually been a more accurate assessment of what happened.
Exorcising demons refers to the ritual process by which indwelling evil spirits, or demons, are compelled to leave a person's body. In my case, exercising demons just means they got a good workout, were very active for a while, and are now at rest!
I would never want to exorcise my demons, what a bore! Besides, I might need to call upon them again in the future - I'm good at the "taking names," but "kicking ass" is really their area of expertise.
Exorcising demons refers to the ritual process by which indwelling evil spirits, or demons, are compelled to leave a person's body. In my case, exercising demons just means they got a good workout, were very active for a while, and are now at rest!
I would never want to exorcise my demons, what a bore! Besides, I might need to call upon them again in the future - I'm good at the "taking names," but "kicking ass" is really their area of expertise.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
30 Minute Meals My Ass
F U Rachel Ray.
It took me 2.5 hours to cook dinner from your 30 minute meals cookbook. Two nights in a row. The latest menu was turkey sliders, summer squash and red pepper saute and roasted strawberries. Delicious? Most definitely! 30 Minutes? My Ass! It took me 30 minutes just to figure out what roasting means.
It took me 2.5 hours to cook dinner from your 30 minute meals cookbook. Two nights in a row. The latest menu was turkey sliders, summer squash and red pepper saute and roasted strawberries. Delicious? Most definitely! 30 Minutes? My Ass! It took me 30 minutes just to figure out what roasting means.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
I'm so chill I can't even think of a witty title...
Over a month has passed since my last post, and while I've been very busy with little Mila, I've wondered why I haven't updated the blog - suprised at myself that I've actually run out of things to say. Upon further consideration, I've realized that I haven't run out of things to say, I just have less things to bitch about these days (although my husband may disagree with that statement).
Pregnancy and labor for me was a horrific and frightening experience, period. I have friends that loved being pregnant, friends that were amazed and thrilled with the labor process, friends that might have shared some of my feelings about it - though I doubt they would have ever shouted their discontent from the rooftops as I did for nine months (ahem, correction -10 months). While I know that every pregnancy is different, I do wonder if its just my personality (or some flaw therein) that made my response to my experience so outrageous.
The demons were definitely exercised the moment Mila was born (I'm not insinuating that Mila is a demon...) but there are still so many challenges that I'm still facing - mainly this process of creating a whole new definition of self and more importantly of purpose. I kind of feel like these things will figure themselves out over time - I guess my more relaxed outlook has something to do with the awesomeness that is Mila and maybe a little bit to do with the fact that I can once again engage in the occasional cocktail. (don't judge me!) A friend said to me recently, "you seem so calm." And you know what? I feel calm - not like buddha calm, but probably as calm as I could ever be. I still have my complaints and worries and frustrations, but I don't feel like they're eating me from the inside anymore. But don't tell my husband about this confession of clarity and rediscovered sanity, I need to keep him on his toes.
I'm hoping this new found zen-ness will not interfere with my ability to write a hostile entry on this blog every now and again - but the tone may change a bit. I'll try to refrain from being one of those, "i'm so in love, she is so perfect, i'm so happy, blah blah blah." I'm assuming that is how everyone feels - plus, you've seen the pictures, I don't have to tell you how great she is - it's obvious she is the most perfect/adorable/smart baby ever, so we can just all acknowledge it and move on.
Pregnancy and labor for me was a horrific and frightening experience, period. I have friends that loved being pregnant, friends that were amazed and thrilled with the labor process, friends that might have shared some of my feelings about it - though I doubt they would have ever shouted their discontent from the rooftops as I did for nine months (ahem, correction -10 months). While I know that every pregnancy is different, I do wonder if its just my personality (or some flaw therein) that made my response to my experience so outrageous.
The demons were definitely exercised the moment Mila was born (I'm not insinuating that Mila is a demon...) but there are still so many challenges that I'm still facing - mainly this process of creating a whole new definition of self and more importantly of purpose. I kind of feel like these things will figure themselves out over time - I guess my more relaxed outlook has something to do with the awesomeness that is Mila and maybe a little bit to do with the fact that I can once again engage in the occasional cocktail. (don't judge me!) A friend said to me recently, "you seem so calm." And you know what? I feel calm - not like buddha calm, but probably as calm as I could ever be. I still have my complaints and worries and frustrations, but I don't feel like they're eating me from the inside anymore. But don't tell my husband about this confession of clarity and rediscovered sanity, I need to keep him on his toes.
I'm hoping this new found zen-ness will not interfere with my ability to write a hostile entry on this blog every now and again - but the tone may change a bit. I'll try to refrain from being one of those, "i'm so in love, she is so perfect, i'm so happy, blah blah blah." I'm assuming that is how everyone feels - plus, you've seen the pictures, I don't have to tell you how great she is - it's obvious she is the most perfect/adorable/smart baby ever, so we can just all acknowledge it and move on.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
A Star is Bjorn
Yesterday I wore the Baby Bjorn with Mila for the first time. Talk about a miracle in a box! I was amazed as I walked around the house, able to do all those things I missed doing so much like unloading the dishwasher, vacumming, dusting....NOT. But it was cool to be able to chat easier online and actuallly make myself a sandwhich this afternoon. Mila is happy because she is able to walk around with me; I am happy because it is so much easier to mix my cocktails now that I can hold her sans hands.
Yesterday I reclaimed my boobs (I'm officially done!), today I've got my hands back - next I'll work on regaining my sanity.
Yesterday I reclaimed my boobs (I'm officially done!), today I've got my hands back - next I'll work on regaining my sanity.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Booby Trapped
I made my feelings on boob feeding very clear while writing during my pregnancy. Now that I'm actually engaging in the act on a daily (more like hourly) basis, I would love to be able to say that I was wrong. It would bring me great pleasure to tell you that Mila and I are so in love that I don't even notice the dull knife slicing through my boob pain that is the act of latching on. Alas, it is nearly just as awful as I thought it would be, and I only say nearly as awful because she is so damn cute.
Yes, once it gets going it doesn't hurt that bad - most of the time, but that initial pain makes me grimace and sputter a "why, you little..." every single time. And I don't want to hear it from any of you hippies that think I'm awful because breastfeeding is a beautiful, natural act that creates bonding - blah blah blah. Me running around the house half naked and fat, a leaking hot mess, is not beautiful.
I can hear you asking yourself, "why didn't she just use formula??" Can you handle the truth?It's because I am a selfish, lazy mommy that really wanted to lose weight but didn't want to start exercising right now. Hello, have you met me?? I'm glad Mila got the added benefits of the breastmilk, but my intentions were not pure. I guess with all I read I thought I would be a size 6 by now, I mean it burns an extra 500 calories a day, and I don't have time to eat anymore....but my fat ass is still in maternity blue jeans. What gives? I was really delusional, thinking I would walk away from this pregnancy with a whole new body type - that breast feeding would take me from an apple bottom to an hourglass shape before I even returned to work.
After one particularly difficult night, my mom asked me why exactly I was breastfeeding and I came clean about wanting to lose the weight faster. She told me this was a myth and basically I was an idiot...WHAT??? A quick google search of "breast feeding weight loss myth" revealed several studies that contradict all the pro breastfeeding propaganda I had previously read regarding weight loss. WTF. I'm not sure why I so willingly accepted the "facts" about breastfeeding (from pro breastfeeding sources, of course) without researching the topic about weight loss a bit more thoroughly. Probably for the same reason I ate nothing but canned chicken and pace picante sauce for 3 months in college - because someone told me it would be a a quick fix for my body image issues.
Being the sole food source for Mila has been a daunting task. So in an effort to lessen my stress, I decided to rent an electric breast pump to start exclusively bottle feeding Mila with the hope of moving to formula shortly thereafter. Of course I did not really research how to make this transition either, and the result is mommy have more milk instead of less and Mila being not so happy with all the gas from the bottles....help me! I feel trapped. Booby trapped.
Yes, once it gets going it doesn't hurt that bad - most of the time, but that initial pain makes me grimace and sputter a "why, you little..." every single time. And I don't want to hear it from any of you hippies that think I'm awful because breastfeeding is a beautiful, natural act that creates bonding - blah blah blah. Me running around the house half naked and fat, a leaking hot mess, is not beautiful.
I can hear you asking yourself, "why didn't she just use formula??" Can you handle the truth?It's because I am a selfish, lazy mommy that really wanted to lose weight but didn't want to start exercising right now. Hello, have you met me?? I'm glad Mila got the added benefits of the breastmilk, but my intentions were not pure. I guess with all I read I thought I would be a size 6 by now, I mean it burns an extra 500 calories a day, and I don't have time to eat anymore....but my fat ass is still in maternity blue jeans. What gives? I was really delusional, thinking I would walk away from this pregnancy with a whole new body type - that breast feeding would take me from an apple bottom to an hourglass shape before I even returned to work.
After one particularly difficult night, my mom asked me why exactly I was breastfeeding and I came clean about wanting to lose the weight faster. She told me this was a myth and basically I was an idiot...WHAT??? A quick google search of "breast feeding weight loss myth" revealed several studies that contradict all the pro breastfeeding propaganda I had previously read regarding weight loss. WTF. I'm not sure why I so willingly accepted the "facts" about breastfeeding (from pro breastfeeding sources, of course) without researching the topic about weight loss a bit more thoroughly. Probably for the same reason I ate nothing but canned chicken and pace picante sauce for 3 months in college - because someone told me it would be a a quick fix for my body image issues.
Being the sole food source for Mila has been a daunting task. So in an effort to lessen my stress, I decided to rent an electric breast pump to start exclusively bottle feeding Mila with the hope of moving to formula shortly thereafter. Of course I did not really research how to make this transition either, and the result is mommy have more milk instead of less and Mila being not so happy with all the gas from the bottles....help me! I feel trapped. Booby trapped.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Rock-a-bye Baby
So I've got the rocking chair down, I've got the bouncy walk down, I can change a diaper, I'm still boob feeding, I've even got used to sleeping 2-3 hours at a time. One thing I can't quite get right is the singing of lullabyes to baby Mila. I know that she responds to my voice when she is upset, and its not for my lack of trying - it's just that I usually don't sing out loud... not to myself in the car, not in the shower...in fact I think the last time I really sang out loud to someone else was probably in 5th grade choir. Also, because I've never been a real girly type girl, I have quickly come to realize I don't know many nursury rhymes or lullabyes to begin with.
Mila was just throwing a tantrum 10 minutes ago; I picked her up and started bouncy walking and talking to her. Then I started singing, it went something like this, (ahem...):
"Hush little baby don't say a word,
Mommas gonna buy you a mockingbird.
And if that mockingbird don't sing
Mommas gonna buy you a diamond ring.
And if that diamond ring don't shine,
Mommas gonna buy you....something that rhymes with shine."
Luckily she quit crying, so I just sang those same lines over and over again while trying quickly to think of something else to sing...you know what came to my mind? You'll never guess, so I'll just tell you the next song I crooned to Mila:
"This land is your land, this land is my land
From California, to the New York Island
From the Redwood Forest, to the Gulf Stream waters
This land was made for you and me."
Wondering why in the world that was that was the song that popped into my head, I realized that it was from fifth grade choir! Mila then received a modified version of the entire recital, which was a patriot themed performance, including hits such as "Way Down Yonder in New Orleans," "Oklahoma," "Proud to be an American," "Big D", and many more!
I found this rather amusing, I was cracking myself up - so I thought I'd share the story with you. Luckily Mila found it soothing and is now sleeping next to me....or either she is faking just so I would shut up. Everytime I look at her I swear I can see one little eye quickly closing, and her little snore does sound like "conk shoo." Regardless, she isn't crying anymore.
Mila was just throwing a tantrum 10 minutes ago; I picked her up and started bouncy walking and talking to her. Then I started singing, it went something like this, (ahem...):
"Hush little baby don't say a word,
Mommas gonna buy you a mockingbird.
And if that mockingbird don't sing
Mommas gonna buy you a diamond ring.
And if that diamond ring don't shine,
Mommas gonna buy you....something that rhymes with shine."
Luckily she quit crying, so I just sang those same lines over and over again while trying quickly to think of something else to sing...you know what came to my mind? You'll never guess, so I'll just tell you the next song I crooned to Mila:
"This land is your land, this land is my land
From California, to the New York Island
From the Redwood Forest, to the Gulf Stream waters
This land was made for you and me."
Wondering why in the world that was that was the song that popped into my head, I realized that it was from fifth grade choir! Mila then received a modified version of the entire recital, which was a patriot themed performance, including hits such as "Way Down Yonder in New Orleans," "Oklahoma," "Proud to be an American," "Big D", and many more!
I found this rather amusing, I was cracking myself up - so I thought I'd share the story with you. Luckily Mila found it soothing and is now sleeping next to me....or either she is faking just so I would shut up. Everytime I look at her I swear I can see one little eye quickly closing, and her little snore does sound like "conk shoo." Regardless, she isn't crying anymore.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
What's up Doc?
I knew from hearing my friends tell stories that it would take us a long time to actually get ourselves ready to leave the house - so I gave myself an hour to start preparing for Mila's first doctor appointment. Silly, silly, girl. I'm starting to realize now that we're parents an hour is an irrelevant amount of time, we probably could have given ourselves three hours and it wouldn't have mattered. Nevertheless, we finally get there, only 5 minutes or so late, and the following is a recap of Mila meeting her doctor:
In exam room #9, Chris and I place Mila on the table and wait.
Marcia: "I guess we should check her diaper before the doctor gets here."
Mila: "I peed"
Marcia: Gets out clean diaper from bag..."Shit, I forgot to bring wipes."
Chris: "There's a box of Kleenex on the counter...."
Marcia: Uses Kleenex. "That was a horrible idea"
Mila: covered in wet Kleenex "I'm peeing again. On the table"
Chris: Holding first dirty cloth diaper "What do I do with this diaper?"
Marcia: "I don't know, I didn't bring anything to put it in"
Chris: Digs through all cabinets in exam room #9 and finds a plastic bag.
Mila: "I think I need to poop."
Marcia: Makes walk of shame to nurses station to ask for baby wipes. Nurse eyes her amusingly. Wipes Mila, bags up both dirty diapers and shares a sigh of relief with Chris that an embarassing first meeting with the doc was avoided.
Mila: "POOP!!!"
Chris: laughing, "How many diapers did you bring?"
Marcia: changing Mila. "five"
ENTER DOCTOR (Mila is half naked and poopy)
Doc: "Hello, My name is Dr. Wood"
Chris: "Hello"
Marcia: finishing up with Mila, picking her up. "Hello"
Mila: "MORE POOP!!!!"
Marcia: Sheepishly, "She keeps pooping herself" (I didn't know what to say!). Changes Mila into her last clean cloth diaper and picks her up.
Doc: "That's ok. Are you breastfeeding?" Doc proceeds to ask questions about Mila's delivery and how her breastfeeding is going....
Mila: Undeterred...Loudly..."POOP, POOP, POOP, POOPY POOPERSON!!"
Marcia: "I don't have any more diapers"
Doc: "Check the cabinet under the table."
Chris: "I guess we know what she thinks of this place."
In exam room #9, Chris and I place Mila on the table and wait.
Marcia: "I guess we should check her diaper before the doctor gets here."
Mila: "I peed"
Marcia: Gets out clean diaper from bag..."Shit, I forgot to bring wipes."
Chris: "There's a box of Kleenex on the counter...."
Marcia: Uses Kleenex. "That was a horrible idea"
Mila: covered in wet Kleenex "I'm peeing again. On the table"
Chris: Holding first dirty cloth diaper "What do I do with this diaper?"
Marcia: "I don't know, I didn't bring anything to put it in"
Chris: Digs through all cabinets in exam room #9 and finds a plastic bag.
Mila: "I think I need to poop."
Marcia: Makes walk of shame to nurses station to ask for baby wipes. Nurse eyes her amusingly. Wipes Mila, bags up both dirty diapers and shares a sigh of relief with Chris that an embarassing first meeting with the doc was avoided.
Mila: "POOP!!!"
Chris: laughing, "How many diapers did you bring?"
Marcia: changing Mila. "five"
ENTER DOCTOR (Mila is half naked and poopy)
Doc: "Hello, My name is Dr. Wood"
Chris: "Hello"
Marcia: finishing up with Mila, picking her up. "Hello"
Mila: "MORE POOP!!!!"
Marcia: Sheepishly, "She keeps pooping herself" (I didn't know what to say!). Changes Mila into her last clean cloth diaper and picks her up.
Doc: "That's ok. Are you breastfeeding?" Doc proceeds to ask questions about Mila's delivery and how her breastfeeding is going....
Mila: Undeterred...Loudly..."POOP, POOP, POOP, POOPY POOPERSON!!"
Marcia: "I don't have any more diapers"
Doc: "Check the cabinet under the table."
Chris: "I guess we know what she thinks of this place."
Saturday, February 13, 2010
The Making of Mila
As most of you know, baby Mila Eve Morganti was born on 2/3 at 3:41 PM, weighing in at 7lb 7oz and measuring 21 in. We are at home now, and I started writing this post a week ago, but turns out this whole having a baby business is very time consuming! She's all, "feed me now" and "I pooped myself" and "wah" and "oops, I pooped myself again." So now, 11 days later, I'll try to sum up the arrival of Mila.
On 1/25 I attempted to induce labor on my own by taking a spill down the basement stairs. This happened just hours before my parents were supposed to be in town, thus foiling their plans of walking me nonstop until the baby fell out ... clearly the walking would have been a moot point anyhow, seeing as how a free fall downstairs did nothing but bust up both ankles and leave a giant gash in my chest.
It was wonderful seeing my parents, they did so much for us while they were here. We had a great visit; I had desperately missed having them around during my pregnancy. They bought me an awesome rocking chair for Mila, did lots of yummy cooking (they are probably still fuming about the grocery prices in the northeast), and of course my dad did lots of handy work around the house (thanks for fixing the drain dad!). While the visit was great, I think even they would agree that, after a week:
((1 husband + 2 parents + 3 dogs + 1 injured preggo) x (overdue baby))/4 room house = 1 baby that clearly has a decent sense of humor!
Our house is tiny, and the room they were staying in is Mila's future nursery...basically there was a two foot perimeter around the double bed in their room. They did not complain once (at least not within earshot), but I'm sure they are glad to be back in their very spacious, very tidy and very not in Philadelphia house.
Below are highlights and low lights of the hours leading up to Mila's arrival:
Monday 2/1: Dr appt in the AM with parents and Chris in attendance to find out if the Dr will induce me since I'm past my due date. Doc also gives me a script to get my ankle x-rayed from my fall last week and schedules an induction for 2/8 (and indicates she won't induce before that). At this point, I am less than 1cm dilated, but my blood pressure is high - so I am sent to labor and delivery for monitoring. Spend a few hours in the hospital, blood pressure is fine, baby is fine, monitor is showing that I'm having light contractions every 13 minutes - at this point I only slightly even notice them. We decide to all go to lunch and afterwards I drop back by the hospital to have my ankle x-rayed...turns out ankle/foot is fractured. Of course it is . After several phone calls between my OBGYN a podiatrist and an ortho, I end up with a walking cast/boot and an appointment for tomorrow morning. Later that evening, my good friend Rikki stops by with her sister, who is a massage therapist. There apparently are pressure points on your feet that can induce labor - and since dad is scheduled to leave in 48 hours, I thought it couldn't hurt to try. She massages the good foot for a few minutes; prior to their arrival at my house, I had been noticing contractions more - although they were still around 13-15 minutes apart and really just slightly uncomfortable.
Tuesday 2/2: I think the foot massage must have worked, because as the night wears on, I start to notice the contractions more, and by 3AM I am crying because of the pain but the contractions are still 10 minutes apart. I try to wait until the contractions are 3-5 minutes apart, as instructed by my doctor, but by 5AM I am in so much pain that I make the call when they are 7 minutes apart. Now mind you that I was walking around on a fractured leg for a week, so I think we can all agree that I have a decent pain tolerance threshold (b/c I'm a bad ass - j/k), so when I say I was in pain...I mean it. I anticipated that the whole pushing process would be brutally painful, I was not prepared for the pain of contractions. Why the hell don't they prepare you for that pain? Why the hell didn't any of you readers prepare me for that? My biggest fears were the pushing and the boob feeding - seriously, you couldn't have warned me?? No amount of breathing techniques made it any more bearable, and just sitting here reminiscing about it is making me sweaty. Anyways, the on call doctor tells me to come to the hospital, and I spend the next 5 or so hours hooked up to monitors, with intense contractions every 4-7 minutes - but I'm still dilated less than 1cm. I am told that basically I have the option of going home and waiting it out or getting on a morphine drip in the hospital to get some sleep and relax. For reasons beyond my own comprehension at this point, I decided to go home - I think I figured it would be better being at home for hours rather than in the hospital. Silly girl.
Lucky for me, the midwife on duty has seen me come in and out of labor and delivery over the past few weeks with my other fall, with the high blood pressure, and she notices my new boot on the fractured leg...she has pity on me and says regardless of what happens to come back at 7PM that night and she will induce me and that I won't have to wait until 2/8 as my doctor instructed.
At home I lay (or is it lie? any English majors?) in bed and basically spend time crying, screaming, and sleeping. My OBGYN ends up calling me at home, to inquire about my foot - I thought she was calling regarding my recent trip to labor and delivery. I start talking to her about getting induced at 7, turns out she didn't know...and she disagrees with the decision - which normally wouldn't matter, but because she was the doctor on call for that evening after the midwife that planned to induce me, she would be the one ultimately delivering the baby, so she had the authority (apparently?) to veto the decision to induce me. She instructs me to go back to the hospital to get on a morphine drip to just get some sleep, but that she would not induce me until 2/8.
Back at the hospital at 5PM on 2/2, I get the morphine, then the nurses decide to have me move rooms, do IVs, etc....so basically I miss the window of sleepy time and end up staying awake despite the drugs. The next 10 hours or so are a blur of pain, sweating, crying, and some sleeping. Finally around 3 or 4AM on 2/3 I get the epidural. Again, this is something I had been dreading. I'm a bit of a wuss when it comes to needles and my pre labor fears had been focused on the whole needle in my spine process - HOWEVER, once that time finally arrived, I don't think I would have cared if they inserted the drugs with a jackhammer in my spine - anything to make the horror of the contractions less noticeable. Within 10 minutes of receiving the epidural, I was feeling A OK and I think I finally got some decent sleep - although I don't remember the next few hours very well. The entire morning and early afternoon of 2/3 were spent at 9cm, and around 2PM they gave me more of the good stuff in my back because I was starting to feel everything again.
At approx 3, two nurses are at my bedside refilling IVs and all of sudden move the fetal heart monitor on my belly - they then abruptly tell me to roll over on my side. Then they tell me to roll over on my other side... two more nurses appear and they are all whispering to each other and I start freaking out. Next thing I know the doctor is there, I am hysterical crying because I don't understand what is happening, and they are telling me I have to push NOW. Just 10 minutes earlier the doctor was telling me that because this was my first baby the pushing process could take up to 3 hours - now she was telling me I had to get the baby out asap. Needless to say I was panicked, but my fear for the baby and the fact that I couldn't feel a damn thing because I had just been given the refill of the epidural allowed me to get her out fairly quickly.
I still can't believe it happened. I look at her sleeping here now and can't believe she was living in my belly...my mom asked me if I remembered what I said when they put her on my tummy. According to her, my first words when they put my beautiful baby girl on me after her birth, were something along the lines of, "Jesus Christ, that just happened...." That seems like something I would say.
I can't believe they let us leave the hospital with her, I can't believe she is sleeping here in between Chris and I on the couch, I can't believe I am a mother, I can't believe that life with Mila has begun, and I can't believe how in love with her I am.
I love you mom, I think I get it now.
On 1/25 I attempted to induce labor on my own by taking a spill down the basement stairs. This happened just hours before my parents were supposed to be in town, thus foiling their plans of walking me nonstop until the baby fell out ... clearly the walking would have been a moot point anyhow, seeing as how a free fall downstairs did nothing but bust up both ankles and leave a giant gash in my chest.
It was wonderful seeing my parents, they did so much for us while they were here. We had a great visit; I had desperately missed having them around during my pregnancy. They bought me an awesome rocking chair for Mila, did lots of yummy cooking (they are probably still fuming about the grocery prices in the northeast), and of course my dad did lots of handy work around the house (thanks for fixing the drain dad!). While the visit was great, I think even they would agree that, after a week:
((1 husband + 2 parents + 3 dogs + 1 injured preggo) x (overdue baby))/4 room house = 1 baby that clearly has a decent sense of humor!
Our house is tiny, and the room they were staying in is Mila's future nursery...basically there was a two foot perimeter around the double bed in their room. They did not complain once (at least not within earshot), but I'm sure they are glad to be back in their very spacious, very tidy and very not in Philadelphia house.
Below are highlights and low lights of the hours leading up to Mila's arrival:
Monday 2/1: Dr appt in the AM with parents and Chris in attendance to find out if the Dr will induce me since I'm past my due date. Doc also gives me a script to get my ankle x-rayed from my fall last week and schedules an induction for 2/8 (and indicates she won't induce before that). At this point, I am less than 1cm dilated, but my blood pressure is high - so I am sent to labor and delivery for monitoring. Spend a few hours in the hospital, blood pressure is fine, baby is fine, monitor is showing that I'm having light contractions every 13 minutes - at this point I only slightly even notice them. We decide to all go to lunch and afterwards I drop back by the hospital to have my ankle x-rayed...turns out ankle/foot is fractured. Of course it is . After several phone calls between my OBGYN a podiatrist and an ortho, I end up with a walking cast/boot and an appointment for tomorrow morning. Later that evening, my good friend Rikki stops by with her sister, who is a massage therapist. There apparently are pressure points on your feet that can induce labor - and since dad is scheduled to leave in 48 hours, I thought it couldn't hurt to try. She massages the good foot for a few minutes; prior to their arrival at my house, I had been noticing contractions more - although they were still around 13-15 minutes apart and really just slightly uncomfortable.
Tuesday 2/2: I think the foot massage must have worked, because as the night wears on, I start to notice the contractions more, and by 3AM I am crying because of the pain but the contractions are still 10 minutes apart. I try to wait until the contractions are 3-5 minutes apart, as instructed by my doctor, but by 5AM I am in so much pain that I make the call when they are 7 minutes apart. Now mind you that I was walking around on a fractured leg for a week, so I think we can all agree that I have a decent pain tolerance threshold (b/c I'm a bad ass - j/k), so when I say I was in pain...I mean it. I anticipated that the whole pushing process would be brutally painful, I was not prepared for the pain of contractions. Why the hell don't they prepare you for that pain? Why the hell didn't any of you readers prepare me for that? My biggest fears were the pushing and the boob feeding - seriously, you couldn't have warned me?? No amount of breathing techniques made it any more bearable, and just sitting here reminiscing about it is making me sweaty. Anyways, the on call doctor tells me to come to the hospital, and I spend the next 5 or so hours hooked up to monitors, with intense contractions every 4-7 minutes - but I'm still dilated less than 1cm. I am told that basically I have the option of going home and waiting it out or getting on a morphine drip in the hospital to get some sleep and relax. For reasons beyond my own comprehension at this point, I decided to go home - I think I figured it would be better being at home for hours rather than in the hospital. Silly girl.
Lucky for me, the midwife on duty has seen me come in and out of labor and delivery over the past few weeks with my other fall, with the high blood pressure, and she notices my new boot on the fractured leg...she has pity on me and says regardless of what happens to come back at 7PM that night and she will induce me and that I won't have to wait until 2/8 as my doctor instructed.
At home I lay (or is it lie? any English majors?) in bed and basically spend time crying, screaming, and sleeping. My OBGYN ends up calling me at home, to inquire about my foot - I thought she was calling regarding my recent trip to labor and delivery. I start talking to her about getting induced at 7, turns out she didn't know...and she disagrees with the decision - which normally wouldn't matter, but because she was the doctor on call for that evening after the midwife that planned to induce me, she would be the one ultimately delivering the baby, so she had the authority (apparently?) to veto the decision to induce me. She instructs me to go back to the hospital to get on a morphine drip to just get some sleep, but that she would not induce me until 2/8.
Back at the hospital at 5PM on 2/2, I get the morphine, then the nurses decide to have me move rooms, do IVs, etc....so basically I miss the window of sleepy time and end up staying awake despite the drugs. The next 10 hours or so are a blur of pain, sweating, crying, and some sleeping. Finally around 3 or 4AM on 2/3 I get the epidural. Again, this is something I had been dreading. I'm a bit of a wuss when it comes to needles and my pre labor fears had been focused on the whole needle in my spine process - HOWEVER, once that time finally arrived, I don't think I would have cared if they inserted the drugs with a jackhammer in my spine - anything to make the horror of the contractions less noticeable. Within 10 minutes of receiving the epidural, I was feeling A OK and I think I finally got some decent sleep - although I don't remember the next few hours very well. The entire morning and early afternoon of 2/3 were spent at 9cm, and around 2PM they gave me more of the good stuff in my back because I was starting to feel everything again.
At approx 3, two nurses are at my bedside refilling IVs and all of sudden move the fetal heart monitor on my belly - they then abruptly tell me to roll over on my side. Then they tell me to roll over on my other side... two more nurses appear and they are all whispering to each other and I start freaking out. Next thing I know the doctor is there, I am hysterical crying because I don't understand what is happening, and they are telling me I have to push NOW. Just 10 minutes earlier the doctor was telling me that because this was my first baby the pushing process could take up to 3 hours - now she was telling me I had to get the baby out asap. Needless to say I was panicked, but my fear for the baby and the fact that I couldn't feel a damn thing because I had just been given the refill of the epidural allowed me to get her out fairly quickly.
I still can't believe it happened. I look at her sleeping here now and can't believe she was living in my belly...my mom asked me if I remembered what I said when they put her on my tummy. According to her, my first words when they put my beautiful baby girl on me after her birth, were something along the lines of, "Jesus Christ, that just happened...." That seems like something I would say.
I can't believe they let us leave the hospital with her, I can't believe she is sleeping here in between Chris and I on the couch, I can't believe I am a mother, I can't believe that life with Mila has begun, and I can't believe how in love with her I am.
I love you mom, I think I get it now.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Front Porch
Driving in to work today (they FINALLY gave me a parking pass so I"m not having to walk a mile to and from the train station every day) I was listening to some old CDs while sitting in traffic. As we've discussed before, my emotions have been a bit overwhelming for the duration of this pregnancy and as I sang along with Robert Earl this AM I found myself in a flood of nostalgia and desperately missing Texas.
Like any true Texan, I LOVE Texas...and I have the t-shirt and bumper sticker to prove it. The fondness for my home state baffles my husband, as PA isn't exactly selling out of keystone shaped memorabilia, nor are the citizens bound by an unspoken code to put a "boot in your ass" should you "mess with" PA. To me, Texas is homemade sweet tea, good manners, a quiet pride and loud humbleness, a smile at a stranger, a really long drive that you actually look forward to because the music is so good and the conversation so easy.
But I love Philadelphia too, there is no comparison to this city. The diversity, the culture, the unapologetic sincerity, the unwillingness to take it easy - the blunt acknowledgement of how far there is to go and why we need to get there. Philadelphia has been good to me, it hasn't taken care of me the way Texas did, but rather made me learn to take care of myself. This city has forced me to take a long hard look at myself, accept what I see, and discard a lot of that southern guilt that, despite how much sugar comes with it, isn't as easy to down as the sweet tea.
But on this morning, driving through the city, singing...
"This old porch is just a long time of waiting and forgetting.
Remembering the coming back and not crying about the leaving.
And remembering the falling down and the laughter of the curse of luck,
From all those son's of bitches who said we'd never get back up.."
...I'm looking forward to us remembering the coming back. Love you family, miss you much. Wish you all were here as the days get closer to baby Morganti's arrival.
The Front Porch Song
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kyyNPB9iCAM
Like any true Texan, I LOVE Texas...and I have the t-shirt and bumper sticker to prove it. The fondness for my home state baffles my husband, as PA isn't exactly selling out of keystone shaped memorabilia, nor are the citizens bound by an unspoken code to put a "boot in your ass" should you "mess with" PA. To me, Texas is homemade sweet tea, good manners, a quiet pride and loud humbleness, a smile at a stranger, a really long drive that you actually look forward to because the music is so good and the conversation so easy.
But I love Philadelphia too, there is no comparison to this city. The diversity, the culture, the unapologetic sincerity, the unwillingness to take it easy - the blunt acknowledgement of how far there is to go and why we need to get there. Philadelphia has been good to me, it hasn't taken care of me the way Texas did, but rather made me learn to take care of myself. This city has forced me to take a long hard look at myself, accept what I see, and discard a lot of that southern guilt that, despite how much sugar comes with it, isn't as easy to down as the sweet tea.
But on this morning, driving through the city, singing...
"This old porch is just a long time of waiting and forgetting.
Remembering the coming back and not crying about the leaving.
And remembering the falling down and the laughter of the curse of luck,
From all those son's of bitches who said we'd never get back up.."
...I'm looking forward to us remembering the coming back. Love you family, miss you much. Wish you all were here as the days get closer to baby Morganti's arrival.
The Front Porch Song
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kyyNPB9iCAM
Monday, January 18, 2010
head over heels
My clumsiness is amplified 100% by the extra weight and cankles - last week I actually fell while coming back from lunch with a co-worker. Here's the story: I love me some free, so whenever I get a fountain soda at lunch, I always make sure I get a refill before leaving the establishment and take it back to work with me. My co-worker makes relentless fun of me for this, but I find her unwillingness to get the most value out of a purchase absurd...she actually threw away a half full soda that day...its a point we agree to disagree on. Anyways, we're walking back to the office, bitching about the bitch in our department, when one of my cankles rolls over and I feel myself start to fall. Given my height, and my history of tripping/falling, I know when it's a go and there is no turning back...luckily with all my volleyball training I at least can usually fall without hurting myself. This is my first time falling while pregnant, but definitely not my first rodeo in terms of falling in general...in fact, once I'm on the ground, with my co-worker bug eyed and panicked standing over me - I ask her to please take my soda, which I have managed to save the majority of (obviously most of my falls usually involve another type of beverage that I have become an expert at not spilling). I laugh it off, get up and dust myself off - and take my soda back. Once we get back to the office, she convinces me to go home and put my feet up, so I catch an early train home and call my mom - who of course demands that I call my Dr. My Dr. then demands that I go to the hospital....wait...what?? Hospital? Why? Apparently I"m a dumb ass because it's a big deal to fall on your stomach when you're 38 weeks pregnant - so I go get monitored for a few hours, all of which is very scary but luckily everything turns out to be just fine. I think the important take away here is that I was MORE CONCERNED ABOUT MY SODA THAN MY PREGNANT BELLY...how I can possibly be mother material when my first concern is the status of my free refill, which technically I shouldn't even be drinking if I were a good mom because it has caffiene and no nutritional value what so ever??
I'm now having daily panic attacks about the baby's movement, what she will look like, what if I go into labor on the R6 train, what if she has that foot problem that the fetus on Grey's Anatomy had last week?? That could be going on inside me right now and no one would know, I haven' t had an ultra sound since the summer... what if, all my joking aside, I've done something over the past 9 months that has in some way harmed her? What if my little bit of coffee each day has caused some type of damage...what kind of person am I to even take such risks, how selfish of me. Is she moving enough, I don't think she's moving enough, I'll drink some juice and see if she moves more, I don't think she moved more, she's moving 10 times an hour, but not nearly as much as she used to, is she too tight in there, is she too lethargic, do I need to move around more to keep her moving, why didn't the juice work, what if i drink something hot and then something cold, will that make her move, is that like fetal torture to expose her to really hot or really cold....OMG...enough already. Please just get here safe and sound.
And, dearest baby girl, please accept my sincerest apologies for already losing 3 of your socks. I was trying to do you a favor and wash your clothes before you got here, and somehow I managed to already screw that up. Your father doesn't even let me do his laundy because I lose socks so frequently...it will be interesting to see what type of person you will be when it comes to your socks. A free wheeling, devil may care, so what if I have on two different socks kind of person like me - or a sock stickler that insists every sock have an exact mate, because god forbid someone notice that peeking out from between your pant leg and the top of your shoe the white socks you have on aren't the exact same height. I'm looking forward to finding this and many other things out about you, please stop making me worry so much and just get here already.
I'm now having daily panic attacks about the baby's movement, what she will look like, what if I go into labor on the R6 train, what if she has that foot problem that the fetus on Grey's Anatomy had last week?? That could be going on inside me right now and no one would know, I haven' t had an ultra sound since the summer... what if, all my joking aside, I've done something over the past 9 months that has in some way harmed her? What if my little bit of coffee each day has caused some type of damage...what kind of person am I to even take such risks, how selfish of me. Is she moving enough, I don't think she's moving enough, I'll drink some juice and see if she moves more, I don't think she moved more, she's moving 10 times an hour, but not nearly as much as she used to, is she too tight in there, is she too lethargic, do I need to move around more to keep her moving, why didn't the juice work, what if i drink something hot and then something cold, will that make her move, is that like fetal torture to expose her to really hot or really cold....OMG...enough already. Please just get here safe and sound.
And, dearest baby girl, please accept my sincerest apologies for already losing 3 of your socks. I was trying to do you a favor and wash your clothes before you got here, and somehow I managed to already screw that up. Your father doesn't even let me do his laundy because I lose socks so frequently...it will be interesting to see what type of person you will be when it comes to your socks. A free wheeling, devil may care, so what if I have on two different socks kind of person like me - or a sock stickler that insists every sock have an exact mate, because god forbid someone notice that peeking out from between your pant leg and the top of your shoe the white socks you have on aren't the exact same height. I'm looking forward to finding this and many other things out about you, please stop making me worry so much and just get here already.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Confessions of a Cereal Killer
Last night I ate two bowls of Cinnamon Toast Crunch for dinner, two days before that it was three bowls of Cocoa Pebbles, I occasionally throw in a bowl of Raisin Bran just for good measure and appearances, and I truly wish that Captain Crunch wasn't so brutal on my gums, because it too would be in my normal rotation. Those crunch berries are the things that dreams are made of.
Until recently, I was a raging Anti Dentite - trips to the dentist usually resulted in my feeling bad about myself, smoking too much, drinking too much coffee, not flossing often enough. But now I would give anything for a good teeth cleaning and a little gum relief. Another thing no one seems to talk about is the rapid decline of your oral health as a result of pregnancy. True, I'm sure all of the candy hasn't helped. But I've gone from a zero cavity gal to snaggle tooth in a matter of months. I gave up Captain Crunch months ago because I'm quite certain that along with the cut gums, my teeth were chipping with every chomp on delicious berries.
I haven't been posting as frequently as I would like these past few weeks. I think the reason is that things are becoming less and less amusing as this pregnancy wears on. What was once playful commentary on things that were stressful/unfair regarding pregnancy has turned into a panicked realization that another person will be here very shortly.
At what point do you know you're ready? I don't feel ready - in terms of ready to be done with pregnancy - CHECK, I'm ready for that. But ready to have a baby, at my house, chilling in our spare bedroom, eating food that is made from my body (STILL GROSS) - I'm not so sure I'm ready for all of that. I'm ready to meet her, and love her, and hold her, but to have someone think about me, the way I think of my mom...that's crazy to me. I can't fathom it.
Three of my close friends have recently had babies, they are all adorable and when I see them it is amazing to see how naturally all these women have transistioned to motherhood. While holding a baby this past weekend, it was crazy for me to think that inside my belly there is a little person that looks like me and Chris - a full grown baby is in my stomach. With eyes, and ears, and little toes, and a little butt that she is so fond of jamming into my right rib cage. I feel like an idiot for not truly understanding how this has happened...I mean I know how it happened, but for those of you that know me well - I think it is still unreal to think that in approximately three weeks I will give birth to a baby. I think it was more realistic when I joked about having a unicorn. Seriously, this is me we're talking about, with a baby. I feel like this should be some type of documentary, about the elusive tomboy/workaholic/partier that curses like a sailor (or like her mother) and has the temper of her father and has maybe held a baby a total of 5 times in her life. A friend at work makes fun of me and always tells me to stop acting like I'm the first woman to become pregnant...but sometimes thats what I feel like, this all seems so unreal to me.
My two best friends in Michigan and TX call me occasionally, and we just laugh, because I'm having a baby. For most of you that may not seem too funny, but trust me, it is. Of all the things I've ever been accused of...being overly nurturing is not one of them. Considerate? yes. Well mannered? yes. Sympathetic? yes. Funny? sometimes. Hard working? yes. Emotional? definitely. Nurturing? not so much. Just ask my husband, he will tell you I speak the truth. "I don't care if you have a fever, why are you still sleeping? There are things to be done around this house..."
I'm sure everything will fall into place, and soon enough it will all make sense, and my maternal instincts will kick in, and we'll have this super cool baby with her dads intellect and her moms good looks, her dads speed and her moms coordination, her dads creativity and her moms discipline....hopefully her dads appetite and metabolism....these fruity pebbles are not doing either of us any favors I'm sure.
Until recently, I was a raging Anti Dentite - trips to the dentist usually resulted in my feeling bad about myself, smoking too much, drinking too much coffee, not flossing often enough. But now I would give anything for a good teeth cleaning and a little gum relief. Another thing no one seems to talk about is the rapid decline of your oral health as a result of pregnancy. True, I'm sure all of the candy hasn't helped. But I've gone from a zero cavity gal to snaggle tooth in a matter of months. I gave up Captain Crunch months ago because I'm quite certain that along with the cut gums, my teeth were chipping with every chomp on delicious berries.
I haven't been posting as frequently as I would like these past few weeks. I think the reason is that things are becoming less and less amusing as this pregnancy wears on. What was once playful commentary on things that were stressful/unfair regarding pregnancy has turned into a panicked realization that another person will be here very shortly.
At what point do you know you're ready? I don't feel ready - in terms of ready to be done with pregnancy - CHECK, I'm ready for that. But ready to have a baby, at my house, chilling in our spare bedroom, eating food that is made from my body (STILL GROSS) - I'm not so sure I'm ready for all of that. I'm ready to meet her, and love her, and hold her, but to have someone think about me, the way I think of my mom...that's crazy to me. I can't fathom it.
Three of my close friends have recently had babies, they are all adorable and when I see them it is amazing to see how naturally all these women have transistioned to motherhood. While holding a baby this past weekend, it was crazy for me to think that inside my belly there is a little person that looks like me and Chris - a full grown baby is in my stomach. With eyes, and ears, and little toes, and a little butt that she is so fond of jamming into my right rib cage. I feel like an idiot for not truly understanding how this has happened...I mean I know how it happened, but for those of you that know me well - I think it is still unreal to think that in approximately three weeks I will give birth to a baby. I think it was more realistic when I joked about having a unicorn. Seriously, this is me we're talking about, with a baby. I feel like this should be some type of documentary, about the elusive tomboy/workaholic/partier that curses like a sailor (or like her mother) and has the temper of her father and has maybe held a baby a total of 5 times in her life. A friend at work makes fun of me and always tells me to stop acting like I'm the first woman to become pregnant...but sometimes thats what I feel like, this all seems so unreal to me.
My two best friends in Michigan and TX call me occasionally, and we just laugh, because I'm having a baby. For most of you that may not seem too funny, but trust me, it is. Of all the things I've ever been accused of...being overly nurturing is not one of them. Considerate? yes. Well mannered? yes. Sympathetic? yes. Funny? sometimes. Hard working? yes. Emotional? definitely. Nurturing? not so much. Just ask my husband, he will tell you I speak the truth. "I don't care if you have a fever, why are you still sleeping? There are things to be done around this house..."
I'm sure everything will fall into place, and soon enough it will all make sense, and my maternal instincts will kick in, and we'll have this super cool baby with her dads intellect and her moms good looks, her dads speed and her moms coordination, her dads creativity and her moms discipline....hopefully her dads appetite and metabolism....these fruity pebbles are not doing either of us any favors I'm sure.
Every Kiss Begins with Kay
I hope everyone had a Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays/Happy New Year!!!
Our holidays were ok, not as eventful as usual, but rather just another week in the count down for miss muffin to get here. Spending time with Chris's family was great, but I missed everyone in TX terribly and spent a considerable amount of time feeling sorry for myself that I couldn't have a drink.
Of all the things I remember most about this holiday season, it was the amount of emotion the jewelry commercials stirred up in me. Ok, so quick poll. How many of you have ever had a moment like those portrayed in holiday jewelry commercials? Do these infuriate anyone else?
The reality is that we're all running around like chickens with our heads cut off, working full time, trying to guess what presents our loved ones may actually use this year - while maintaining a budget. Getting the house ready for visitors, putting up the gratuitous tree, then unsuccessfully trying to make sure our dogs don't pee on it. Distributing holiday cards to all the appropriate people at work, but having to ensure that what we wrote was sincere, yet generic - both heartfelt and anonymous - these things take effort people!!!
I am not out ice skating on a random pond in the middle of the woods to "I Got You Babe," and getting wobbly knees when my man pulls out necklace. Given my hormonal state, I nearly broke our television everytime I saw this commercial this past holiday season.
I have written my own commercial for next holiday season:
opening scene: Christmas Eve. Digital bedside clock reads 3:24AM... cut to pregnant woman crying uncontrollably while sitting on the toilet, peeing for the 6th time in the past two hours, softly banging her head against the nearby wall, begging/praying to any deity that will listen for the ability to sleep. After washing her hands she looks in the mirror and catches a glimpse of the dirty bathub behind her. She softly curses her husband for not finishing the never ending list of chores she has given him.
scene two: Christmas Morning. Husband sneaks up behind wife while she is pouring milk in her bowl of Fruit Loops, and places small box on kitchen counter. Looking proud of himself as she eyes the box warily and opens it to find a bracelet.
scene three: Husband is in line with hundreds of other husbands returning jewelry.
Closing scene: Husband is on knees with christmas bow on his head scrubbing the bathtub. The camera focuses in on a bottle of (insert your favorite cleaning product here)....with a slogan something like "wives come clean about their real holiday fantasies..."
Sounds like a winner to me.
Our holidays were ok, not as eventful as usual, but rather just another week in the count down for miss muffin to get here. Spending time with Chris's family was great, but I missed everyone in TX terribly and spent a considerable amount of time feeling sorry for myself that I couldn't have a drink.
Of all the things I remember most about this holiday season, it was the amount of emotion the jewelry commercials stirred up in me. Ok, so quick poll. How many of you have ever had a moment like those portrayed in holiday jewelry commercials? Do these infuriate anyone else?
The reality is that we're all running around like chickens with our heads cut off, working full time, trying to guess what presents our loved ones may actually use this year - while maintaining a budget. Getting the house ready for visitors, putting up the gratuitous tree, then unsuccessfully trying to make sure our dogs don't pee on it. Distributing holiday cards to all the appropriate people at work, but having to ensure that what we wrote was sincere, yet generic - both heartfelt and anonymous - these things take effort people!!!
I am not out ice skating on a random pond in the middle of the woods to "I Got You Babe," and getting wobbly knees when my man pulls out necklace. Given my hormonal state, I nearly broke our television everytime I saw this commercial this past holiday season.
I have written my own commercial for next holiday season:
opening scene: Christmas Eve. Digital bedside clock reads 3:24AM... cut to pregnant woman crying uncontrollably while sitting on the toilet, peeing for the 6th time in the past two hours, softly banging her head against the nearby wall, begging/praying to any deity that will listen for the ability to sleep. After washing her hands she looks in the mirror and catches a glimpse of the dirty bathub behind her. She softly curses her husband for not finishing the never ending list of chores she has given him.
scene two: Christmas Morning. Husband sneaks up behind wife while she is pouring milk in her bowl of Fruit Loops, and places small box on kitchen counter. Looking proud of himself as she eyes the box warily and opens it to find a bracelet.
scene three: Husband is in line with hundreds of other husbands returning jewelry.
Closing scene: Husband is on knees with christmas bow on his head scrubbing the bathtub. The camera focuses in on a bottle of (insert your favorite cleaning product here)....with a slogan something like "wives come clean about their real holiday fantasies..."
Sounds like a winner to me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)