Monthly Archives: August 2012

Aug27

The first bell

Posted on by
The first bell

Around 5:30 this morning, as I was feeding Evelyn, I had the thought hit me that if life had gone as I planned it would a year or two ago, I would be anxiously getting ready for my fifth “first day of school” today. Of course, life rarely goes “as planned,” does it not? And because it was early enough in the morning, I quickly brushed away the thought.

At 8:55am, I was getting Evelyn’s medicine together for her acid reflux while she was starting to scream in the background, and it hit me harder than I thought it would. 8:55am is the first bell, starting the first class of the first day of school, and I wasn’t there.  I always looked to that bell with so much excitement; I always was so nervous and excited to meet my new students and see what the year would hold (probably more nervous and excited than many of them were!). I was at home, in my pajamas still, waiting for an update on whether our AC could be fixed or not while taking care of my new baby.

There’s always so much potential that first day. A promise hanging in the air of all the things that we would share and learn together.

You can tell me that I’ve got a better job now, and I would agree. After how brutal last year was for me, staying at home with my baby girl is a wonderful change. Just as brutal in some ways, but better, more purposeful, so I don’t mind it that much. I am on my own schedule, with more freedom to raise my child the way I see fit; freedom I could never have with “my” children in the classroom thanks to district and state lists on what they thought 7th graders should be capable of learning. And let’s face it: changing diapers and onesies takes a lot less brain power than grading 130 papers.

But still, I will miss it. I hated those school bells because they limited the time I had with my amazing students, especially last year when we only had 50 minutes together instead of 90. But I’ll miss those bells. I’ll miss the amazing teachers I got to work with; sharing and learning information and teaching styles with them.

Most of all, I will miss the bright, creative, fun, amazing students that I was able to meet every year. For every “bad apple”, there are always more students that can make the classroom a fun, happy place to be. Often, without realizing it, students could teach me, too. I’ll miss sharing favorite stories and poems with them; the exciting and deep realizations students could have in class discussions. I’ll miss their humor, too. There’s nothing quite like the humor of a room full of 7th graders.

Will I be able to go back to teaching one day? I don’t know. There’s many reasons I am relieved that I am not in a classroom today. Being a parent has been the hardest job I have ever done, harder than being a teacher, and still I am content to stay here with my child for now.

But all of those reasons still didn’t stop my heart from having twinges of longing for that first bell of the school year.

Aug17

Horton

Posted on by
Horton

If it’s not one thing going wrong right now, it’s another!

In my last post, I mentioned that we discovered that Evie has GERD/acid reflux. Before you think I hastily rushed to this conclusion to medicate her, let me show you some of the symptoms she was exhibiting:

  • Spitting up (increasingly more in the past 2-3 weeks)
  • Irritability during or after feedings (particularly in the evenings and night!)
  • Coughing/ sputtering during eating
  • Refusing to eat
  • Crying when placed on her back, especially after a feeding
  • Arched her back while crying/feeding
  • Choking after some feedings- particularly bad Thursday
  • Spits up forcefully, causing stomach contents to shoot out of her mouth

After last week, this was just getting worse and worse.  She had a nasty choking episode at 2:00AM friday morning, then a forceful vomit later on in the day. She she then had a bad night Saturday, slept very fitfully.. and Sunday was just a mess. She forcefully threw up around 5:00-6:00 pm, and then 1:30 am (1:30 one was particulary bad, but both had vomit coming out of her nose and mouth and was most of her feeding).

There’s a lot they recommend you do, like keeping the baby elevated after feedings for 15-30 minutes, smaller feedings, sleeping in a car seat or adjusting the baby’s crib to a 30 degree angle, but it wasn’t working.

And let’s face it. Getting between 1-3 hours of sleep a night and getting covered in curdled baby vomit multiple times wasn’t working for me, either.

Monday we were able to meet with a pediatrician, who agreed with our assessment that the fussiness was mainly in part to what appeared to be acid reflux. She wasn’t too concerned, since Evelyn’s been gaining weight rapidly, but she could tell, even in the appointment, that Evie was a little fussy and in discomfort from the issue. So she prescribed us some medicated drops for the reflux and told us to call in if we didn’t notice a difference within a week.

Within 24 hours, we had ourselves a new baby. If I hadn’t been so sick with a cold, I would have slept marvelously in 1-2 hour stints throughout the night because this little girl was not nearly as fussy as she had been in the past.

Y’all, when I see that doctor again, I might just hug her.

Unfortunately, remember that cold I mentioned? Well, Wednesday night, Evie started showing signs of being congested. I’ll have to put that down in her baby book. You know, where you put things like “Baby’s first words” or “Baby’s first time to crawl”? I’ll put down “Baby’s first cold: Wednesday, August 15, 2012.”

Just kidding. Sort of.

Anyways, like probably most first time parents, I was extremely anxious. There’s not much anyone can do for a cold, but should I take her to the doctor anyways? Blah blah blah. We called the office in the morning, and the nurse told us that if she didn’t have a fever (she didn’t) and if she wasn’t extremely fussy, then go with a humidifier and saline drops and bring her in if she got worse, a fever, or really fussy (though, before the acid reflux medicine, how would we have known differently?).

Well, we didn’t have saline drops OR a humidifier, so that meant going on a field trip to Target with a sick baby. Yay! (Remember, this blog is a no-sarcasm zone…)

Anyways, meet Horton. He’s our new humidifier.

He beat out a frog and a penguin during the in-store audition for the job, and has a special place next to the bed where I have Evie sleeping in her car seat. (He made a convincing argument that he’d go better with the jungle theme in Evelyn’s room, and that his nondescript gray was being true to type, not boring.)

Don’t judge me for having conversations with animal-shaped humidifiers in a Target store until you’ve been sick for a week with a nasty cold and running on 1-3 hours of sleep a night. If you’ve been there, and you still want to judge me, then go ahead.

Plus, if you’re going to be sick, might as well be sick with a bit of whimsy thrown in, yes?

Anyways, please send Evelyn good thoughts so she can get better soon and enjoy being a healthy baby for a while, before the next calamity, like teething, sets in. 🙂

Aug13

Birthday breakfast!

Posted on by
Birthday breakfast!

Last week was pretty rough, including my birthday. We think Evelyn has acid reflux, and it’s gotten increasingly worse in the past week or two, meaning a lot more crying and vomiting and neediness from her and a lot less sleep for me. That’s probably why this birthday did not get close to my top 5, or even top 10 birthdays to remember list.

Jared was very sweet though, and wanted to make sure that my birthday could be the best possible. Honestly- I kept forgetting that my birthday was even coming up until Jared interrogated me two days before. That conversation went something like this.

Jared: “So, have you thought about what you want for your birthday dinner yet? And what kind of cake do you want?”

Me, baffled: “No… I don’t really know yet.”

Jared: “Well, can you let me know tonight so I can get planning?”

Me, more baffled: “I guess… But we’ve got plenty of time to worry about it.”

Jared, almost patiently: “Elisabeth, you do know your birthday is in two days, right? That doesn’t leave me a lot of time to get ingredients for it.”

Me: “No… my birthday isn’t in… Ohhhhhhh. Wow, okay. I’ll get back to you on that.”

Jared, a little less patiently: “You do that.”

Poor man. He really did make an effort. I mean, check out this cake!

(He made it himself… with the help of Costco. The Tuxedo Chocolate Mousse Cake. It may not be the Chocolate Cake of Doom, but it was pretty incredible, and more manageable for the two of us. By the way, Costco, you’re welcome for the product plug.)

Anyway, because I was a basket-case most of my birthday due to a small little person who resides in our home’s persistent screaming every time I put her down, it was kind of a rough day. Jared also had a very busy week at work, because it was their big marketing week, so he couldn’t do much to help out.

Between the previously mentioned little screaming person’s persistent crying, which made me cry occasionally, we ate a delightful dinner, opened cards/gifts (it was a very gift-cardy birthday. Thanks everyone who remembered me!) and ate cake. Then I went back to my prison cell with my little cell-mate and spent the rest of the evening tending to her needs.

But to make up for it, Saturday, he brought me this in bed:

 

And when doesn’t breakfast in bed with heart-shaped pancakes and eggs make your heart feel a little bit better?

Aug6

A Labor Story, Part III

Posted on by
A Labor Story, Part III

Not so long a gap between parts II and III. I must be getting used to the sleep deprivation!

To read/review Part 1, click here.

To read/review Part 2, click here.

(Disclaimer: this is the part where things start getting a little…messy. And, you know, even though birth is an awesome process, it doesn’t always look and sound pretty!)

When we were told that we had reached 5 cm, we were pretty happy. My mother loves to tell me the horror story that was my own birth, and how I tormented her for twenty-nine hours of labor, so progressing 2 cm in two and a half hours seemed pretty promising. While I was definitely feeling pain and discomfort, I figured I could manage this pain for several more hours if needed be, though I knew I definitely wouldn’t sleep through it.

(The calm before the storm!)

Shortly after this 8:00 PM measurement, I decided to try and go to the bathroom again, to help me walk around, and Cary, our doula, encouraged me to see how the contractions felt as I was in a sitting position. They (the contractions) were definitely getting stronger.

When I came back out, we decided to have me stand. As the contractions hit, I had my arms around Jared’s neck and he helped hold me up through the strongest parts. Cary helped hold the monitors on my belly (remember, the stupid things were having a hard time registering my contractions and the baby’s heart rate, so we had to be diligent about position and pressure so they didn’t think the baby was freaking out!).

After about two standing contractions, it hit me like a wave: first, a bout of nausea, and second, an astoundingly intense contraction. And then the next contraction was just as intense. I hesitate to say painful; it definitely hurt, but it was because of the intensity that my whole body felt with the contractions. And then the next one was the same, but with an almost tingly sensation down below. And then again. They were less than two minutes apart; and I felt like I couldn’t get a break in between them!

This is where I wavered. I looked into Jared’s face, and I think I said something along the lines of, “I don’t know if I can do this for too much longer. I think I need to lie down again because this hurts so much.” (Meaning, pain-wise, I was doubting my ability to go the distance.)

Like a great partner/coach, he looked me in the eyes and said, “Of course you can. You’re doing great!”  Cary followed up with more encouraging words, and we decided to try one more standing contraction before lying down.

After another intense contraction, they helped me onto the bed. This time though, the position change didn’t help the contractions; they continued to be extremely intense. And then a completely new sensation took over. I looked at Cary, who was sitting almost at eye level next to the bed, and I am sure I sounded confused and surprised when I said, “I think I want to push!”

Remember, this was roughly a half hour or so after being told I was 5 cm out of 10 cm dilated, so I think we were both a little worried that I might be having the pushing urge too early, which could definitely be a complication in the birth plan. She asked me to try out one more contraction to see if it went away.

It didn’t.

Cary went to go get the nurse, explaining that I felt the need to push. The nurse came in and checked me again, and even she sounded a little surprised when she said, “Well, I can tell you one thing. You’re about to have this baby!”

I believe I uttered a very intelligent sounding, “What?” to which she repeated, “You’re about to have this baby!” Then, she rushed out to call the doctor and ready the birth reinforcements.

I think all three of us, Jared, Cary, and I, had a classic “WTF” moment. I was so shocked that the next contraction almost didn’t faze me. I’m sure the look on my face said it all. We were all amazed that labor had progressed so quickly in so short a time. I was even a little disappointed that I wasn’t going to be able to finish “Shrek”.

This is the part that is a little rushed for me, because it both felt like an eternity and mere seconds at the same time. We quickly were pulled back into the moment when the nurse returned and informed us that I had to try and wait because the doctor had gone home, and was heading back now. (Later, we learned that she had called the doctor ten minutes before this to let her know I was a 5 and that it would probably be a while, so to stay at home. I imagine the call back ten minutes later was a fun one to listen to.)

This meant that I had to do the classic, hyperventilating panting, to avoid pushing. I am saying this now–putting this in print–that I will never, ever, do that again unless it is a life-or-death situation. My exact words will be, “I’m sorry, but you can’t stop me from having this baby, and somebody better stand guard to be ready to catch her/him.” Because of ALL the pain and contractions was nothing next to the misery of panting for a half hour.

It was wave after wave of feeling the need to push and trying not to. My whole body was fighting me. Gross comparison: Imagine having violent diarrhea, but being told you can’t go to the bathroom right now and need to hold it. Then times that by about 100, and that was closer to what I felt. As the birth entourage (what I liked to call all the nurses and attendants for baby and me) piled into the room, I was only vaguely aware of them getting everything ready, because I was in my own little world that only Jared managed to make bearable.

Poor, poor Jared. As each contraction and need to push hit, he was there telling me that I could do this, that I was amazing, to keep panting, even though I was groaning and hyperventilating as I said with each little breath, “I don’t think I can do this.” From what I could see of his face, he was absolutely miserable. I think it was just as hard for him to watch me going through that wretchedness and not be able to do anything about it, as it was to be the one in it.

I lost track of all time. I had no clue how long I had been going through this. Finally, after what was again an eternity, I heard somebody tell me that I could start pushing because the doctor was almost ready.

Heavenly. That’s the only word I can think of to describe the change of being able to go with the waves of contractions my body was putting me through. It felt wonderful to be able to push. While it was hard, and it was uncomfortable, it was not painful (especially after being told not to push for what I learned later was about a half hour!).  Where holding back had felt like infinity of punishment and misery, time seemed to fly with pushing. And the whole way, Jared and the doula were by my side, encouraging me.

It seemed like only a few pushes later (again, another half hour had gone by without me realizing it) when they asked me if I wanted to look and see the baby’s head crowning. I was in the zone, though. I didn’t need to look to know she was almost here.

Shortly afterwards, I could tell the exact moment that she came out. I pushed harder than ever, knowing she was so close, and I could feel as her head came through, and then as the doctor pulled the rest of her little body through. At 9:47PPM, less than 6 hours after starting the pitocin, the culmination of 9 months arrived. I was tired and exhausted, but again, it wasn’t painful (though later I learned I had second degree tears). I just felt relief and happiness.

They lay her crying little body on my stomach, and I remember saying to her, “You’re finally here! I can’t believe you’re here!”

To know my body COULD do this process with little medical intervention, and to know that I was able to have full control and knowledge of this process as my daughter came into this world… Ahh. To say it was incredible, empowering, doesn’t seem to fully do this experience justice.

The joy I felt was slightly interrupted when I noticed the doctor started to cut the cord. We had put in our plan that we wanted to delay the cord clamping just for a few minutes, and that Jared wanted the option to cut the cord, but the doctor completely ignored those again. By the time I could get Jared and Cary to notice, the doctor was almost done, so Jared said just to finish it. (He wasn’t that disappointed; he was more irritated by the fact he hadn’t been offered the option!) The placenta came out with no problems, and I got stitched up.

And for quite a while, we snuggled with our new addition. We marveled at her tiny, perfect hands and feet, and I was completely enamored with her full head of hair. And when Jared turned to me and said, “What about Evelyn Quinn?” which had been our “secondary” name, I agreed, even though most of the pregnancy I was certain she would be Sophia.

In that moment, it all just felt right. And even though the hard work remaining in our hospital stay was just getting started, for that moment in time, everything in the world was as it should be.