Torn between two lovers...

I swear this is not going to turn into "the baby blog", just bear with me for a bit. It is a good excuse to post baby pics, though.

I'm actually not torn between two lovers (my husband will be relieved to know!), but I'm torn between two paths.

You see, my employer called this week, pretty much begging me to come back, at least part time. I really wanted to turn her down. Baby J isn't even a month old yet, and I worry about having to be away from her.

But we could really use the cash.

Aye, there's the rub.

I stayed home with TFYO for the most part. I didn't work a single shift until she was four months old, and even then I realized I wasn't really ready to go back. I didn't start working regularly until she was almost eight months old, and even then, Ray and I worked opposite shifts so that one of us would always be with her. But here I am now, looking at an ever diminishing bank balance, and the urge to "pull my weight" financially is tugging pretty hard.

I feel like I should be at home. Truth be told, if I was wealthy, I'd never go back to work. Ever. I'd stay home with my kids and make stupid crafts out of paper plates and macaroni, and take them to the playground, and help them plant a veggie garden.

But my checkbook is sitting on the desk as a glaring reminder that I don't have that luxury.

How do other women manage? The idea of putting my infant into care is abhorrent to me, yet millions of single mothers do it every day. I'm barely getting enough sleep to make it through a twenty-four hour period, how am I going to manage to stay awake at work? I can't even manage to get more than one load of laundry and dishes done right now.

And don't even get me started on pumping breast milk.

So, I'm going in to work for a few hours today, and Ray will have the baby, and a couple of bottles of expressed milk. I'm only hoping we don't both collapse under the weight of our own guilt.

Greetings from the Land of the Midnight Dairy

That's not a song title, but it damn well should be...

Who was I to think I'd have more time to blog after the arrival of Baby J? Some of my fears have been realized with the fact that she is a night owl, just as she was in the womb. Since Ray gets up at 3 a.m. for work, I can't really ask him to pull an all nighter with the baby. That, and he's lacking some of the necessary equipment required to care for Baby J at this point as well.

What this means, is that I've been watching a lot of late night television, something I haven't done since TFYO was an infant, who also liked to stay up all night and nurse for hours on end. It's been putting questions in my head.

Like, when did Conan O'Brien's hair get so big? Is he purposely brushing it higher to compliment that huge forehead?

When did Craig Ferguson become funnier than anyone else on late night TV?

And when did they start a series called "The History of Sex" on the History Channel?

Is Billy Mays really a person, or an animatronic doll?

And that guy that does the Sham-Wow commercials, why is he so damn angry?

Why would anyone need to have a Matlock marathon at 3 a.m., especially when the target demographic for the show is in bed by 8 p.m.?

And who thought an infomercial on colon cleansing was a good idea? Especially with detailed pictures?

I know it seems like these are frivolous questions, but when you've been subsisting on three hours of broken sleep per day, they take on an ominous tone. By the time Baby J settles down at 5:30 in the morning, I can't help but wonder if I have enough cleaning power in my vacuum, if my teeth are white enough, and if an onion chopper has a place in my kitchen.

But wait, there's more!

Actually, there's not. I've always just wanted to say that.

Welcome to the World...

I meant to post sooner, but I just got home from the hospital yesterday. Sorry about that...

Baby J arrived into the world, Saturday, April 19th at 9:52 p.m. EDT via emergency c-section.

There's actually nothing wrong with her, except, perhaps for a flawed sense of direction and a love of tap dancing.

I arrived at the hospital late Saturday afternoon, having fairly strong and regular contractions, but they were going to send me home. That is, until they did an internal examination.

Nurse: "Um, that doesn't feel like a head. No, that's definitely not a head. Maybe it's a hand. "

She then calls in another nurse and invites her to take a grab.

Nurse 2: "No, that's not a head, and it's not a hand, either. That's a foot. Ma'am, did you know your baby is breech?"

Aw, hell.

It was at that moment that Baby J decided to start setting off alarms by letting her heart rate plummet, disappear, and then reappear with gusto not thirty seconds later.

Nurse 1: "Um, you are most definitely NOT going home. "

Initially, they were just going to keep me for observation overnight, keep an eye on the baby, and make sure she didn't try to kick her way out. I sent Ray and TFYO home. Five minutes later, the Amazing Baby J did her disappearing heart beat trick again, and I was informed that I'd be having a c-section within the hour. Ray, TFYO and our very dear friend Debbie all made it back just in time for me to be wheeled into the OR.

I have to say a huge thank you to all the staff at St. Joseph/Candler-Mary Telfair Hospital. The doctor who performed my surgery was quick, the nurses were all warm, funny, caring and professional, and even though I was terrified, everyone worked hard to make me comfortable. I panicked about being cut open, but everyone was just wonderful, including the nurse who did a pratfall just for my benefit. Shame I didn't actually see her do it.

I was given a spinal block at 9:35, Ray walked into the OR in his scrubs (see picture), and Baby J was born at 9:52. By 10:05, I was cleaned up, stapled up, and sent off to my room.

They're cute, aren't they?

It turns out, Baby J's heart is just fine. However, she had the cord wrapped around her foot, and she was stomping on it. It was like her own personal hoedown. Just for good measure, she was kicking the placenta around, and kicked at everyone on her way out, too.

I look like hell in this picture, but I don't really care. After all, I'd just given birth. For the record, Baby J appears to have dark hair and dark eyes. Otherwise, she looks almost identical to her big sister when TFYO was that age.

I'm tired, and I'm sore, but we're home now, embarking on our latest adventure. Stay tuned for more exciting episodes!

Don't get around much anymore...

...which is a great song.

Just a quick post to let you know I'm still alive and still gestating.

Although, my OBGYN says it could be anytime between now and my due date, May 3. Actually, I probably won't even make it to my due date. I was told to start seeing the doctor weekly, beginning next week, and that it might be a good idea to bring a packed bag with me, just in case. If I show any signs of imminent labour, they're just going to admit me to the hospital and be done with it.

I've developed a serious case of pregnant woman waddle, and I get to enjoy the smirks of my coworkers as I attempt to navigate the hallways of our building, trying to remember that I can't suck in my gut as I squeeze by.

I have to keep reminding myself not to climb things, reach up for things, reach down for things, or turn around suddenly, the last almost causing me to fall over due to my new center of gravity.

Heartburn has reared its ugly head, and I keep a jar of Tums with me at all times. My feet and hands have begun to swell just slightly.

It's as though my body has suddenly decided to throw all of pregnancy's symptoms at me in these last few weeks, a final assault leading up to D-Day, as it were.

But, I feel surprisingly fine. Yeah, I'm tired, and I'm working too many hours, but it's not as bad as I imagined it would be.

I've popped in to see a few of you, commenting when I can, and I miss you all. My maternity leave starts April 18th, and I'll make sure to come visit you all then.

Assuming, of course, I haven't already given birth.

Ooooo, baby, baby...

With thanks to the eloquent Salt-n-Pepa for the lyric.

So, we had a lovely visit to the OBGYN on Tuesday. Got some lovely ultrasound pics, including this one where she's trying to stick her foot in her mouth.

Oh, yes. I did say "her" foot. TFYO was right all those months ago. We are having a girl, and we've already decided her name. She will, for now, be known as Baby J.

Baby J is very healthy, as well as apparently very limber. She was very active during the ultrasound, grabbing her feet, and smacking my tummy every time the ultrasound wand got close to her little fist. I think I may have been right a few days ago when I said "I may be giving birth to a Cirque du Soleil troupe".

Not a troupe, just one really flexible baby.

Oh, the mother and child reunion...

...is only a motion away. Thanks to Paul Simon.

So things are fine in baby-land, for those of you just dying to know. My appointment Tuesday was probably the quickest one I've ever had. I walked in, peed in the cup, checked my weight and BP, laid down on the table while they looked for the baby's heartbeat with the Doppler thingy, asked how I was feeling, and done.

Of course, finding the baby's heartbeat took a little doing. I had a Physician's Assistant in Training on Tuesday. She's training with my doctor, Dr. W, and that morning was doing the rounds with the nurse practitioner, Nurse C. I've said it before, Nurse C is awesome. She's no-nonsense, and very earthy. I love her.

Well, the PAIT started looking. And looking and looking and looking, until pretty much my whole abdomen was covered with that jelly stuff they put on you to make the Doppler wand move more easily.

"Um, trouble?" I asked.

"No, I know the baby's in there, I can see it, it just doesn't seem to want to hold still for me to catch the heartbeat. I'm catching echoes, but I want to make sure it's not your heartbeat I'm reading."

At that point Nurse C walked in. We both waited while the PAIT kept looking. I started to get a little nervous.

"All right!" said Nurse C, "My turn!" She pushed a lot harder with the wand than the PAIT. It took a couple of minutes, but there was the heartbeat, loud and clear and strong.

"There! Heartbeat in the 160's, just like we like it. Mobile little rascal," she said.

"Great, it's just like my first one: won't sit still, and pig-headed, too. Swell." Nurse C. looked at me with an eyebrow raised.

"You were worried, weren't you?"

And then I went on to explain the food poisoning, and the weight loss, and how my husband was worried. What I didn't tell her was I was worried. I've known so many people in the last year who've lost their pregnancies just before week 12. But of course, I put it off on Ray. Let him be the one to worry.

"It takes a lot to unseat a healthy pregnancy," she said. "And you're about as healthy as they come. Your blood pressure is great, your blood work was perfect, and whether you know it or not, you're glowing. You can tell your husband, that you are just fine and so is that baby."

So, I went to work all happy, and went home just as happy.

TFYO asked about my appointment that night, and I told her everything was fine.

"Where is the baby, mommy?"

"Well, honey, we've talked about this, the baby is growing right here in my tummy."

At that point she grabbed the front of my t-shirt and hauled it down to my navel.

"I don't see the baby! When can I see it!"

This isn't the first time she's tried to undress me, of course. When she was about three or so, she was sitting on my lap on the floor one evening, just before bed. She had her head on my chest.

"Mom, your chest sure is lumpy. Hey! What've you got down there!" I happened to be wearing a very loose shirt, and she yanked the front of it down. At that point, Ray, who had been standing behind the couch, fell to the floor and had to crawl from the room because he was laughing so hard.

"Well, those are breasts. Most grown-up women have them," I told her, trying not to die laughing my self. I pulled my shirt back up, but she took another peek.

"They sure are huge, Mommy."

I'm just so glad she's never done this in public. She has started saying goodbye to my belly at school every morning now. She seems to think my belly button is some sort of pre-natal intercom.

Off to the baby doctor

Not a song lyric, just a note.

I'm off to the OBGYN today first thing, so I'll try to post later after I make it home from work.

Promise.

In the meantime, a musical interlude from a great album.

What a lovely way of sayin' how much you love me...

With thanks to Paul Anka.

So, I've been feeling rather under the weather for the past two weeks. Nauseous, exhausted, a little achy. Now I know why.

It seems we are pregnant.

Yes, Auntie Barbie was more prescient than she knew with her smart ass comment last week.

After two weeks of snacking on dry saltines and downing copious amounts of flat ginger ale, I got the brilliant idea to buy one of those early pregnancy tests. It took less than thirty seconds for that little pink second line to show up. It was faint, but it was there.

Ray walked in the door, and I pounced.

"I have something I need to show you."

His response?

"Aw, crap. Did the cat poop on the carpet again?"

"No..."

"Cool! You mean she pooped in the box?!"

"That's not what I'm going to show you. Can we stop talking about cat poop for a minute?"

I led him back to the bathroom, and he squinted at the stick uncertainly.

"It's awfully faint, isn't it?"

"Would you like me to test again in a couple of days?"


The we stared at each other for a few minutes as the situation sunk in. This happened embarrassingly quick. We went from talking about it, to being pregnant in a matter of, well, weeks. Almost like taking a Polaroid picture, but without the shaking, thankfully. I tested again over the weekend, and we got a bright pink line in less than ten seconds. We are definitely pregnant, and with very little effort. To add to the fun, there's a woman I regularly fill-in for at work, who will be going on maternity leave in March. I guess I won't be filling in for her while she's gone, as I'll likely be having a baby sometime around the end of April, beginning of May.

So, I get to have an ultrasound for my birthday next month. We're already trying to figure out how to rearrange the furniture in the spare bedroom, and where to put the audio recording equipment. I swear, my garage is never going to be used to ever hold a car at the rate we're going.

We're still trying to figure out how to explain this to TFYO. We may wait for an in-depth discussion until I have pictures from the ultrasound. That will either make it easier or more confusing for her. Or for me. One of those.

I may start a second blog, so that this doesn't become bogged down with details of my pregnancy. I mean, how many of you really want to hear how I deal with morning sickness the second time around?

Mixed Drinks and Mixed Emotions

Thanks Dave Wakeling for the lyrics.

Sitting in our living room yesterday the following conversation ensues:


Me: Honey, I know money is tight. But I think I want to have another baby.

Him: Well, okay. How do we go about doing that?

Me: (30 seconds of hysterical laughter)

Me: (through tears of laughter) Well, dear, first a daddy loves a mommy very much...


This is actually something we've been talking about a bit in the last few months. There's still a lot that needs to be done around the house, but The Four Year Old will soon be the The Five Year Old, and if I'm going to have another baby I should probably do it sooner rather than later.

It also seems like everyone around me is pregnant. My husband's cousin is expecting another baby (and, boy, didn't we hear about that!), a coworker of ours recently told me she's pregnant, a friend of mine told me his soon-to-be wife is "in the family way", and everywhere I look it's like there are bulging tummies surrounding me on all sides.

TFYO was not planned. She was a honeymoon baby, and I found out I was pregnant in the middle of a lot of turmoil at work, and things were rough after she was born. But I can't help but think that if I keep "planning" for the next one, the next one might not happen.