Just back from the pediatrician, and Jake has returned to his exact birth weight in two weeks, which is textbook baby growth. He was down to 5 lbs 5 oz in the hospital, a totally normal loss.
Everything else looks good, although the doctor suggested that we schedule an ultrasound for Jake's hips since they sometimes crack when I change his diapers and clothes. Those of you that know me know that I am riddled with arthritis and joint problems, and the doctor said that it may now actually be preventable if caught early enough, and my problems are likely hereditary. Maybe my baby won't fall to the same fate as his Uncle Brian, who had to quit high school sports to join the drama team in an attempt to stay involved with school activities after his hips fell apart.
We are going on our first walking outing this afternoon, I need to pick up some Neosporin and put a few checks in the bank. It is supposed to be 75 degrees, and I have been cooped up in either the hospital or my house for two weeks and two days, so I am quite ready to get out of here. I have yet to put together the giant stroller, and it is probably too heavy for me to lug up and down my front steps in my delicate recovery condition. Jake is still two pounds too light to travel in his stylish Baby Bjorn, so he is stuck in his sling, and won't be able to see the lush beauty of South Philadelphia. And by lush I mean 'drunk' and by beauty I mean 'people standing around'. Probably better that he isn't exposed to that all at once.
3.31.2006
3.28.2006
ch- ch- ch- ch- changes
I am sure I mentioned somewhere here that Jake hates diaper changes. Until this morning, when he was exceptionally well mannered while I gathered a diaper, vaseline, and wipes. I turned to look at him to make sure he was still breathing (that's a fun mommy-baby game)and I got an eyeful of his first raging hard-on, complete with his little fist was wrapped tightly around it. He looked at me and started cooing, I looked at him and didn't know what to do. Should I have taken his hand off? Am I legally allowed to touch my son's erect penis? Should I just let him go for it, letting him work his own magic? I did what works best with his father, and I whipped out a boob. Jake took one look at that and reached for it, allowing me to put on a diaper and cover everything. Holy Crap Little Dude, you are ten days old. You aren't even supposed to be born yet.
On a less pornographic note, I got a picture of Jake up on the picture blog. Hopefully the blogger will cooperate with my server and let me do this each day like I promised myself and my family. There is a link to the site on the left hand side of this blog, so you can check in each day for your daily dose of Jake.
On a less pornographic note, I got a picture of Jake up on the picture blog. Hopefully the blogger will cooperate with my server and let me do this each day like I promised myself and my family. There is a link to the site on the left hand side of this blog, so you can check in each day for your daily dose of Jake.
3.25.2006
that's essionality!
Let's break down what happens when you add the word "Post-partum" to the following...
repression
n. a state of forcible subjugation; The unconscious exclusion of painful impulses, desires, or fears from the conscious mind.
v. the act of repressing; control by holding down
I am guilty of physically repressing my poor baby. I subject him to the humiliation of allowing himself to pee all over his own head. I make him do this without paying him cash money to watch the show. I dress him in things that may be characterized as pansy-assed mint green outfits. He wears a pink hat, mostly because it is the only one that fits him and it is cold out. I force him to sleep on his back when he prefers his side and belly. I do this because I love him. And I know what is best. I'm the mother.
I protect myself from thinking of the horrid possibilities of baby fate by repressing every tragic story I have ever heard. I don't watch the news or crime shows anymore. I have spent many years in criminal justice and social work with crack babies, sick babies, abused babies, and worse. I can feel my subconscious mind filing these stories in the back of the vault somewhere. Physically FEEL it.
obsession
n. compulsive preoccupation with a fixed idea or an unwanted feeling or emotion, often accompanied by symptoms of anxiety
It is no secret that I am obsessed with poop. My poop, your poop, Jake's poop. I am obsessed with color, texture, frequency, and length. Never in the history of my life have I found a socially acceptable outlet for this interest. Thank you, baby.
And sure, I'm obsessed with his eating, breathing, eye movement, eye color, whether he will have my butt-chin (I think I see a little dimple there!), fingernail growth, and tons of other stuff, but the diaper is where it's at.
compression
n. the process or result of becoming smaller or pressed together
v. the act of applying pressure
It is amazing what happens to your body when you have a human removed. Everything is smaller. My nose is smaller, my legs and arms are quickly returning to the chicken status that happens if I don't have a steady supply of beer and fried going down my face. Well, that or a baby inside me. My belly couldn't even hold a kitten anymore. I have no maternal look to me at all, and it is kind of disappointing. I thought I would hold matronly stature for at least a month. The only thing I have going is my big feed bag boobs and my hips are still spread out from back labor and that hormone that pulls your body apart at the seams during your ninth month of pregnancy.
It is also amazing how painful a seven inch incision can make coughing, sneezing, laughing, moving, breathing, sleeping, and living. The hospital supplied me with a make-shift pressure pillow that I am supposed to hug against my belly each time I feel the urge to inhale to compress the cut. Okay. Thanks. To anyone who will ever be pregnant in the future or have abdominal surgery I say this- go to the gym religiously. Start now. I hope you went yesterday. You will need every muscle in your body to make up for losing your core for two weeks in the event of an emergency C, hysterectomy, or whatever else the doc decides to poke around for in your belly.
oppression
n. the state of being kept down by unjust use of force or authority
Jake hates getting dressed and changed. I understand, being a secret nudist myself. But, because I care, I forcibly hold him down while putting on clothes and wiping his poor, cut-up wiener with wipes and vaseline, and freeze his tiny belly out by dumping rubbing alcohol on his yucky cord stump. My life will be 4% easier when that thing falls off. And probably twice that when his circumcision heals. I would feel bad for having his tip lopped, but when you give birth, at least one of you has to come out of it with hashed up genitals, and my girl is as good as new thanks to the C-section. Sorry Jake. I win.
depression
n. 1: the state of being depressed.
2: a hollow or sunken area.
3: the condition of feeling sad or despondent.
Oh, we are all familiar with this. This is fun. I love hormones. Thankfully they are diminishing by the day. Enough said.
And, speaking of hollow and sunken, my eyes and belly button have seen better days. I am tired and my navel looks cavernous. That kitten I mentioned earlier? She would fit nicely in there. I hope this is temporary. All of it.
progression
n. the act of moving forward toward a goal
We are getting it all together. Ideally, Jake would have a feed/sleep cycle that is predictable. I would have a system, preferably numerically based, to deal with everything that he does. As a family (Go Team M!!) we would know what to expect from one another and how to deal with anything that comes up outside of whatever normal will turn out to be. It has only been a week, but things are getting easier by the day. Now as long as one of us doesn't get sick or irritable for some reason, Dave and I should have this parenting thing down pat by the year 2029.
transgression
n. the act of transgressing; the violation of a law or a duty or moral principle
I remember that. That used to be fun. Now I don't have time to be the least bit bad. I don't even have a chance to double park. Dave is using my SEPTA transpass for the rest of the month, which is technically stealing. We are really lucky that Jake wasn't born with a tail or horns.
regression
n. reversion to an earlier or less mature pattern of feeling or behavior.
Since about my sixth month of pregnancy, I have been overly observant of people's body language, especially those gestures that I could feel Jake doing while serving time on the inside. I have a theory that things like rubbing our heads or kicking things in frustration, wiggling when we are happy, and based on watching Dave at night while I suffered from insomnia, any moving we do in our sleep are strongly tied to fetal behavior. I'm sure this theory has been explored, and if I didn't have a ticking time bomb in the pack and play next to me, I might have done some independant internet research on the subject. Oh well, you guys are probably familiar with google by now.
And then of course interacting with a baby sets you back to the mindset of a toddler. Amazing how grown-ups regress.
Oh, and I can totally act like a two-year-old based on recent hormonal shifts and sleep deprivation.
ingression
n. right or permission to enter.
The furniture came in through my front door, and is amazing.
OMG. I am in the mom club. Good Lord. And Dave is a dad. That is just funny. Ask him about his man bag. It is full of man-friendly baby accoutrement. And speaking of man bag, one of Jake's testicles is undescended. Probably a result of his being early, and the doctor will watch it for four or five months before taking action. His testicle is free to ingress into his scrotum at any time, please.
digression
n. wandering from the main path
Any time I get an envelope with the words "Do not Discard" typed on it, I throw it right away. I have never gotten anything of importance that needed to proclaim that I shouldn't ignore it. All my bills come clearly marked with "Statement enclosed". That tells me that whatever it is inside needs attention. And money. Personal notes and letters are handwritten, and my now oft-ignored Netflix envelopes are bright red.
congression
n. a coming or bringing together, in a dispute, in the act of comparing, or in sexual intercourse.
I foresee that Dave and I have a lot discussion and coming together and disputes in our future, as we try to decide how to provide consistent and effective parenting to Jake. This should be a lot of fun. And the last thing... yeah, not for quite some time. Boo.
egression
n. the act of coming out
One word. Birth. And I told you I like to be naked. That was me, egressing from the closet.
aggression
v. violent action that is hostile and usually unprovoked or showing deliberately unfriendly behavior
As ornery as I was while pregnant, the violent tendencies that I suffered have completely vanished. Which is good, because I didn't like that one bit.
I was worried how Tyler and Bailey would act toward Jake. They seem to be okay, and even Tyler, who doesn't like short adults (sorry mom-in-law, that is why you never see her. You don't meet the height requirement) and really hates kids checks on Jake every hour or so, and stresses a little when he is crying. Bailey loves him, of course. She's a hooker anyway. They are both good about staying away from his head, and they limit contact to his bare feet. When he cries to much Tyler runs away meowing, and Bailey does this:
repression
n. a state of forcible subjugation; The unconscious exclusion of painful impulses, desires, or fears from the conscious mind.
v. the act of repressing; control by holding down
I am guilty of physically repressing my poor baby. I subject him to the humiliation of allowing himself to pee all over his own head. I make him do this without paying him cash money to watch the show. I dress him in things that may be characterized as pansy-assed mint green outfits. He wears a pink hat, mostly because it is the only one that fits him and it is cold out. I force him to sleep on his back when he prefers his side and belly. I do this because I love him. And I know what is best. I'm the mother.
I protect myself from thinking of the horrid possibilities of baby fate by repressing every tragic story I have ever heard. I don't watch the news or crime shows anymore. I have spent many years in criminal justice and social work with crack babies, sick babies, abused babies, and worse. I can feel my subconscious mind filing these stories in the back of the vault somewhere. Physically FEEL it.
obsession
n. compulsive preoccupation with a fixed idea or an unwanted feeling or emotion, often accompanied by symptoms of anxiety
It is no secret that I am obsessed with poop. My poop, your poop, Jake's poop. I am obsessed with color, texture, frequency, and length. Never in the history of my life have I found a socially acceptable outlet for this interest. Thank you, baby.
And sure, I'm obsessed with his eating, breathing, eye movement, eye color, whether he will have my butt-chin (I think I see a little dimple there!), fingernail growth, and tons of other stuff, but the diaper is where it's at.
compression
n. the process or result of becoming smaller or pressed together
v. the act of applying pressure
It is amazing what happens to your body when you have a human removed. Everything is smaller. My nose is smaller, my legs and arms are quickly returning to the chicken status that happens if I don't have a steady supply of beer and fried going down my face. Well, that or a baby inside me. My belly couldn't even hold a kitten anymore. I have no maternal look to me at all, and it is kind of disappointing. I thought I would hold matronly stature for at least a month. The only thing I have going is my big feed bag boobs and my hips are still spread out from back labor and that hormone that pulls your body apart at the seams during your ninth month of pregnancy.
It is also amazing how painful a seven inch incision can make coughing, sneezing, laughing, moving, breathing, sleeping, and living. The hospital supplied me with a make-shift pressure pillow that I am supposed to hug against my belly each time I feel the urge to inhale to compress the cut. Okay. Thanks. To anyone who will ever be pregnant in the future or have abdominal surgery I say this- go to the gym religiously. Start now. I hope you went yesterday. You will need every muscle in your body to make up for losing your core for two weeks in the event of an emergency C, hysterectomy, or whatever else the doc decides to poke around for in your belly.
oppression
n. the state of being kept down by unjust use of force or authority
Jake hates getting dressed and changed. I understand, being a secret nudist myself. But, because I care, I forcibly hold him down while putting on clothes and wiping his poor, cut-up wiener with wipes and vaseline, and freeze his tiny belly out by dumping rubbing alcohol on his yucky cord stump. My life will be 4% easier when that thing falls off. And probably twice that when his circumcision heals. I would feel bad for having his tip lopped, but when you give birth, at least one of you has to come out of it with hashed up genitals, and my girl is as good as new thanks to the C-section. Sorry Jake. I win.
depression
n. 1: the state of being depressed.
2: a hollow or sunken area.
3: the condition of feeling sad or despondent.
Oh, we are all familiar with this. This is fun. I love hormones. Thankfully they are diminishing by the day. Enough said.
And, speaking of hollow and sunken, my eyes and belly button have seen better days. I am tired and my navel looks cavernous. That kitten I mentioned earlier? She would fit nicely in there. I hope this is temporary. All of it.
progression
n. the act of moving forward toward a goal
We are getting it all together. Ideally, Jake would have a feed/sleep cycle that is predictable. I would have a system, preferably numerically based, to deal with everything that he does. As a family (Go Team M!!) we would know what to expect from one another and how to deal with anything that comes up outside of whatever normal will turn out to be. It has only been a week, but things are getting easier by the day. Now as long as one of us doesn't get sick or irritable for some reason, Dave and I should have this parenting thing down pat by the year 2029.
transgression
n. the act of transgressing; the violation of a law or a duty or moral principle
I remember that. That used to be fun. Now I don't have time to be the least bit bad. I don't even have a chance to double park. Dave is using my SEPTA transpass for the rest of the month, which is technically stealing. We are really lucky that Jake wasn't born with a tail or horns.
regression
n. reversion to an earlier or less mature pattern of feeling or behavior.
Since about my sixth month of pregnancy, I have been overly observant of people's body language, especially those gestures that I could feel Jake doing while serving time on the inside. I have a theory that things like rubbing our heads or kicking things in frustration, wiggling when we are happy, and based on watching Dave at night while I suffered from insomnia, any moving we do in our sleep are strongly tied to fetal behavior. I'm sure this theory has been explored, and if I didn't have a ticking time bomb in the pack and play next to me, I might have done some independant internet research on the subject. Oh well, you guys are probably familiar with google by now.
And then of course interacting with a baby sets you back to the mindset of a toddler. Amazing how grown-ups regress.
Oh, and I can totally act like a two-year-old based on recent hormonal shifts and sleep deprivation.
ingression
n. right or permission to enter.
The furniture came in through my front door, and is amazing.
OMG. I am in the mom club. Good Lord. And Dave is a dad. That is just funny. Ask him about his man bag. It is full of man-friendly baby accoutrement. And speaking of man bag, one of Jake's testicles is undescended. Probably a result of his being early, and the doctor will watch it for four or five months before taking action. His testicle is free to ingress into his scrotum at any time, please.
digression
n. wandering from the main path
Any time I get an envelope with the words "Do not Discard" typed on it, I throw it right away. I have never gotten anything of importance that needed to proclaim that I shouldn't ignore it. All my bills come clearly marked with "Statement enclosed". That tells me that whatever it is inside needs attention. And money. Personal notes and letters are handwritten, and my now oft-ignored Netflix envelopes are bright red.
congression
n. a coming or bringing together, in a dispute, in the act of comparing, or in sexual intercourse.
I foresee that Dave and I have a lot discussion and coming together and disputes in our future, as we try to decide how to provide consistent and effective parenting to Jake. This should be a lot of fun. And the last thing... yeah, not for quite some time. Boo.
egression
n. the act of coming out
One word. Birth. And I told you I like to be naked. That was me, egressing from the closet.
aggression
v. violent action that is hostile and usually unprovoked or showing deliberately unfriendly behavior
As ornery as I was while pregnant, the violent tendencies that I suffered have completely vanished. Which is good, because I didn't like that one bit.
I was worried how Tyler and Bailey would act toward Jake. They seem to be okay, and even Tyler, who doesn't like short adults (sorry mom-in-law, that is why you never see her. You don't meet the height requirement) and really hates kids checks on Jake every hour or so, and stresses a little when he is crying. Bailey loves him, of course. She's a hooker anyway. They are both good about staying away from his head, and they limit contact to his bare feet. When he cries to much Tyler runs away meowing, and Bailey does this:
3.24.2006
i want in!
We had our first pediatrician visit today, and all is well. Jake is up one ounce from his take-home weight, and his circumcision and belly button seem to be healing like champs. I am also doing well, and not suffering from a bladder infection as I feared. Turns out that repeatedly jamming a tube up your pee hole can cause some friction-based irritation. It truly is lovely.
Unfortunately, there isn't much else going on to write about. Jake and I are basically eating, sleeping, and going to the bathroom. In between naps and feedings, I am trying to sort through some pictures and organize them before we print out the new baby pictures. I am amazed at how in one week my free time has gone from trips to Rome and Cabo, San Diego and New Orleans, wild happy hours and hours and hours right here in town, drinking cocktails with the girls under the Eiffel Tower... in Vegas. Who was that girl? I hear she was hilarious. Now she sleeps on sheets that have been peed on by some little new guy and doesn't even care.
3.22.2006
love+peanut butter makes babies.
and here is the proof, jake in the giant shirt
and proof that some of us get sleep around here! bailey refuses to be more than five feet away from her new baby.
of course I have a ton of pictures, but for some reason, my home computer doesn't let me put them up. We'll see what I can do when I have some more time. It is amazing what a twice daily dose of pb&j and chocolate milk will conjure in your belly.
Things are going well, my two weeks of confinement won't be over for 12 more days, but I will be able to get up and move around next Monday. So, my days are spent changing diapers and feeding the baby. And sometimes sleeping, but that hasn't' been as bad as I thought, yet. He is doing really well with the breastfeeding, which is no surprise considering who his dad is. The preference for food and boobs in no particular order is hereditary. Jake lucks out for a year or so because they are wrapped in one package. One huge huge package. Jake has moved from breastfeeding to breast snacking, which is easier in some ways. Instead of eating every three hours for about 45 minutes, he wants to eat every hour or so for five minutes. Fair trade during the day, not so much at night.
The hospital stay was grueling. My neighbor was a total crackhead. I mean a real, live crackhead who tested positive for all sorts of things after delivery. The baby was positive too, and as far as I know, she was allowed to go home with her. Unbelievable. She had social workers in the room, and she was assigned two nurses at all times, and she still managed to leave the baby in the room to put on jeans, a sweatshirt, and a wig so she could sneak off the ward posing as a visitor to go out and smoke. My raging hormones didn't allow me to handle the situation very well, and unfortunately there were so many deliveries in the hospital over the past week that even the single rooms were doubled up and the maternity ward had spread to other floors of the hospital. There was no escape but the countless hours that the girl spent sleeping. And snoring. Luckily, the nurses kept the baby in the nursery for monitoring for a good part of the day. Enough about that.
Things are going as well as expected, if not better. I am recovering like a champ, and am really looking forward to my maternity leave to get to know the little guy and to figure out what my new "normal" will be. I am making a promise to keep up this blog, but it will probably be a week or two before any real progress is made. Keep checking in, I'll try to get a picture up every now and then!
and proof that some of us get sleep around here! bailey refuses to be more than five feet away from her new baby.
of course I have a ton of pictures, but for some reason, my home computer doesn't let me put them up. We'll see what I can do when I have some more time. It is amazing what a twice daily dose of pb&j and chocolate milk will conjure in your belly.
Things are going well, my two weeks of confinement won't be over for 12 more days, but I will be able to get up and move around next Monday. So, my days are spent changing diapers and feeding the baby. And sometimes sleeping, but that hasn't' been as bad as I thought, yet. He is doing really well with the breastfeeding, which is no surprise considering who his dad is. The preference for food and boobs in no particular order is hereditary. Jake lucks out for a year or so because they are wrapped in one package. One huge huge package. Jake has moved from breastfeeding to breast snacking, which is easier in some ways. Instead of eating every three hours for about 45 minutes, he wants to eat every hour or so for five minutes. Fair trade during the day, not so much at night.
The hospital stay was grueling. My neighbor was a total crackhead. I mean a real, live crackhead who tested positive for all sorts of things after delivery. The baby was positive too, and as far as I know, she was allowed to go home with her. Unbelievable. She had social workers in the room, and she was assigned two nurses at all times, and she still managed to leave the baby in the room to put on jeans, a sweatshirt, and a wig so she could sneak off the ward posing as a visitor to go out and smoke. My raging hormones didn't allow me to handle the situation very well, and unfortunately there were so many deliveries in the hospital over the past week that even the single rooms were doubled up and the maternity ward had spread to other floors of the hospital. There was no escape but the countless hours that the girl spent sleeping. And snoring. Luckily, the nurses kept the baby in the nursery for monitoring for a good part of the day. Enough about that.
Things are going as well as expected, if not better. I am recovering like a champ, and am really looking forward to my maternity leave to get to know the little guy and to figure out what my new "normal" will be. I am making a promise to keep up this blog, but it will probably be a week or two before any real progress is made. Keep checking in, I'll try to get a picture up every now and then!
3.15.2006
20/20
Twenty more days left. And twenty more nights that may or may not include sleeping, but will surely be quiet. I should have a good idea of the baby's size this evening after an ultrasound.
I am feeling much better now, I think my body has gotten used to my new loose skeletal system and the resulting snapping, crackling, and popping of my joints. The queasiness has subsided, and I have resigned myself to the fact that I will feel like a moose for the next couple weeks. That, apparently, wasn't a temporary side effect like the crying and nausea of the hormonal surge that I got to experience over the weekend.
I enjoyed my four days of spring and summer weather from Saturday through yesterday, especially since I didn't have to wear a winter coat and the whole world treated me as if I was special. People smiled, children waved, old people held doors for me, strangers said hello, asked me if I needed to sit down, any help with my bags, or if I needed a Daddy for my baby. It is amazing how so many men were willing to help me with my new responsibility. The kindness in this town just blows me away. Today my belly is under wraps and it is blustery outside, so no one really cares about anyone else. It was nice to have some brotherly love and sisterly affection while it lasted.
****
Well, I wrote this Wednesday afternoon thinking that I could return from my ultrasound and post some numbers for you guys. It is now Monday, and following my scan I was wisked away to labor and delivery.
I think I mentioned before that the doctor wanted to measure the baby one last time, so I went for a weight and size scan. I knew it wasn't going to be good when a 50ish year old lady pranced in the room wearing a coral jogging suit and a lot of gold and saying "I'm Mary, I don't work here, I'm per diem, but I think I know how to use this machine". This is the same Mary who answered her telephone half way through the scan to tell her "new friend Frank, who is a really nice guy it seems, that she can't go to happy hour because she had a really rough night out last night". Oh God help me.
She finished the scan, called in the Radiologist, and he said that he is sending me for an emergency induction because the baby is only about four and a half pounds and hasn't grown for a month. Okay.
I went to the PETU portion of the ward, where they hooked me up to a monitor from 5.30 until 1.30 in the morning, when they finally got an open labor bed. They put some medication on my cervix for 12 hours (1.30am until 1.30pm Thursday) to dilate me, then started me on the Pitocin to force contractions. The contractions progressed beautifully, but I wouldn't dilate past 2 centimeters. I didn't have many belly pains, but my back felt awful, so I took something to make me sleep through it. The baby was not taking the labor very well, so I decided to get an epidural, thinking that a C-section was inevitable. A short while later, the doctor came in suggested the C-section, and twenty five minutes later I had a baby. Crazy.
Jake was born March 17th at 2.48am, 20 inches long and weighing in at 5 pounds 12 ounces (maybe Mary's night out caused a lapse in weight and measurement judgment). I'll update more later, I just wanted to get the details in!
I am feeling much better now, I think my body has gotten used to my new loose skeletal system and the resulting snapping, crackling, and popping of my joints. The queasiness has subsided, and I have resigned myself to the fact that I will feel like a moose for the next couple weeks. That, apparently, wasn't a temporary side effect like the crying and nausea of the hormonal surge that I got to experience over the weekend.
I enjoyed my four days of spring and summer weather from Saturday through yesterday, especially since I didn't have to wear a winter coat and the whole world treated me as if I was special. People smiled, children waved, old people held doors for me, strangers said hello, asked me if I needed to sit down, any help with my bags, or if I needed a Daddy for my baby. It is amazing how so many men were willing to help me with my new responsibility. The kindness in this town just blows me away. Today my belly is under wraps and it is blustery outside, so no one really cares about anyone else. It was nice to have some brotherly love and sisterly affection while it lasted.
****
Well, I wrote this Wednesday afternoon thinking that I could return from my ultrasound and post some numbers for you guys. It is now Monday, and following my scan I was wisked away to labor and delivery.
I think I mentioned before that the doctor wanted to measure the baby one last time, so I went for a weight and size scan. I knew it wasn't going to be good when a 50ish year old lady pranced in the room wearing a coral jogging suit and a lot of gold and saying "I'm Mary, I don't work here, I'm per diem, but I think I know how to use this machine". This is the same Mary who answered her telephone half way through the scan to tell her "new friend Frank, who is a really nice guy it seems, that she can't go to happy hour because she had a really rough night out last night". Oh God help me.
She finished the scan, called in the Radiologist, and he said that he is sending me for an emergency induction because the baby is only about four and a half pounds and hasn't grown for a month. Okay.
I went to the PETU portion of the ward, where they hooked me up to a monitor from 5.30 until 1.30 in the morning, when they finally got an open labor bed. They put some medication on my cervix for 12 hours (1.30am until 1.30pm Thursday) to dilate me, then started me on the Pitocin to force contractions. The contractions progressed beautifully, but I wouldn't dilate past 2 centimeters. I didn't have many belly pains, but my back felt awful, so I took something to make me sleep through it. The baby was not taking the labor very well, so I decided to get an epidural, thinking that a C-section was inevitable. A short while later, the doctor came in suggested the C-section, and twenty five minutes later I had a baby. Crazy.
Jake was born March 17th at 2.48am, 20 inches long and weighing in at 5 pounds 12 ounces (maybe Mary's night out caused a lapse in weight and measurement judgment). I'll update more later, I just wanted to get the details in!
3.14.2006
I finally puked during pregnancy. It was horrible. It was worse than when I puked at a truck stop deep in very rural Louisiana. I was all alone. The cats were way too interested in what was going on and had their noses in the toilet during the ordeal. It was triggered by an unexplicable crying/laughing jag that left me gagging on heartburn so bad that I had to chose between spitting or swallowing stomach acid. I chose to swallow. It made me hurl.
I would have traded puking for the entire first trimester with puking once during the ninth month. There is no way humanly possible to squat and lean forward when you have a giant belly, and there is no room for getting on all fours in my bathroom. The wretching made me lactate profusely and I was sans bra, the baby was violently fighting against the heaving, the crying didn't stop and my snot and tears were running down my face and into the toilet, and to top it all off, I peed my pants. A lot. The only thing positive thing I can say about the whole experience is thank God I'm constipated. One more body function and I would have totally lost my mind.
I went to the doctor yesterday and he said that everything looks good, my belly measurement grew for the first time in a month, and the doctor said that I have a good sized baby in there. We'll find out just how big tomorrow at the ultrasound. My blood pressure and protein levels are still borderline, and I have finally hit a twenty pound gain! And I'm putting an exclamation point at the end of that! How bizarre. Only pregnant girls and body builders are happy about a gain like that. I am tipping the scale at 156 pounds. I have three weeks left until April 4th, there is a chance that I could top out at 160. Or more if I go late.
My regular doctor is going on vacation between my due dates (March 28th and April 4th), but I have met all but one of the doctors on his team so I probably won't have a stranger yanking at the baby. I meet the last doctor next week, and then I see a doctor I have already met the week after that. I didn't get a cervical check this time, but the doctor said that he probably won't see me pregnant again based on the size and position of the baby. We'll see. I think my doctor steers clear of my cervix unless medically necessary, based on my record of passing out and bloody-ing up his office. Maybe next week I'll have some dilation and effacement numbers to share.
Speaking of sharing, here is this week's picture, including a front shot because it is my mom's birthday and she wanted to see me from the front and side. Happy Birthday! Still pretty uneventful from that angle. An interesting note about the unders- I actually wore these on my wedding day. Because I think I'm hilarious, I feltit highly comical to buy a giant pair of navy blue cotton drawers at Sears to put under my dress. Something old, something new, something really big and blue... Who knew that seven years later they'd come in handy? Who knew that seven years later I would still have the same damn underwear? That is what marriage does for a girl.
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By this time, the baby has developed a firm grasp, has practiced breathing, and automatically turns toward light sources! Your baby’s body becomes fuller and rounder as body fat continues to rise.
Your baby continues to grow and may be about 20 inches from head to toes.
I would have traded puking for the entire first trimester with puking once during the ninth month. There is no way humanly possible to squat and lean forward when you have a giant belly, and there is no room for getting on all fours in my bathroom. The wretching made me lactate profusely and I was sans bra, the baby was violently fighting against the heaving, the crying didn't stop and my snot and tears were running down my face and into the toilet, and to top it all off, I peed my pants. A lot. The only thing positive thing I can say about the whole experience is thank God I'm constipated. One more body function and I would have totally lost my mind.
I went to the doctor yesterday and he said that everything looks good, my belly measurement grew for the first time in a month, and the doctor said that I have a good sized baby in there. We'll find out just how big tomorrow at the ultrasound. My blood pressure and protein levels are still borderline, and I have finally hit a twenty pound gain! And I'm putting an exclamation point at the end of that! How bizarre. Only pregnant girls and body builders are happy about a gain like that. I am tipping the scale at 156 pounds. I have three weeks left until April 4th, there is a chance that I could top out at 160. Or more if I go late.
My regular doctor is going on vacation between my due dates (March 28th and April 4th), but I have met all but one of the doctors on his team so I probably won't have a stranger yanking at the baby. I meet the last doctor next week, and then I see a doctor I have already met the week after that. I didn't get a cervical check this time, but the doctor said that he probably won't see me pregnant again based on the size and position of the baby. We'll see. I think my doctor steers clear of my cervix unless medically necessary, based on my record of passing out and bloody-ing up his office. Maybe next week I'll have some dilation and effacement numbers to share.
Speaking of sharing, here is this week's picture, including a front shot because it is my mom's birthday and she wanted to see me from the front and side. Happy Birthday! Still pretty uneventful from that angle. An interesting note about the unders- I actually wore these on my wedding day. Because I think I'm hilarious, I feltit highly comical to buy a giant pair of navy blue cotton drawers at Sears to put under my dress. Something old, something new, something really big and blue... Who knew that seven years later they'd come in handy? Who knew that seven years later I would still have the same damn underwear? That is what marriage does for a girl.
****************************************
By this time, the baby has developed a firm grasp, has practiced breathing, and automatically turns toward light sources! Your baby’s body becomes fuller and rounder as body fat continues to rise.
Your baby continues to grow and may be about 20 inches from head to toes.
3.12.2006
do they make these for grown ups?
Yet another weekend of nesting and assembling baby gear. All that is left is installing the car seat and tackling the stroller, and maybe someday I will have bedroom furniture for Jake. The latest word is that the store requested each piece to be delivered as it is ready, rather than wait for the entire order to be built. All I want is one dresser. Is that so much for a new mother to ask? Yes.
The good news is that the new furniture factory is up and running, and is producing the furniture ordered in January as we speak and I will have beautiful American-made dove-tailed, solid wood drawers. The bad news is that my basement, closets, and future nursery are exploding with bags of baby stuff that needs to be put away. That and Mexico is outsourcing production to the United States. Suddenly the long running "salsa made in New York City" scandal doesn't sound so scandalous.
The take-over has spread to the living room, where Jake's swing is waiting to lull him to sleep so I don't have to hear the mewling of a fussy infant. A picture of the front window before this house became a family home:
And now, plus a close up of the swing. My poor fakus (in English, fake ficus) has been displaced once again. It is truly a victim in all of this, and it is starting to droop.
Lastly, in answer to the many requests, this is why I only take side pictures. The front view is just not all that impressive. Mere minutes ago I saw a girl outside of the corner bar with a bigger gut, and I don't think she was even pregnant. And she was wearing her shirt and yoga pants just like I am in the picture. Gotta love a Sunday a.m. lady-drinker. I'm guessing she was on her way down to the St. Patrick's Day parade. I'm hoping she was on her way down to the St. Patrick's Day parade.
How about my brown line down the center though? There is something to be said for finally getting the old linea negra. No one knows why it is there- it is truly one of life's great mysteries.
The good news is that the new furniture factory is up and running, and is producing the furniture ordered in January as we speak and I will have beautiful American-made dove-tailed, solid wood drawers. The bad news is that my basement, closets, and future nursery are exploding with bags of baby stuff that needs to be put away. That and Mexico is outsourcing production to the United States. Suddenly the long running "salsa made in New York City" scandal doesn't sound so scandalous.
The take-over has spread to the living room, where Jake's swing is waiting to lull him to sleep so I don't have to hear the mewling of a fussy infant. A picture of the front window before this house became a family home:
And now, plus a close up of the swing. My poor fakus (in English, fake ficus) has been displaced once again. It is truly a victim in all of this, and it is starting to droop.
Lastly, in answer to the many requests, this is why I only take side pictures. The front view is just not all that impressive. Mere minutes ago I saw a girl outside of the corner bar with a bigger gut, and I don't think she was even pregnant. And she was wearing her shirt and yoga pants just like I am in the picture. Gotta love a Sunday a.m. lady-drinker. I'm guessing she was on her way down to the St. Patrick's Day parade. I'm hoping she was on her way down to the St. Patrick's Day parade.
How about my brown line down the center though? There is something to be said for finally getting the old linea negra. No one knows why it is there- it is truly one of life's great mysteries.
3.08.2006
i've gone soft
Well, not me exactly, but my cervix. I haven't dilated at all, but I'm starting to efface and my cervix is moving down. So that explains the shooting pains in the old canal. Yea progress!
My pre-eclampsia tests came back negative, but just by a little bit. My protein count came back at 240, and 300 is the cutoff. I win.
I do have a southernly-located strep infection, but that is pretty normal and all that means is that I have to have an antibiotic IV during labor and delivery. Like I always say, I could probably use a good dose of penicillin anyway, God only knows where I've been. Plus, I am fighting a sinus infection and I'm sure that will clear up. The scary thing is that I've never taken penicillin, so I don't know if I'm allergic to it. Hopefully not.
I am getting another ultrasound on Wednesday, since my belly is still measuring tiny. My regular doctor isn't concerned, but today I saw the guy who sent me in last time. He said that he's not too worried either since I am a smaller person, and when he felt my belly to try to figure out where my baby was positioned, he said that he was ashamed because he couldn't figure it out because of (and I quote) my "rock solid abs" that were probably the reason that my belly is undersized. Shout out to Thom at the 12th Street Gym and his grueling ab class that I suffered through twice weekly before getting pregnant. The baby is definitely head down, and next Tuesday I will be full term, so the good doctor said to do anything I want to encourage labor. One way to get a baby out is to do the same thing that gets it in there in the first place. Other ways are walking, exercising, and dare I say~ housework. I think I'll stick to the first three.
My pre-eclampsia tests came back negative, but just by a little bit. My protein count came back at 240, and 300 is the cutoff. I win.
I do have a southernly-located strep infection, but that is pretty normal and all that means is that I have to have an antibiotic IV during labor and delivery. Like I always say, I could probably use a good dose of penicillin anyway, God only knows where I've been. Plus, I am fighting a sinus infection and I'm sure that will clear up. The scary thing is that I've never taken penicillin, so I don't know if I'm allergic to it. Hopefully not.
I am getting another ultrasound on Wednesday, since my belly is still measuring tiny. My regular doctor isn't concerned, but today I saw the guy who sent me in last time. He said that he's not too worried either since I am a smaller person, and when he felt my belly to try to figure out where my baby was positioned, he said that he was ashamed because he couldn't figure it out because of (and I quote) my "rock solid abs" that were probably the reason that my belly is undersized. Shout out to Thom at the 12th Street Gym and his grueling ab class that I suffered through twice weekly before getting pregnant. The baby is definitely head down, and next Tuesday I will be full term, so the good doctor said to do anything I want to encourage labor. One way to get a baby out is to do the same thing that gets it in there in the first place. Other ways are walking, exercising, and dare I say~ housework. I think I'll stick to the first three.
3.07.2006
7 march 2006
As this is the third post in as many days, there is not much news to report, just the basic Tuesday update. You'll see below that the website where I get the updates from has nothing new to share either. Pregnancy and fetal life gets pretty boring around this time.
Thank goodness the 24 hour urine specimen task is done. I filled the 3000mL jug to the very top, luckily I didn't have a drink of water before bed or I don't know where I would have put the extra. I discovered that my bladder holds precisely 8 ounces of fluid before I feel the need to go, but I can store up to 14 ounces while I sleep. If the baby is leaning against my bladder, 2 ounces makes me feel like crying if I don't get to a toilet pronto. And this is the most exciting news I can come up with.
I wanted to post a picture too, as today marks the final four weeks until April 4th. I think I will do this weekly from here on, as change happens pretty quickly these days. I'm definitely getting bigger by the hour, and the shape of my belly changes a lot too, depending how Jake is laying in there. The weird lines down the sides of my belly aren't really there, they are a reflection from the window. Just in case you were creeped out.
I am struggling with the fact that some day soon I will be not pregnant. There were weeks that I honestly believed that this baby would never come out, and I would be this way forever. I don't remember how to sleep and breathe non-pregnant, move non-pregnant, act non-pregnant, eat non-pregnant, or how to get through the day without someone telling me that I look beautiful every 20 minutes. I know that by "beautiful" all people really mean is "not so much like a beluga", but it is nice to hear anyway. And hopefully being unpregnant is like riding a bike, and just because I haven't done it in awhile doesn't mean that I won't be able to do it again, even though unpregnancy will be very different this time around.
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You may feel that your baby has run out of room! You''re close to the finish line, but there is still time and space for the baby to grow.
The baby's weight is similar to a large bunch of bananas!
3.06.2006
toile and gingham overload
Yet another playpen went up this week, marking the upcoming siege. This one is particularly disturbing, because it is the first thing you see when you walk through the front door. It give you that nice homey "in the name of all things holy, good God my life is not my own" feeling when you walk in the house.
Before, the false arbor and the endtable with all of Dave's birthday cards shows what upstanding yuppies we were. Too busy to deal with a real ficus tree, yet able to make time to host a party and spend time with our loved ones.
After.
And a close up. You can't imagine the neurosis invoked by the non-symmetrical canopy. Doesn't it just kill you the way it leans to the right?
Next week, the swing.
Before, the false arbor and the endtable with all of Dave's birthday cards shows what upstanding yuppies we were. Too busy to deal with a real ficus tree, yet able to make time to host a party and spend time with our loved ones.
After.
And a close up. You can't imagine the neurosis invoked by the non-symmetrical canopy. Doesn't it just kill you the way it leans to the right?
Next week, the swing.
3.05.2006
30 days hath september...
april june and this pregnancy.
Only 30 more quiet sleepless nights until the last of the due dates, April 4th when the sleeplessness will spread out of our home and into our neighbors'. Lovely rowhomes. We also have the March 17th, 28th, and 31st due dates to consider too. There is clearly no science to predicting birth, unless I am still pregnant on April 18th, and then I will definitely be birthing this child thanks to the miracle of labor inducing drugs.
I am spending the day peeing into a "urine hat" and dumping it into a large orange container that I am keeping next to the leftover beers in the fridge.
I chose to do this task post last night's house party because drunk guys and a jug of pee should never be in the same house. My blood pressure was near highish again, and the doctor wants to test for protein in my urine. I don't have any other signs of preeclampsia, so I'm not too worried about all this, just inconvenienced. No rapid weight gain (I was 152.5 pounds on Thursday, up 16.5 pounds from pre-preg), swelling (my rings are still too big to wear most days, so I look like a "girl in trouble"), vision changes, or liver pain. Plus, my blood pressure only goes up in the office when I am told I have to do things involving KY jelly or needles, or in this case, have a rectal swab done. I had horrible visions of probing and pain, but it was just a Q-tip on the very outer most limits of my business end to test for a Group B strep infection. Similar to what they do when you have strep throat but on the opposite end of the tube.
Remember that graphic? In other breaking news about the number 30, Dave will be turning that many on March 7th. We had the party last night, and Dave got more presents than a grown man should, most involving Chewbacca, shaving sets, and cards with monkeys on them. I can't believe that I am procreating with what others view as a throwback. I can't believe I am married to a thirty year old man, and my mother approves. Thankfully, I will be in my twenties through August. Still spry, or so I thought...
The other day at the gym a girl was staring at me, and I figured it was because I am nine months pregnant and at the gym, which some people think is a little strange. She tapped me on the shoulder and said "you look really familiar. Are you a professor at University of the Arts?" Oh. My. God. A professor. Not "Are you in one of my classes at UArts?". Or "Do I know you from the local bar?". Or even "Do you work at Urban Outfitters?" (or wherever those crazy art kids shop). No, it had to be "Excuse me, ma'am, are you really old?". Of course I had to find out how old she was, so in the typical cool-older-lady way, I asked her where she was from, then progressed to how she likes the bars in town. She said that she isn't old enough yet, so she will spend the next two years going to parties. Forgiven. I have a decade on her, which makes me remarkably older.
I may be old, pregnant, and possibly preeclamptic, but who's the girl at the party with three beers in her hand? That's right.
I am all those things and a good hostess. Cleaning up and serving beers is actually fun when you are sober.
Only 30 more quiet sleepless nights until the last of the due dates, April 4th when the sleeplessness will spread out of our home and into our neighbors'. Lovely rowhomes. We also have the March 17th, 28th, and 31st due dates to consider too. There is clearly no science to predicting birth, unless I am still pregnant on April 18th, and then I will definitely be birthing this child thanks to the miracle of labor inducing drugs.
I am spending the day peeing into a "urine hat" and dumping it into a large orange container that I am keeping next to the leftover beers in the fridge.
I chose to do this task post last night's house party because drunk guys and a jug of pee should never be in the same house. My blood pressure was near highish again, and the doctor wants to test for protein in my urine. I don't have any other signs of preeclampsia, so I'm not too worried about all this, just inconvenienced. No rapid weight gain (I was 152.5 pounds on Thursday, up 16.5 pounds from pre-preg), swelling (my rings are still too big to wear most days, so I look like a "girl in trouble"), vision changes, or liver pain. Plus, my blood pressure only goes up in the office when I am told I have to do things involving KY jelly or needles, or in this case, have a rectal swab done. I had horrible visions of probing and pain, but it was just a Q-tip on the very outer most limits of my business end to test for a Group B strep infection. Similar to what they do when you have strep throat but on the opposite end of the tube.
Remember that graphic? In other breaking news about the number 30, Dave will be turning that many on March 7th. We had the party last night, and Dave got more presents than a grown man should, most involving Chewbacca, shaving sets, and cards with monkeys on them. I can't believe that I am procreating with what others view as a throwback. I can't believe I am married to a thirty year old man, and my mother approves. Thankfully, I will be in my twenties through August. Still spry, or so I thought...The other day at the gym a girl was staring at me, and I figured it was because I am nine months pregnant and at the gym, which some people think is a little strange. She tapped me on the shoulder and said "you look really familiar. Are you a professor at University of the Arts?" Oh. My. God. A professor. Not "Are you in one of my classes at UArts?". Or "Do I know you from the local bar?". Or even "Do you work at Urban Outfitters?" (or wherever those crazy art kids shop). No, it had to be "Excuse me, ma'am, are you really old?". Of course I had to find out how old she was, so in the typical cool-older-lady way, I asked her where she was from, then progressed to how she likes the bars in town. She said that she isn't old enough yet, so she will spend the next two years going to parties. Forgiven. I have a decade on her, which makes me remarkably older.
I may be old, pregnant, and possibly preeclamptic, but who's the girl at the party with three beers in her hand? That's right.
I am all those things and a good hostess. Cleaning up and serving beers is actually fun when you are sober.
3.02.2006
furniture foibles
If you are like me, you are wondering where the eff my baby's furniture is. I spoke with Ed, the guy at the store, yesterday and he said (and I quote) that "the crib and the tall dresser have been in the store for a couple weeks now, but the company has recalled it and will pick it up when they deliver the new stuff, including the armoire and nightstand". Recall? Really? The last thing that a pregnant girl wants to hear is the word recall.
Turns out, the manufacturing plant has been moved from Mexico to America, and the furniture that is already here has some pressed wood in the drawers, which isn't good enough for things made outside of May-hee-ko. The new stuff will be solid wood and may be a slightly different color than the Mexican furniture. Good for me, bad for my level of patience. Ed said that he hopes that my solid wood furniture is on the truck that left the new plant on Friday, and that he will give me a call early next week to set up a delivery time. I hope so too, Ed. As long as Ed's delivery time is prior to Jake's delivery time, I'm okay with that.
Our bedroom is all set up for a newborn, now that I have an itty bed in there. As promised, here is a before and after shot.
Before, notice the uncluttered appearance and the majestic kitties ruling over the room. It is not usually this clean, this picture was taken last spring when we bought the house and I was really in to keeping it nice.
After. I had to hide the baby stuff and grownup stuff piles just to make it look like I am still way in to keeping the house neat.And of course the queens are still hellbent on making everything their own. It is their house, after all. I only use it about 12 hours a day and they never leave.
Little jerks. Must be nice to stay at home and watch birds all day.
Turns out, the manufacturing plant has been moved from Mexico to America, and the furniture that is already here has some pressed wood in the drawers, which isn't good enough for things made outside of May-hee-ko. The new stuff will be solid wood and may be a slightly different color than the Mexican furniture. Good for me, bad for my level of patience. Ed said that he hopes that my solid wood furniture is on the truck that left the new plant on Friday, and that he will give me a call early next week to set up a delivery time. I hope so too, Ed. As long as Ed's delivery time is prior to Jake's delivery time, I'm okay with that.
Our bedroom is all set up for a newborn, now that I have an itty bed in there. As promised, here is a before and after shot.
Before, notice the uncluttered appearance and the majestic kitties ruling over the room. It is not usually this clean, this picture was taken last spring when we bought the house and I was really in to keeping it nice.
After. I had to hide the baby stuff and grownup stuff piles just to make it look like I am still way in to keeping the house neat.And of course the queens are still hellbent on making everything their own. It is their house, after all. I only use it about 12 hours a day and they never leave.
Little jerks. Must be nice to stay at home and watch birds all day.
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