Getting Nothing Done

It's nearly 1pm and I've done nothing.

This is not new.

It's not that I've done nothing-nothing; in fact I colored my hair. Roots were entirely shabby. Other that that I've nursed the baby and got the older kids to school and nursed the baby and taken a shower and nursed the baby and read some scripture and nursed the baby, and ate a sandwich and nursed the baby and held the baby and rocked the baby.

And I ate half a Reese's.

My days have gone like this for weeks. I look around at the mess and the clothes that need folding and the clothes that need ironing (and the new beautiful Rowenta steamer I bought to make my life easier, still sitting in plastic) and I feel awful.

I do have a productive time, because I have Emma to help me. After school she holds the baby for a few minutes while I race around, gathering laundry or filling the dishwasher or running the dyson (we don't vacuum here, we DYSON). I then sling the baby and help with homework and set the table and such. After the little one is asleep at night is my big work time. I make lunches and get dinner prepped for the next day (since dinner is the baby's fussy time) and read and respond to emails and such. Still, I can't even begin to get it all done, and by the next morning I'm right back where I started.

So, what did I do with my extra 30 minutes today? I colored my hair. Pfft.

So, with fresh color, but a messy head of hair, I sit in front of the computer, cradling the baby to keep her happy, and perusing the internet with my left hand. I'm talented like that.

As she begins to doze I look down at her sweet little body. Her little fingers and toes are amazing. She smells good. Through my efforts she's got fat little thighs and dimples in her elbows. Chewable cheeks. A milky-white tongue when she yawns.

I think about the possibilities of her future. Not her FUTURE, but more like... laughs and hugs and drawings and books and scooters and dollies and fire trucks and yanking the hair on the cat. These are good things. These are worthwhile things.

My body is squishy and my house is cluttered; but my baby is well and fed and happy. My children are safe and loved. My husband comes home to dinner and a smile and a squeeze and as much peace as I can create in 10 minute snatches.

I know that I'm trying my best and I know that it's all my Father in Heaven asks for. These days will go by so fast. If my house is a mess, but I spend an hour rocking the baby, I think that might be ok.

Godzilla

My husband has put a ton of Godzilla movies in our Netflix cue. (que?). And the first one arrived a couple of nights ago. A serious stinker, probably about 10 years old.

My 6 year old girl is kind of a sensitive little thing and I have to admit, I'm protective. We don't have cable - which means we don't have TV. She reads a lot and draws a lot and still wanted to be "a princess or a fairy" when she grows up, at least the last time I asked her.

We decide that it's probably ok for her to watch this awful Godzilla movie (it's in Japanese too and she can't read the subtitiles fast enough to keep up) as she'll probably get bored in a few minutes. Nope.

"WHAT is THAT!?"
"AAAAHHHH!"
"Who's Mecha G?"
"I think Mothra looks like a huge hairy butterfly"
"Poor butterfly, why did Godzilla take it's leg! It's so sad! And it's gross!"
"Why didn't he just walk around the building instead of crashing through?"
"Poor little mothra babies!"
"Why are the fairies just dressed like girls? And they're not modest."
"Mecha Godzilla is kind of like the fire benders. It shoots lightning."
"Oh NOOOOO!"

and best of all..

"I wish I was a huge metal monster who could knock buildings down!"

Dad fell asleep in his recliner.

The next day daddy mentions that there are more Godzilla movies coming in the mail and asks "do you want to watch them with me?"

My sweet little, blond, bow wearing daughter, while holding a barbie, pumps her fist in the air and hollers "YEESSSSSSS!"

Good heavens.

I Get To Go Back To Church! and other news

I haven't been to church since May. I'm the primary president.

Bed rest, bed rest, bed rest... then baby.

I didn't go to church for about 11 years of my adult life. I was married to an agnostic, and quite honestly I just didn't have the gumption to get to church every week without him, or family, or anyone else. I know women now who do and I admire them very much.

My former used to tell me "if you want to do something, then don't listen to what I say about it and just do it. Fight me for it!" That isn't what I wanted to do (I'm not a fighter really); I didn't think a marriage should be about fighting the other person to get what you want. Thusly, I was nice and didn't go. I didn't do a lot of things.

I continued to be nice, nice, nice. Nice during fights and nice in the face of riducule and neglect, and then nice through the divorce and afterwards. My friends, my family, my eternal companion all have said "you're too nice to him" and while I agreed, I also know that since we have children together I have a long time I have to be civil.

Until this week.

He asked for something I couln't give him, and when I couldn't give it to him (explaining nicely why) he demanded so much more. He crossed a line, which is kind of good.

I believe in being Christ like. I believe in turning the other cheek. I also believe that my Father in Heaven doesn't want me to be stepped on, or shoved around... and that he wants what's best for my children.

I've finally contacted a lawyer to straighten some things out, and I feel much better.

He used to tell me to fight him if I didn't like what he wanted. Ok, so now I will.

I've prayed a lot about this, and wasn't entirely sure it was what I should do. To be more forceful. Then today I happened to grab a box of miscenlaneous stuff on a whim in the garage, and in the box was some paperwork I'm going to need at the law office. I didn't know it was in that box, and I wasn't looking for it yet.

I took it as a sign, that what I'm doing is ok and appropriate for my family.

I can't wait to get back to church, to worship Him properly with friends and family who love me and don't want me to fight with them.

Birth Story

So, the birth story.


I always like to read these... especially on blogs I've been following for a bit. Oh, who am I kidding? I'll read just about any one's birth story, if I know them or not. Some women I know liken it to trading war stories. How horrible it was; and how, now that it's over, we can gloat and laugh about it. Or cringe together in horror. There's a good reason that God in his infinite wisdom made us forget the difficulty of childbirth, so that we would do it again. But those babies, man, they are totally worth it.


So, the birth story.


Actually, there's not much to tell.


After all of the back and forth with doctors and visits and dilating and bed rest and getting to the hospital and being sent home and drugs and drugs and shots and shots, the actual day was calm and peaceful.


I saw my OB on the 18th who said "well, you're more an 8 than a 7 now. Not to give you any more to worry about" and thusly we began discussions on how to get Iris into the world safely. The following day I would be 37 weeks, which would make the delivery A-OK in the eyes of most medical professionals. My sweet Dr. said "you may want to stay on the procardia through the weekend though, as I'll be in Utah." This was Wednesday afternoon. I asked if he would be offended if he wasn't the one to catch the baby. He smiled gently and said "oh no, it's fine if someone else does it." Then he suggested we have an amniocinesis to check the baby's lung development. That would be up to my perinatologist.


I got home, called the perinatologist and said "can we do an amnio tomorrow?" Much discussion ensued and they said that would have to be requested through my OB. I got on the phone with the OB's office, and waited. OH, and I got on youtube to check out how an amnio is done. SHUDDER.


I would never in my life have wanted one of those done, except if it meant that Iris would come out at the right time. I steeled myself for the procedure.


At about 5pm I got a call from the OBs office saying "you'll get the amnio done at 10 am, and then report to the hospital for induction at 5 pm."


WOOOOO HOOOOO!!!


Talking to my sister that night was great. I was excited, but scared. Mostly for the amnio. She suggested jokingly that I ask for a blind fold. I totally did this, and at about noon the next day when they finally were ready for me, I was given a towel to put over my eyes. Helped tremendously.


Just a quick note... all of these last minute happenings plus the birth? Yeah, they were right in the middle of my handsome husband's first two days of meetings for his new job. Not only did he stay by my side the entire time, he stayed on top of the paperwork and meetings the best he could by rearranging schedules with people and doing some things online. He was awesome and supportive. He always made me feel that the baby and I were first, no matter what.


So, Thursday the 19th, after 3 hours at the Parinatologist, we were sent home to wait the outcome of the amnio. If it was good, we could be induced at 5. She needed a score of at least 55. Score? This is a test all of a sudden?


We stopped at Target to pick up a couple of last minute items (I was gratefully in one of those electronic carts. I really couldn't walk very far) and while we were cruising the diaper aisle I got a call from the nurse at the parinatologists. "She scored an 83! Totally ready to go. You can go to the hospital early if you want!"

I was excited (good score baby, you aced the first test!) but the thought of going early was daunting. I was pooped. I showered and napped for 45 minutes before getting up and heading with my fabulous husband to the hospital.

We arrived on the dot at 5 and were greeted warmly. Our nurse (Denise? Darlene?) was a gem and prepped us and our lovely birthing suite. She handed me a yellow gown to put on, saying, "yellow means you're a fall risk". A fall risk? I asked. "Yeah, but you're getting an epidural and aren't going anywhere... ha!"

I had given birth naturally the first two times, but definitely wanted an epidural this time. The anesthesiologist arrived. Jovial round doctor with blond curly hair. Introduces himself as "Dr. McCoy". Oooh! I say "How often do people comment that you're the Star Trek Doc?" "All the time" says the good Dr. He's from Mississippi, has the coolest accent, was once a pharmacist, and spends the next 20 minutes or so chatting with handsome and I about hunting. Big sports enthusiast.

Finally, it's time for the epidural. Everyone told me it was a snap. "Compared to labor, this is super easy". Well, they forgot to tell me that women are normally in full labor when they perform this and are BEGGING to get any kind of relief. Me? I'm dilated to an 8 but am not having hard contractions. So, when they start poking me in the back it's painful. No, like P.A.I.N.F.U.L. I came very close to swearing (Ok, i said one tiny one) but was close to telling him to STOP STOP STOP and that I would just have her naturally again.

Then it was over and I started getting warm and tingly. Mmmm. tingles.

I was told that everyone took the epidural differently. Some could still feel pressure from their contractions. Some could feel when they needed to push. Me? I could feel nada. Seriously nothing. I wasn't sure I liked it.

Waters broken (yeah, I told her I had a lot of fluid. She was still astonished) and pitocin started. I brought my MP3 and a speaker and looped Chopin. Lights were dimmed. Very tranquil. The nurses later stated that they wanted to come back into our room and spend the evening, it was so peaceful.

About an hour and a half into the process, handsome decides to go get something to eat. Promises he'll be right back. I'm great. A little sleepy.

A few minutes later my night nurse comes in (Pat) and says "let's check you". I told her I was ready to take a little nap after she checked. I had been through the hell of transition with both other kids and figured there was no way I was close. Epidural or no epidural. She announces "you're at 10 and the baby is right there! Let's get your Dr. here" Wow! What, no nap? Where was the break through pain of transition? Seriously this was a snap. I still wanted a nap.

Handsome comes back in about then and I announce the good news. He's eating an ice cream, and hurries to finish. I ask the nurse if the meds will be turned down so I can feel to push "nope, you just bear down like you were using the bathroom". But she kindly let me do a trial push to be sure I could manage. Seriously I couldn't feel anything.

I gave one solid push for her and she said "whoa! You're good!"

A few minutes later the fabulous Dr. J shows up. He's mostly suited already, but finishes and hunkers down in front of me. I'm impressed that with the (what looks like) 100 pieces of equipment in front of him that he can tell that "we're missing a pair of scissors." They hand him a suitable replacement. Good job!

It's still very calm and quiet, but exciting. Iris will be here any time now!

The hospital staff are watching my contractions on the monitor and tell me when to push. I'm supposed to push hard for 10 seconds. The trouble is, by the time the count to 4 I need another breath. "Hold it!" the nurse tells me. Yeah right.

3 pushes and the baby's head is out. She guides my hand down to touch her head. Her head! I'd never experienced that before. She's got dark hair!

Then Dr. J tells me "I'll get her out the rest of the way." I'm surprised. "Really? You don't want a little push?" "Nope" he says "just relax and she'll be out in a second." So, I just look down and watch. A minute later she pops out into his arms and starts hollering.

We had told the nurses that she seemed a very mellow baby in utero and wasn't easily perturbed. The nurses actually said "ok, she may not cry very much then, lets look out for that." Boy we're we wrong, and I'm glad of it. She had some big, powerful lungs and used them.

They handed her to me wrapped in a towel and I got to see her pretty face. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a tiny little mouth. I had been worried about her hands for some reason, and they were there and working fine. She was still covered in vernix and terribly waxy looking. Handsome said later "she was so waxy, she looked like a candle." They took her away to be weighed and wiped down.

"She's a Vegas baby!" the nurse announced "7 lbs, 11 ounces!" And 3 weeks early. Good job Iris!

She was perfect, and so so pretty.

I don't remember who got to hold her next. Dad took lots of pictures and I just kept thinking that I wanted him to hold her. He had such a bad time of it in his first marriage, and didn't get what he should have as a new dad with his first daughter. I wanted this to be different. I think it was.

Our experience with Iris continued to be peaceful and calm. The moment she was given back to me or handsome, she quieted immediately. She spent very little time upset, and still doesn't 2 weeks later.

I'd do it again in a minute.

I Will Make Things

I've decided that I will not buy myself new clothes for a year.

NEW clothes. I don't need them. I have lots. It will also help me to get back into my pre-pregnancy clothes.

Here's the caveat. I can buy myself a piece or three from a thrift store, when the said thrift store is having a sale. Or from a yard sale. ALSO, I can make things for myself from my existing fabric stash and I can upcycle stuff I already have (or the very limited thrift store items).

This is making my brain work overtime. Think about all the cool stuff I can do! I can make headbands from old t-shirts. Or make Iris cute little ruffle bum pants. Lots of nifty ideas out there. I'm excited to start.

But first, I have to spend lots of time being a good mom to the beautiful new little one.

I made her too.

What Next?

My extremely hospitable mother whisked back to Arizona this morning, taking the kiddos with her. It will give them a chance for some fun (swimming every day!) and some time for her to hang out with them.

For a few summers as a kid I would go to visit my grandma for a week. It was exciting to be on private vacation, even if all we did was walk the mall and eat Chef Boy-ar-dee. I hope my little ones enjoy their time too.

The kids got packed into Grammy's car, and handsome and I stood outside and waved, waved, waved as they got settled and then disappeared down the road.

While we could still see them, and were waving like mad, I carefully broached the subject...

"So, when do we go to a movie?"

Probably tonight!

Now watch, the baby will want to make her grand appearance during an action flick.

And an update...

Thursday night was awful.

I got an OK from my OB to up the procardia to a higher dosage, and more often. Great. I did this 3 times.

The third time was at 2:30 am on Friday morning. I took pills, had lots of water, got back into bed. 30 minutes later I was so dizzy, I was spinning. It took another 30 minutes for me to be able to get up out of bed and into the living room where my blood pressure cuff was.

Oddly, my BP was fine, but my heart rate was pretty elevated and I felt horrible. Also, remember those contractions? They were back, steady, every 10 minutes. Sometimes 8. Sometimes 6.

I ate something and managed to get back to sleep at 4:45. At 5:45 my handsome husband came looking for me (I couldn't get off the couch) and we talked about options. We carefully decided to call the doctor, and my mom, 6 hours away in Arizona.

Doctor says "GO IN!" Mom says "I'm coming!" and I rest a bit more. We call a friend who will come over and wait with the kiddos until my mom arrives, probably around 2 pm.

Things slow down. I don't take any more procardia. Still, the contractions become erratic. Steady for over an hour, then nothing for 45 minutes. This is SO frustrating.

We're still at home (and undecided) when mom arrives at 2.

We leave at 3 for a walk around the bookstore (which kicks the contractions up big time!) and a frozen custard (which keeps them holding steady) and at 5 hit the hospital. Again.

My nurse has a bedside manner of negative 3. She also (not to be too graphic here) has a finger that feels like it's about 1 inch long, and sharpened. I've never had such horrible "checks" in my existence.

Nurse: "Who said you were at a 7?"
Me: Dr. J, two days ago.
Nurse: Nah, you're at a 6.

I really don't feel like arguing with her, but I want to holler "Are you freaking kidding me!? And who are you exactly, Ms. pointy nubby fingers?!" But I go with it and she hooks me up.

The contractions go nuts. Not huge, but right on top of each other.

I explain to Ms. Pointy-Nubby that Dr. J said to come in, and that Dr. B (my Perinatologist) tried to get me in on Thursday to have the baby. She was having none of it.

Nurse: "we'll see how you do"

2 hours I have layered contractions. I read a People magazine (I don't care about the Kardashians, but am surprised to find that they're Armenian. Interesting!). My husband is kind. My mom is here. I'm pretty sure things are speeding up.

Nurse: "The Dr. on call says to send you home."

I completely lose it.

My husband, kind soul that he is, comes to my rescue and becomes my advocate.

Husband: "Ok, when are we supposed to come back?"
Nurse: "when the contractions are 10 minutes apart"
H: They've been 10 minutes apart for days.

Discussion ensues about my dilation, the distance we are from home, the fact that both other Dr's wanted me to come in, who makes that final decision to have me stay, etc.

In the end, the nurse can't tell us what to do. She says "wait until it gets really bad". We explain "it's gotten REALLY BAD a number of times, and we've put it off until we felt like we really needed to show up." So she says "I don't know what else to tell you."

It's not that I want the baby out NOW. She keeps acting like I'm there because I'm tired of being pregnant. That's not it at all. She explains that if I have the baby at 36 weeks instead of 37, then the NICU has to be in the room to whisk the baby off. I keep telling her "I WANT to go to term. I want what's best for my daughter, but we keep getting mixed messages and no one will give us a straight answer. " I even get fiscal. "There is no reason that I want to have this baby now just so that I can pay someone else a whole lot of money to keep her in a room that I'm not in. I don't' want to stay here for days and pay for a bed when I can stay in bed at home. I am NOT here to force the issue, I just want to know when to come back."

Yeah, she has no idea.

We go home, and are still home.

At least I got some custard out of the deal.