This will be a quick post to update the masses. I am no longer pregnant! Hooray!
Baby Boy was delivered on Thursday 5/15, as scheduled. He did, of course, have his umbilical cord around his neck, twice!
He is healthy and happy (well, he hasn't complained about the noise level in our house yet anyway) and is settling in just fine. I am recovering from major surgery, and the realization that I have two babies in the house. Holy Crap.
I have much to blog about, and will try my best as soon as I can.
In the meantime your well wishes and cash donations are greatly appreciated!
Showing posts with label Preggo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Preggo. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
The final countdown
Okay, so it's not the greatest picture, but do you see the freaking size of me? I am tremendous! Have you looked at the little happy prego lady on the right hand margin - how many days does it say? Thirteen as I write this. Holy crap. I am freaking pregnant. Look at my ankles! 13 days! Less than that really. Any minute now and I could be leaving to go to the hospital to have another baby. Umm...yeah. I think the denial may be clearing up.
I am miserable these days. I can't move well at all. I try my best not to bend down for any reason whatsoever. The cherubs are pretty helpful, thank goodness, because I also tend to drop a lot of things, and the two don't really go well together. When Paddy boy hugs my legs, as 17 month olds are likely to do, I can't see him! I was in an ice cream shop last night for Curly's Birthday, and I couldn't fit into the booth. I am winded just climbing the stairs. I grunt when I get into my car, and I actually have to get on my knees to be able to turn over in bed. My ankles and feet are 3 times their normal size. To quote (ok, paraphrase) my friend "Petit Fleur", " slap a door on me and call me a house!"
The heartburn is nearly constant, and I won't even discuss my other digestive issues. I am so tired, and extremely irritable, and I am tired of this pregnancy!
But wait...it can't really be almost over, can it? I am a little sad. I mean granted, I am miserable and miserable to be around, but really over? Argh. This whole pregnancy thing has been so out of my control, and I don't deal well when I am not in control. What if this is the last time? Have I been too busy moaning and groaning to enjoy it? I may never feel the little kicks and hiccups again. I may never have another excuse for people to be nice to me and let me cut in front of them on a long, long line for the ladies room at Yankee stadium while waiting for the Pope! I may never hear another little heartbeat and know that it is coming from inside me, at 150 beats per minute!
Oh! Parting with this pregnancy will be such sweet sorrow.
Now then, let's get this show on the road, I'd like my body back.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
God Doesn't Use A Calendar
These days there is just so much technology surrounding us that it almost becomes easy to allow ourselves to think we are in control. This is dangerous, because it begins to take God out of the equation all together.
When it comes to pregnancy and childbirth, the technology is astounding. We know the sex of our children months before they arrive, we display pictures of our unborn, sometimes in 3-D, in cute little frames that we purchase at the baby mega-store. We carefully arrange the conception of these babies so that they arrive at a convenient time, and sometimes, take conception outside the bedroom all together and leave it to a test tube. With the soaring rates of birth via cesarean section, we often know the exact date and time that our children will arrive. All of this is at times wonderful, and scary too. Don't get me wrong, I have several sonogram pictures hanging on my refrigerator at this moment, tried my best to make sure that Paddy boy wouldn't be a Christmas baby, am madly in love with at least three toddlers who started life in a test tube, eagerly await the late fall arrival of one baby who was artificially inseminated into his/her lesbian mother, and am no stranger to the (dare I say?) convenience of cesearean section. Technology is not bad, it is often a catalyst for miracles. What is bad, is when we allow ourselves to forget the true source behind all of it. God. Without God, none of this would be possible, and we must never forget that. (incidentally, anyone who wants to burn me for implying that God is behind my lesbian friend conceiving a child can save their matches - I am prepared to argue this one to the death.)
I live my life in fear and awe of my One True God. Also, I am a very private person when it comes to some matters, especially medical. That said, I don't mind telling you that this next child, like the past three, will be delivered via cesarean section. I do not know whether it is a boy or a girl, and I can almost definitely assure you that he/she will be several hours old before an official moniker is in place. I do know the scheduled date and time that this child is supposed to arrive, but I am not giving out that information, to anyone except the babysitter. The reason, is that said schedule is completely of man, and not necessarily of God, and it is God who is in control here, not me, or the Dr or scheduling clerks. I am about to have major surgery where two lives will be at risk, and I am not about to mess with God.
First Son was delivered via emergency c-section two days before his due date. We had had a sonogram that day which showed the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck times two. The OB wanted to induce labor, but my maternal instincts told me otherwise, and we opted for surgery. Thank God we did too, because the cord was actually around his neck four times, and the mood in the O.R. when he came out was one of astonishment and gratitude. Several nurses came up to where my head was and said "Thank God, you made the right decision" and I also heard the assisting doctor say "Could you imagine what would have happened if she went into labor?" So, I credit my beautiful, sweet, smart and funny First Son being just that, beautiful, sweet, smart, funny, and alive, to God, of course, and to my and my husband's ability to listen to the voice of God on that fateful day and make the difficult, unpopular decision to go the surgical route.
With Curly girl I was given a choice to either schedule a c-section or attempt a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean). Not surprisingly, I did a lot of research, a lot of reading, and a lot of praying on the subject. I decided that the medical risks of either choice were about equal. Knowing my own anxiety issues though, I thought that I could probably deal better with the risks of a scheduled c-section. However, I also felt that I was missing out somehow on this amazing experience of natural childbirth, and I felt a little sad about that. In the end the decision was made to schedule the surgery for a date very close to my due date, but, in the event that I went into labor before then, I would once again listen to the voice of God and attempt the VBAC. Well, no labor, no VBAC. Curly girl arrived on her scheduled date, with her umbilical cord wrapped around her own neck two times. The OB pronounced that my body simply produces really long cords.
With Paddy boy VBAC was no longer an option as my uterus had already endured two c-sections and the risk was now too high. The curve ball with that pregnancy however, was that my doctor scheduled himself a two week vacation in South America for weeks 38 and 39 of my pregnancy. Nice, right? So, I could either schedule a c-section with one of his associates, or take my chances and try to wait until my due date, which was the morning after his plane landed, and have him perform the surgery. The contingency plan with all of this was that in the event I went into labor while he was away one of his associates would deliver the baby. So, I could schedule surgery with a stranger, or I could take my chances, not schedule, and , worse case scenario wind up having a stranger deliver anyway. Seemed like six of one, or half a dozen of another to me. I decided to wait, and thankfully Paddy boy complied. He was born on his due date, via c-section, with his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, times three.
This time, I told the OB at my first appointment soon after the stick turned blue, that under no circumstances whatsoever, was he to leave the country during the month of May. He complied, and instead went to Korea back in February. Fine by me. So here we are, 36 weeks. The Doctor is in the country, and the date is set.
When is it? I am not telling you. I am not telling anyone. If this child wasn't going to be delivered via scheduled c-section neither you nor I would know the date of his or her arrival. Even now, the baby could come at anytime, he or she isn't privy to the schedule. My husband & I know, the Dr knows, as does his staff; and the person whom I have asked to watch the cherubs that day knows. I don't see how anybody else needs to know. Me, Hubby, the Dr, and the babysitter.
Now, this annoys some people, but really, do they have any right? Just today someone asked me if I had a date yet, and I said " yes". It seemed that this person wanted to press on and ask when, so I said simply "I am not telling you, I am not telling anyone". Of course, as I said, this is my 3rd scheduled section, and I have never told this person when I was going into the hospital to have the others either, so I am not sure why there was any surprise that I didn't tell this time. I went on to explain that my decision was a personal one for me, I have some anxiety issues, and a c-section is major surgery. I just don't need the extra anxiety. I prefer to deal with these things quietly, privately, and personally. I am not a Holy Roller, and I didn't think it was really necessary for me to defend my decision by getting into a heated religious debate that would not change anyone's opinion.
My conversant went on to say "that's really strange". Now you're calling me strange? So what if umpteen years ago you knew the day that your labor would be induced and you didn't mind telling people? You weren't having major surgery! And...most importantly...you're not me! You don't live inside my mind (be glad), so I don't expect you to necessarily understand, but I do expect you to respect me. I found that remark rather insulting, but since I know that it wasn't meant to be I am letting it go! Yes, it would probably be more convenient for planning purposes if you knew the date, but, that just isn't the way this is going to happen, sorry. I can promise you the first phone call once the child makes his or her debut. That's the best I can do.
I am not telling you the date of my scheduled c-section unless you need to know, and chances are, you don't need to know. If you would like to wish me well, or keep me and my family in your prayers, don't let the calendar dictate that. A calendar is just one more technology that doesn't really include God, even if he is at the center of it all.
When it comes to pregnancy and childbirth, the technology is astounding. We know the sex of our children months before they arrive, we display pictures of our unborn, sometimes in 3-D, in cute little frames that we purchase at the baby mega-store. We carefully arrange the conception of these babies so that they arrive at a convenient time, and sometimes, take conception outside the bedroom all together and leave it to a test tube. With the soaring rates of birth via cesarean section, we often know the exact date and time that our children will arrive. All of this is at times wonderful, and scary too. Don't get me wrong, I have several sonogram pictures hanging on my refrigerator at this moment, tried my best to make sure that Paddy boy wouldn't be a Christmas baby, am madly in love with at least three toddlers who started life in a test tube, eagerly await the late fall arrival of one baby who was artificially inseminated into his/her lesbian mother, and am no stranger to the (dare I say?) convenience of cesearean section. Technology is not bad, it is often a catalyst for miracles. What is bad, is when we allow ourselves to forget the true source behind all of it. God. Without God, none of this would be possible, and we must never forget that. (incidentally, anyone who wants to burn me for implying that God is behind my lesbian friend conceiving a child can save their matches - I am prepared to argue this one to the death.)
I live my life in fear and awe of my One True God. Also, I am a very private person when it comes to some matters, especially medical. That said, I don't mind telling you that this next child, like the past three, will be delivered via cesarean section. I do not know whether it is a boy or a girl, and I can almost definitely assure you that he/she will be several hours old before an official moniker is in place. I do know the scheduled date and time that this child is supposed to arrive, but I am not giving out that information, to anyone except the babysitter. The reason, is that said schedule is completely of man, and not necessarily of God, and it is God who is in control here, not me, or the Dr or scheduling clerks. I am about to have major surgery where two lives will be at risk, and I am not about to mess with God.
First Son was delivered via emergency c-section two days before his due date. We had had a sonogram that day which showed the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck times two. The OB wanted to induce labor, but my maternal instincts told me otherwise, and we opted for surgery. Thank God we did too, because the cord was actually around his neck four times, and the mood in the O.R. when he came out was one of astonishment and gratitude. Several nurses came up to where my head was and said "Thank God, you made the right decision" and I also heard the assisting doctor say "Could you imagine what would have happened if she went into labor?" So, I credit my beautiful, sweet, smart and funny First Son being just that, beautiful, sweet, smart, funny, and alive, to God, of course, and to my and my husband's ability to listen to the voice of God on that fateful day and make the difficult, unpopular decision to go the surgical route.
With Curly girl I was given a choice to either schedule a c-section or attempt a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean). Not surprisingly, I did a lot of research, a lot of reading, and a lot of praying on the subject. I decided that the medical risks of either choice were about equal. Knowing my own anxiety issues though, I thought that I could probably deal better with the risks of a scheduled c-section. However, I also felt that I was missing out somehow on this amazing experience of natural childbirth, and I felt a little sad about that. In the end the decision was made to schedule the surgery for a date very close to my due date, but, in the event that I went into labor before then, I would once again listen to the voice of God and attempt the VBAC. Well, no labor, no VBAC. Curly girl arrived on her scheduled date, with her umbilical cord wrapped around her own neck two times. The OB pronounced that my body simply produces really long cords.
With Paddy boy VBAC was no longer an option as my uterus had already endured two c-sections and the risk was now too high. The curve ball with that pregnancy however, was that my doctor scheduled himself a two week vacation in South America for weeks 38 and 39 of my pregnancy. Nice, right? So, I could either schedule a c-section with one of his associates, or take my chances and try to wait until my due date, which was the morning after his plane landed, and have him perform the surgery. The contingency plan with all of this was that in the event I went into labor while he was away one of his associates would deliver the baby. So, I could schedule surgery with a stranger, or I could take my chances, not schedule, and , worse case scenario wind up having a stranger deliver anyway. Seemed like six of one, or half a dozen of another to me. I decided to wait, and thankfully Paddy boy complied. He was born on his due date, via c-section, with his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, times three.
This time, I told the OB at my first appointment soon after the stick turned blue, that under no circumstances whatsoever, was he to leave the country during the month of May. He complied, and instead went to Korea back in February. Fine by me. So here we are, 36 weeks. The Doctor is in the country, and the date is set.
When is it? I am not telling you. I am not telling anyone. If this child wasn't going to be delivered via scheduled c-section neither you nor I would know the date of his or her arrival. Even now, the baby could come at anytime, he or she isn't privy to the schedule. My husband & I know, the Dr knows, as does his staff; and the person whom I have asked to watch the cherubs that day knows. I don't see how anybody else needs to know. Me, Hubby, the Dr, and the babysitter.
Now, this annoys some people, but really, do they have any right? Just today someone asked me if I had a date yet, and I said " yes". It seemed that this person wanted to press on and ask when, so I said simply "I am not telling you, I am not telling anyone". Of course, as I said, this is my 3rd scheduled section, and I have never told this person when I was going into the hospital to have the others either, so I am not sure why there was any surprise that I didn't tell this time. I went on to explain that my decision was a personal one for me, I have some anxiety issues, and a c-section is major surgery. I just don't need the extra anxiety. I prefer to deal with these things quietly, privately, and personally. I am not a Holy Roller, and I didn't think it was really necessary for me to defend my decision by getting into a heated religious debate that would not change anyone's opinion.
My conversant went on to say "that's really strange". Now you're calling me strange? So what if umpteen years ago you knew the day that your labor would be induced and you didn't mind telling people? You weren't having major surgery! And...most importantly...you're not me! You don't live inside my mind (be glad), so I don't expect you to necessarily understand, but I do expect you to respect me. I found that remark rather insulting, but since I know that it wasn't meant to be I am letting it go! Yes, it would probably be more convenient for planning purposes if you knew the date, but, that just isn't the way this is going to happen, sorry. I can promise you the first phone call once the child makes his or her debut. That's the best I can do.
I am not telling you the date of my scheduled c-section unless you need to know, and chances are, you don't need to know. If you would like to wish me well, or keep me and my family in your prayers, don't let the calendar dictate that. A calendar is just one more technology that doesn't really include God, even if he is at the center of it all.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Perchance to dream...
Lately I am just so darned tired. It is sometimes hard for me to fall asleep at night because my joints hurt, and I have to wake up early each day to get First Son off to school and tend to Paddy boy (Curly would sleep till noon most days if I let her, and even if she does wake up she's a pro with the remote control!). So, I look forward to Saturday morning as if it were a giant ribbon wrapped box under the Christmas tree. Hubby is home, and I don't have to wake up!! I am entirely too optimistic about this premise though, because both my dear Hubby and my dear First Son were born without the ability to be quiet unless they are themselves asleep, and lately sleeping late for either of them means 6:30AM.
This past Saturday I was so frustrated with the level of noise that I actually rose out of bed at approx. 7:45 to tell the entire brood how ridiculously rude and unfair they were all being. It was not pretty. Hubby tried in vain to defend himself with some lame excuse that went "I keep telling them...." but, I shot him a look of death and then wondered aloud about exactly who thought it was a good idea to turn the washing machine on at 6AM, and then run it unbalanced so that it sounds as if a Mack Truck is barrelling through the house? Hmmmm?
I went back to bed and thought with pleasure about the days coming soon when I will be sedated in a hospital bed, having just undergone major surgery, when I will actually get a chance to sleep! I mean, is that sick or what? I am looking forward to the hospital as a place of peace and quiet?? Does anyone else think something is wrong with that idea?
Well, today came a state of bliss that I thought I would never see. Since I spent 14 hours away from home yesterday travelling to and from the Papal mass at Yankee Stadium, my dear Hubby and MIL worked it out for me to be able to sleep as long as I needed in total peace and quiet! I LOVE THEM! Hubby went into work a little bit late today, and brought the cherubs to MIL at about 7:30 this morning! Except for a random door bell ring at about 7:45 (someone looking for my tenant), which wasn't even that bad as I needed to get up to use the facilities and have a drink of water anyway, I slept uninterrupted until...11AM! Wow. It felt so good. I then brewed myself a nice cup of tea and baked up some fresh cinnamon rolls while watching The View! I can't remember the last time I have been so indulgent! (for that matter, I can't imagine the next time it might even be a possibility to be so indulgent) It really made such a huge difference in my life. Just to be able to rest my tired bones and body was so refreshing to my soul!
Saturday morning I woke up snarling and snorting, Sunday I spent a day with the Pope, and next thing you know today I am sleeping like a...really tired, 9 months pregnant mother of three ( ...well, we know how babies sleep, and I certainly slept better than that!). My 14 hour pilgrimage to the Bronx yields miracles in under 24 hours! Amazing.
Seriously, thank you SO MUCH to MIL - you were a Godsend today, and everyday!
Thursday, March 20, 2008
It could be a ...
If the last few days are any indication, then I must go on the record here as saying that maybe...it's a girl. And not just because I would love for Curly Girl to have a sister, although I would. I have a very scientific reason for my diagnosis (is the sex of a fetus considered a diagnosis?)...This baby is making me cranky!!
Seriously, I pity anybody who has to be around me, most especially the cherubs and Hubby. Everything irritates me lately. I irritate me. My clothes irritate me. Last night watching American Idol even the commercials were irritating me. Also, I just ate three mini chocolate bars and am considering whipping up a batch of Ghiradielli brownies -if only I can keep them a secret from the rest of the inhabitants of my domicile and eat them all myself!
I am not motivated to do anything at all that requires interaction with other people. I just want to hole up with my chocolate and surf the web for celebrity dirt.
I felt like this once before....Spring 2004. We all know what happened then. Another female Taurus? Oh boy!
Seriously, I pity anybody who has to be around me, most especially the cherubs and Hubby. Everything irritates me lately. I irritate me. My clothes irritate me. Last night watching American Idol even the commercials were irritating me. Also, I just ate three mini chocolate bars and am considering whipping up a batch of Ghiradielli brownies -if only I can keep them a secret from the rest of the inhabitants of my domicile and eat them all myself!
I am not motivated to do anything at all that requires interaction with other people. I just want to hole up with my chocolate and surf the web for celebrity dirt.
I felt like this once before....Spring 2004. We all know what happened then. Another female Taurus? Oh boy!
Friday, March 7, 2008
Seriously, What Does That Make Four??
When I started this little "column" just under a year ago, I chose the name that I felt was the most accurate commentary on my life at the time. "Three is the New Five" was born because I spent most of my days with three small children aged 4 and younger, and the reactions that I would get from people were almost always amusing. Years ago it was much more common for people to have three children, or more. These days however, you tip the scales above 2 and people look at you in a whole new way. It used to be that five children was a healthy sized "big" family, but I was finding that as I went about my business with my three in tow people would look at me with astonishment. One time I was in a store checkout and the woman in line behind me asked if I needed help getting to the car. I told her "thank you very much, but I can manage." She went on to say "but,...you have three children." Really? I hadn't noticed. Even my dear MIL will say (when I am stubbornly resisting her offer to help) "but Tricia, you don't understand, you have three children...". Oh, I understand, believe me! First son's barber continues to refer to Paddy boy as "Paddy Quits" - as in, that's it we're calling it quits now. How presumptuous!
Well anyway, now that the bulging belly makes it obvious that number four is due to arrive you can just imagine the reactions I get. Everything from a wide eyed "God Bless You!" (Thank you, I can use all the blessings you have to offer) to "Somebody needs to get snipped" (So disgusting, I don't even have a reaction for that one) to "Good Catholics" (I don't know what you mean... I eat meat on Fridays during Lent) to a simple "Wow". The other night a friend of my FIL patted my belly (a pet peeve) and then sternly announced while swiping his hand through the air, "no more!" Honestly, I could be insulted, but it's usually not worth the energy. I choose instead to be amused. Sometimes I myself don't quite know how to react to the fact that number four is on the way, so I won't hold a grudge against these people, no matter how tiring their comments may be.
Last night I was at a women's function at my church and got the best reaction yet. After a while we broke into small groups to discuss the night's topic. I was there with some friends, my sister and my MIL, but we invited one other lady into our group whom none of us knew. She was a very nice lady who kept referring to the rest of us, including MIL, as "you young ones". This nice lady looked at my belly and said sweetly "so, you're expecting a little one." I smiled and said "yes, my fourth". Of course her eyes went wide ( I think that part of people's wide eyed reaction is because I am younger). She smiled politely and asked how old my other children are. I of course answered, "Five, 3 1/2 and 15 months." She responded with... absolute, hysterical, tear inducing laughter. I mean her face was red, and she was literally wiping away tears. She kept apologizing every time she could catch her breath...but she couldn't help laughing. I thought...FINALLY... someone who gets it!
I admit, it is not easy having so many, some days it is a real challenge, but, I love each and every one of my children, and when I look at them I cannot fathom life without one of them. Each one brings something so special to our family, and was always meant to be here. I myself am one of five children, and we all maintain a close relationship as adults. My parents are long gone from this earth, and my brothers and sisters are all that I have to connect me to them. I truly believe that the best gift that I can give my children is siblings. (also, I figure that if they have to deal with me being their mother, they shouldn't have to go through it alone!)
So, if "Three is the New Five", what does that make Four? Should I change the name of my blog come May? If so, what shall I change it to? If you have any suggestions please leave a comment. Next month I will post a poll and you can all vote!
Well anyway, now that the bulging belly makes it obvious that number four is due to arrive you can just imagine the reactions I get. Everything from a wide eyed "God Bless You!" (Thank you, I can use all the blessings you have to offer) to "Somebody needs to get snipped" (So disgusting, I don't even have a reaction for that one) to "Good Catholics" (I don't know what you mean... I eat meat on Fridays during Lent) to a simple "Wow". The other night a friend of my FIL patted my belly (a pet peeve) and then sternly announced while swiping his hand through the air, "no more!" Honestly, I could be insulted, but it's usually not worth the energy. I choose instead to be amused. Sometimes I myself don't quite know how to react to the fact that number four is on the way, so I won't hold a grudge against these people, no matter how tiring their comments may be.
Last night I was at a women's function at my church and got the best reaction yet. After a while we broke into small groups to discuss the night's topic. I was there with some friends, my sister and my MIL, but we invited one other lady into our group whom none of us knew. She was a very nice lady who kept referring to the rest of us, including MIL, as "you young ones". This nice lady looked at my belly and said sweetly "so, you're expecting a little one." I smiled and said "yes, my fourth". Of course her eyes went wide ( I think that part of people's wide eyed reaction is because I am younger). She smiled politely and asked how old my other children are. I of course answered, "Five, 3 1/2 and 15 months." She responded with... absolute, hysterical, tear inducing laughter. I mean her face was red, and she was literally wiping away tears. She kept apologizing every time she could catch her breath...but she couldn't help laughing. I thought...FINALLY... someone who gets it!
I admit, it is not easy having so many, some days it is a real challenge, but, I love each and every one of my children, and when I look at them I cannot fathom life without one of them. Each one brings something so special to our family, and was always meant to be here. I myself am one of five children, and we all maintain a close relationship as adults. My parents are long gone from this earth, and my brothers and sisters are all that I have to connect me to them. I truly believe that the best gift that I can give my children is siblings. (also, I figure that if they have to deal with me being their mother, they shouldn't have to go through it alone!)
So, if "Three is the New Five", what does that make Four? Should I change the name of my blog come May? If so, what shall I change it to? If you have any suggestions please leave a comment. Next month I will post a poll and you can all vote!
Monday, February 18, 2008
Baby Brain
I think I have figured it out. My blogging problem, that is. I mean, I just haven't been able to post lately, and it's been bothering me. I can't seem to get the words to come together. It's frustrating to say the least. I want to post intelligent, eloquent musings, but I just can't seem to do it.
Well, tonight it dawned on me. This has happened to me before, particularly when I was expecting First Son, and probably to some degree with each subsequent pregnancy. I AM DUMB. I have "baby brain". I can barely string three words together to order a movie ticket, and here I expect myself to be able to write my "column"? I am totally sober but am acting quite inebriated most of the time. I have a total loss of words as well as a loss of concentration. This pregnancy symptom is almost as debilitating as the onslaught of exhaustion early in the pregnancy. This is not who I am. I am smart. I am literate. Really, I am. I just can't prove it these days.
On the plus side, Fetus is going to be one smart child. In the meantime, I will do my best to not sound like a rambling idiot. Please stick by me. Things should start to improve around late May, early June. That is, provided Number 4 actually leaves me with any time to blog at all!
Well, tonight it dawned on me. This has happened to me before, particularly when I was expecting First Son, and probably to some degree with each subsequent pregnancy. I AM DUMB. I have "baby brain". I can barely string three words together to order a movie ticket, and here I expect myself to be able to write my "column"? I am totally sober but am acting quite inebriated most of the time. I have a total loss of words as well as a loss of concentration. This pregnancy symptom is almost as debilitating as the onslaught of exhaustion early in the pregnancy. This is not who I am. I am smart. I am literate. Really, I am. I just can't prove it these days.
On the plus side, Fetus is going to be one smart child. In the meantime, I will do my best to not sound like a rambling idiot. Please stick by me. Things should start to improve around late May, early June. That is, provided Number 4 actually leaves me with any time to blog at all!
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Anxiety returns...
Tonight I spoke to my sister on the phone, a call whose purpose was to go over the practical details of her babysitting duties for tomorrow, when she mentioned that they prayed for me in church today. For some reason when she said "they" I automatically understood that she meant the congregation, not just her and my BIL. "Huh?" I asked. I was very confused, we don't attend the same parish, I am not part of any Diocesan group at the moment, I couldn't figure out what she meant. Why would a parish 20 miles away from my own be praying for me? Who am I? She went on to explain that during the Prayer of the Faithful, in her quaint little country church, they allow members to voice their own prayers of petition. She said that she was quietly thinking to herself about me (she would never, ever ,dare to speak aloud) when another woman asked to pray for "all pregnant mothers". She thought it more than just a coincidence. I don't know what to think of it, except to try to take some comfort from it, and to add my own prayer along with it, an addendum, if you will. I would like to offer a prayer for all pregnant mothers who are at this moment, scared out of their minds, for peace in their hearts. Lord knows I need it, and I am pretty sure I am not alone.
Okay, so remember how I said so bravely and somewhat arrogantly that I am just not going to worry about this Down Syndrome thing? Well, I kind of lied. Actually, I didn't exactly lie, I really meant it when I said it. I guess "failed" is a more accurate term because, despite my efforts, here I am, sitting in my bed worrying. Tomorrow (Monday) I have an appointment for my level II sonogram which will shed a whole lot more light on the situation. I guess what I am afraid of is, what if I am just so arrogant, that I gave this particular blood test no credence whatsoever, because I am just so sure that God will give me yet another healthy baby - that I find out ...I am wrong, and there is something wrong with my child? What then?
When I play out the scenario in my head, I have the exam and they all pronounce that everything about my baby appears perfectly healthy. Visualization as an anxiety reduction technique. (of course, there's another scenario that is running on limited release, where they tell me that there are two babies in my belly, which is what has thrown off the bloodwork - of course that scenario ends with me in a straight jacket and therefore doesn't fall under the heading of "anxiety reduction") While it is working somewhat, I still can't shake the idea that something is wrong. Otherwise, why would that stupid test have come back with a positive result??
I can be so rational sometimes. I do research, and draw my own conclusions about everything. I really don't take anyone's word, without some sort of verification of my own. I am not wishy washy, I make decisions and stick to them, but I am also not afraid to admit when I am wrong. I made my decision about this, so why then, with no further data, am I being so wishy washy? It's fine! It's Not! It's fine! It's not! Argh. I am torturing myself.
Tomorrow, I will meet up with Hubby and we will spend the afternoon, or at least part of it, looking at black and white images of our newest little cherub as he/she dances away on a flat screen monitor. Hubby will hold my hand, and let me squeeze his as tight as I need to. I am sure there will be some tears, I just am not sure what for. I love this little baby, and I will, no matter what. I hope to return home with some peace tomorrow. So, if you're the praying type, say one for me, and my baby, please.
Okay, so remember how I said so bravely and somewhat arrogantly that I am just not going to worry about this Down Syndrome thing? Well, I kind of lied. Actually, I didn't exactly lie, I really meant it when I said it. I guess "failed" is a more accurate term because, despite my efforts, here I am, sitting in my bed worrying. Tomorrow (Monday) I have an appointment for my level II sonogram which will shed a whole lot more light on the situation. I guess what I am afraid of is, what if I am just so arrogant, that I gave this particular blood test no credence whatsoever, because I am just so sure that God will give me yet another healthy baby - that I find out ...I am wrong, and there is something wrong with my child? What then?
When I play out the scenario in my head, I have the exam and they all pronounce that everything about my baby appears perfectly healthy. Visualization as an anxiety reduction technique. (of course, there's another scenario that is running on limited release, where they tell me that there are two babies in my belly, which is what has thrown off the bloodwork - of course that scenario ends with me in a straight jacket and therefore doesn't fall under the heading of "anxiety reduction") While it is working somewhat, I still can't shake the idea that something is wrong. Otherwise, why would that stupid test have come back with a positive result??
I can be so rational sometimes. I do research, and draw my own conclusions about everything. I really don't take anyone's word, without some sort of verification of my own. I am not wishy washy, I make decisions and stick to them, but I am also not afraid to admit when I am wrong. I made my decision about this, so why then, with no further data, am I being so wishy washy? It's fine! It's Not! It's fine! It's not! Argh. I am torturing myself.
Tomorrow, I will meet up with Hubby and we will spend the afternoon, or at least part of it, looking at black and white images of our newest little cherub as he/she dances away on a flat screen monitor. Hubby will hold my hand, and let me squeeze his as tight as I need to. I am sure there will be some tears, I just am not sure what for. I love this little baby, and I will, no matter what. I hope to return home with some peace tomorrow. So, if you're the praying type, say one for me, and my baby, please.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Ancient "Korean" Secret
I love my OB. I really do. He is the 4th OB I've had over the course of my motherhood, and this pregnancy marks the first time that two of my babies will be delivered by the same doctor, so that says a lot about how much I like him. He is an older gentleman, a native of Korea. He has a thick accent, but a dry wit, and we always manage a playful banter. A lot of his patients do not speak English, and he does not speak Spanish, so he employs almost all bi-lingual Spanish speakers to help him translate. I think he really appreciates that he can have intelligent conversations one on one with me, so we get along really well.
Lately I have been having a lot of trouble with my sinuses and a bad cough. My last two pregnancies I was plagued by a terrible cough that went on for months. My family doctor at the time determined that I have a pregnancy- induced asthma, and put me on steroids to help me breathe. (Steroids in-utero, maybe that explains why both Curly and Paddy are out of their minds?) This time around I thought I would be proactive, and take myself to the Dr. before my lungs got so bad that I need steroids again. So I went on Friday. It has been a nightmare. Thanks to lovely insurance changes I now have a new family practitioner, and he seems to think the problem is my sinuses, and that we need to treat "the nose" to cure "the cough". The problem is that most sinus medications are not safe to use in pregnancy. There is one formula which is considered safe, however, my lovely insurance of course, does not cover it. So, I spent much of my day yesterday on the phone with the pharmacy and trying to get past the sphincter police manning the front desk at the Dr's office, in order to get a pre-approval from the lovely insurance people. (by the way, "lovely" is just another term for "evil, greedy bastards")
At some point yesterday, I decided to call my OB and get his expertise. No sphincter police in his office, within 5 minutes of dialing I was on the phone speaking with my real, live doctor - amazing! So anyway I was explaining the problem, when he asked if I had tried
"Lovishun, cough syrup".
"What?'
"Lovishun"
"Huh?"
"Lovishun, cough syrup."
So I said no, I hadn't tried cough syrup. I explained what the fam. Doc said about "treating the nose"...etc. So my OB asked what is the biggest problem, my nose or my cough? I told him that it was definitely the cough, I feel as though my ribs are about to break.
He said "ok, I want you to try Lovishun"
I said "ok, what is that?"
"Lovishun, lovishun"
I said "I don't know what that is, is it a prescription?"
"No, you buy it over the counter, Lovishun"
I said, "I am sorry, I've never heard of it, I'll have to write it down, Lovishun?"
"Yes, Lovishun"
"with an 'L'?"
"No, an "R, Lovishun"
"...you mean...Robitussin?"
"Yes, that's what I said, Lovishun"
So... maybe we don't communicate so well.
Anyway, my cough has slightly improved thanks to the "cough syrup". I am still waiting for the lovely insurance people to be big about this and agree to pay for the one medication that has NOT been shown to cause harm to a fetus....but that paperwork will probably take about 9 months! In the meantime I will be throwing back 2tsp of "Lovishun" every four hours!
Lately I have been having a lot of trouble with my sinuses and a bad cough. My last two pregnancies I was plagued by a terrible cough that went on for months. My family doctor at the time determined that I have a pregnancy- induced asthma, and put me on steroids to help me breathe. (Steroids in-utero, maybe that explains why both Curly and Paddy are out of their minds?) This time around I thought I would be proactive, and take myself to the Dr. before my lungs got so bad that I need steroids again. So I went on Friday. It has been a nightmare. Thanks to lovely insurance changes I now have a new family practitioner, and he seems to think the problem is my sinuses, and that we need to treat "the nose" to cure "the cough". The problem is that most sinus medications are not safe to use in pregnancy. There is one formula which is considered safe, however, my lovely insurance of course, does not cover it. So, I spent much of my day yesterday on the phone with the pharmacy and trying to get past the sphincter police manning the front desk at the Dr's office, in order to get a pre-approval from the lovely insurance people. (by the way, "lovely" is just another term for "evil, greedy bastards")
At some point yesterday, I decided to call my OB and get his expertise. No sphincter police in his office, within 5 minutes of dialing I was on the phone speaking with my real, live doctor - amazing! So anyway I was explaining the problem, when he asked if I had tried
"Lovishun, cough syrup".
"What?'
"Lovishun"
"Huh?"
"Lovishun, cough syrup."
So I said no, I hadn't tried cough syrup. I explained what the fam. Doc said about "treating the nose"...etc. So my OB asked what is the biggest problem, my nose or my cough? I told him that it was definitely the cough, I feel as though my ribs are about to break.
He said "ok, I want you to try Lovishun"
I said "ok, what is that?"
"Lovishun, lovishun"
I said "I don't know what that is, is it a prescription?"
"No, you buy it over the counter, Lovishun"
I said, "I am sorry, I've never heard of it, I'll have to write it down, Lovishun?"
"Yes, Lovishun"
"with an 'L'?"
"No, an "R, Lovishun"
"...you mean...Robitussin?"
"Yes, that's what I said, Lovishun"
So... maybe we don't communicate so well.
Anyway, my cough has slightly improved thanks to the "cough syrup". I am still waiting for the lovely insurance people to be big about this and agree to pay for the one medication that has NOT been shown to cause harm to a fetus....but that paperwork will probably take about 9 months! In the meantime I will be throwing back 2tsp of "Lovishun" every four hours!
Friday, December 7, 2007
Unnecessary Anxiety
I am getting soft in my old age. And because in this particular post it is relevant, I must state: I AM NOT OLD. I have a strong personality. Some people would use other, "stronger" words to describe me, but we won't go there right now. That would be a tangent.
So, this is my fifth pregnancy. I am quite familiar with all of the usual testing and what not. I know what to expect for the most part, and I am rather educated on the pros and cons of each test, as I did a lot of reading during my first pregnancy and have continued to do so with each subsequent pregnancy. There are two screening tests that are done fairly early on in the pregnancy. During my first pregnancy I was only offered one, the AFP or Triple Screen. It is a blood test that is used to determine risk of having a child with abnormalities, namely Down Syndrome. As I said, I have done my research. This test is not conclusive, it only assesses risk, and further more, it has a high rate of false positive results. In other words, very often they tell you that you may be at high risk, but upon further testing and eventual birth you find that you have a blessedly, perfectly healthy child. Since this test only measures risk, a "positive" result is an indication for further testing, such as an amniocentesis, a test which is in itself risky. So, during both my first and second pregnancies, I refused this test. Hubby and I decided that the potential anxiety this test might cause, just wasn't worth it.
My third pregnancy didn't last long enough for this, or any other test to be done, as I sadly miscarried at 12 weeks. My fourth pregnancy came very quickly after the devastating miscarriage. As you might imagine, I was a nervous wreck! During this pregnancy they offered me another test called an "Ultrascreen". It is a combination of a blood test and a sonogram. I jumped at the opportunity to have this test done, not because I had any anxiety whatsoever about having a child with Down's Syndrome or any other type of disease or birth defect, but because it was an opportunity to have an extra sonogram, a chance to see my baby alive inside of me! It helped to ease my mind a little, to know that he was ok, to see him with my own two eyes. So, I said yes, sign me up!
During this pregnancy, #5, I once again had the Ulrascreen test. It was a joy to see this new person, although getting my finger pinched to draw blood was not that much fun. The Drs assured me that the sono looked great, everything normal. Fabulous news, and I got a lovely picture of the newest family member to post on my bulletin board!
At my most recent OB appointment, I was 15 weeks, and the Dr. mentioned that I would need some blood work. "Why?" I asked. I have bad veins, drawing blood is a really unpleasant experience for me and whatever nurse or phlebotomist has the pleasure of poking me. The Dr. said, oh just routine stuff, AFP, and some other regular things. Now as I stated at the beginning of this post, I must be getting soft. I adore my Dr, and although I do normally ask a lot of questions and demand explanations, I trust him. On this particular Friday morning I just rolled up my sleeves and said "okay." Why? Why? Why?
The Dr. called me this Friday morning to let me know that he got the results from my AFP test. (Can't be good if you're calling, right?) Apparently, normal risk for someone my age (again, I am Not OLD!) having a child with Down's Syndrome is 1 in 500. According to this blood test my risk is double, at 1 in 250. He went on to say that he is about 98% sure my baby will be fine. He suggests we wait for the 20 week sonogram and see what that shows. Then, if we are very nervous, we can do an amniocenteses, which is the only conclusive test for Down's. Holy Crap! All this crap is now on my shoulders just because I decided to be soft one Friday morning! Ugh. I could kick myself for not refusing that test!
Here's the thing, I know that it is a crappy test. I believe that for me, the risks of amnio are just too high. If God decides to give me a child with Down's Syndrome, or anything else, I will accept it. No matter what, I will always choose life. Even if the Dr told me, and showed me evidence that a child I was carrying would have no chance of survival outside the womb, would die in my arms minutes after birth, I would have that child. I believe in God. I believe that He has a plan for me, and I trust in Him above anyone else. Now, I do know that there is a school of thought which says that even if you would never terminate a pregnancy, it is still better to know what a child's difficulties may be before birth, so that the family and medical providers can be better prepared. I understand that. I am choosing not to worry about this though. Odds of 1 in 250? Those aren't the greatest odds. I have a much higher chance of developing Breast Cancer in my life. I will worry about that instead, or better yet, I will put my life, and my baby's in God's hands and not worry at all. However, if there is a next time, I will remember not to be soft, and to refuse the AFP test!
So, this is my fifth pregnancy. I am quite familiar with all of the usual testing and what not. I know what to expect for the most part, and I am rather educated on the pros and cons of each test, as I did a lot of reading during my first pregnancy and have continued to do so with each subsequent pregnancy. There are two screening tests that are done fairly early on in the pregnancy. During my first pregnancy I was only offered one, the AFP or Triple Screen. It is a blood test that is used to determine risk of having a child with abnormalities, namely Down Syndrome. As I said, I have done my research. This test is not conclusive, it only assesses risk, and further more, it has a high rate of false positive results. In other words, very often they tell you that you may be at high risk, but upon further testing and eventual birth you find that you have a blessedly, perfectly healthy child. Since this test only measures risk, a "positive" result is an indication for further testing, such as an amniocentesis, a test which is in itself risky. So, during both my first and second pregnancies, I refused this test. Hubby and I decided that the potential anxiety this test might cause, just wasn't worth it.
My third pregnancy didn't last long enough for this, or any other test to be done, as I sadly miscarried at 12 weeks. My fourth pregnancy came very quickly after the devastating miscarriage. As you might imagine, I was a nervous wreck! During this pregnancy they offered me another test called an "Ultrascreen". It is a combination of a blood test and a sonogram. I jumped at the opportunity to have this test done, not because I had any anxiety whatsoever about having a child with Down's Syndrome or any other type of disease or birth defect, but because it was an opportunity to have an extra sonogram, a chance to see my baby alive inside of me! It helped to ease my mind a little, to know that he was ok, to see him with my own two eyes. So, I said yes, sign me up!
During this pregnancy, #5, I once again had the Ulrascreen test. It was a joy to see this new person, although getting my finger pinched to draw blood was not that much fun. The Drs assured me that the sono looked great, everything normal. Fabulous news, and I got a lovely picture of the newest family member to post on my bulletin board!
At my most recent OB appointment, I was 15 weeks, and the Dr. mentioned that I would need some blood work. "Why?" I asked. I have bad veins, drawing blood is a really unpleasant experience for me and whatever nurse or phlebotomist has the pleasure of poking me. The Dr. said, oh just routine stuff, AFP, and some other regular things. Now as I stated at the beginning of this post, I must be getting soft. I adore my Dr, and although I do normally ask a lot of questions and demand explanations, I trust him. On this particular Friday morning I just rolled up my sleeves and said "okay." Why? Why? Why?
The Dr. called me this Friday morning to let me know that he got the results from my AFP test. (Can't be good if you're calling, right?) Apparently, normal risk for someone my age (again, I am Not OLD!) having a child with Down's Syndrome is 1 in 500. According to this blood test my risk is double, at 1 in 250. He went on to say that he is about 98% sure my baby will be fine. He suggests we wait for the 20 week sonogram and see what that shows. Then, if we are very nervous, we can do an amniocenteses, which is the only conclusive test for Down's. Holy Crap! All this crap is now on my shoulders just because I decided to be soft one Friday morning! Ugh. I could kick myself for not refusing that test!
Here's the thing, I know that it is a crappy test. I believe that for me, the risks of amnio are just too high. If God decides to give me a child with Down's Syndrome, or anything else, I will accept it. No matter what, I will always choose life. Even if the Dr told me, and showed me evidence that a child I was carrying would have no chance of survival outside the womb, would die in my arms minutes after birth, I would have that child. I believe in God. I believe that He has a plan for me, and I trust in Him above anyone else. Now, I do know that there is a school of thought which says that even if you would never terminate a pregnancy, it is still better to know what a child's difficulties may be before birth, so that the family and medical providers can be better prepared. I understand that. I am choosing not to worry about this though. Odds of 1 in 250? Those aren't the greatest odds. I have a much higher chance of developing Breast Cancer in my life. I will worry about that instead, or better yet, I will put my life, and my baby's in God's hands and not worry at all. However, if there is a next time, I will remember not to be soft, and to refuse the AFP test!
Monday, November 12, 2007
In response to #8....NO!
Have you seen this show on TLC called "Kids by the Dozen"? Each episode they feature a different family with, you guessed it - a dozen or more kids. I watch it every so often when there's nothing better to do, and, I admit, with the hope that I might learn something useful . In truth the show is really quite contrived, they focus on just one or two of the children, and rather than touching on the day to day lives of each tribe, they instead show the family involved in some monumental task or event, and the events leading up to it. For instance building a barn AND opening a store AND making (not buying) all of the inventory for said store, all within one week. Yeah, OK, that might happen in real life. Nevertheless, I watch.
Well, last week I watched an episode in which the family had 13 children and one on the way. So, what I have determined to be the difference between myself and these people who are oh so fruitful and multiplying, is that they must be missing some important nerve endings. How this woman could keep up with 13 rambunctious children, a husband, a house, be pregnant AND allow TV cameras to follow her around is beyond me, way beyond me. I can barely keep up with three! I mean, she appeared to be happy and alert, she was up and dressed, her house was pretty well put together and she never once even looked like she had considered yelling at any of her bratty little kids. I on the other hand spend most of my days in my bathrobe, wading through the sea of Cheerios and heaven knows what else that has become my kitchen floor, trying to avoid eye contact with the gaggle of people who keep calling me "Mommy". As I said, the show is quite contrived. Either that or I need a therapist.
Well, last week I watched an episode in which the family had 13 children and one on the way. So, what I have determined to be the difference between myself and these people who are oh so fruitful and multiplying, is that they must be missing some important nerve endings. How this woman could keep up with 13 rambunctious children, a husband, a house, be pregnant AND allow TV cameras to follow her around is beyond me, way beyond me. I can barely keep up with three! I mean, she appeared to be happy and alert, she was up and dressed, her house was pretty well put together and she never once even looked like she had considered yelling at any of her bratty little kids. I on the other hand spend most of my days in my bathrobe, wading through the sea of Cheerios and heaven knows what else that has become my kitchen floor, trying to avoid eye contact with the gaggle of people who keep calling me "Mommy". As I said, the show is quite contrived. Either that or I need a therapist.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Thirteen Responses to my Announcement
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in no particular order... 1. "I'm going to get another drink..." 2. "You're some woman for one woman." 3. "Are you out of your cotton pickin' mind?" 4. "Wow" 5. "You psychotic Irish woman!" 6. disbelieving laughter..."that's funny" 7. "what the heck?!" 8. "are you trying to be like those people on TV with 16 kids?" 9. " I knew it!" 10. "knocked up again, huh?" 11. "No!" 12. " You're such a good Mom, if anyone can do it it's you!" 13. " I love you." Links to other Thursday Thirteens!1. (leave your link in comments, I’ll add you here!) |
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Bottom of my tops, top of my bottoms
Let me preface this post by saying, I am not a vain person. Not really. I am in to hygiene (under which heading falls my bi-weekly pedicure), and I do get a haircut every six weeks, but make-up is for special occasions, and I am just fine with the fact that most of my clothes come from Target and Old Navy. That said...
Ugh. It has started, the expanding that is inevitable with my condition. It creeps up on me, but there is no more denying it. It started one day 2 weeks ago when, after a few hours in my regular jeans I realized that I was extremely uncomfortable and needed to change. So, I pulled out one pair of comfy and somewhat "cool" preggo jeans. OK, I could deal because, really what we were talking about is comfort. Comfort is a good thing. And, I could still wear my regular tops, I was just upgrading my comfort level a little bit by introducing an elastic waistband on my jeans. Now, not so much. I got dressed this morning, pulled on my preggo jeans and topped them off with a stylish brown ribbed turtleneck - a nice casual look. Very versatile - will take me from my Dr's appt. today right through my glamorous PTA meeting this evening, right? NO. Almost immediately the bottom of my top (there's an interesting phrase) started creeping up. After the walk from the kitchen to the front stoop on the way to the bus stop, the entire blue cotton panel at the top of my bottoms (I can't help myself) was showing! I had to quickly pull my coat closed, and assume unfriendly body language. When hubby gets home this afternoon I am going to have him pull out the entire bucket o' prego clothes. At least we know right where it is, since we only just put it away last week! Argh.
Ugh. It has started, the expanding that is inevitable with my condition. It creeps up on me, but there is no more denying it. It started one day 2 weeks ago when, after a few hours in my regular jeans I realized that I was extremely uncomfortable and needed to change. So, I pulled out one pair of comfy and somewhat "cool" preggo jeans. OK, I could deal because, really what we were talking about is comfort. Comfort is a good thing. And, I could still wear my regular tops, I was just upgrading my comfort level a little bit by introducing an elastic waistband on my jeans. Now, not so much. I got dressed this morning, pulled on my preggo jeans and topped them off with a stylish brown ribbed turtleneck - a nice casual look. Very versatile - will take me from my Dr's appt. today right through my glamorous PTA meeting this evening, right? NO. Almost immediately the bottom of my top (there's an interesting phrase) started creeping up. After the walk from the kitchen to the front stoop on the way to the bus stop, the entire blue cotton panel at the top of my bottoms (I can't help myself) was showing! I had to quickly pull my coat closed, and assume unfriendly body language. When hubby gets home this afternoon I am going to have him pull out the entire bucket o' prego clothes. At least we know right where it is, since we only just put it away last week! Argh.
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