Wow

Saw the blog link from my Twitter account today and decided to take a look. Sometimes I re-read something I've written and feel proud, or humored, or whatever.

The first post I decided to revert to draft was about a bloody infection.  Easily 10 minutes of too much information. The next few posts I reverted to drafts were about being angry, complete with a picture of the hulk.  Wheeoo. Revert, revert.

I know in this day and age of social media everyone's putting on a front, and we need to embrace reality.  Fine.  But there is also an awful lot of really bad news in the world right now.  Gun violence, violence against children, terrorism--and not the hysterical kind, Trump.

Excuse me while I embrace something feel good and fluffy.

On that note, Stampede 2016: Hell or High Water 2 (fun artsy filters from a popular new ap). No flooding, but it was the lowest attendance in 22 years and it rained almost if not every day.  We made it through 3 downpours over 6 hours on the last Saturday.

It was worth it.

Transition

He is not in a concentration camp or sleeping in an alley.

I force myself to extreme comparisons attempting to manage my anxiety as I analyze every detail of the cramped nap room my son is struggling against sleeping in. It is a divided room with a half wall. Each side has five cribs touching back to back with narrow paths separating two more cribs. A window decorates each half of the room and on William's side a painted tree with falling leaves is back lit from the playroom lights glowing through green and orange tissue paper. It's cheery and festive for Autumn, but my mind can not focus on anything positive.

I can hear noise from the other room that attaches to the shared nap space; a daycare person bursts loudly through the door and upon seeing me looks apologetic, but still drags the miniature wooden seats across the playroom floor in preparation for lunch. Each screech winds my nerves tighter and tighter. I keep calculating how long William could possibly nap and still wake up in time for lunch, and wonder yet again how he will possibly be ready to be left on his own in this foreign world come Monday.

William pulls himself up on the crib bars and sits back down over and over. The odd time he emits a happy coo as I do my best to ignore him and look sleepy by leaning against the wall with my eyes closed. At one point he reaches through the bars and pinches the underside of my arm. I yank it out of reach and muffle my exclamation of pain. To anyone other than his mother, William looks pretty perky, but I know how tired he is and how much he needs this morning nap to process the day's events, and all the change he's been exposed to earlier in the week. I can't leave him because the staff to child ratios are at the max, and even if I could, it's too soon. It's day four of daycare transition and I am running on my second night of very little sleep. As each day has progressed, William's arms length radius with me has grown smaller and smaller.

That morning I am convinced we chose a substandard daycare, especially as I compare it to the daycares of close friends and how big and airy and fabulous (and clean) I imagine them to be. I try to remind myself what the priority is: caring people watching William and providing him with basic skills, nutritious food, and support for his growth in a safe environment.

But I can't stop asking myself what exactly my exorbitant monthly fees are paying for if it isn't for a better designed nap room that features separate storage of the highchairs for meal time. I can't stop asking myself who the hell designed such a layout of a divided room split by a half wall where not all children surely nap at the exact same time, and if they do, how the hell do 16 children reasonably fall asleep in the same cramped, warm room?

On day one I can't stop my eyes from lasering in on the bits of food left in cracks of the alphabet floor--bits of cheese waiting to be eaten by my dairy-intolerant son who, despite incessant admonishments of "yucky, yucky, don't eat that", and despite the purchase and consistent use of a handy vac at home, continues to find and pick up every speck he happens upon to immediately stuff into his mouth with all the enthusiasm of Templeton the rat. I see the staff vigilantly sweep up after every meal and mop with a bleach mixture; I know the rooms are cleaned each night, but those bits are there and I can't help but wonder how easy it would be for the daycare to simply purchase a Dustbuster to make everyone's life a touch easier.

Day two my eyes fall upon the grimy little people playhouse, minus all little people of course, whose floors look as though they've never seen the light of a little people mop. More than once I wonder if this playroom has a higher instance of sickness, as at least three kids have weeping noses, and one a deep bellied cough. A bottle of Robitussin is spotted by my eagle eyes on top of the mini-fridge that cramps the playroom entryway.

In the middle of the night after day two, I talk myself into a daycare transition sick day, convinced both William and I simply need a break to decompress, especially after sleeping very poorly the previous night. After much self pep talk, and knowing how little time we really have to successfully transition, I rush through getting ready the next day ending up with a sloppy pony tail and barely there make-up.

It took 45 minutes. William was sitting up sucking his thumb when he leaned forward, face first into the mattress, and promptly fell asleep. His feet were up by his ears and I had to peer at his back to make sure he was still breathing. At one point a daycare person popped in to check on us and whispered, "Does he sleep like that?" I had to shrug. At least he was sleeping.

Cut to the end of day five, the last transition day: William napped for an hour with the rest of a full nap room (both sides), and though he was pretty fussy in terms of not letting me out of his sight most of the day, he still managed to sit on his own with me just off to the side, and doesn't appear to be traumatized upon our arrival back home. I even managed to leave the site to run an important errand for my return to work on Monday.

Though the grime and food bits are still there at the end of meal time, today the little people house doesn't look quite so dirty, and today I see the warm smiles the two main women who manage his room have when they see my sweet son. I see them kiss the other children's heads (knowing how natural it feels to express affection for a child), and I hear the caring in their voices as they read to them and encourage them to play and learn. Although I fear these women may be grossly underpaid, and I still wonder exactly what my hard-earned dollars pay for at the top end of the company, I am able to separate the worries of being a new mom leaving my little one in the hands of strangers from understanding what the priorities are for his care, and I am ultimately able to trust my instinct versus my anxiety.

Transition is hell.

Oddly enough, I feel like a better mother for it.

9 and a 1/2 months

Rob's first Father's Day and he totally kiboshed it (although he did let me know in advance he had no expectations). I kept it low key by just getting him a first Father's Day card and a recordable frame which featured a snippet of William laughing (originally from a video). In the frame I put a snapshot of the frame of that same video. My thinking was he'd take it to work and when he was missing William could surreptitiously push the play button and enjoy that memory (but as yet it has not happened).


We were supposed to go for brunch with friends but the timing with children didn't work out (Rhys and William are on very different schedules). : ) Naturally I thought I might make breakfast instead, which would be handily landing on Father's Day. Rob's response?

"I don't want bacon and eggs because it's dictated by Hallmark."

On one level that's hard to argue with. But I emotionally argued for it none the less. "It's the first Father's Day! It's a milestone!" I even cried.

But Rob says it's all commercial and he doesn't believe in it, even though the history of the day seems touching and sincere (according to Wikipedia). All I want is for William to make his Daddy a crappy ashtray even though he doesn't smoke (Rob did this for his Dad, only in their case Joe had quit a number of years earlier). Is that too much to ask? William doesn't yet know he's supposed to appreciate his parents. Whereas, I want a bloody parade every day of the week. I settle for one stinking day. : D

Can you imagine if kids still made ashtrays in school? There would be an uproar!

Anyway. So, I didn't make breakfast.

But we did go to the Calgary Comic Expo, which is always an experience.

We had William in a Batman onesie and jeans (so cute--I'll add pics later). He was all agog at the people, the costumes, the noise. At one point a Zombie flash mob (the link doesn't pick up the music much, it was quite loud) broke out in front of the Ghostbusters Movie car. There were even little kid zombies (all dancing to Thriller). I was trapped along with a few people by the sheer size of the dance and had no choice but to watch the whole thing.

I did make Rob an awesome burger for lunch, though. I'd picked up a couple of pre-made patties from Silver Sage Beef (organic and pre-seasoned). While those were on the BBQ, I was frying up some bacon and onions. No side dish, was too hungry and didn't have the time (at least I added tomato to mine).

William is now 17 lbs 14 oz. He's in a low percentile but has stayed on that curve since he was 3 months old. Hard to believe he's low when he looks so big and feels so heavy! Like all moms with babies, I hear it all: "He's so little! He's so big! He's so long! He looks older! Look at that hair!" Obviously my favourite is when people tell me how cute he is. : )



Does every baby hate Mommy's ministrations? When I try to clean his nose, face, hands, ears, clip nails, put on lotions, etc. he hates it. Do any babies like it? I want to meet them.

Eating solids are still a work in progress. I mentioned on FB how William went from Zero peas to TWO. It sounds so ridiculous my Mom doesn't understand what I'm talking about. I took a video of the first time he tried peas.

Now I dramatically pick up a pea, show William it's in my mouth and then ostentatiously chew and swallow it. Maybe he will then let me put one in his mouth which I end up pushing back in a few times.

What's working lately is me praising after ever bite or series of chewing and swallowing. I clap and cheer, "Way to go, William! Good job!" Although, I think I read somewhere you're not supposed to praise for feeding, the child needs to learn to eat! I have to resort to these measures. I keep wondering how the hell he's going to go to daycare if he won't take a bottle, can't have dairy, and hardly eats any solids. While I have 3 months yet, it's a major concern.

And I'm freaking out a little bit about the thought of daycare. Strangers will be spending more time with William than I will. That is disconcerting. Of course I want William to be independent and develop proper social skills, but I'm not keen on giving up my influence for 8 hours a day. A whole personality could develop without my influence.

And I was the one who said over and over, "From the moment a baby is born, it's your job as a parent to prepare that baby to go out into the world."

But he's only 1! That's too soon.

Update

I'm afraid if I don't start writing some of these moments down, I may lose them altogether!

William has just passed the 6 month mark and is seriously cuter than ever. Jeez, went downstairs for the photo card and came up with chips and a drink, instead. Alas. (William and Rob are in bed for the evening).


I look back at videos from the first few months and I honestly can't believe how much he's changed. I thought William was adorable when he was born, but it's nothing compared to how cute he is now. And he's so darn happy! Most of the time we go into his room after a nap and are greeted with smiles. Sometimes William's a little sleepy and it takes a few moments, but the smiles eventually come.

Lately he's been scrunching up his whole face and breathing quickly through his gums in a bit of a hissing sound, which is rather amusing. He'd started raspberries/blowing bubbles awhile back and then it died off only to resurface tonight for some reason. And he's kicking up a storm right now: on the change table, while I nurse him, in the bathtub--it's incessant. He must have kicked out a litre of water in the bath tonight. The kicking while nursing can really drive me nuts. The lactation consultant wondered if that was only when he was frustrated at a slow milk flow, but he can be going to town and still kicking like a rockette (it's fairly dramatic--his feet will literally search me out to make contact, even when I move my arms and everything out of the way).

And when he's done nursing on one side he just turns away and pretends not to see me. Sometimes he'll look at me out of the corner of his eye, but there is no coaxing him back until he's switched to the other side. It's ridiculous (in an amusing way, of course). He's always been a pain in the ass in that regard, but now he's totally in control of how long he feeds on each side, whereas before I could talk him into going just a little longer before switching sides.

The reason this is noteable is we had weight concerns which started back in December and have moved neatly to full on Eczema issues. He's had Eczema from about 4 weeks old, but after a lactation consultant suggested going dairy free in February, it's been hell ever since. With the level of attention and information you get from Doctors these days, if we didn't have the Internet, we'd be screwed. I'd rather have too much information than not enough.

The Eczema was so bad on his mouth we were referred to a dermatologist and were ushered through so quickly I'm surprised I didn't get a happy meal on the way out. That Doctor told me to bathe William every day, even "two or three times a day" and that Olive oil based products "strip the skin". The Naturopath I just saw told me bathing every day was unnecessary as we needed to make sure he wasn't getting dried out and that Olive oil based products were fine, that Alcohol-based creams strip the skin (of which the dermatologist recommended one).

Now who do I believe? Dermatologist prescription creams make the eczema go away to some degree (until I have some hidden dairy, I believe), but the Naturopath says that's a "repressed" reaction as it's only driving the issue "deeper into the skin" because skin reactions represent issues occurring on the inside (in this case a suspected dairy sensitivity).

It's unbelievably stressful to look at your baby's skin and wonder how much it bothers or hurts him (nevermind when you see him itching), and how much what you're eating has to do with his condition. I wonder if he hates getting changed because his skin is sensitive, or if he moves all over the crib while he sleeps because his back is itchy.

At this point people usually ask me why I don't switch to formula.

Well, if the child has allergy issues, I need to get those sorted and resolved before I start stuffing him with chemicals and additives and such. Keeping in mind we have an established history of allergies in the family (when I was a baby I apparently threw milk up, which I didn't know until recently). Rob was hospitalized many a time due to allergy reactions, and we both had/have asthma, a history of pneumonia, adenoids, tonsillitis, and the like. Obviously I have to get this under control now, and until I have more of an idea of the cause of the Eczema, I don't consider formula an option for us.

That makes having started solid foods very stressful, as I'm extremely linear and literal. I love knowing what to give/when/how much, a schedule, and on and on. Down to the "T". I don't think everything I've read is specific enough. I want to know exactly how much iron is in each food, so I know which food is the best bang for my iron buck. And exactly when to go to two meals and day, and two foods a day, and all that.

I am not a go with the flow kind of gal.

And yet, I must be. I have a beautiful baby boy, and he's not going to subscribe to some schedule I've determined is in his best interest (judging from his sly sidelong glances at me when he's done nursing on one side--though I think he could clearly go longer).

Still, I've got my charts; I'm cross referencing my material; I've determined which iron filled foods I'll serve next, and I'll just have to go from there.

And I will figure out this Eczema thing if it kills me.

Never mind the Naturopath suggested also giving up Eggs and Wheat, to which I said, "Uh, hell no. For now." Until I'm convinced it isn't Dairy, I can't give up anything else.

As all moms out there know, we give plenty, thanks.

Of course, if I have to I must, but for now Dairy will just have to do. More on the classes we been taking next time.

Stars and Strollers

Let me start by saying I'm in a good mood despite not seeing the end of the movie, and considering William has been crying for an hour since we got home from our first <---- (I must be optimistic!) Stars and Strollers attempt. *update*: after William finally went down he slept only an hour and was hollering blue murder at the top of his lungs until Daddy gave him a bottle (I naively thought I'd get at least an hour and a half of sleep out of William and went to the drugstore).

Now, I realize most mommies have been there and done that, but seeing as how this is my first baby and our first movie attempt together, I'm writing about it! : )

Can I just say what a cash grab Stars and Strollers must be? Seriously. How many mommies even make it to the end of the movie, or could even tell you what happens at any given moment? I lasted for about an hour and a half, and I knew in advance popcorn was not an option.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

My friend Suzy, who recently had a baby (now just over a month old), and I got there with plenty of time. The movies are NOT discounted, by the way--some might say, "why should they be", but I think I could make a case for it (I won't here, though). Suzy went with Burger King right at the theatre as her four year old was home from Daycare, Daddy Sean made the trek to make it a family event, and they needed lunch before the movie. Their bill for two meals was $23, which they were openly horrified by, especially after paying over $50 for 3 adult and 1 children's ticket (upon which Daddy Sean declared, "I am eating every single one of these 50 cent fries!)

The website advertises "Stroller parking available in select theatres", which consists of space for about 5 strollers, not including the ramp that enters the individual theatre (where I watched a portion of the movie).

Daddy Sean and Lucas went to a kids flick, while Suzy and I parked our strollers in the front row of the main tier of our theatre, just before about 10 mommies and strollers showed up looking for more space to "park". Can someone say Fire Hazard?

I made sure to bring William's sound muffling headphones, which made Suzy laugh, but were alternately fabulous and irritating to William. At one point I had the headphones off just as the abusive father on screen shouted at his wife and child, "Fuck! Just go ahead and eat your fucking lunch!" (because said lunch wasn't good enough in typical cliched abusive behavior). This of course sent William into a high pitched scream--always accompanied by real tears, mind you. So now I'm trying to get the headphones back on, kiss William on his wet cheeks and reassure him it's "just a movie, Sweetie"--like he understands that, and so on and so forth.

At times William was calm just watching the movie (despite my anti-tv-and-and-everything-related-policy-until-2 years-old), headphones on, and then he'd claw at said headphones, restless, and I'd try to pacify him with the pacifier, of course (despite my no-pacifier-after-3-months-policy). Then I'd try and give him his blue giraffe, or his new crunchy Winnie the Pooh "Hunny" book. I tried cradling him, looking longingly at the calm baby in her mother's lap next to me who was actually "shooting" William a look like, "what the hell, buddy, settle down."

William would screech a little, and then Suzy's guy Charlie would let out a whimper (but was mostly content to just eat and eat from Mommy). William's screeching would set off some other screeching in the theatre, so there was always some screeching going on.

I figured we'd had enough when William really started to howl his ear piercing, squirm out of arms shriek. No cradling, giraffe, headphones, or "relaxing" in the car seat/stroller would do, so off into the hall we went. After a few trips around the hallway, back to the seat, and more screaming--I finally plunked him into the stroller to leave--had to manoeuvre around the babies playing on blankets next to us, the other strollers, the car seats, and out we really went.

William settled down outside, but the moment I'd attempt to roll back in, he'd literally start whimpering. We managed a five minute stretch of watching the movie in the entrance/exit aisle because he was facing the screen, when a woman joined me with her baby. She was trying to coax me into the "closer" seats, etc, until William started to protest and she finally took his hint and left.

I went back outside and rolled William around in the stroller. I tried to go back in again, and saw other Mommies and squirming babies in the same aisle I'd just vacated--but William would have none of it. Needing some guidance, I called Rob for mental support and he advised me to feed William inside and if he still didn't settle, to go out into the mall and simply shop (we were at Chinook and I had it in my head I would accomplish many errands on this trip). Normally I would make such such a deduction on my own, but it was a new scenario, other mom's seemed to be sticking it out, and Suzy was down in the front row with Charlie contentedly feeding away.

So, back in we went. I could just barely get William latched without a full audible episode, but he did quite fine without my usual guidance. I looked over and Suzy was still feeding Charlie, while a variety of other moms were now up in the aisles bouncing to soothe their bundles as baby shrieks ricocheted around the theatre like a vocal tennis match--which set William off during feeding and after when I thought he might actually be able to nap. We were about 3/4's of the way through the movie, after all.

The movie? Blue Valentine. Some artsy flick (crap) about a failing marriage, all "gritty", shot with a multitude of shaky cam close-ups, complete with a fuck scene where the woman wants her husband to hit her, and an abortion scene featuring the dr between the woman's legs all ready with the needle and such. This is the movie mothers are running to for relief from being cramped up in the house? Seriously? The movie started with the family dog disappearing as he'd gotten hit by a truck (and they showed him dead by the side of the road, then wrapped in a blue tarp for burying). And it's not like we had a choice between a nice fluffy movie and this. Our other option? The Rite. Right! God, $13 has never been so poorly spent (though I buy cheap movie passes, Suzy bought my full priced ticket in advance as they got there ahead of a huge line up).

And still, though William has had by all accounts an awful afternoon and evening (and subsequently Mummy and Daddy as well), I'm in pretty good spirits. Which may be difficult to tell, but none the less.

At no point did I get frustrated with William. If anything, his behaviour was completely expected, but I had to give it a shot. I know my son and he is a baby who is (currently) sensitive to sound, and who does not nap except in his crib or if he's REALLY tired, maybe the car. This is my baby. Why do you think I put headphones on him in the line up at Starbucks when the speaker next to us was blaring some pathetic tinny song, causing William's face to screw up in a telltale howl until I placed the headphones on him? Did I feel silly when the women behind me commented? No. I know my baby. I was happy I didn't force him into "sticking" out the movie when he was screaming in intense discomfort. I can't make William shriek with that much unhappiness just so I can finish watching some two-bit "Oscar nominated film". Yes, I want to push his boundaries and expose him to new and noisy surroundings, but not for my explicit benefit and so utterly at his expense.

Yet after all of that, William was full of smiles when we got home, and before our many attempts at putting him to bed, and will still have many toothless grins for us when he does go to sleep and finally wakes up.

Will I attempt Stars and Strollers again? It should be a resounding no, but never say never. William may evolve and I may find new ways of getting him accustomed to noise and napping. I'm just not going to completely disregard our happiness and sanity to do it.

: )

Hush Now

Someone forgot to mention when the baby sleeps throughout the night, he doesn't sleep throughout the day. Cause I didn't make that connection.

For the past week William has been sleeping overnights anywhere from 7-11 hours. Anytime I mention this to someone I get an array of positive responses such as, "That's awesome!" or "Way to go!"

But when a baby sleeps 10 hours at night, he must certainly be up MUCH more during the day. The net effect is you end up with a series of 1-2 hour naps (if you're lucky). Because a 3 month old (as of tomorrow) is only up for about an hour and a half (often less) at a time, this cycle makes for a very LONG day. Now, would I rather have 8 hours of sleep at night, or would I rather have a day of William napping in 2-3 hour stints where I can accomplish things (like having a shower or putting up the Christmas tree)?

And I'm not exactly waking up and leaping into the air ready for action after a full night's sleep.

Alright, I suppose I've made my point.

The last two days have been a challenge. William has taken to being up for an hour or less at a time (he's been starting to cry at the tail end of "play time"). Normally I'd assume he was tired of that particular activity, but the crying is now also occurring on the change table and in Mummy and Daddy's arms, so it's got to be that he's tired, right? Well, he's also developed some new "sleepy time" cues, such as grabbing his whole head and face like the sky is falling (I'll try and get a pic but it might not turn out well due to his mindset at that point). : )

So, if he's only up for an hour and only sleeps for an hour, if that (and it's only 1 in the afternoon)...yawn, except now I've had a full eight hours of sleep so can not justify being tired. Alas.

Babies are hard.

And today even though he was crying (and sort of exhibiting sleepy cues), when I put him down all he did was babble for a good five minutes--which he also did when he awoke. But seeing as how everything is an experiment with a baby, I just left him to see if he'd drift off.

Yes, he is currently asleep. According to the sleep timer, that means I have anywhere from 20-40 free minutes because at 2pm there will be ten hours left in the day and he will have already slept for 11 at that point--so he should be awake for... another 5 hours!

Right. Mmmmmm, I had a baby to play with, raise, love...who knew it'd be all day long. ; )

Seriously, (literally) yawn.

Okay, what about the good stuff? Well, William has a baby Santa hat which is adorable!


Pictures with Santa were a trip and a half. Just watching all the kids clamor over one another to use the itty bitty kid slide was unbelievable.

Side tangent: one kid kept butting in line until another mother told him he couldn't do it and his mother finally came over and told him he shouldn't do it. Then he proceeded to stand in front of the slide, lay under the slide, climb up the slide (and get his finger caught). Some other kid was all whiney and wanted to use the slide but didn't have any confidence (or something), so she'd just hang out in front of the stairs, or on the stairs, or sitting too close to the end of the slide (she was my least favourite). Another other little girl would sit in the middle of the slide so no one could go up the stairs or down the slide (until I told her she needed to move on). One decked out girl in full hair and Christmas dress actually spit on the carpet and rubbed it away with her shiny black patent shoe (clearly knowing what she was doing). Between the sweater vests on the boys, and the girls with their salon hair and boutique dresses, my William looked ghetto in his baby clothes--I just figured with him being a little over 2 months old, can not sit himself up, can not walk, and gets overheated easily, I'd keep it simple. I had no idea pictures with Santa were such a "thing". Stroller after stroller was lined up to get in as soon as the place opened. The whole thing took just over an hour.

Anyway! William has discoverd he only has to roll over to get out of Tummy Time--so it's now a big game of rolling him back over for the rest of Tummy Time (shooting for a minimum 5 mintues), which will usually produce a bout of crying. He's gripping the big soft picture blocks he normally knocks over. He can grab and shake rattles (but has hit himself once, so now we're cautious). He was holding his own bottle the other day, which absolutely amazed Rob and I. And he wants to hold the medicine dropper when we're giving him gripe water, so I can see where this is heading. We appear to have a "spirited" child. : )

But he is and continues to be a delight--simply. : )

Yawn

I was going to ask, "what is it about new motherhood that makes you so beat?" Then I yawned.

Right, it's the sleep factor. Last night I tried the Baby Whisperer technique for inching William along to sleep longer overnight. Method: "Tank the Baby up"--feed him at 5, 7, then "dream feed" while the baby is sleeping (yeah, right) at 11. And watch him sleep (not literally).

Mmmm... Fed at 5 (ish), then 7 (ish), gave him a bath, we both went to bed at 8:30 and I set my alarm for 11:30. Didn't turn on any lights, and didn't unswaddle William as I attempted to "dream feed" him after my alarm went off. But then thought I smelled poo and changed him before putting him back down, thus waking him. Still, he went down again no problem at 12:30 (drum roll) annnnnd woke up around 5.

So, no go. I get that already. If I'd have let him sleep at 8:30 he'd have probably slept for 5 hours or more, so I lost out in this deal. Book says to keep trying, it could take up to a week. How does everyone else do this? Does the baby "organically" start sleeping nights? Like I say, I can get 5, 6 hours out of him now, it just might start at 8 or 9.

Yawn.

Of course, I also had an energy spurt when I awoke at 11:30, so I didn't go back to sleep right away. Imagine my dismay when I went to sleep at 2:30, only to be up 2 and 1/2 hours later. Let's see, 3 hours at 8:30 pm, 2 1/2 at 2:30 am, that's 5. I went back to bed at 7:30 am for 3 hours, but slept poorly as I was cold (despite being covered in tons of blankets).

I'm always doing the sleep math throughout the day wondering if I'm justified when I feel tired (like now). Like so tired I'd rather sleep then eat.

Screw it. I'm having a nap.

But I do love William to pieces, and he's still cute as hell. Despite of his recent growth spurt, I do not regret being a Mummy (though the sheer magnitude of it all can be quite overwhelming).

What a Difference

a couple of months make. Well, the first picture is from September 18, and the second October 30, but William is now 2 months old!

Back then William would fall asleep on my chest for some skin to skin Tummy Time. Now he's not a cuddler. Not sure if I've somehow reinforced such independence (if that's what I'm calling it), or if that's his emerging personality, but I keep trying to sneak in some cuddles only to be met with staunch arching away from Mummy as he prefers to look avidly around the room.

What I've lost in cuddling, William now makes up for with smiles during our breastfeeding sessions. I get a legion of open mouth smiles from my little man in between sides, so I take the opportunity to reiterate to William how much I adore him as I try to teach him that I'm "Mum, Ma, or Mummy" and that he is indeed William, and "Mummy loves you--Will, William."

Then, William used to stare silently at his wall of animals along the change table. Now, he laughs his little baby laugh when he locks eyes on the red bird, and punches his fist out at the Eeyore rattle to make it jingle (which I believe I taught him then, but he does very frequently now).



Both then and now William slept for 3-4 hour stints, though it's stretching longer and longer with 7 hours being the most he's slept at a time. Back then William fed for 45 minutes a side at the longest, and now it's 5-7 minutes a side with me always wondering if he's getting enough (despite seeing the regularity of poos and pees).

William's baby acne is what I agonized over then as I breastfed him, and now I look alarmingly at the dry patches of skin on his scalp and little bits on his face. Cradle cap was a notion in a book then, and now I use a special shampoo on William and a medicated cream that sometimes takes over "play time" after feeding. His "sad face" has graduated to full-on lower lip trembling "wah, wah" cries, which were heartbreaking then, nevermind now when he gets tired of me fussing over his skin and hair, or whatever else is bothering him.

Like all parents, Rob and I talk incessantly to William as we interact with him. It's been fun watching his baby vocabulary grow from gurgles to what we swear are words. I keep guessing what I think his first word will be (either, Hi, Hello or Okay), as those are most used by me, it seems. I swear he deliberately said "Hi" recently, as he breathed out the word while looking directly at me during what I now refer to as "face time" (a new activity category I created on the iPad Baby Connect application with the description: William is being adored by Mummy/Daddy).

William hardly lifted his body during Tummy Time back then, and now he gets enough height for us to actually take a video featuring his face. He also rolled from front to back just the other day! Then promptly spit up after much fan fare from Mummy congratulating him on his great achievement. : )

Of course I loved little William even then, but now he takes my breath away when he looks right through me with his smile, follows me with his eyes around the room, and when I close my eyes and feel his small body wiggle against me as Van Morrison or another favourite musician plays on in the background.

If I love William this much now, then how much more could I possibly love him later?

Waiting

According to our iPad application, Baby Connect, William's been sleeping for 2 hours, 45 minutes (and counting). It's 11:06pm. So, rather than try and go to sleep for 1/2 hour or so, I'm waiting for him to wake up so I can feed him and then we both can go back to bed. My goal will be to try and feed him lots to see if he'll sleep longer. My data from Baby Connect indicates I can expect anywhere from 3-4 hours of sleep from him once we all go down. I keep crossing my fingers for 5, but I'm not sure how long that will take to achieve.

I can not say enough about Baby Connect. It tracks everything! Colour of poos, activities, growth charts, graphs--in a word, awesome. We've raved about it to Amanda and Warren and recently they came across what I can only refer to as their "manual" charting created when Rhys was born (as we all know, you need to keep track of this shit--literally). These applications simply have the advantage with today's technology (plus it's ideal for Type A mothers, which I've been told I am). We've even taken it to the doctor's office to record height, weight, etc--so handy. Though the percentiles the doctor tells us do disagree with the iPad percentages, so good thing I don't have to just take the doctor's word for it. ; )

You may be asking yourself (because you follow this blog so closely), didn't she say the next blog was going to be on what she enjoyed about motherhood? Exactly, dear reader(s). Not only do I enjoy tracking all this stuff, but I enjoy analyzing it to manipulate behavior and influence results. Which is why I also enjoy the Baby Whisperer so much--the cause and effect relationship is fascinating to me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not in a lab coat spending hours pouring over the data, I'm just looking for trends and seeing where I can tweak things.

Though, I did read and re-read sections of the Baby Whisperer quite a bit to try and soak in the information to get us on a routine once William was born. Of course, if I didn't see results I'd have trashed the whole thing, but because of how well we're all adjusting, I'd say it's been well worth my effort. And I haven't been so crazed when things don't go according to plan, or go way off routine, that we can't adjust, but I'd say because we've had such a good routine we're all much more flexible when unavoidable things happen (and they do happen).

Case in point, our gas scare of last week. Situation: hot water pilot light went out early am (noticed when Mummy tried to warm a cloth to wipe William's red, teary eye which was beginning to look puffy, after a particularly challenging breastfeeding session). No hot water. Mummy starts to get agitated and calls Daddy (while William is starting to fuss). The clock is ticking down on home health care arriving, and I still have yet to make my own saline solution (rather than continue to buy it at $7.00 a bottle, only to thrown 3/4's away after 3 days because that's when it's "no good"--something I have yet to understand, but am unwilling to test on my gaping abdominal wound).

After calling Daddy, I then call my close friend who I know has had many hot water heating issues, and he tells me I'd be best to get someone in to relight it. Then I call my brother who asks me if I smell gas, at which point I go downstairs and declare, "YES, YES I DO."

"You've got to get out of the house!"

Now, in checking the ATCO gas website after the fact, it advises the same thing. However, Rob shows up just in that moment and I'm running up the stairs shouting to him, "I can smell gas! I can smell gas!" I grab the baby, a blanket, a coat and leave the house (still in my pajamas, of course). Meanwhile Rob is on the phone with ATCO, who is calmly telling him to simply ventilate the area. Mmmmm... Website says--don't use the phone, call from a neighbour's, and don't switch on any lights (among other things).

Rob tries to call me back down to the house as I'm sitting on a neighbour's stoop, cradling the baby (okay, and crying), and I will not budge. Home health care count down is less than 10 minutes ETA, which I have completely forgotten at this point, as I have images of the house blowing up with Rob in it.

He finally comes over to me and coaxes me back telling me all should be alright (based on ATCO call) just as the home health care woman shows up (I swear she must think Rob beats me). I can laugh about this now, but it's taken me a week to openly talk about it beyond that day.

ANYWAY, my point was supposed to be that William just took it all in stride. He was calm in my arms, though I had forgotten the soother "just in case", and when Rob took him back from me so I could get the incision treated, William just went back to sleep. No big deal. And the only thing worse than all of that (at the time), would have been if William would have been crying his head off during, or after, said "situation". But no, we've got a good little guy.

Is it the routine? His personality? Maybe a bit of both.

Either way, thank God there was no real issue (ATCO guy showed up with his gas sensing equipment and couldn't find a trace--aka hysterical new mother).

Where was I going with all of this? Mmmm...was supposed to be writing extensively on what I enjoyed about motherhood.

Well, there's plenty of time for that.

Here's a favourite baby pic! : D



And just like that William is stirring (really). At the 3 and a 1/2 hour sleep mark, no less.

Baby Whisperer

I've read the book; I've got it tabbed and highlighted with things I reference constantly (such as as the crying grid of what the typical cries mean); I think Baby Whispering is working. Take today for example: normally we put William down to sleep and there isn't a lot of ritual. We swaddle him, we give him a soother, I tell him he's going down for a sleep and how well he's going to feel when he wakes up, and that's about it. The book suggests spending a bit more time helping him "transition" to the sleep stage (recommended if he's fussing a fair bit when you put him down, which he has been). So, today I tried giving him more time for "transition". This included a bit more time on Mummy's shoulder as I waited for his breathing to even out, and when I put him down, I patted him a little longer. Both times of doing this resulted in no fussing when he did fall asleep. Score yet another one for the Whisperer (which is now me).

Amen, post over. : D

What else is working? Well, we do have him on EASY (a routine of Eat, Activity, Sleep, You--as in Mummy). That's going well in terms of being able to predict what happens next for William at any given moment (both from his perspective and mine). For example, after he eats we give him some short activity, watch for tired cues, and when he fusses--because he's on this routine--we know he's then ready for sleep. Even though he looks wide awake, which often confuses Rob (and sometimes William's grandparents), when he goes down he falls asleep (because that's what William needs, which we both now know).

The other thing working well is the notion of "starting as you mean to go on". Don't start something now you won't be willing to still be doing 3 months from now (ie: rocking him to sleep). Thus the importance of putting William in his crib BEFORE he falls asleep. He gets used to putting himself to sleep (once we help him transition to a sleepy state) and doesn't require Mummy or Daddy's constant interference to stay asleep. Sooooo working well. When William periodically wakes up, he self sooths and is adept at getting back to sleep.

Not to confuse this with not meeting his needs. When he cries, we go in and see what he needs, meet the need and then leave. We don't overstay our welcome, and we don't rush in too quickly--thus giving us time to take note of what his cry might mean, and giving William a voice to tell us what he needs. Sounds easy in theory, but we do the best we can to meet his needs, making sure we're not just silencing him with a soother thus forcing all his cries to become the same (another theory from the book I think makes sense).

By all means, everything doesn't simply go according to these routines or the book, but for the most part it's helping keep us all balanced and I think has made recovering from a c-section easier, not to mention easing us into the shock of becoming new parents. If shock is even the best word. I think shock implies you have time to analyze and recover from an event. Whereas with being a new parent, there is little time for analysis (I've noticed my internal "filter" has disintegrated almost entirely), and who knows when I'll feel like this role of motherhood is the new norm.

Having said all of that, I've had this post in the "can" for so long waiting to finish that I'll just end here and continue with the next post on everything I enjoy about motherhood and my little William. : )



I must also add when I feel frustrated, it's alleviated pretty quickly by looking at photos of our lovely little boy. : )

Real Labour

Has it only been just over two weeks since William was born? I can't believe it. I wish I could say it's all been smooth sailing, but William came into the world via an emergency c-section (and all I wanted while I was pregnant was to avoid a c-section).

Maybe I should back up a bit.

Induction day was 11 days overdue. I avoided any exams and sweeping of membranes not wanting to mess around "down there", because I was hoping things would take their natural course. I instead had two sessions of acupuncture (a woman in our birth and babies class swore by it--had actually gone into labour within hours of having it done). But on induction day, I was seen by some locum (not my doctor), who proclaimed me as barely a centimeter dilated, and was very quick about it. After she left, I cried and was quite upset knowing how little chance I had of not having a c-section from that point onward what with all the medical intervention that would be required. Rob and I immediately went over to the hospital for a cervical ripener, and had to actually sign a release when informed that Cervadil could cause a very speedy, hard labour.

Prior to the Cervadil, I had my blood pressure taken and it was quite elevated at 143 over 90, probably because of how upset I was. This turned out to be a saving grace, as they didn't want to release me based on the blood pressure alone. So, at 1pm I was given the Cervadil, then admitted where I was told I wouldn't be leaving the hospital without a baby.

How Cervadil works is you get examined 12 hours later if you haven't gone into labour. This is when women are normally sent home. Intense contractions didn't begin for me until around 6pm or so, and had Rob and I wandering the halls to try and manage the pain/force labour into progressing. The contractions came in clusters, and I was very nervous as I was not yet admitted into the labour and delivery ward, and Rob would have to leave at 9pm when visiting hours ended on my ward. I was frightened of labouring on my own up to 4 centimeters until I'd be admitted and Rob would be able to come back and be with me(as yet another woman in our class experienced). It seemed as though all the things I was afraid of and trying to avoid were coming true.

Rob left at 9pm, and the contractions had settled to a manageable rhythm. I was even feeling sleepy and decided to get into my pajamas, turn the lights down, and try and get some sleep; we were both advised it could be a long day of labour. I had been in bed for hardly any time, Rob had only been gone 40 minutes, when I felt my water break in a big gush (a peculiar sensation that I still don't know if it was audible or was just an internal "whoosh"). I immediately pushed the nurse call button, and tried to get to the bathroom with as little mess as possible. I could barely get out of the bathroom and back to bed once the nurse arrived because the contractions were progressing rapidly. At that point I was 3 centimetres dilated and told it would likely take awhile.

Because I was GBS positive, antibiotics needed to be administered via IV as soon as my water broke, so that was a big focus. Unfortunately it took 3 attempts by different teams of people (nurses, residents and finally an anesthesiologist), which took close to an hour. I was desperate for pain medication, even at that point, as there was no spacing of contractions--no working up to 5 or 4 minutes apart, it was one minute, two minutes, one, one, one, and on it went. First I was told I could get a shot of morhpine, but that kept getting sidelined by the IV issue. Then I was told I could get pain meds via the IV, which of course wasn't in yet. Finally they located some laughing gas, and I went from 3, to 5, to 7 centimetres within an hour and a half.

Rob was called almost immediately, and appeared to be taking his time (at least forty minutes from my count). When he arrived, I believe I was using the laughing gas, I was in so much pain. I could feel the contractions build in the side of my belly like a heartbeat, which would clench and clench until it hit the peak. I prayed and prayed I would get more time in between to brace for the next contraction and try and relax from the previous one, but I had little reprieve. When the IV was finally in, I asked again for pain relief and the nurse actually sat down on the bed, took my hand, and told me it would be all natural. This was heartbreaking news at the time, as the pain was unbearable and had started and progressed much more quickly than I'd ever imagined it could.

After I was 7 centimeters dilated, they called for a room on the labour and delivery ward, but one wasn't available. Just as quickly it was and I was whisked away. From there things went very fast. It seemed I wasn't in my room long before I was being rushed to the delivery room. I can't remember when they put on the internal fetal monitor, which allowed us to hear the baby's heartbeat (in stereo it seemed, it was so loud). When the contractions would hit, I would suck on the laughing gas so hard it sounded like I was choking for my last breath through the mask, I was breathing so deeply. There were no other thoughts in my head beyond stopping the pain.

Then the urge to push hit me. My whole body trembled, and I vaguely understood what this meant, and that I could not yet push. I was finally told I could not yet push, and that's when we all heard the fetal heart rate audibly drop to a loud, slow and sickening thump, thump, thump that seemed to reverberate throughout the room (certainly throughout my pain induced, laughing gas haze) as compared to the cheerful quick staccato in between contractions.

I was measured again and was still 7 centimeters. I was then told I would need a c-section, as the baby was not "tolerating" the labour, and I remember signing off on a release form. I immediately asked if I would be getting pain medication, and was told there wasn't enough time for it, that I would need to be put fully under. Instead of being alarmed, I was more concerned about how quick they could make this happen. I was being wheeled to the OR (or whatever), as they fired questions at me about when I last ate, etc. The entire time they were prepping me, I just kept asking how long before I was under--HOW LONG?!

Rob was being rushed into scrubs and was then told he couldn't come in, so he had to listen to me howl as he waited outside in the hall. He saw person after person rush into the room, all while not knowing if everything was going to be alright. He was told, "Listen for the baby's cry." It wasn't long after he heard it, he was able to go in and see William sitting in the warmer all bright eyed. My water broke at 9:40pm and William was born at 12:59am. Rob can retell his side of the story now without welling up, but it was a challenge retelling it for up to at least a week after William's birth.


I was out for another two hours while Rob and William got acquainted in the nursery. When he was finally able to present William to me, I wasn't the least bit surprised Rob had a boy in his arms.

We both have since wondered if we would be able to endure this again for a second child (can't believe the thought has even crossed our minds at this point), but for now, we get to hold our little healthy William in our arms and thank God he arrived when he did.

Labour Day

And so it is, though I am not yet in labour.

Not yet.

The official due date was September 2nd, but I didn't get too hung up on that, as I know it's not always entirely accurate, and the baby and mother nature usually have other plans. A woman in our birth and babies class remarked at how patient I was, but at the time I wasn't yet overdue and was in no rush to have this baby. While I am still not frustrated or anxious about it, I do want it to happen naturally without medical encouragement.

To that end, Rob and I have started to push the labour envelope, only to be surprised when it appeared to have worked in the sense that painful contractions began within the hour (though sporadic), and are still occurring though not necessarily progressing in any obvious pattern. I started using the iPad contraction timer, much to Rob's dismay--who then decided he should pull an all nighter to finish the odds and ends not yet done around the house (which I quickly discouraged and easily talked him out of).

I understand labour to be an active process where you should stand, walk and move around to encourage your body to continue the process, except Rob and I decided we weren't "quite" ready, so I lay down to try and stall it instead. : ) We didn't anticipate it happening right away and want just "one more day". I'm curious to see how we'll feel tomorrow and if we are as gung-ho on our induction experiments as we were last night--though, we still know that natural is the best option, especially considering how much I want to avoid a c-section which increases the more medical intervention occurs.

I can't believe it's been 3 weeks since I stopped working. Sometimes I wonder how I've been filling my time, as previously mentioned, but I'm still sick (and at this exact moment coughing is an all-body engaging, stomach hugging intense experience--and a mind numbing reminder that labour itself will be much much worse--gasp). Trying to get over this never ending cold by resting as much as humanly possible has taken up a fair bit of time, along with the odd cleaning, and shopping and such. The new mothers and fathers in our baby class keep saying over and over, "get sleep now" (they actually mouth it when I simply glance their way), as if we didn't already know this, and to that end, I continue to nap whenever a series of yawns strike me.

I'm under no illusions that I'm physically or mentally prepared for labour, I just know it has to happen in order to meet our little boy or girl. When I watch breastfeeding videos, I become emotional at the thought of holding our little baby, and how much he or she will rely on Rob and I for love and all the necessities of life. I feel weepy at the thought of seeing their little feet, and holding a little hand.

And I have no idea just how much our lives are about to transform.

Any day now.

Ready or Not

I've only spent the past five days being sick, so I haven't gotten much accomplished baby-wise. What would I have been doing instead of combating a cold? Cleaning house, setting up car seats (getting them inspected--did anyone else do this?), clearing my trunk, cooking and freezing meals...isn't that enough?

What have I been doing? Having breakfast at a decent hour (after being up in the middle of the night for a minimum 2 hours), watching TV or being distracted with the iPad, and napping (if you can call going back to bed for 2 -3 hours a nap). I'm quite anxious at the prospect of going through labour sick, and even more alarmed at the notion of trying to mother a newborn while sick. Seems like a cruel joke for my body to come down with an instantaneous cold that despite all the sleep in the world continues to progress--first from sinuses to throat then to chest (if that is even any kind of medical progression). I harbour images of struggling to recover from a C-section while coughing--delirious from a lack of sleep--wondering if I'm developing pneumonia as I breastfeed and fretfully analyze my own baby's health on an hourly basis. I've used this image as a big green light to do as little as possible in an attempt to coax my body back to health before labour and my life as a mother truly begins.

I was finally feeling a tad better today so I dragged Rob to dinner and a movie (and had to remind him that despite his lack of interest and energy he was banking "relationship points", as I really needed to get out and spend time as a couple in what will be the last of our non-baby time together). The movie was the Expendables by Sylvester Stallone (and I must say one big pile of BS), because of course the movie we wanted to see was sold out in Imax on a Saturday night (Inception). I have to keep reminding Rob we will have little time for things like this over the next 3 months, and any type of couple time will be a substantial effort on our part involving babysitters and the like.

During the movie the baby was of course periodically kicking about, and I started to experience what I believe is my body's labour preparation--sharp electrical type currents running down into my pelvis and of course pressure. I have occasionally felt my abdomen tightening, but is always a tricky assessment because my belly is obviously running out of room for the baby so always feels big and firm at this point.

At 39 weeks the doctor hasn't done any type of exam so I've no idea if my body has progressed in terms of dilation. All I know is the thought of it all starting in the next few days leaves me breathless, as I know this is going to be more intense than I could ever have imagined, and more tiring than I'm prepared for. I really hope those joyful moments come quickly and often to give me the energy to carry through to establishing a "natural routine" with the baby.

Of course I'm excited to meet the baby, but I'm also anxious about its health--not just during or after delivery but the sheer magnitude of taking care of a little person for the rest of his or her life. Will I recognize any medical issue requiring attention, do I take a baby CPR class--should I have done this already? My mom is at the stage where she would like to be updated constantly, which drives me bonkers though I know is natural on both sides, but when you're sick, is particularly taxing. Add to that the family drama continues to unfold and will always be an unfortunate backdrop to the story of my life.

Our prenatal class is equally exciting and anxiety provoking, as one after another new baby arrives. We have three bundles to date, and at least 2 more on the way with couples being absent last class. It's quite thrilling to see Rob swaddle the creepy baby dolls (labelled as "baby" in pen on their feet), and then practise again at home on Winnie the poo as we sit together in the baby's room (a very nice moment and memory, indeed).

The baby's room: a highlight for sure. I can't believe Rob let me go with such a bold colour, which he worried afterwards was too intense for the baby, but looks quite charming with the contrasting accents of pictures and such. I like to go in there and just sit, even though there are still a last few last touches to be made (crib needs assembly, curtains need to be hemmed and hung--and if it's a boy, one last picture to be purchased and placed. Baby, if you're a girl--we will celebrate and love you all the same!)





I knew pregnancy would not magically transform me into a serene and equally relaxed individual, I just pray my faith and fortitude carry me through the challenges new motherhood will inevitably bring, and that I will intrinsically feel it's all been worthwhile in the end (keeping in mind there is no end to being a parent).


Because after all of that, ready or not, Baby, here you come. : )

Day One

After two hours of sleep, was up until 3:30 am. I had this brilliant flash I would assemble the rocking chair while watching Hope Floats which happened to be airing on TV. Once I had all the pieces out of the box, along with the screws and instructions, I realized I was far too uncomfortable to be monkeying around with all that crap--which looked laborious at best, so I gave up on the chair, gave up on the movie (right after the worst scene where the father refuses to take his daughter with him, leaving her screaming and crying by the car--which of course stressed me out) and instead distracted myself by beating all the top scores in Jawbreaker on our new iPad. : D

Rob asks, "Why can't we just share the high scores?" He doesn't understand it's not the owning of the high scores I want, it's the challenge of beating them to begin with. Once I beat the scores, I wait impatiently for him to set new records so I have something to strive for. A person's got to have goals.

Okay, back to Day One. I count it as today--Monday. Friday was my last day of work. The day before that my co-workers threw me a surprise potluck/baby shower (really, as there were presents), which was an absolute delight. But also made me feel guilty as I've been quite self absorbed during this pregnancy--no energy or desire to plan and think about much in advance; I feel like I'm taking things one day at a time, unfocussed at best, uncaring at worst--even our 2nd year wedding anniversary I put no thought into what-so-ever, and was happy enough we managed to get out to dinner.

Some co-workers in other depts sulked when they glimpsed our celebration (which was subtle). But I've done the "office party" thing: someone brought in a cake for me for my wedding, put up little signs day of, and it was brutal. After the initial cutting of the cake in front of a smattering of people, I sat there for an hour and a half over lunch while the odd person wandered in, politely inquired when the big date was, took a slice and left me alone with the enormous slab of orange and white iced Costco cake. UGH. I even guilted one woman into keeping me company while she ate her lunch. Never again, I vowed. Now I always avoid everyone else's office parties, assuming they have enough people without me. And I hate goodbye parties.

Back to Day One. I spent what you could consider the real day one (Saturday) working on the birth plan in light of having tested positive for GBS. The pregnancy books I've been reading gloss over this little gem with just a small blurb on the test itself, which my Doctor did not warn me was coming (much to the nurses surprise the day of the test) and I can't help but wish I'd known about sooner, as there's much information that suggests I could have treated it naturally had I realized it could be such an issue for the baby.

Despite whatever low percentages there are for actually passing this along to our baby, it changes the labour entirely and adds a very real level of anxiety to the birth process. Not to mention the antibiotics which appear to be standard issue once you test positive only treat the early onset of GBS, do nothing to eliminate the risk of death, and have no bearing on preventing late onset GBS. And when you think about what would cause late onset GBS, you slowly realize the baby would be contracting it from interacting with me, and then you realize you'd better get to sterilizing the daylights out of your house and all hard surfaces which could be carrying this "naturally occurring" bacteria that's perfectly harmless except for those with compromised immune systems such as pregnant women and babies.

Meanwhile, Rob says I should relax as I have the "hardest job of all" of carrying the baby. Right. Let me just finish decorating the room, buying crap for my hospital bag, finding my Dr Ho massager (I hope in and amongst the crap still to be cleared from the baby's closet) to ease the latest sharp pain reverberating throughout my left buttock, wash the rest of the baby clothes, wonder incessantly why I didn't order the baby's dresser online as I wait impatiently for a call from effin Toys R US, finish sterilizing every surface of our messy house--made worse now by my sad attempt at assembling the rocking chair, and get to preparing and freezing those meals that are supposed to make our lives easier once the baby arrives.

No wonder all I look forward to is setting the high scores of Jawbreaker. Oh yes, and I'm more than well aware that no matter what, this baby is on it's way, so I'm even more cognizant that the "more organized I am now the easier that transition will be".

So, now that it's Day One--where exactly do I begin?

Well, seeing as how I've had about 4 hours of sleep, broken up into two shifts from 9:30 to 11:30 and 3:30 to 5:30--I think the iPad and I are heading back to bed (window closed and ear plugs in, of course, to block out the never ending obnoxious West LRT construction noise).

Sigh.

The Letter

A search on the Internet revealed a very small clue: a listing of two names from a Local History book index for Vulcan and Wheat County. Fortunately the maiden name was present, and this gave me an indicator for what her married name might be. After searching her under the married name, I found a listing in Lethbridge.

I didn't think much of it until the subject came up again during a family dinner. My brother revealed he had even gone down to Vulcan and searched the cemetery to try and find the family connection. I mentioned the information I found, and it was surprising just how interested we individually were in our family history. I forwarded the info I'd discovered to my other brother and he had the foresight to search the address I'd found along with the name listing in Lethbridge.

It was a senior's center. After that we knew we had a chance. How many women in Alberta could have such a distinctive name such as Wilma, have the Vulcan connection (which was her birth town) and be alive in a senior's center? It had to be her.

Before I had confirmed the senior's center, I'd thought of phoning the number I'd found with her name. I'd considered writing a letter. Once I had my brother involved, he was as convinced as I was that some contact needed to be made and needed to be made soon.

This was my grandmother, after all. My mom's mom--who had left her and the family in 1950 when she was 18 months old--never to be heard from again, at least from what we knew.

We wondered if we should even tell my mom what we found, but I couldn't help it--as always, and it turned out she wasn't concerned about our plan in the slightest and gave us the go ahead. She kept reiterating what we were doing was for "us and us alone", as she couldn't care less. Right. Who wouldn't care to find out the true story behind their mother leaving and never having contact with them for the next 60 years? I'm sure there's no baggage there what so ever. : )

My brother thought my letter was confrontational--"accusatory" even. I thought it was factual and respectful, and my Dad and Mom agreed. My grandmother's leaving the family had always been a big secret. Even after my mom asked a few family members, she was told nothing--no one was the wiser, it seemed. The true story, it seemed, had gone to her father's grave.

Until now.

The letter asked for a bare minimum of the truth to be shared, and indicated that no knowledge of the series of events had ever been given to my mother. It mentioned how I was currently pregnant with my first child, touched on my brother's briefly and also underscored that should nothing come of our attempt, we would fully respect a responding silence. I included a copy of my mom's baby picture, a wedding picture which she keeps in an album next to her mother and father's wedding picture, and a copy of the family tree from my mom's baby book.

We thought we were throwing the equivalent of a bottle into an ocean. After 60 years, I thought there was no way this woman would have anything to do with any one of us, never mind my mom. She hadn't made any attempts as far as we knew, so why would we have any success now? I'm not sure under the same circumstances if I would have the courage after 60 years to provide or get the necessary closure. And did she even have any of her faculties left? So many questions, and such a long shot.

I mailed the letter on a Sunday. I got a phone call that Thursday.

"My name is Adrien. My mother received a letter from you about a family connection. Give me a call so we can talk about it. I look forward to hearing from you." He didn't sound that old. He didn't sound angry. But I was afraid to phone him back. My mom couldn't believe we'd gotten a call and encouraged me to phone immediately. I stalled for a few moments, but started dialing anyway.

After introducing myself, Adrien responded, "I'm your uncle. And my mother is your grandmother. I can't tell you how excited I am." And after a bit, "Let me assure you, my mother has never forgotten your mother."

We couldn't believe it. My mom still can't believe it. She thought she didn't care, but once we'd made contact she worried her mother wouldn't have the courage to come through and actually meet with us--meet with her daughter. Give us some answers.

They are meeting today for the first time in 60 years.

It all seems so simple now. If we hadn't sent that letter, we would never have known this could be possible. In a million years, my mom never thought she'd have this opportunity. We know to have low expectations, but having come this far, we can't help but wonder at the possibilities--even with her brother's (our uncles) at the very least.

And if nothing else, my mom will finally know more of the truth, can stop speculating, can stop looking at her mom's pictures for "clues", and can perhaps get some peace.

Adrien also commented several times just how "well written" and "respectful" the letter really was.

Well of course it was.

: D

17 Hour Ordeal

The pain started while driving: menstrual like aching across my lower back, and sharp mid abdominal pain. So much so, I thought of turning the car around and going straight back home. Except we were counting on the vegetables I was going to buy to go with the fish we were planning to have for that night's dinner.

As I walked around the store, my discomfort eased. My stomach felt a little more "full" than usual, but I'd just taken my blood pressure at the drug store, so I knew that was all good.

I had decided not to get the mini grocery cart I like so much, as I couldn't be bothered with the quarter, opting instead for the handheld basket--never a good idea, never mind when you're seven months pregnant. Of course, I ended up with all kinds of things in the basket, legitimately making it too heavy for me to sensibly carry, but still I forged on.

Even the bag of groceries I carried back to the car was obviously much too heavy, because I'd only brought one shopping bag with me and I refused to get a second plastic one. The drive back home was again extremely uncomfortable, reminding me of getting my period last October when I discovered I was no longer pregnant for the first time.

Back home, I only put away what groceries I absolutely had to and made it to the couch where I immediately laid down. Except it hurt more when I was on my back than when I was sitting in the car. Rolling over to my side, I found my breathing to be quite shallow and wondered not for the first time if this was what one element of labour would be like. As the pain subsided, I hoped this would be but a brief pregnancy phase.

Rob kept trying to encourage me to get things done regarding the baby room, and I kept insisting with my silence and stationary activity that wasn't going to happen. For the rest of Sunday, every time I sat up straight, I felt this pain mid abdomen and aching immediately flare up in my lower back to radiate higher and higher.

After as much TV as I could stand, a slow walk around the block, and several unsuccessful self diagnoses on the Internet, I finally went to bed. Everything seemed fine, except when I rolled over. The brief moment on my back produced an intense mid abdominal pain. During once such roll over, I got up and decided to walk around the house. After pacing back and forth for over 5 minutes, I tried another search on the Internet. But just as with the others, all I could discover was that menstrual like back pain or sudden onset back pain was not considered a good symptom, and mid abdomen pain was more difficult to diagnose--ranging anywhere from heart burn, to urinary tract infections. Not to mention that just sitting in the computer chair was causing me a tremendous amount of discomfort (say 7 out of 10 on the scale) which was taking longer and longer to ease off.

Still, I went back to bed. When I woke up in the morning to what seemed a worsening set of symptoms--taking special note of the level of intensity of discomfort while on my back, I decided to call Health Link. I thought perhaps they might refer me to my doctor, or a clinic, but they of course, referred me to the hospital. The nurse later said they always will--which should be reassuring except when it's coming from a nurse who is telling you to "keep this in mind" if/when you call Health Link.

So, after Rob got home from the gym at 6am, we trucked off to the hospital, me lying as prone with a pillow as possible in the passenger seat. Even though we were able to bypass emergency and go straight to the labour and delivery unit of Rockyview, we still ended up spending 17 hours there while the doctors practised due diligence in terms of ruling out a variety of the possible sources of my symptoms.

Many things were eliminated within the first four hours. But the final test was to be an ultrasound to make sure my placenta had not ruptured, which could be the source of that mid abdominal pain (which had lessened only to a small degree, but was still fully present when sitting and lying on my back). I was told around 2pm the ultrasound would not occur until after 4:30. Meanwhile, I had sent Rob to work as it didn't make sense for us to both sit around waiting for this final test--which didn't end up happening until 8:15 that night!

Cut to 11:30pm, where we finally decided we should leave the hospital (against medical advice we were told--which had always been an option). The people at the hospital had been very attentive in the beginning, and did periodically check in on me while I waited (very patiently, I might add) for the ultrasound, but we felt after 17 hours, there had to be a little more attention thrown our way.

When I told the resident I wanted to leave and just needed to know the risks, I also asked what the treatment would be if my placenta had ruptured--which I was told was TO DELIVER THE BABY. Riiiight. It was that kind of initial risk, which we hadn't even fully known, that kept me at the hospital for 17 hours to begin with. But the resident said she'd check with the doctor one final time and come back to advise us.

Lo and behold, the results of the ultrasound were able to be produced upon her return, and like all the other tests, were just fine. This was of course the best answer and clearly a relief; I did not need to find something wrong to feel justified in taking the precautions I had, however, I could not help but feel like an over reactive pregnant woman, or worse, a hypochondriac.

The pain was real.

The pain was getting worse.

I'm 31 weeks pregnant; I have to take abdominal pain seriously.

Still, I felt guilty.

Still, I second guessed--had I just rushed off to the hospital when I could have just assumed I was going through yet another uncomfortable phase in the pregnancy (even though the symptoms didn't seem to correspond with any typical phase)?

It's not like I wanted to spend 17 hours at the hospital, have 2 internal exams, have people fussing over the monitors that were placed on my belly which produced little charts to trace the baby's heart beat (for over 4 hours), and push a little button every time I felt the baby kick, all the while worrying about what was normal or enough.

Or not go to work for a second day because I was exhausted and still in discomfort from the original set of symptoms.

While I was waiting, I told Rob it was only time I was losing, and I felt the symptoms were serious enough not to ignore when I first went in, so how could that really change the longer I waited? How could I not make that decision again? The only thing was, contrary to all the symptoms, I was convinced my little baby was okay. I just wasn't convinced the symptoms were what they should be for this stage of the pregnancy.

MAH.

I want this baby to stay in there as long as possible, of course.

I have to wonder though, how long will it take before I'll feel like I have my body back?

In future, I absolutely will make sure I'm not lifting anything too heavy. I'm just not sure what that always means, but the notion of "placental rupture" will run through my mind the next time I attempt anything out of the ordinary lifting-wise.

Sweet Baby, just take it easy on Mommy, will ya?

Trapped

Feeling freaked out. 31 weeks pregnant, 9 weeks to go.

9 weeks.

Baby's room is still not done. And between things I need to do to prepare for that, and everything going on at work--I'm overwhelmed. I don't know what anyone else's countdown to mat leave is like, but I'm entering what will be a very busy period between training my replacement, training a new advisor, getting everything I can into some kind of succession plan documented, oh, and two fee deadlines in the next 9 weeks. Keeping in mind I'm only working for the next 6, and in the next 4, I start reduced work days (which is a blessing, but it's not like those shorter days will be easy or breezy).

Maybe I should think about what I have left to do for the baby. Not in any particular order: clear room for painting, set up room after painting, birth plan, hospital bag, sign up for EI, buy stuff for breastfeeding/nursing.

Ugh.

And I can't even drink to procrastinate (like, the odd evening--not at 8 in the morning). : )

I know every single mom to be goes through some of this, but it does not make me feel any better. Just putting it all down makes me feel anxious.

Last night Rob and I listened to a parenting podcast, The Parent Experiment which featured a guest John Salley. I don't know much about John Salley, but the program was on nutrition and how what you're eating, you're feeding your kids, and how everything they learn they learn from you as the parents. Not an earth shattering notion, but he's a vegan so he doesn't drink milk, or eat eggs, and it was just freaking me out thinking about all the things we put into our bodies that are really lousy for us and how I now have to think about raising a healthy little being, so I can't be as cavalier.

A point of contention between my mom and I is her health. I believe that considering I did not choose to come into this world, she as my mother is obligated to be healthy to stick around for as long as I need her. A parent's job never ends, so she should choose to be healthier because I'm going to need her help my whole life. My mom is not healthy, and certainly does not role model a healthy lifestyle or choices.

It's all just a little much and too much to think about!

There's isn't even any bad reality TV I can sink my head into, or a shopping spree I can lose time over (cause I don't know the sex of the baby!--whine, whine).

Deep breath out.

Some people's lives just seem easier. Of course I had to immediately remind myself that to some people, my life seems easier.

Sigh.

Loving the New Design Options

As I'm still on hiatus from Facebook and Email, I had to have something to kill time with on the Internet, so I chose some yahoo news, of all things, and redesigning my blog. After the Miley Cyrus upskirt photo controversy, I found myself on Perez Hilton's blog and I must say, what a complete waste of time. First and last time I'll be heading there. How are these idiots making a name for themselves? I don't spend much time on Internet sites, even other friend's blogs, for some reason--perhaps I'm narcissistic, or perhaps it makes me feel inadequate when I look at my own blogging capacity or day to day output in life. Hard to say. : )

Anyway, for people who don't know HTML, blogger has offered some nice design options with a fair bit of variety in terms of customization. My only complaint would be in not being able to upload your own photo for a background image. Which I'm sure if I investigated HTML a bit more, I'd be able to do fairly easily (she says without trying). As is, I did manage to kill a fair bit of time and still feel like I was able to get some satisfaction from using the Internet.

Why would I need an Internet "fix"? Well, it's fun for one thing (when family members are not plotting your demise), and it's nice to have access to people outside of the normal means of seeing or calling them. Makes you feel like you're connected without really trying. Makes you feel like you have a "network" even if it's only on the surface.

Not sure how much longer I'll continue with the hiatus, but I do notice feeling much more relaxed. I'm still aware there are possible messages waiting to stress me out, or even none which would also stress me out under the circumstances based on the communications that have been exchanged thus far.

I'm still not getting much more accomplished baby-wise, but did manage to put together the stroller which was fun. Rob and I joked about taking it out for a walk to have someone come up to us to "admire" the baby so we could react in surprise at where said baby was. : ) Seriously though, how come this nesting thing hasn't kicked in? Maybe I'm just wired differently.

Just maybe.

Have to mention my pleasant experience with a mature salesperson at Sephora. I had inquired about whether or not my foundation was the correct shade (I'm always quite frustrated at the difference in color between my neck and face in photos). The woman briefly analyzed my face as compared to my neck, took a scrutinizing look at my complexion and proceeded to compliment the daylights out of me--to the point where I was blushing. Okay, all she was really saying was how great I looked, how I was glowing, that my eye makeup (while very simple) was flattering, and how my blush was nice and just the right amount, which turned into a commentary on how some pregnant women let themselves go, etc, etc.

What pregnant woman does not want to be told how lovely she looks? It certainly beats your parents telling you over and over "how big this baby is going to be" despite the doctor telling you you're measuruing just right.

Ahhhh, how I can not resist the digs into my family! I recognize this for what it is, but this blog remains my outlet of random retribution (as only one family member is aware of it, who I'm rather fond of so do not fear her knowing about my ramblings or acerbic comments). And any attempt to share the blog with other members of my family has resulted in little to no attention as they can not see the world outside their own neruoses.

I really do welcome a new little person with which to shower postive love, reinforcement and attention, it will be a refreshing change of emotional scenery--and just in time, I might add.

No, I don't overly worry that I will pass on any nastiness from my family. Okay, maybe just a little, but I feel confident I will work hard at controlling any learned judging tendencies, and will be able to respect and focus on the well being of this new person Rob and I have knowingly/willingly brought into this world.

Am I going to magically turn into a four leaf clover kind of person? We all know the answer to that question, but I do believe with work and vigilance I'll be able to put aside my own baggage in order to allow this child to see the world through their own experiences which will not tainted by the color of crap that has been passed down from my family crayon box.

If that makes any sense. : ) Sounded good, anyway.