Blogging when I should be showering

Busy mom exhaustion has been put aside. In fact, the schedule has worked out pretty well here. 2.0 sleeps pretty much through the night, though that is done with careful planning and some luck. Winston still sleeps his 10 hours. So as much as I'd like to say I'm suffering, I'm not anymore. The first couple of weeks were definitely brutal, but 2.0 has made the transition pretty easy. I pay for this dearly, however. My sweet, sleeping child wakes up to be the meanest baby EVER. If he's not sleeping, he's screaming.

But he's pretty cute when he's sleeping.

His brother has been an angel. I say this now because he's not here. He's off with his Mammam for the morning, and I'm taking a few moments to reflect on just how well behaved Winston has been considering everything. He's genuinely curious about his little brother, but more interested in his brother's toys and toes. I periodically hear giggling and find him poking at the baby's feet.

As for me, other than the gut-wrenching loneliness, I'm fine. In fact, I'm doing really well! Class is back in session, which makes the time pass a little more quickly. I've lost all the baby weight. And yesterday I managed to take both kids out to have their photos taken at one of the local farms. WITHOUT a stroller. I am Supermom.

I so wish I had something poignant or important to say, but I really don't. I have read these amazing blogs people have put up about how much they love their kids and about how blessed they are. I know I'm blessed and I adore my kids, but I barely have enough time to process it. I get these very short, quiet moments where I look at one of them and get to appreciate how much I love them. This is not one of those moments, as 2.0 is insisting that I hold him, so he's strapped into the Moby again. Convenient when I need my hands back, but not when I need to shower and get dressed and maybe sneak down a meal. But he'll fall asleep against my chest and rope me back into the mommy love here shortly. He plays me like a fiddle.

Today's lesson: I think you appreciate the really beautiful moments more when you admit to yourself that not every mommy moment needs to happy and lovely.

Not what I wanted, but what I needed...

On Thursday at 3 AM, my little one decided it was time to start making his entrance into this world. I woke up in labor, waited just long enough to make sure I wasn't crazy, and called my people. I went straight to big, long contractions, but they were in a weird pattern, so the nurses had me up and walking the halls and bouncing on the ball. I labored that way for 14 hours total before I made enough progress to get an epidural. 14 hours that I am extremely proud of.

I had the best anesthesiologist give me the world's easiest epidural, and waited. My progress was there, but was still just as slow. Add in my blood pressure tanking, and hours more of no progress, and things started to slide backward. After 22 hours, my very kind OB looked one more time, shook her head, and said, "You don't have to have the c-section, but I really don't think your body is going to let you go any further."

And she was right. She and I had both done everything in our power to get the labor as far as it could go. Turns out she was the perfect person to surrender to. She looked square at me and said, "I understand the anger and the disappointment. I'm an OB and I had c-sections, too. My job is to help women give birth and I couldn't do it the way my body was 'supposed' to. And you have to come to terms with it in your own time." I nodded and signed the forms and tuned out the world while I waited to be taken back.

In fact, I tuned out most of the time I was in surgery as well. My sister-in-law Michele gave me lots of space while it was going on, just close enough to let me know she was there but that she understood what I needed. 2.0 came into the world, we said hello, and he went off to the nursery. And instead of tagging along, Michele stayed with me. She had taken a few pictures and helped me email them to my husband while I was still on the operating table, which was just the distraction I needed at that point.

It went well. In fact, the whole thing went so well that I have had trouble feeling bad about it. The surgery was easy. I got tons of time afterward to pull myself together. The nurses settled me in, Michele went home to sleep, and three hours after his birth, the nurses brought me my son. All 8 pounds, 8 ounces of him.

See, once the doctor got in to take him out, she very bluntly said, "Your body could not have given birth to this baby. He is HUGE!" Apparently I grew a perfectly proportioned giant. Not at all chunky. My husband's family's genetics growing inside my teeny tiny frame.

I wish I could say it's been easy, but it hasn't. I still hurt. I'm still moving at a slow pace. We're still having feeding issues. But I'm ok. I actually got to try this time around, and I couldn't have asked for a better team to have around me. And my brand new son, who is laying here as I type, is the proof that God blessed me with what I needed.

Today's lesson: God doesn't always give you what you want. Then again, I think I got even better than I asked for: a wonderful family to support me, a truly kind set of doctors and nurses to get me through, and my beautiful little boy.

Why I love being pregnant in Virginia

Here I am. Past my due date with very few signs that I will be giving birth to this baby anytime soon. The possibility of a c-section is looking like more of a promise. One of my doctors and I sat last week and talked about it, as things weren't looking particularly good. I told her some of the things I'd heard from people and read in scathing articles. She looked me in the eye and said, "I've heard it all. And I've heard worse. People are so mean to women when it comes to every aspect of birth and parenting, whether they had an option or not." And it's true. Very few people praise the woman who had a c-section instead of a "natural" birth. I feel like I will never dig my way out of the insults or guilt, even though I'm the idiot for letting it get to me.

But this is Virginia, and I am truly enjoying being pregnant here. No one rubs or pats my belly. Unthinkable! No questions about whether I will have an epidural or if I will breastfeed. I get lots of well-meaning advice, none of it with attitude. The sentiment I hear the most is, "You poor thing! That pregnant in August! And it's so HOT!" And when occasionally asked about being induced, I explain about my past c-section and that I have another one scheduled if the baby doesn't come on his own. The answer is the same every single time: "Bless your heart!" No rude comments about how evil or lazy I am for having a c-section. Because, trust me, I've had random strangers in other places say some really nasty things.

I've written about my "c-section guilt" before here. And I wrote it before someone made the worst comment I've ever heard in reference to my son's birth. "Well, if you had trouble getting pregnant and had to take fertility meds, and then couldn't give birth to your son without surgery, don't you think God might have been trying to tell you that you shouldn't have kids?"

At this point in my second and final pregnancy, I should be looking forward to the prospect of holding my son in my arms. But that comment eats at me still. It's the one thing that sticks in my head the most as I'm pregnant for what will be the last week ever. It shouldn't be that way. I should be happily washing baby clothes and spending the last moments I will have with it being just Winston and I. Instead, I spend a good deal of time sobbing and praying that things will go better.

But being here amongst some of the sweetest people I've ever known takes a little of the hurt away each time I hear them say, "Bless your heart!"

Today's lesson: You never know what unkind words will hurt someone the most. Then again, you never know when a few kind ones will lift someone up and make things a little bit more right.

Big Mama

37 weeks, and I'm all of a sudden in a panic to get things done. Not to nest, necessarily, seeing as I still look at the laundry and the cleaning and groan. But I am anxious about making sure everything is set to go for Winston while I'm gone. Each time I think I've got it all together, I think of something else. He is packed. He will have food and clothes at his Mammam's house. I wrote out a Winston instruction manual during one period of paranoia. All the necessary phone numbers and addresses if he should get sick.

And then there are the other things, like making sure all the baby's electronics have batteries and that my camera is charged up so I can email pictures to my husband. That everyone necessary has my extra keys so that I don't miss paying any important bills that come in my mailbox and so the cat doesn't starve.

You know, I never nested with Winston. But maybe sheer panic is the only version of it I'm going to get. Shame, because I was really hoping I'd get the desire to clean my windows or organize my closets. At least the nursery is done.

I had the all important ultrasound last week to determine the size of the baby and to see what kind of shape everything is in. I'm now considered "high risk" so I get perks like extra ultrasounds. I tell you, 2.0 is one gorgeous little boy. He even has lots of hair. And the ultrasound held only good news. He is of medium size. He is in the right position for delivery. No cord around his neck like his wiggly brother. He's still a boy. Definitely a boy. No surprises when the day comes.

That's the mystery. When will the day come? With Winston, it never did. When I hit 41 weeks they had to force him out. But this baby is so different. Winston had the cord wrapped around his neck and tethering him in place, so he wasn't going anywhere. This baby is low and has nothing holding him back. I want it to be better this time. I'm terrified I'll go overdue and have to have another c-section. So until I go into labor (or don't), I feel high-strung and on edge. I'm lucky to have a wonderful team of doctors who take my paranoia in stride!

Until then, I'll just sit here and continue to bake.

Today's lesson: Nothing ever goes according to plan. But if you're like me, you'll drive yourself crazy hoping that it does.

The home stretch

Here we are. The ninth month. The last four weeks of what will probably be the last time I will ever be pregnant. Though this pregnancy is one of those that's been so easy, I'd be ok having 5 more, but seeing as I refuse to drive a minivan, I'm going to have to stop now.

I wish I could say interesting things are going on, but I'd be lying. I'm not in school, Winston has been well-behaved, the apartment is completely unpacked. We have a pretty constant stream of doctor's appointments. Life pretty much revolves around food: getting enough calories into both of us. With my diabetes, I watch my carbs. And Winston, well, he won't eat meat. Except for bacon and fish. And I don't mean fish sticks. I mean he likes unbreaded, baked, healthy fish. Though I doubt his tastebuds sometimes, as he seems to crave cat litter as well.

The kid and I have had a lot to be grateful for as of late. He finally got his first word: more. Which brought "mama" right along with it. He appears not to have wanted to speak until he could use the words in the right context. I'm taking bets that the next word will be "no" because he hears it so often now that he's learned to climb the coffee table.

We've gotten a ton of help from family and friends. I'm to the point where I'm easily exhausted. My mom and sister came down to help out for a few days. My mother-in-law recommended her cleaning ladies, who have been a Godsend. She also went shopping for larger clothes for Winston and came back with 6 outfits, lunch for me, and fresh green beans from the market for dinner. My sister-in-law helped get the boy's haircut yesterday, which required Cheerio bribery and a headlock. I've had friends haul rocking chairs and bring my heavy groceries and crumb cake. I'm blessed with a good support network. I really moved to the right place.

Today I am packing my hospital bag and Winston's bag for his stay with his Mammam. I know that doing it early will jinx me, and I will go overdue again. I just know it. But it's one more thing to keep me busy and keep my mind off of how the next 28 days are going to drag.

Today's lesson: I know that when it comes to friends, quality is supposed to trump quantity. But there is something wonderful about having a ton of quality friends surrounding you when you need them!

(Note - Photos used with full permission of Rachel Brenke Photography www.rachelbrenke.com. She's one of my best friends, and she came out to do a mini-session with Sam and I a few weeks ago. I left her website on the photos because, well, I'm always up for plugging a friend's great work. If you live in the Killeen, TX area, I highly recommend her!)

I guess I should update

I've been living in a world where I need 36 hours in each day. We've moved, and I'm a Valley girl again. I'm just now starting to get to know my way around town, seeing as it has grown so much in the past couple years that half the roads aren't in my GPS. Despite that and how busy I've been, living here has cut my stress level in half. I love it. I love being able to take Winston for a walk or to the playground. I love going to the store and having nice old men pull out carts for me. I love that my doctor, Winston's doctor, the pharmacy, the hospital, and my mother-in-law are all within 5 minutes of me. Winston loves being here, too, because my lack of stress means his life is more pleasant. He gets 100% of mommy's attention.

2.0 is baking nicely. I'm fighting gestational diabetes again, this time under a stricter doctor, so I really have to keep it under control. At 33 weeks, I feel less like a whale than I did last time. My doctor asked today how I managed to keep my blood pressure so low. "Well, a couple days ago I built a crib. Today I built a bookshelf. And by the end of the weekend I will have built a rocking chair. All while chasing a 16 month old." I know I'm supposed to take it easy, but that's not exactly an option these days. I'm on a deadline!

Soon enough I'll have two boys to care for. The thought kind of terrifies me. And the month after 2.0 is born, I start school again. I thought about waiting, but my favorite professor is teaching a class I really want to take. It's one of my degree electives, so I figure I can grind out 8 weeks worth of work with my prof's help. Just need to keep chipping away at that degree!

Well, it's time to start nudging my night own in the direction of his bed. I remember when I used to be a night owl...now I require as much sleep as a newborn, I swear.

Today's lesson: Sometimes being happy doesn't mean a bigger, fancier house. In my case, it means cutting the living space in half so that I can be back in a happy place.

Photo Challenge: Day 29

"A picture that always makes you laugh."



This is a picture of my husband when he was a kid.

Why it always makes me laugh pretty much needs no explanation.

Photo Challenge: Day 28

"A picture of something you're afraid of."



If you can't tell from this picture, I'm not particularly fond of the water. However, I know that some of the world's greatest things are seen in and on the water, so I try not to let it stop me.

I have snorkeled in the Bahamas (while wearing a life vest and staying no more than 15 feet from our boat). I rode on a choppy charter boat to the Greek island of Delos (though I was a sick shade of green the entire time). I have kayaked in oceans and rivers (the one water activity I love because I don't really get wet). I tried to surf in California (though that didn't go particuarly well). And, as shown in this photo, I took a tube down a river in Belize. This trip had a catch. The river went through a pitch black cave for twenty minutes. After I emerged, I couldn't find my husband and ran into a rock face. I was rescued by a group of Villanova kids on spring break, but scarred for life. Never again.

I don't know where my fear of the water comes from. I'm not a terrible swimmer. In fact, I'm a pretty good swimmer. I am equally afraid of rivers, lakes, oceans, and the deep end of the pool. I have nightmares about drowning. Despite this, I'm rather fond of boats. Though if I'd been on the Titanic without a lifeboat, I would have been one of the people clamoring for the tip top of the railing until the last possible second. Definitely not one of the ones who willingly jumped overboard. Crazy afraid of the water.

Photo Challenge: Day 27

"A picture of yourself and a family member."



This is my mother. We are dressed up for Halloween, um, obviously.

You know, the last day of this challenge is supposed to be someone you miss. I thought about saving my mom for that day, but then I realized she's down here enough that I pretty much don't have a chance to miss her.

Since my son was born, my mother has hauled it back and forth from her state to mine more times than I can count. She was there for my baby shower, the birth, and a few weeks after to clean my house. She's given up many of her weekends to come give me a break. She works full-time and still manages to make it down here almost monthly to see her grandson. I know she loves me, but she is absolutely head over heels for Winston. And he loves her right back.

Not to mention she'll dress up like a wicked queen just to make him happy. Well, to make me happy, anyway. Now THAT is a grandma.

Photo Challenge: Day 26

"A picture of something that means a lot to you."



This is one of three photos that my friend Joana took of a diorama. She had them beautifully matted and framed, and gave them to me as a baby shower gift.

Giving birth to the son of a career military man pretty much meant that my son's bedroom would have some kind of camouflage decor. In fact, my husband picked out the bedding and decorations. My friends and family got on board and helped add to the theme.

But this gift? It was immensely personal. It put a touch of sophistication in a room filled with tanks and camo covered teddy bears. I walk into my son's room and look at these everytime I get him out of bed. And I smile every single time because the gift means so much to me. I treasure this artwork.

Photo Challenge: Day 25

"A picture of your day."

Winston and laundry. Actually, this is just like every other day, except I didn't really have a full load of laundry to do today. My son, confused by this, kept trying to start an empty load on his own. After he was nearly successful, I grabbed up what laundry we had and stuck it in there. Who am I to discourage a man from doing the laundry?

Photo Challenge: Day 24

"A photo of something you wish you could change."



I'm not going to say this to scare all the pregnant moms out there. I'm going to say it because, for me, it was the truth.

My birth experience was a nightmare.

This is not the first picture of me holding my son. This is a full 24 hours after giving birth. I have a picture of me when I first got to hold him, and the look on my face says, "Get this thing off of me."

I had an emergency c-section. Which, let's face it, is pretty much the only end you should expect when you're overdue, not progressing, diabetic, and 21 hours into labor and still just about as dilated as the moment you walked into the hospital. At about 19 hours, my son went into distress. We rolled me over so I could labor on my side, but two hours later there was a rush of people and a quick trip to the OR.

I sobbed through the entire c-section. I was tired, pissed off, and scared out of my mind. When it was over, my husband followed our son to get cleaned up and I laid there and stared at the ceiling while the surgery was finishing up. I won't go into detail, but the recovery was hard and extremely painful. I had an unkind nurse on the day I was supposed to be discharged cause me some real emotional damage that has pretty much taken away any good memories I have of the amazing nurses I had during delivery and the first 48 hours after.

And it took weeks for me to feel human again. I remember going in for my 6 week checkup and the nurse telling me I could resume normal activity, and looking at her like she was insane. I'd have to say my son was probably four months old before I even started to get back to myself.

It's no one's fault. So many women get angry at their doctor or themselves or their child when they have to have a c-section. My son had wrapped himself up nice and cozy in his umbilical cord and was determined not to leave unless he was going to take some of my parts with him. But if I could change anything, it would have been that day. I wish I could have changed my experience with my son's birth. I pray this next one goes better.

Photo Challenge: Day 23

"A picture of your favorite book."



So, I'm about to show my dorkiness. My favorite book changes quite often. I'm not one of those people who has one book that stands above all others as a favorite (barring religious literature, but that would pretty much be a given).

Right now I'm a little obsessed with this book, which I found on a Barnes and Noble clearance rack. So this sucker is actually out of print now. It's a huge book with tons of pictures that outlines the history and discoveries made by the Hubble Telescope. I got this book home the first night and was actually squealing as I looked at it. My husband, of course, thought I was nuts.

My next potential favorite books are sitting on my shelf, waiting for me to have time to read them. I'm sure that will be at some point after I graduate in two years. Life is too busy for reading right now.

Photo Challenge: Day 22

"A picture of something you wish you were better at."



I have a bit of a bad attitude. Shocker, huh? The answer to today's challenge is pretty simple. I wish I could be better at being happy. Or friendly. I'm generally a grump. My poor husband. It takes a lot of work to make me smile. I honestly wish I had a more chipper personality.

It's not that I'm a depressed person or that I have complaints about my life. I have a GREAT life! But I'm a pessimist and a realist, and it paints every aspect of my personality. I think it would be refreshing, just for a day, to see through the eyes of an optimist.

Photo Challenge: Day 21

"A picture of something you wish you could forget."



Oh, how I have been dreading this day of the challenge. A fellow blogger doing this challenge had the perfect answer in saying that she didn't keep pictures of things she wanted to forget. I wish I could say the same. This is actually the only picture I have left, and I found it in a random file on a backup a couple weeks ago. So I'll start with a quote from Under the Tuscan Sun.

"Do you want to know the most surprising thing about divorce? It doesn't actually kill you. Like a bullet to the heart or a head-on car wreck. It should. When someone you've promised to cherish till death do you part says 'I never loved you,' it should kill you instantly. You shouldn't have to wake up day after day after that, trying to understand how in the world you didn't know. The light just never went on, you know. I must have known, of course, but I was too scared to see the truth."

I have been divorced twice. You will never hear me talk about my first divorce, because it was honestly as civil as could be. I have nothing bad to say about my first marriage outside of the fact that we couldn't make it work and needed some time to grow up. And that's not a reflection on him or me. That's just the truth about our marriage, plain and simple.

My second divorce was a different story. It was like being hit by a train that I never saw coming. Once again, I have nothing bad to say about my ex. It doesn't matter what went wrong. It just did. And we're far different people away from each other. My reaction to the divorce and how I handled it emotionally is on my shoulders. I will, however, acknowledge that this divorce broke me. It pretty much left me cowering in a corner for months on end. Then I began going in multiple directions at once, trying to come up with a new plan that would fill the hole in my life.

I dated. I went back to school. I bought a house. I worked constantly. I ran at full speed once I could, only to hit a brick wall and fall flat on my rear. It was a fantastic fall, too. I came out completely wilted and entirely pathetic. I was afraid of my own shadow. The whole experience left me cautious and terrified, and I still carry some of those scars with me.

As much as I would love to forget that time in my life, I also know my life wouldn't be the same if I had been anything other than a broken woman. Because being screwed up led me to a chaplain, through whom I met the man who is now my husband (though that was a long way off and a longer story). And then this cautious girl got married on a crazy whim in a courthouse and moved away from her hometown. I'm grateful. I have a wonderful husband and a gorgeous son and another baby on the way. I'm in the right place now. I am blessed to have gotten here, no matter how bumpy the road.

Photo Challenge: Day 20

"A picture of somewhere you'd love to travel."



This is Hawaii.

Actually, this is a picture I took while in Hawaii.

I want to go to Hawaii (again) because I'm convinced I did it wrong the last time. After a week in what was supposed to be paradise, I stepped back on a plane to freezing Michigan and swore never to go back to those stupid islands.

Let me explain. Jere and I, while we were dating, spent a week on Oahu. Jere had been there before, I obviously had not. I know we saw beautiful things. We had wonderful moments: a sunset cruise, a luau, a day at a nearly private beach. But if you ask me what I remember most about Hawaii, I'll tell you it was the traffic.

I have lived in Washington DC and Tampa. I have seen traffic piled up for hours on end on a consistent basis. But we spent probably 15% of our time in Hawaii stuck in traffic. So other than the few nice moments we had on our vacation, I still fail to see what all the fuss is about.

Jere, on the other hand, still names it as his favorite place to go. And I am determined to go back and see what he sees. Maybe try a different island. Or even a different hotel. Because as of now, I just don't get it.

Photo Challenge: Day 19

"A picture of you when you were little."

Uh, I don't know the story behind this. Hubby and I are in the process of packing and moving, so I dug in my photos and grabbed the first one I could find. I will say those are some awesome Mickey Mouse earrings I'm sporting here.

Beyond the age of 6, there aren't quite as many photos of me in existence. Once my sister was born, I preferred to be behind the camera. Over 20 years later, it's still that way.

Photo Challenge: Day 18

"A picture of your biggest insecurity."



In this photo (taken in 2007), I weighed more than I did during my 9th month of pregnancy. I was uncomfortable in my clothes and miserable in my own skin.

When Jerry left for deployment in 2008, I was determined to lose weight for the sake of fertility. I read book after book that said the first step to good fertility is diet and a healthy weight. And I took the challenge seriously and lost over 30 pounds.

I was eager to show it off when Jerry got home. But my plan worked too well, and I became immediately pregnant with Winston. And put on all the weight I'd lost. I got out of the hospital after giving birth and would stand in front of the mirror and sob.

So as soon as the doctor said I was well enough, I started exercising and lost all my Winston weight. I got back into my old jeans. And I got pregnant again.

My biggest insecurity is that I will look like this forever. Which is ridiculous, because I haven't looked anything like this since I lost 30 pounds the first time. My face is thinner, my legs are more toned, my shape is smaller. Even at 9 months pregnant I looked like I was healthier than I was in this picture. And I know it's true. This pregnancy, I'm obsessed with my weight. I am determined to keep moving and cut out junk and only gain what I am supposed to. It's hard work already, and it still makes me hurt to watch the numbers on the scale increase. I don't need the lecture about weight gain being healthy during pregnancy. I know that. I eat more. I eat better. But it doesn't make watching the scale any easier when my weight moves away from the magical number I worked so hard to get to!

Photo Challenge: Day 17

"A picture of something that has made a huge impact on your life recently."



Well, this was sort of an easy one. The week before Christmas, I found out that Jere and I are expecting baby #2. I thought getting pregnant with Sam as easily as I did was a fluke. Two cycles of metformin later, this happened.

I'm 15 weeks along now, and more petrified for this baby than I ever was when I was pregnant with Sam. My husband will be deploying before I'm due, and won't be coming home for the birth. That's not the part that worries me. It's not like he played a particularly active role in the last birth. The part that worries me is trying to take care of a 1 year old and a newborn. And if things go badly like they did last time, that will mean a c-section and being off my game for weeks.

Of particular concern is finding a new OB and making the switch to all new doctors. There's a lot of paperwork and waiting to be done in a situation that is not friendly with time. That's what has me waking up in a panic at night.

I am thankful my friend Sara called this morning to assure me that she'll be there to drive me to the hospital, which is an hour away. I'm even more thankful that she said she wasn't just dropping me off at the door and waving goodbye. I have backup. I have someone to take Sam for a bit. Everything is good.

Photo Challenge: Day 16

"A picture of someone who inspires you."



I regret to inform you that I am about to get sappy.

My son inspires me. No, not in the normal way. He hasn't struggled through challenges. He hasn't had to overcome a whole lot of adversity. I don't look at him and see the model of who I want to be.

Instead, I look at my son and realize that I want to be the one who inspires him. I want to be the one he looks up to. Hopefully he will look at me someday and see a person that he wants to be like. Or maybe he'll see in me the things he wants to look for in a wife and the mother of his own children.

My son inspires me by making me want to be better for his sake. And that's pretty powerful motivation.