Monday, September 27, 2010
So Blogger went and changed on me...
What? I take a 6-month hiatus from writing and now I can't figure the site out. I have a blog post all written in my head complete with pictures and witty commentary. Trying to figure out how to add the pictures. Bear with me. It may take a bit to get back in the swing of things.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
What it takes to get me back to this place--
I've been meaning to come back over here and write. I need to come back over here and write. There just always seems to be something else that comes up, like a diaper needing changed or an infant needing to be fed or a bed calling my name. Things are settling back down though and I need to come back and write about the last six months before I completely forget what it was like to be mama to a tiny little baby.
As it is, my baby isn't too tiny any longer. Everyone who sees him comments on how big he is for his age or they ask if his father is tall. At almost 7 months, he weighs about 18 lbs. and is 28" long. Henry is rolling and gooing and chatting and smiling and laughing and *almost* sitting independently. Every day, even those rare bad days, Paul and I realize how fortunate we are to have such a happy, content little fellow.
We are now about seven weeks into the school year and everyone seems to have settle into a routine. Paul handles the mornings and drop-off while I take over in the afternoons after school is finished. Henry is enjoying daycare--he *LOVES* the infant room teacher Demi with a love that knows no rival--and things are going pretty well for our little family.
And now those two little stories that I just can't forget and why I'm back writing over here--
Every Sunday evening, I lay out a week's worth of outfits for Henry. Paul asked if I would so it is one less worry for him during the morning and I do enjoy making the little outfits for Henry. I make a stack with a onesie and shorts/pants, paired together for each day. Because he is so long, Henry doesn't have many one-piece rompers but he does own a couple of them. Two weeks ago, I'd put one in the stack for Henry to wear--a little plaid one-piece shorts outfit. When I picked Henry up from daycare that day, Demi told me that his shorts were in his cubby. I was quite confused as to why Henry would have shorts when he was already wearing shorts and said something to that effect. I told Demi that I wasn't questioning her but I was wondering why Paul had put Henry in another pair of shorts. Curious.
When questioned later, Paul said he thought the romper wasn't really shorts since it was so baggy and while he thought I'd messed up by not putting out shorts, he was rather proud that he'd fixed the problem without asking me. He then offered/threatened to put Henry in three pairs of shorts to take to daycare the next day (he didn't but told Demi that he might some day just because he could).
Last Saturday morning, we'd gone to the swimming pool early and came home before Henry's morning nap. We bathed Henry and I put him down for a nap in only his diaper, knowing that he's figured out how to get at least one tab of the diaper open but not thinking he'd do much beyond that (if that much). He isn't a great napper but we keep trying and even though we could hear him "talking" in his crib after about 30 minutes, we left him for a little down time for over an hour, until Henry let us know he was done with his alone time. After Paul picked Henry up, he called to me to come up to Henry's room when I got a chance, no hurry. Upon entering the room, I was told to check out Henry's crib where there was a big wet spot right in the middle of the bed. Apparently Henry had managed to not only undo his diaper, he'd wiggled out of it and was waving it around when Paul went in to get him. Smart little monkey. And now we no longer leave Henry in just his little diaper. Lesson quickly learned.
As it is, my baby isn't too tiny any longer. Everyone who sees him comments on how big he is for his age or they ask if his father is tall. At almost 7 months, he weighs about 18 lbs. and is 28" long. Henry is rolling and gooing and chatting and smiling and laughing and *almost* sitting independently. Every day, even those rare bad days, Paul and I realize how fortunate we are to have such a happy, content little fellow.
We are now about seven weeks into the school year and everyone seems to have settle into a routine. Paul handles the mornings and drop-off while I take over in the afternoons after school is finished. Henry is enjoying daycare--he *LOVES* the infant room teacher Demi with a love that knows no rival--and things are going pretty well for our little family.
And now those two little stories that I just can't forget and why I'm back writing over here--
Every Sunday evening, I lay out a week's worth of outfits for Henry. Paul asked if I would so it is one less worry for him during the morning and I do enjoy making the little outfits for Henry. I make a stack with a onesie and shorts/pants, paired together for each day. Because he is so long, Henry doesn't have many one-piece rompers but he does own a couple of them. Two weeks ago, I'd put one in the stack for Henry to wear--a little plaid one-piece shorts outfit. When I picked Henry up from daycare that day, Demi told me that his shorts were in his cubby. I was quite confused as to why Henry would have shorts when he was already wearing shorts and said something to that effect. I told Demi that I wasn't questioning her but I was wondering why Paul had put Henry in another pair of shorts. Curious.
When questioned later, Paul said he thought the romper wasn't really shorts since it was so baggy and while he thought I'd messed up by not putting out shorts, he was rather proud that he'd fixed the problem without asking me. He then offered/threatened to put Henry in three pairs of shorts to take to daycare the next day (he didn't but told Demi that he might some day just because he could).
Last Saturday morning, we'd gone to the swimming pool early and came home before Henry's morning nap. We bathed Henry and I put him down for a nap in only his diaper, knowing that he's figured out how to get at least one tab of the diaper open but not thinking he'd do much beyond that (if that much). He isn't a great napper but we keep trying and even though we could hear him "talking" in his crib after about 30 minutes, we left him for a little down time for over an hour, until Henry let us know he was done with his alone time. After Paul picked Henry up, he called to me to come up to Henry's room when I got a chance, no hurry. Upon entering the room, I was told to check out Henry's crib where there was a big wet spot right in the middle of the bed. Apparently Henry had managed to not only undo his diaper, he'd wiggled out of it and was waving it around when Paul went in to get him. Smart little monkey. And now we no longer leave Henry in just his little diaper. Lesson quickly learned.
Friday, March 12, 2010
More things to remember
Henry's birth day was crazy just because, as Paul put it, we managed to experience three types of birth processes (natural labor, epidural, c-section) to get the boy. In the whole of the day, I think we managed to keep our wits and our humor about us.
One of the oddest things that happened was as they were counting the equipment/medical stuff that had been used during the c-section. Paul had already gone to the recovery room with Henry and I was in the OR with the doula, Lucy, when we heard the doctor say, "Was it two or three?" Seems there was a miscommunication about how many of one type of equipment had been used during the procedure. There was a call for X-ray to come and while the anesthesiologist was reassuring me that the chances of anything being left was pretty much nil, it's a little disconcerting to hear the doctor say she's not going to close me up until there is a definite count. Thankfully, nothing was left on the inside that wasn't supposed to be there.
I was wheeled back to the OR just as the big UNM/BYU basketball game was tipping off. The entire time we were in the room, the anesthesiologist was giving score updates. Paul was getting updates via his iPhone and visits with the family while we were in the recovery room. We kept Saturday's newspaper and that game is the front story.
After it was determined that Henry was going to the NICU for a bit because of the difficulty he was having breathing, Paul was taken to the maternity ward
One of the oddest things that happened was as they were counting the equipment/medical stuff that had been used during the c-section. Paul had already gone to the recovery room with Henry and I was in the OR with the doula, Lucy, when we heard the doctor say, "Was it two or three?" Seems there was a miscommunication about how many of one type of equipment had been used during the procedure. There was a call for X-ray to come and while the anesthesiologist was reassuring me that the chances of anything being left was pretty much nil, it's a little disconcerting to hear the doctor say she's not going to close me up until there is a definite count. Thankfully, nothing was left on the inside that wasn't supposed to be there.
I was wheeled back to the OR just as the big UNM/BYU basketball game was tipping off. The entire time we were in the room, the anesthesiologist was giving score updates. Paul was getting updates via his iPhone and visits with the family while we were in the recovery room. We kept Saturday's newspaper and that game is the front story.
After it was determined that Henry was going to the NICU for a bit because of the difficulty he was having breathing, Paul was taken to the maternity ward
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
The Best Laid Plans
So, Paul and I had planned to spend the last weekend of February as our last one of just the two of us. I'd called my mom to see if she'd come on Monday to give us that time (no problem there), my maternity leave was officially starting at 2:30 on Friday, we'd made some simple plans for the weekend (dinner, last minute cleaning/organizing the house), and I'd planned to come over to this little place and catch the world up on our doings for the past 2 1/2 months.
And then this happened:
This picture was taken probably around 5:00 a.m. on Saturday 2/27. We'd gotten to the hospital about an hour earlier after I'd labored at home for about three hours. Paul thought I was going to tell him to come to bed when I walked into his nook at 1:00 a.m. He definitely wasn't expecting me to tell him that I was most definitely having contractions.
And then this happened:
This picture was taken probably around 5:00 a.m. on Saturday 2/27. We'd gotten to the hospital about an hour earlier after I'd labored at home for about three hours. Paul thought I was going to tell him to come to bed when I walked into his nook at 1:00 a.m. He definitely wasn't expecting me to tell him that I was most definitely having contractions. Oh, one of the plans for the weekend? Pack the bag for the hospital. So, there I am trying to breathe through contractions and tell Paul when they start and stop all the while trying to throw things into the suitcase. Because we were newbies to all of this, Paul and I decided to call the doula as well as the OB on call just to get their opinions on when we should come in. They didn't really have any although I'm sure they got a kick out of Paul explaining that I was lying over the suitcase, trying to breathe through a contraction. I also managed to run a bath because laboring in a warm tub sounded like a great idea. We managed to fill the tub and I got my clothes off but couldn't physically make myself get into the water. I did, however, manage to call my mom to let her know that she might want to start heading this way from Amarillo since apparently, I was having a baby. Paul then had the extra task of convincing me to get dressed again and walk down the stairs all the while I'm additionally trying to straighten up the bathroom because, oh yeah, Merry Maids is coming on Monday and if this kid is really coming today, I'm not going to be able to finish straightening up the house.
He eventually talked me downstairs (it's about 3:00 at this point) and I needed to get some items out of the dryer for the hospital. I'd bought a new robe to take with me as well as another outfit for the baby to possibly wear home. There I am, sitting in the floor of the living room, shaking uncontrollably (now realize that it was probably a transition point in labor), when Paul says that was it, we're heading to the hospital.
We manage to make it to the hospital with little ado, arriving around 4:00 to the maternity triage where we find out that, yep, I'm definitely in labor. In fact, I'm 6 centimeters dilated at this point. Woohoo! Our doula arrives, we head to the L&D room, and things are going great. Paul was a rockstar when it came to talking me through contractions and even in between, we were able to joke and talk. Paul and I were relaxed as we could be and really taking things in stride. Everyone kept commenting on how great we were doing, they couldn't believe we were so focused yet relaxed, etc., etc. At one point, I asked Paul for a piece of gum because my mouth was dry and he got a piece for himself as well. He managed to bite his cheek and commented that it really hurt. You know, not like what I was going through but it really hurt. After that, the nurse would ask him how his cheek was periodically as well. They also loved that he had our birthing prep book and was reading about what to expect during each phase of labor.
Around 7:30, Paul's parents and my mom arrived at the hospital, just as my water was breaking and I was entering the transition stage (Paul informed everyone that I might get irritable at this point). They set up the birthing equipment, the doctor came by to check on things, still doing great, I'm telling everyone that I'm really doing this just because I really want that #1 burrito from Golden Pride, we're taking bets on what time the baby would be born. And then at 8:30, I'm 9 cm dilated and labor stalls. We try different positions--standing, moving, sitting on the toilet, nipple stimulation--and nothing happens to make it progress. Around 11, the L&D nurse mentions Pitocin which nearly makes me cry. At 11:30, the doctor does an ultrasound and determines that the baby is OP--his body is in position but he has his head turned and won't/can't engage into the birth canal. She tries to move him and I stopped that quickly. We discuss options and agree that an epidural and trying to turn him is the way to go at this point.
After the epidural kicks in (and might I add, it wasn't just taking the edge off her trying to turn the baby), the doctor gets to business. Except that this little guy is as stubborn as both his parents. The OB could turn his head and he would turn it back. After several failed attempts, we again discuss options. Start Pitocin hoping that will move labor along so I can at least push. If I start pushing, it could take 4-5 hours and might still result in a c-section. Or go to a C-section. Crazy but the ONLY L&D dream I had was that my labor stalled and I had to get a c-section (oh, and that Paul and I politely declined the baby they tried to hand us because he had brown hair and brown eyes).
It wasn't much of a discussion but with our moms and the doula's input, Paul and I agreed that skipping to the c-section was the way to go. Not really what we'd planned or hoped for when things started that morning but I'd said all along that I really just wanted healthy baby and healthy mama as the end result. Because of another c-section that was being performed right then, we had about 1 1/2 hours to wait and keep trying to get the baby to move. He didn't and when the time came, I was whisked off and everything started happening very quickly.
I was glad we'd gotten the doula through the hospital at this point because she was able to come back with Paul and me into the delivery room. She also explained some of the procedures--that I would be alone during all the prep stuff and they would be able to enter once I was draped. I would have been really freaked out if I hadn't known that beforehand (as it was, I was only moderately freaked out).
And at 2:22 on February 27, we got this:
His name is Henry Mac and he has neither brown hair nor brown eyes. And we probably would have kept him even if he had.
Lots more to tell about this fun day but right now, I need to spend some more time staring at my son.
He eventually talked me downstairs (it's about 3:00 at this point) and I needed to get some items out of the dryer for the hospital. I'd bought a new robe to take with me as well as another outfit for the baby to possibly wear home. There I am, sitting in the floor of the living room, shaking uncontrollably (now realize that it was probably a transition point in labor), when Paul says that was it, we're heading to the hospital.
We manage to make it to the hospital with little ado, arriving around 4:00 to the maternity triage where we find out that, yep, I'm definitely in labor. In fact, I'm 6 centimeters dilated at this point. Woohoo! Our doula arrives, we head to the L&D room, and things are going great. Paul was a rockstar when it came to talking me through contractions and even in between, we were able to joke and talk. Paul and I were relaxed as we could be and really taking things in stride. Everyone kept commenting on how great we were doing, they couldn't believe we were so focused yet relaxed, etc., etc. At one point, I asked Paul for a piece of gum because my mouth was dry and he got a piece for himself as well. He managed to bite his cheek and commented that it really hurt. You know, not like what I was going through but it really hurt. After that, the nurse would ask him how his cheek was periodically as well. They also loved that he had our birthing prep book and was reading about what to expect during each phase of labor.
Around 7:30, Paul's parents and my mom arrived at the hospital, just as my water was breaking and I was entering the transition stage (Paul informed everyone that I might get irritable at this point). They set up the birthing equipment, the doctor came by to check on things, still doing great, I'm telling everyone that I'm really doing this just because I really want that #1 burrito from Golden Pride, we're taking bets on what time the baby would be born. And then at 8:30, I'm 9 cm dilated and labor stalls. We try different positions--standing, moving, sitting on the toilet, nipple stimulation--and nothing happens to make it progress. Around 11, the L&D nurse mentions Pitocin which nearly makes me cry. At 11:30, the doctor does an ultrasound and determines that the baby is OP--his body is in position but he has his head turned and won't/can't engage into the birth canal. She tries to move him and I stopped that quickly. We discuss options and agree that an epidural and trying to turn him is the way to go at this point.
After the epidural kicks in (and might I add, it wasn't just taking the edge off her trying to turn the baby), the doctor gets to business. Except that this little guy is as stubborn as both his parents. The OB could turn his head and he would turn it back. After several failed attempts, we again discuss options. Start Pitocin hoping that will move labor along so I can at least push. If I start pushing, it could take 4-5 hours and might still result in a c-section. Or go to a C-section. Crazy but the ONLY L&D dream I had was that my labor stalled and I had to get a c-section (oh, and that Paul and I politely declined the baby they tried to hand us because he had brown hair and brown eyes).
It wasn't much of a discussion but with our moms and the doula's input, Paul and I agreed that skipping to the c-section was the way to go. Not really what we'd planned or hoped for when things started that morning but I'd said all along that I really just wanted healthy baby and healthy mama as the end result. Because of another c-section that was being performed right then, we had about 1 1/2 hours to wait and keep trying to get the baby to move. He didn't and when the time came, I was whisked off and everything started happening very quickly.
I was glad we'd gotten the doula through the hospital at this point because she was able to come back with Paul and me into the delivery room. She also explained some of the procedures--that I would be alone during all the prep stuff and they would be able to enter once I was draped. I would have been really freaked out if I hadn't known that beforehand (as it was, I was only moderately freaked out).
And at 2:22 on February 27, we got this:
His name is Henry Mac and he has neither brown hair nor brown eyes. And we probably would have kept him even if he had.The little bun had some problems with phlegm in his lungs and trouble breathing as a result so in the recovery room, he was kept under oxygen for a while. I finally got to meet him after an hour or so. That is one very happy mama there.
Paul in the recovery room with his "bunny suit" on. While he was in the operating room, he commented that he looked like a painter since he was wearing that and everyone else was in scrubs. The L&D nurse really didn't want us to leave since she was having such a good time with us. We're just happy when we've found an appreciative audience for our bad jokes.
Henry, who was still unnamed at this point and would remain so until Monday morning, with the oxygen. Everyone was commenting that they don't get many blonde babies through the ward. He is definitely a tow-head.
I keep telling everyone that I should get credit for more than that (the 7 lb. 15 oz from my first pregnancy dream, perhaps) since he pooped twice before they weighed him. Still a good-sized boy at 20 inches long.
With Daddy on Sunday morning. The first time Paul ever held an infant was when the nurse handed Henry to him to walk to the recovery room. Perhaps we should have practiced that beforehand.
And I finally got that #1 burrito, only 24 hours later. :)
Paul in the recovery room with his "bunny suit" on. While he was in the operating room, he commented that he looked like a painter since he was wearing that and everyone else was in scrubs. The L&D nurse really didn't want us to leave since she was having such a good time with us. We're just happy when we've found an appreciative audience for our bad jokes.
Henry, who was still unnamed at this point and would remain so until Monday morning, with the oxygen. Everyone was commenting that they don't get many blonde babies through the ward. He is definitely a tow-head.
I keep telling everyone that I should get credit for more than that (the 7 lb. 15 oz from my first pregnancy dream, perhaps) since he pooped twice before they weighed him. Still a good-sized boy at 20 inches long.
With Daddy on Sunday morning. The first time Paul ever held an infant was when the nurse handed Henry to him to walk to the recovery room. Perhaps we should have practiced that beforehand.
And I finally got that #1 burrito, only 24 hours later. :)
Lots more to tell about this fun day but right now, I need to spend some more time staring at my son.
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