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Standing on the East Coast, pointed toward California, and clicking my heels three times
Friday, June 30, 2006
My New Tagline
I finally saw The 40-Year Old Virgin (I love Steve Carrell but didn't think I'd like the movie that much. In fact, I loved it) and discovered my new tagline:
"40 is the new 20."
2 days and counting...
|
I finally saw The 40-Year Old Virgin (I love Steve Carrell but didn't think I'd like the movie that much. In fact, I loved it) and discovered my new tagline:
"40 is the new 20."
2 days and counting...
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
And My Baby Turns 5
Yes, it's that milestone, when you're suddenly a whole hand full of fingers old. There are still toddler sizes for 4, but 5 is all about big kid.
And she is a big kid, this Tessa Bunny who was born 5 years ago. She has long legs and two adult teeth and she speaks like a tiny grown up most of the time. She can think and argue circles around me.
Just last night, she wanted me to sit on her bed as she fell asleep (as she does every damn night). I sat for a few minutes, then said I had to go say good night to Matthew (hoping she'd fall asleep while I was gone). After saying good night to Matthew I went into the livingroom and Ross and I started watching a DVD.
In no time Tessa was running into the room, demanding, "What was taking you so long to come back?"
I told her, exasperated, that she was a big girl and she needed to go to sleep on her own. "How old are you going to be tomorrow?," I asked.
"Five," she replied.
"And five year olds should go to sleep by themselves!," I said.
She pursed her lips. "But I'm not five yet!"
Touche. I let her fall sleep on the couch.
I've had her for five years now, but I still feel surprised sometimes when I look at her. I still can't quite believe that she's mine. She's this confident, magnificent creature who is something of a mystery to me. She still considers us, if not the same person, definitely a package deal. She wants to be with me, wants to sit on me, wants us to hang out and do stuff together constantly. But then she has no problem with me dropping her off at a birthday party, as she dashes off to have fun without a backward glance. She'll cry sometimes, saying she doesn't want to grow up, that she wants to always be my child. But then she'll talk endlessly about all the things she's going to do when she has her own house and her own pets and her own children. And it's not just this tweenie age; I think she's always felt like this, tied to me but reaching for the stars. Perhaps that's what the 10 weeks of preterm labor we went through was all about, her trying to decide whether she wanted to stay in the womb or go.
She's so beautiful it takes my breath away, with her huge, long lashed eyes that still change color constantly, that disappear when she laughs. Her freckle-dusted, still round cheeks (though nothing like the jowls she had as a baby). Her perfect Clara Bow mouth. She sings and dances and makes us cards and letters and a dozen pictures a week. She is sweetness itself.
"I'll always be your baby," she tells me. I know it's true.
And now for her incredibly long birth story, which was rediscovered from the ether today thanks to a guardian angel :):
|
Yes, it's that milestone, when you're suddenly a whole hand full of fingers old. There are still toddler sizes for 4, but 5 is all about big kid.
And she is a big kid, this Tessa Bunny who was born 5 years ago. She has long legs and two adult teeth and she speaks like a tiny grown up most of the time. She can think and argue circles around me.
Just last night, she wanted me to sit on her bed as she fell asleep (as she does every damn night). I sat for a few minutes, then said I had to go say good night to Matthew (hoping she'd fall asleep while I was gone). After saying good night to Matthew I went into the livingroom and Ross and I started watching a DVD.
In no time Tessa was running into the room, demanding, "What was taking you so long to come back?"
I told her, exasperated, that she was a big girl and she needed to go to sleep on her own. "How old are you going to be tomorrow?," I asked.
"Five," she replied.
"And five year olds should go to sleep by themselves!," I said.
She pursed her lips. "But I'm not five yet!"
Touche. I let her fall sleep on the couch.
I've had her for five years now, but I still feel surprised sometimes when I look at her. I still can't quite believe that she's mine. She's this confident, magnificent creature who is something of a mystery to me. She still considers us, if not the same person, definitely a package deal. She wants to be with me, wants to sit on me, wants us to hang out and do stuff together constantly. But then she has no problem with me dropping her off at a birthday party, as she dashes off to have fun without a backward glance. She'll cry sometimes, saying she doesn't want to grow up, that she wants to always be my child. But then she'll talk endlessly about all the things she's going to do when she has her own house and her own pets and her own children. And it's not just this tweenie age; I think she's always felt like this, tied to me but reaching for the stars. Perhaps that's what the 10 weeks of preterm labor we went through was all about, her trying to decide whether she wanted to stay in the womb or go.
She's so beautiful it takes my breath away, with her huge, long lashed eyes that still change color constantly, that disappear when she laughs. Her freckle-dusted, still round cheeks (though nothing like the jowls she had as a baby). Her perfect Clara Bow mouth. She sings and dances and makes us cards and letters and a dozen pictures a week. She is sweetness itself.
"I'll always be your baby," she tells me. I know it's true.
And now for her incredibly long birth story, which was rediscovered from the ether today thanks to a guardian angel :):
As most of you know, this was one of the longest labors in history. I
started having extremely frequent contractions when I was just shy of
27 weeks pregnant. I was hospitalized overnight as measures were taken
to halt the contractions. By the next day things appeared to have
stabilized and no cervical change had taken place, so I went home with
instructions to remain on bedrest. However, by that weekend
contractions were coming every three minutes or so and I was back in
the hospital for three days, with major drug intervention. I left the
hospital unsure of just how long Baby Tessa (for that was now
officially her name) was going to wait to be born. We set a goal
(though it really wasn't up to us) of making it through another seven
weeks, to get us to 34 weeks. We actually got to 37 weeks, practically
full term!
And for those ten weeks, I prelabored. This is somewhat of a
euphemism for saying that I had constant contractions for that entire
time. Most were not painful, though many were, and for the last three
weeks or so before the birth I was having at least one episode a day
that felt like the beginnings of true labor. The contractions would
become more frequent, like every 3-6 minutes, and more intense, for 2-4
hours. Then they would just peter out again and become irregular and
less painful in general. This was pretty maddening since Tessa dropped
at 34 weeks (usually doesn't happen till soon before true labor in
subsequent pregnancies), I lost my mucous plug around that time
(doesn't usually happen till soon before true labor in subsequent
pregnancies), I had bloody show at 35 weeks (you get the idea....).
And man, she was LOW, grinding into my cervix like she was just going
to fall out. Every week that passed was a surprise to us, since we
never thought we would get to that point and still be pregnant. It was
a Good Thing, since each week that passed matured Tessa more and more,
but I was hurting and weary of the constant false alarms.
June 26th was Ross' 35th birthday and I brought home a cake. As he
and Matthew blew out the candles, he made a wish. Later he told me
that he wished for Tessa to come the very next day, which is just what
happened. Very effective wishing, I told him, but perhaps next time
you could wish to win the lottery. Though at the time, I would have
taken Tessa being born immediately over winning the lottery (okay,
maybe not over winning the $141 million jackpot).
Later that night after some, um, labor inducing activities, I started
feeling very sharp cervical pains that prevented me from resting
comfortably. It was about midnight, and I got out of bed to take a
bath. I was discharging very pink fluid. Contractions started getting
pretty strong in the bath and I just couldn't get comfortable. I gave
up and got out at around 12:40. I told Ross to go back to bed (thus
getting him a total of 40 whole minutes of sleep!) and I sat on the
couch, counting contractions. Hmm, they were getting progressively
stronger pretty quickly and were 2-3 minutes apart. I still wasn't
quite ready to admit this was true labor, having been disappointed so
many times in the past. By soon after 1:00, however, I was quite sure
that it was, for the contractions were getting solidly painful, every
single one. I decided to wait till 1:30 to wake up Ross and figure out
what we should do. Through some husbandly psychic connection, at
exactly 1:30 he stumbled out of the bedroom and asked how I was doing.
I said that either this was it or I was going to shoot myself in the
head.
So the question remained, what should we do? Call my mother (who
lives about an hour away) to come to watch Matthew? Call Ambre (who
lives around 40 minutes away) and have her come over to help with
laboring? We decided to call my mother, but wait on calling Ambre till
we got to the hospital, since it was the middle of the night and she
has two little ones of her own at home. My mother insisted on driving
herself, though we really wanted her to call my sister or one of my
nephews to drive her. After a while I really wasn't in the mood for
arguing anymore and had Ross just tell her to come as soon as she
could.
I decided to get back in the bath, sitting on a beach towel as sitting
on the bottom of the tub was suddenly terribly painful. I kept the tub
as full as possible and with each contraction I sort of flapped my
hands back and forth under the water. I rhythmically nodded my head up
and down as I moved my hands, telling myself I was flying through the
contractions. This worked very well for awhile, but finally the
contractions were just too strong and I had to get out of the tub
again. Meanwhile Ross, unable to go back to sleep, was in full on
nesting mode. He cleaned out the refrigerator, unloaded the
dishwasher, took out the trash. Even though I was feeling like hell by
this point, I realized how incredibly endearing this was.
Around 2:15, my mother called back to say she was leaving home. I was
starting to get a little freaked out by how quickly the contractions
had intensified, but I was still managing to keep on top of them. I
drank lemonade and water. I moaned and rocked. Ross bustled about and
made sure we had everything we needed. He got online and emailed his
advisor and friend Mike, who works very late hours. He asked if he
could drive over and sit on the couch till my mother arrived if we
needed him to (he lives only 10 minutes away). That set, Ross went to
take a shower and I moaned some more. Contractions were still around
2-3 minutes apart and had been so for about two hours now. However,
the quality of the contractions was very different from the prelabor
contractions I had been experiencing, and not just in terms of pain
level. They were different in some inexplicable way. It's funny,
since people had been asking me for weeks how I was going to know when
I was really in labor, and I had said I didn't know. I knew now that
there had never been a reason to doubt that I would know the real thing
when it came.
By 3:15 I was starting to get scared, because the level of pelvic
pressure (pressure being SUCH a euphemism!) had gotten very intense,
and I was starting to feel actual pushing urge. "Okay, I'm calling
Mike!," Ross said, but I kept insisting that my mother had left about
an hour ago and she should be here soon (we would later find out that
the offramp to our place from the freeway was closed and she had had to
come a way that was unfamiliar to her. My poor 73 year old mother
driving in the middle of the night through an L.A. neighborhood she
didn't recognize!).
At around 3:35 the phone rang and she was downstairs at the gate to
our complex. Ross rushed out to go find a parking place for her. As
he left the door slammed and a moment later I heard a high pitched
whine come from Matthew's room. This had been the one blessing of the
timing of all this hard labor, that Matthew was asleep before it
started so we didn't have to worry about his reaction to seeing me in
so much pain. But now he had obviously been awoken. In the midst of a
contraction, I dragged myself into his room. He was sitting up half
asleep, but lay down again when he saw me. Tears in my voice, I
stroked his head and told him, "Go back to sleep sweetheart. I love
you. I love you." And back to sleep he fell. I was so glad I got to
see him before I left for the hospital, to tell him I loved him one
more time while he was still my only baby.
A minute later Ross returned with my mother and we were out the door.
We live on the third floor, with no elevator, so I had to make it down
two flights of stairs. We made it with only one break for a
contraction. Walking across the courtyard, I had a breathtaking,
overwhelming contraction. I leaned into Ross' chest and rubbed my head
into his shoulder, feeling like I was trying to butt my head through
his body, through the pain. He said he was going to leave me at the
gate and bring the car around, but I didn't want to be left alone even
for a moment and said I would walk back to the garage. One more
contraction and we were there. I leaned against the building and
groaned, feeling the stucco dig into my skin.
The pain intensified as I sat down in the car. As we flew down
Sepulveda, I declared "If we get there and I'm not ready to push, I am
getting an epidural RIGHT AWAY!" Ross assured me that he understood
and he would make it happen. Then he proceeded to bend, though not
explicitly break, several traffic laws. Rather than stop at red
lights, he would turn right at each one, then flip a u-turn quickly and
turn right again. He got us to UCLA Medical Center in record time.
Another good reason to go into labor in the middle of the night, since
the ride that took us about 10 minutes would have taken half an hour or
more during rush hour.
Parking then turned into a comedy of errors. He had planned to get a
temporary parking pass at the kiosk at the hospital, but there was no
attendant. He said he could take me to emergency and get a wheelchair
for me, but it had taken a really long time to get up to Labor and
Delivery that way when I went into the hospital previously. He thought
it better to just park illegally in the structure closer to L and D.
However, the electronic gate wouldn't open with our keycard and he had
to back out. He started to drive back to Emergency, then decided to
try another entrance to the regular parking structure. That one let us
in and he parked next to the elevator. However, I opened my door and
realized that there was no way at that point that I was going to be
able to walk, even to the elevator and then down the hallway to L and
D. No way at all. So Ross jumped back into the car, drove out of the
structure, and back to Emergency. He got me in a wheelchair and pushed
me to the entrance to the elevators that go up into the main hospital.
The door was locked. Back we went through the emergency room doors.
As I screamed down the hall, an attendant pushed the wheelchair into an
exam room, past some really sick looking people.
The oncall doctor came quickly and checked me. She smiled and said I
was 5cm and almost fully effaced. "Is that ALL?!?," I moaned. The
attending nurse looked surprised. "That's really good!," she enthused.
The doctor wrote down "5cm, 90% effaced, 0 station" on a package of
gauze and handed it to me to take upstairs to L and D. I clutched it
in my hand till it was unrecognizable. "It will probably be at least
another hour, " she said. Yeah right, I thought. "Do you think you're
going to want an epidural?," she asked. I just nodded vigorously.
An attendant pushed me up to L and D, Ross trying to open all the
doors and keep out of the way of the chair. It was around 4:00. I was
in full on howling mode by the time we made it into L and D. They
quickly wheeled me into one of the nice labor rooms and got me up on
the bed and hooked up to the monitors. I was feeling pretty incoherent
by now, in a fog of pain. The oncall OB (named Alexandra) checked me,
found me at 5cm, and said it would be a few minutes while they got
things set up. I was screeching through the contractions. They were
continuous now, with absolutely no breaks in between. Just one long
savage pain. I gasped through the questions she asked, feeling
compelled to answer though Ross was trying to answer for me. The OB
said, "When you get a break in the contractions, we'll do an ultrasound
to see how the baby's doing." "THERE IS NO BREAK," I replied. She
looked at the contraction monitor and I guess saw that I meant what I
said. I think that at that point she asked if I wanted an epidural,
but I'm not sure. All I know is that I heard that the anesthesiologist
was coming. The attending nurse said she was going to get some
fentenyl for me to help take the edge off the pain while we were
waiting for the epidural. They said they were going to start my IV and
I gasped that I was a hard stick (trying to be helpful in the middle of
hell). The IV went in and I willed the bag of fluid to go in quickly.
More questions, continuous pain, and then the fentenyl showed up.
Within just a few minutes, I actually felt some coherence return. The
contractions were still hellish, but I felt somewhat calmer. Ross saw
immediately that I was feeling better and commented on it. "Better
living through chemistry, " I replied. And soon the anesthesiologist
arrived. She saw that I was in a lot of pain, and went through her
required litany quickly. It mostly was composed of "Have you ever had
an epidural before? There are some risks associated with epidural
administration. Do you want to hear them?" In the midst of a killer
contraction, I snapped "NO!" and she shoved a consent form in front of
me, on which I scribbled something vaguely resembling my signature.
Then I was sitting up and she was putting the epidural in. The drug
felt really cold going into my back, icy salvation.
Within a few minutes I was already feeling more relief and within
about 20 minutes I felt great. The intense pain had been laid to rest
and I could still move my legs and everything. By this time it was a
little after 5:00 and Ross went out of the hospital to call Ambre (we
couldn't call to her area code from the room and our cell phones
weren't getting any reception). I sort of dozed and looked around the
room, which was pretty nice. Big bathroom with a nice shower with a
bench seat (which we didn't get to use obviously). TV, VCR, nice
looking stereo system (also went unused, oh well). Long artsy couch
that looked like it came from Z Gallerie.
The OB came back and did an ultrasound and said everything looked fine
with the baby. She said she'd come back in about an hour to check our
progress. Ross came back and I got some ice chips and we settled in to
wait. I could feel the contractions, but they weren't really painful.
Around 6:00 Ambre arrived and we were laughing and chatting it up. A
nurse named Jennifer came in (she was the nurse who was assigned to see
us through the labor, which was really great. During my labor with
Matthew we had numerous nurses come in and out. It was so much nicer
having one person to help us.) and said, smiling, "I guess you're
feeling better." Indeed I was. Alex the OB came back somewhat before
7:00 (I think) and checked my cervix, which she said was now at 7cm,
fully effaced (at first she said 8cm, then amended it to 7). Hooray!
She said she would call my OB, Dr. Archie, and let her know things were
progressing.
Ross called home and told my mother that the baby wasn't here yet, but
things were moving along. Matthew was thankfully still asleep. Then
he told her where to find Lori's phone number, as I realized that I had
her cell phone number and work number, but not her home number with me.
Ambre called her around 7:20 and got her machine. Lori called back
and Ambre told her I was at 7cm and to come on down when she could.
The contractions were intensifying and getting pretty close together
again. Ambre and Ross kept looking at the monitor and going "Whoa!
That was a big one, with double peaks." The anesthesiologist came back
and gave me another bolus of the epidural, but I was having to stop and
breathe through the contractions again. I felt a rush of liquid and
told the nurse that I thought my water might have broken. She checked
and saw that it was a large amount of bright red blood, so she called
the OB right away. Alex the OB came in and said that while everything
was probably fine, there was a little bit of concern that the placenta
might have peeled away from the uterus, which would have caused the
bleeding. She said they were going to start me on some IV antibiotics,
so a bag of ampicillin was hooked into my IV. Frankly I wasn't very
worried about the possibility of placental abruption, since I was
really hurting again and had to concentrate on the contractions. Ambre
started rubbing my side during the contractions and gave me a lot of
encouragement.
Somewhat before 8:00 (I think) Dr. Archie came in and said she thought
it would be a good idea to break my water at this point. That was fine
with me, so she brought out the crochet hook-like thingy and did the
AROM. Wow, talk about a huge gush of liquid, over and over again.
Ross looked pretty shocked. She also checked my cervix and I told her
that Alex had checked me awhile back and said I was around 7cm. "Well,
I'd say more like 5," she said. WHAT!?!?!?! I felt like I'd been
punched. How could I lose two whole centimeters in an hour? After she
left Ambre tried to make me feel better by saying that she just didn't
want to get my hopes up.
And within minutes I couldn't worry anymore about how many centimeters
I was dilated, because once the cushion of the bag of water was gone
the contractions descended like a ton of bricks. Outrageously strong,
intense contractions that started coming around every 90 seconds.
Suddenly I was back into complete and utter incoherence again. During
each contraction I would clutch the oxygen mask to my face and try to
force myself to suck in a breath. Each breath would come out in a
series of strangled screams. Ross and Ambre held my hands and rubbed
me and tried to remind me to breathe. "Take a breath, for Tessa, to
get oxygen to Tessa," they told me. At some point Ambre told me "I
know it's hard, but try to let your breath out in one long sounding."
I managed to do this, and found it very helpful.
Jennifer the nurse paged the anesthesiologist, who gave me another
bolus of epidural, but it really had no affect whatsoever on the pain
at this point. With each contraction I would clench my eyes shut and
work to breathe, as Ross and Ambre held onto me and stroked me. This
went on approximately forever.
Alex the OB came in and checked the monitors and said that Tessa was
experiencing some tachycardia. Her heartrate was up over 200 at
certain points. I said that I was starting to feel like pushing, so
she checked my cervix and said that indeed, I was almost fully dilated
with just a little lip left. So I was left to suck oxygen and try to
survive the contractions for just a while longer.
After that indeterminable period elapsed, I was given the go ahead to
start pushing. Jennifer the nurse came in, set up the bed for
delivery, and told Ross and Ambre to each take one of my legs and hold
them while I pushed. She told me that when I felt a contraction, to
take a deep breath, hold it, bring my chin to my chest, and push for 10
counts. Somewhere in the back of my head I was thinking, "No, no, I'm
not supposed to do purple pushing. No one is supposed to count at me.
The Sears said I'm supposed to push when I feel the urges, several
times through a contraction. And aren't I supposed to be squatting
instead of laying semi-reclined?" But at the same time some other part
of my brain said, "Ah, just screw it and do what she said." So we
started pushing, which felt SO much better than dealing with the
contractions. I could tell that Ambre thought I should be sitting up
more, but she didn't want to say anything directly to the nurse.
Instead she asked me, "Do you think you'd be more comfortable sitting
up more?" In my bid to remain nonconfrontational (like the nurse would
have cared if I had wanted to sit up more!) I replied that I was fine.
Push push push push push. About three pushes per contraction.
Another OB came in and looked at the monitors and said that Tessa's
heartrate was getting pretty high again. She said that I would need to
push every other contraction and breathe through every other
contraction to give the baby a break and prevent her from getting too
stressed. "But are we making any progress?," I demanded (nicely). She
smiled and said that there were all the indications that the baby was
moving down the birth canal, so we were doing great. I felt a lot
better upon hearing that.
So next began what was perhaps the hardest part of the entire labor,
making myself not push during every other contraction. It was pure and
utter torture. Ross and Ambre each gripped one of my hands as I raged
and howled and did not push. Then they would grasp a leg as I laid on
my side and pushed with all my might. Jennifer the nurse touched me
with a finger and told me "Push right here" but that wasn't really
necessary. I knew where to push. I had been born to push this baby
out of me.
Funny moment: at one point the nurse wanted to change the pad that was
under me, so she asked me to lift up my butt. Ambre remarked that she
couldn't believe that I could still lift my bottom after all that
epidural, to which Ross replied "She has a very high tolerance for
drugs."
Alex the OB was back, and they were setting up the mirror on the
ceiling, which seemed to indicate that the end was in sight (my end was
definitely in sight now). At some point I think Dr. Archie came in,
saw that I was still pushing, and left again. Alex said that because
of the tachycardia, and because Tessa was a little premature (they kept
saying she was 36 weeks and five days, though by my calculations she
was exactly 37 weeks), the pediatrics team was going to come in and
have a look at her immediately after delivery. Then if everything was
all right they would put her on my bare chest. I wasn't thrilled to
hear that, but I was focused on getting her out in the first place.
But I was tired, very very tired.
And then suddenly, there was the merest glimpse of her head peeking
out. More pushes, and yes, it was definitely her head crowning. My
baby's head, actually coming out of my body. I was awestruck.
Instinctively, though no one told me to, I started panting and blowing.
Alex worked on stretching my perineum slowly and I thought to myself
"Hey, that's great! That's exactly what she's supposed to be doing to
let the head birth slowly," which was kind of a funny thought. In a
few moments, though, I felt a strong urge to get this head out of me.
I'd heard a lot about the ring of fire and so forth, but it wasn't pain
that made me eager to start pushing again. Frankly it just felt too
weird to have a head sticking out of this part of my anatomy for any
length of time. So push I did. The nurse said something like "When
you feel a contraction, start pushing" but I realized even at the time
that I didn't know whether or not I was having contractions, but I was
just going to keep on pushing till that head was out.
And out it popped, with my sweet little baby's face showing. More
pushes, and out came first one shoulder, then the other. And then she
was slipping and sliding right into Alex's hands. "Oh, look at her
girl parts!," Ambre cried, pure joy in her voice. One of the pediatric
team cut her cord quickly and they carried her to the isolette next to
the bed. I saw her as they carried her over and I marveled at how BIG
she looked. Had I really just pushed such a big creature out of me? I
was so happy that she was finally here and I absolutely loved her the
moment I laid eyes on her face. I understood that they wanted to make
sure she was okay, but I desperately wanted to hold her.
Dr. Archie rushed into the room then and said, "What happened???" I
smiled and said "You missed it!" She was so bummed that she had missed
the delivery! But soon she was cooing over Tessa and saying how
beautiful she was. Her APGARS were 8 and 9. And as Ambre later
pointed out, it was obvious that she was fine right from the beginning,
because she came out already making little noises. Her official stats:
born June 27, 2001 at 9:13 AM. 6 pounds, 13 ounces, 20 inches long.
Not too shabby for a "preemie."
In a few moments they had Ross cut the other end of her cord and then
they brought her over and laid her on my bare chest. I was absolutely
in heaven. Her eyes were wide open and she didn't cry a bit. She just
calmly looked around and felt so warm and snuggly. An absolute angel.
And she still is. For the last two weeks we have just been
thunderstruck by how calm and amenable Miss Tessa is. And how she
sleeps. Goodness this girl can sleep (though not so much at night!).
I keep feeling like we won the lottery after all. Ross says that it's
obvious she's some kind of (wonderful) alien mutant baby, but we're not
trading her back for the human baby we were supposed to get. Matthew
utterly adores her and constantly wants to kiss her and hold her (and
poke her eyes and squeeze her legs and other things we're constantly
having to dissuade him from doing). They are so freaking cute
together.
And my recovery has been incredible. I had two tiny labial stitches
that I didn't even feel for days (though they then got pulled and went
briefly from being Nothing to Something). Unbelievably, a week after
she was born all four of us went to the mall to do some shopping and
have lunch. After Matthew was born it was two weeks before I could
even haul myself downstairs to sit on a planter for a few minutes.
So I truly got my dream labor and delivery and I feel fortunate beyond
words. Ross and Ambre were phenomenally supportive and it was
wonderful having Lori with us right after the birth (though she was
shocked that she missed the birth itself, since everything went so
quickly!). As usual we owe so much to my mother for all her help with
Matthew, as well as keeping us fed for the first couple of days.
As I finally finish this up, my little Tessa Love is nursing away and
I know I'm the luckiest mommy in the whole world.
Back to now:
OMG, I just read all this and I am thunderstruck, just awed beyond words at this description of Tessa's birth. How could I be so fortunate to have experienced something so powerful? I really am the luckiest mommy in the whole world!
Happy Birthday, five year old girl. I love you.
started having extremely frequent contractions when I was just shy of
27 weeks pregnant. I was hospitalized overnight as measures were taken
to halt the contractions. By the next day things appeared to have
stabilized and no cervical change had taken place, so I went home with
instructions to remain on bedrest. However, by that weekend
contractions were coming every three minutes or so and I was back in
the hospital for three days, with major drug intervention. I left the
hospital unsure of just how long Baby Tessa (for that was now
officially her name) was going to wait to be born. We set a goal
(though it really wasn't up to us) of making it through another seven
weeks, to get us to 34 weeks. We actually got to 37 weeks, practically
full term!
And for those ten weeks, I prelabored. This is somewhat of a
euphemism for saying that I had constant contractions for that entire
time. Most were not painful, though many were, and for the last three
weeks or so before the birth I was having at least one episode a day
that felt like the beginnings of true labor. The contractions would
become more frequent, like every 3-6 minutes, and more intense, for 2-4
hours. Then they would just peter out again and become irregular and
less painful in general. This was pretty maddening since Tessa dropped
at 34 weeks (usually doesn't happen till soon before true labor in
subsequent pregnancies), I lost my mucous plug around that time
(doesn't usually happen till soon before true labor in subsequent
pregnancies), I had bloody show at 35 weeks (you get the idea....).
And man, she was LOW, grinding into my cervix like she was just going
to fall out. Every week that passed was a surprise to us, since we
never thought we would get to that point and still be pregnant. It was
a Good Thing, since each week that passed matured Tessa more and more,
but I was hurting and weary of the constant false alarms.
June 26th was Ross' 35th birthday and I brought home a cake. As he
and Matthew blew out the candles, he made a wish. Later he told me
that he wished for Tessa to come the very next day, which is just what
happened. Very effective wishing, I told him, but perhaps next time
you could wish to win the lottery. Though at the time, I would have
taken Tessa being born immediately over winning the lottery (okay,
maybe not over winning the $141 million jackpot).
Later that night after some, um, labor inducing activities, I started
feeling very sharp cervical pains that prevented me from resting
comfortably. It was about midnight, and I got out of bed to take a
bath. I was discharging very pink fluid. Contractions started getting
pretty strong in the bath and I just couldn't get comfortable. I gave
up and got out at around 12:40. I told Ross to go back to bed (thus
getting him a total of 40 whole minutes of sleep!) and I sat on the
couch, counting contractions. Hmm, they were getting progressively
stronger pretty quickly and were 2-3 minutes apart. I still wasn't
quite ready to admit this was true labor, having been disappointed so
many times in the past. By soon after 1:00, however, I was quite sure
that it was, for the contractions were getting solidly painful, every
single one. I decided to wait till 1:30 to wake up Ross and figure out
what we should do. Through some husbandly psychic connection, at
exactly 1:30 he stumbled out of the bedroom and asked how I was doing.
I said that either this was it or I was going to shoot myself in the
head.
So the question remained, what should we do? Call my mother (who
lives about an hour away) to come to watch Matthew? Call Ambre (who
lives around 40 minutes away) and have her come over to help with
laboring? We decided to call my mother, but wait on calling Ambre till
we got to the hospital, since it was the middle of the night and she
has two little ones of her own at home. My mother insisted on driving
herself, though we really wanted her to call my sister or one of my
nephews to drive her. After a while I really wasn't in the mood for
arguing anymore and had Ross just tell her to come as soon as she
could.
I decided to get back in the bath, sitting on a beach towel as sitting
on the bottom of the tub was suddenly terribly painful. I kept the tub
as full as possible and with each contraction I sort of flapped my
hands back and forth under the water. I rhythmically nodded my head up
and down as I moved my hands, telling myself I was flying through the
contractions. This worked very well for awhile, but finally the
contractions were just too strong and I had to get out of the tub
again. Meanwhile Ross, unable to go back to sleep, was in full on
nesting mode. He cleaned out the refrigerator, unloaded the
dishwasher, took out the trash. Even though I was feeling like hell by
this point, I realized how incredibly endearing this was.
Around 2:15, my mother called back to say she was leaving home. I was
starting to get a little freaked out by how quickly the contractions
had intensified, but I was still managing to keep on top of them. I
drank lemonade and water. I moaned and rocked. Ross bustled about and
made sure we had everything we needed. He got online and emailed his
advisor and friend Mike, who works very late hours. He asked if he
could drive over and sit on the couch till my mother arrived if we
needed him to (he lives only 10 minutes away). That set, Ross went to
take a shower and I moaned some more. Contractions were still around
2-3 minutes apart and had been so for about two hours now. However,
the quality of the contractions was very different from the prelabor
contractions I had been experiencing, and not just in terms of pain
level. They were different in some inexplicable way. It's funny,
since people had been asking me for weeks how I was going to know when
I was really in labor, and I had said I didn't know. I knew now that
there had never been a reason to doubt that I would know the real thing
when it came.
By 3:15 I was starting to get scared, because the level of pelvic
pressure (pressure being SUCH a euphemism!) had gotten very intense,
and I was starting to feel actual pushing urge. "Okay, I'm calling
Mike!," Ross said, but I kept insisting that my mother had left about
an hour ago and she should be here soon (we would later find out that
the offramp to our place from the freeway was closed and she had had to
come a way that was unfamiliar to her. My poor 73 year old mother
driving in the middle of the night through an L.A. neighborhood she
didn't recognize!).
At around 3:35 the phone rang and she was downstairs at the gate to
our complex. Ross rushed out to go find a parking place for her. As
he left the door slammed and a moment later I heard a high pitched
whine come from Matthew's room. This had been the one blessing of the
timing of all this hard labor, that Matthew was asleep before it
started so we didn't have to worry about his reaction to seeing me in
so much pain. But now he had obviously been awoken. In the midst of a
contraction, I dragged myself into his room. He was sitting up half
asleep, but lay down again when he saw me. Tears in my voice, I
stroked his head and told him, "Go back to sleep sweetheart. I love
you. I love you." And back to sleep he fell. I was so glad I got to
see him before I left for the hospital, to tell him I loved him one
more time while he was still my only baby.
A minute later Ross returned with my mother and we were out the door.
We live on the third floor, with no elevator, so I had to make it down
two flights of stairs. We made it with only one break for a
contraction. Walking across the courtyard, I had a breathtaking,
overwhelming contraction. I leaned into Ross' chest and rubbed my head
into his shoulder, feeling like I was trying to butt my head through
his body, through the pain. He said he was going to leave me at the
gate and bring the car around, but I didn't want to be left alone even
for a moment and said I would walk back to the garage. One more
contraction and we were there. I leaned against the building and
groaned, feeling the stucco dig into my skin.
The pain intensified as I sat down in the car. As we flew down
Sepulveda, I declared "If we get there and I'm not ready to push, I am
getting an epidural RIGHT AWAY!" Ross assured me that he understood
and he would make it happen. Then he proceeded to bend, though not
explicitly break, several traffic laws. Rather than stop at red
lights, he would turn right at each one, then flip a u-turn quickly and
turn right again. He got us to UCLA Medical Center in record time.
Another good reason to go into labor in the middle of the night, since
the ride that took us about 10 minutes would have taken half an hour or
more during rush hour.
Parking then turned into a comedy of errors. He had planned to get a
temporary parking pass at the kiosk at the hospital, but there was no
attendant. He said he could take me to emergency and get a wheelchair
for me, but it had taken a really long time to get up to Labor and
Delivery that way when I went into the hospital previously. He thought
it better to just park illegally in the structure closer to L and D.
However, the electronic gate wouldn't open with our keycard and he had
to back out. He started to drive back to Emergency, then decided to
try another entrance to the regular parking structure. That one let us
in and he parked next to the elevator. However, I opened my door and
realized that there was no way at that point that I was going to be
able to walk, even to the elevator and then down the hallway to L and
D. No way at all. So Ross jumped back into the car, drove out of the
structure, and back to Emergency. He got me in a wheelchair and pushed
me to the entrance to the elevators that go up into the main hospital.
The door was locked. Back we went through the emergency room doors.
As I screamed down the hall, an attendant pushed the wheelchair into an
exam room, past some really sick looking people.
The oncall doctor came quickly and checked me. She smiled and said I
was 5cm and almost fully effaced. "Is that ALL?!?," I moaned. The
attending nurse looked surprised. "That's really good!," she enthused.
The doctor wrote down "5cm, 90% effaced, 0 station" on a package of
gauze and handed it to me to take upstairs to L and D. I clutched it
in my hand till it was unrecognizable. "It will probably be at least
another hour, " she said. Yeah right, I thought. "Do you think you're
going to want an epidural?," she asked. I just nodded vigorously.
An attendant pushed me up to L and D, Ross trying to open all the
doors and keep out of the way of the chair. It was around 4:00. I was
in full on howling mode by the time we made it into L and D. They
quickly wheeled me into one of the nice labor rooms and got me up on
the bed and hooked up to the monitors. I was feeling pretty incoherent
by now, in a fog of pain. The oncall OB (named Alexandra) checked me,
found me at 5cm, and said it would be a few minutes while they got
things set up. I was screeching through the contractions. They were
continuous now, with absolutely no breaks in between. Just one long
savage pain. I gasped through the questions she asked, feeling
compelled to answer though Ross was trying to answer for me. The OB
said, "When you get a break in the contractions, we'll do an ultrasound
to see how the baby's doing." "THERE IS NO BREAK," I replied. She
looked at the contraction monitor and I guess saw that I meant what I
said. I think that at that point she asked if I wanted an epidural,
but I'm not sure. All I know is that I heard that the anesthesiologist
was coming. The attending nurse said she was going to get some
fentenyl for me to help take the edge off the pain while we were
waiting for the epidural. They said they were going to start my IV and
I gasped that I was a hard stick (trying to be helpful in the middle of
hell). The IV went in and I willed the bag of fluid to go in quickly.
More questions, continuous pain, and then the fentenyl showed up.
Within just a few minutes, I actually felt some coherence return. The
contractions were still hellish, but I felt somewhat calmer. Ross saw
immediately that I was feeling better and commented on it. "Better
living through chemistry, " I replied. And soon the anesthesiologist
arrived. She saw that I was in a lot of pain, and went through her
required litany quickly. It mostly was composed of "Have you ever had
an epidural before? There are some risks associated with epidural
administration. Do you want to hear them?" In the midst of a killer
contraction, I snapped "NO!" and she shoved a consent form in front of
me, on which I scribbled something vaguely resembling my signature.
Then I was sitting up and she was putting the epidural in. The drug
felt really cold going into my back, icy salvation.
Within a few minutes I was already feeling more relief and within
about 20 minutes I felt great. The intense pain had been laid to rest
and I could still move my legs and everything. By this time it was a
little after 5:00 and Ross went out of the hospital to call Ambre (we
couldn't call to her area code from the room and our cell phones
weren't getting any reception). I sort of dozed and looked around the
room, which was pretty nice. Big bathroom with a nice shower with a
bench seat (which we didn't get to use obviously). TV, VCR, nice
looking stereo system (also went unused, oh well). Long artsy couch
that looked like it came from Z Gallerie.
The OB came back and did an ultrasound and said everything looked fine
with the baby. She said she'd come back in about an hour to check our
progress. Ross came back and I got some ice chips and we settled in to
wait. I could feel the contractions, but they weren't really painful.
Around 6:00 Ambre arrived and we were laughing and chatting it up. A
nurse named Jennifer came in (she was the nurse who was assigned to see
us through the labor, which was really great. During my labor with
Matthew we had numerous nurses come in and out. It was so much nicer
having one person to help us.) and said, smiling, "I guess you're
feeling better." Indeed I was. Alex the OB came back somewhat before
7:00 (I think) and checked my cervix, which she said was now at 7cm,
fully effaced (at first she said 8cm, then amended it to 7). Hooray!
She said she would call my OB, Dr. Archie, and let her know things were
progressing.
Ross called home and told my mother that the baby wasn't here yet, but
things were moving along. Matthew was thankfully still asleep. Then
he told her where to find Lori's phone number, as I realized that I had
her cell phone number and work number, but not her home number with me.
Ambre called her around 7:20 and got her machine. Lori called back
and Ambre told her I was at 7cm and to come on down when she could.
The contractions were intensifying and getting pretty close together
again. Ambre and Ross kept looking at the monitor and going "Whoa!
That was a big one, with double peaks." The anesthesiologist came back
and gave me another bolus of the epidural, but I was having to stop and
breathe through the contractions again. I felt a rush of liquid and
told the nurse that I thought my water might have broken. She checked
and saw that it was a large amount of bright red blood, so she called
the OB right away. Alex the OB came in and said that while everything
was probably fine, there was a little bit of concern that the placenta
might have peeled away from the uterus, which would have caused the
bleeding. She said they were going to start me on some IV antibiotics,
so a bag of ampicillin was hooked into my IV. Frankly I wasn't very
worried about the possibility of placental abruption, since I was
really hurting again and had to concentrate on the contractions. Ambre
started rubbing my side during the contractions and gave me a lot of
encouragement.
Somewhat before 8:00 (I think) Dr. Archie came in and said she thought
it would be a good idea to break my water at this point. That was fine
with me, so she brought out the crochet hook-like thingy and did the
AROM. Wow, talk about a huge gush of liquid, over and over again.
Ross looked pretty shocked. She also checked my cervix and I told her
that Alex had checked me awhile back and said I was around 7cm. "Well,
I'd say more like 5," she said. WHAT!?!?!?! I felt like I'd been
punched. How could I lose two whole centimeters in an hour? After she
left Ambre tried to make me feel better by saying that she just didn't
want to get my hopes up.
And within minutes I couldn't worry anymore about how many centimeters
I was dilated, because once the cushion of the bag of water was gone
the contractions descended like a ton of bricks. Outrageously strong,
intense contractions that started coming around every 90 seconds.
Suddenly I was back into complete and utter incoherence again. During
each contraction I would clutch the oxygen mask to my face and try to
force myself to suck in a breath. Each breath would come out in a
series of strangled screams. Ross and Ambre held my hands and rubbed
me and tried to remind me to breathe. "Take a breath, for Tessa, to
get oxygen to Tessa," they told me. At some point Ambre told me "I
know it's hard, but try to let your breath out in one long sounding."
I managed to do this, and found it very helpful.
Jennifer the nurse paged the anesthesiologist, who gave me another
bolus of epidural, but it really had no affect whatsoever on the pain
at this point. With each contraction I would clench my eyes shut and
work to breathe, as Ross and Ambre held onto me and stroked me. This
went on approximately forever.
Alex the OB came in and checked the monitors and said that Tessa was
experiencing some tachycardia. Her heartrate was up over 200 at
certain points. I said that I was starting to feel like pushing, so
she checked my cervix and said that indeed, I was almost fully dilated
with just a little lip left. So I was left to suck oxygen and try to
survive the contractions for just a while longer.
After that indeterminable period elapsed, I was given the go ahead to
start pushing. Jennifer the nurse came in, set up the bed for
delivery, and told Ross and Ambre to each take one of my legs and hold
them while I pushed. She told me that when I felt a contraction, to
take a deep breath, hold it, bring my chin to my chest, and push for 10
counts. Somewhere in the back of my head I was thinking, "No, no, I'm
not supposed to do purple pushing. No one is supposed to count at me.
The Sears said I'm supposed to push when I feel the urges, several
times through a contraction. And aren't I supposed to be squatting
instead of laying semi-reclined?" But at the same time some other part
of my brain said, "Ah, just screw it and do what she said." So we
started pushing, which felt SO much better than dealing with the
contractions. I could tell that Ambre thought I should be sitting up
more, but she didn't want to say anything directly to the nurse.
Instead she asked me, "Do you think you'd be more comfortable sitting
up more?" In my bid to remain nonconfrontational (like the nurse would
have cared if I had wanted to sit up more!) I replied that I was fine.
Push push push push push. About three pushes per contraction.
Another OB came in and looked at the monitors and said that Tessa's
heartrate was getting pretty high again. She said that I would need to
push every other contraction and breathe through every other
contraction to give the baby a break and prevent her from getting too
stressed. "But are we making any progress?," I demanded (nicely). She
smiled and said that there were all the indications that the baby was
moving down the birth canal, so we were doing great. I felt a lot
better upon hearing that.
So next began what was perhaps the hardest part of the entire labor,
making myself not push during every other contraction. It was pure and
utter torture. Ross and Ambre each gripped one of my hands as I raged
and howled and did not push. Then they would grasp a leg as I laid on
my side and pushed with all my might. Jennifer the nurse touched me
with a finger and told me "Push right here" but that wasn't really
necessary. I knew where to push. I had been born to push this baby
out of me.
Funny moment: at one point the nurse wanted to change the pad that was
under me, so she asked me to lift up my butt. Ambre remarked that she
couldn't believe that I could still lift my bottom after all that
epidural, to which Ross replied "She has a very high tolerance for
drugs."
Alex the OB was back, and they were setting up the mirror on the
ceiling, which seemed to indicate that the end was in sight (my end was
definitely in sight now). At some point I think Dr. Archie came in,
saw that I was still pushing, and left again. Alex said that because
of the tachycardia, and because Tessa was a little premature (they kept
saying she was 36 weeks and five days, though by my calculations she
was exactly 37 weeks), the pediatrics team was going to come in and
have a look at her immediately after delivery. Then if everything was
all right they would put her on my bare chest. I wasn't thrilled to
hear that, but I was focused on getting her out in the first place.
But I was tired, very very tired.
And then suddenly, there was the merest glimpse of her head peeking
out. More pushes, and yes, it was definitely her head crowning. My
baby's head, actually coming out of my body. I was awestruck.
Instinctively, though no one told me to, I started panting and blowing.
Alex worked on stretching my perineum slowly and I thought to myself
"Hey, that's great! That's exactly what she's supposed to be doing to
let the head birth slowly," which was kind of a funny thought. In a
few moments, though, I felt a strong urge to get this head out of me.
I'd heard a lot about the ring of fire and so forth, but it wasn't pain
that made me eager to start pushing again. Frankly it just felt too
weird to have a head sticking out of this part of my anatomy for any
length of time. So push I did. The nurse said something like "When
you feel a contraction, start pushing" but I realized even at the time
that I didn't know whether or not I was having contractions, but I was
just going to keep on pushing till that head was out.
And out it popped, with my sweet little baby's face showing. More
pushes, and out came first one shoulder, then the other. And then she
was slipping and sliding right into Alex's hands. "Oh, look at her
girl parts!," Ambre cried, pure joy in her voice. One of the pediatric
team cut her cord quickly and they carried her to the isolette next to
the bed. I saw her as they carried her over and I marveled at how BIG
she looked. Had I really just pushed such a big creature out of me? I
was so happy that she was finally here and I absolutely loved her the
moment I laid eyes on her face. I understood that they wanted to make
sure she was okay, but I desperately wanted to hold her.
Dr. Archie rushed into the room then and said, "What happened???" I
smiled and said "You missed it!" She was so bummed that she had missed
the delivery! But soon she was cooing over Tessa and saying how
beautiful she was. Her APGARS were 8 and 9. And as Ambre later
pointed out, it was obvious that she was fine right from the beginning,
because she came out already making little noises. Her official stats:
born June 27, 2001 at 9:13 AM. 6 pounds, 13 ounces, 20 inches long.
Not too shabby for a "preemie."
In a few moments they had Ross cut the other end of her cord and then
they brought her over and laid her on my bare chest. I was absolutely
in heaven. Her eyes were wide open and she didn't cry a bit. She just
calmly looked around and felt so warm and snuggly. An absolute angel.
And she still is. For the last two weeks we have just been
thunderstruck by how calm and amenable Miss Tessa is. And how she
sleeps. Goodness this girl can sleep (though not so much at night!).
I keep feeling like we won the lottery after all. Ross says that it's
obvious she's some kind of (wonderful) alien mutant baby, but we're not
trading her back for the human baby we were supposed to get. Matthew
utterly adores her and constantly wants to kiss her and hold her (and
poke her eyes and squeeze her legs and other things we're constantly
having to dissuade him from doing). They are so freaking cute
together.
And my recovery has been incredible. I had two tiny labial stitches
that I didn't even feel for days (though they then got pulled and went
briefly from being Nothing to Something). Unbelievably, a week after
she was born all four of us went to the mall to do some shopping and
have lunch. After Matthew was born it was two weeks before I could
even haul myself downstairs to sit on a planter for a few minutes.
So I truly got my dream labor and delivery and I feel fortunate beyond
words. Ross and Ambre were phenomenally supportive and it was
wonderful having Lori with us right after the birth (though she was
shocked that she missed the birth itself, since everything went so
quickly!). As usual we owe so much to my mother for all her help with
Matthew, as well as keeping us fed for the first couple of days.
As I finally finish this up, my little Tessa Love is nursing away and
I know I'm the luckiest mommy in the whole world.
Back to now:
OMG, I just read all this and I am thunderstruck, just awed beyond words at this description of Tessa's birth. How could I be so fortunate to have experienced something so powerful? I really am the luckiest mommy in the whole world!
Happy Birthday, five year old girl. I love you.
Monday, June 26, 2006
My Boy Turns 40
Obviously not my little boy (who is going to be NINE), but my big boy. Ross is 40 years old today (6/26/66, not quite The Omen, but still lots of sixes).
I was there when he turned 20, I was there when he turned 30, and I'm here as he's turned 40. I hope to be around for all the other decade milestones as well, and I hope there are many.
He's such a kind, good person. How did he spend his 40th birthday? We were going to go away for a few days, so he took off today and tomorrow, but the weather has been so dismal we put our trip off (just as well since Matthew was running a 103 fever and his eye swelled almost shut yesterday!). So today he was free, and he offered his help to a friend who was moving. He spent half of his birthday hauling boxes in the rain. Now that's a nice guy :).
He's so smart, so witty, so fun. He's such a great dad, and such a great husband, and such a great friend. Even if he is a 40 year old geezer.
Man, I'm glad I'm not 40 (for another 6 days :D).
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Obviously not my little boy (who is going to be NINE), but my big boy. Ross is 40 years old today (6/26/66, not quite The Omen, but still lots of sixes).
I was there when he turned 20, I was there when he turned 30, and I'm here as he's turned 40. I hope to be around for all the other decade milestones as well, and I hope there are many.
He's such a kind, good person. How did he spend his 40th birthday? We were going to go away for a few days, so he took off today and tomorrow, but the weather has been so dismal we put our trip off (just as well since Matthew was running a 103 fever and his eye swelled almost shut yesterday!). So today he was free, and he offered his help to a friend who was moving. He spent half of his birthday hauling boxes in the rain. Now that's a nice guy :).
He's so smart, so witty, so fun. He's such a great dad, and such a great husband, and such a great friend. Even if he is a 40 year old geezer.
Man, I'm glad I'm not 40 (for another 6 days :D).
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Last Day
This is Tessa's last day of pre-K class (tomorrow is her Stepping Up ceremony, not to be confused with her Moving On ceremony that she had for nursery school. I keep mixing them together and calling it the Stepping On ceremony). This is Matthew's last full day of school.
This is the last day I made Matthew a school lunch in second grade. This is the last day I dropped Tessa off at little kid school. This is the last day (for a while) that I was able to go to the mall by myself. This is the last day I sat in silence at home and had the computer all to myself. This is the last day (for a while) that I could blast music in the car. This is the last day I have a preschooler. This is the last day before our routine changes and while there is a lot to be happy about, we all know how I feel about change.
It's the first day of summer, and the last day for so many other things.
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This is Tessa's last day of pre-K class (tomorrow is her Stepping Up ceremony, not to be confused with her Moving On ceremony that she had for nursery school. I keep mixing them together and calling it the Stepping On ceremony). This is Matthew's last full day of school.
This is the last day I made Matthew a school lunch in second grade. This is the last day I dropped Tessa off at little kid school. This is the last day (for a while) that I was able to go to the mall by myself. This is the last day I sat in silence at home and had the computer all to myself. This is the last day (for a while) that I could blast music in the car. This is the last day I have a preschooler. This is the last day before our routine changes and while there is a lot to be happy about, we all know how I feel about change.
It's the first day of summer, and the last day for so many other things.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Hype
So I was, obviously, all stressed out two days ago. I was hyped about the following day, stressed to the gills (if I was a fish...where the hell does that expression comes from?).
Tessa had a playdate at 10, school at 12:10, I had a gynecological exam (I can't call it my annual exam since it's been three years :p) at 12:30, and had to be back at school for the school birthday party (armed with 20 cupcakes, punch, goody bags, hats, blowers, SpongeBob plates, napkins, and cups) at 1:45. I had this plan of attack, to frost the cupcakes after dropping Matthew off at school, put them in an ice chest with the punch, go to the playdate, drop Tessa off at school, go to the appointment (which was supposed to take over an hour), then rush to school. It was supposed to be over 80 degrees, so ice in the ice chest was imperative, so we'd have to stop for ice. I was completely beside myself with anxiety about the very small windows of time between all these events.
Then in the morning I realized (DUH!) that I could leave Tessa at the playdate just before she had to go to school, go back home and pick up all the party stuff, bring it all into school and leave it there, and just bring myself at party time. This all worked out fine, Tessa had a great time at the playdate and I had a great time talking to the other moms, I was at my appointment early enough to fill out forms before the appointment, the appointment itself went about as well as a gynecological exam can go, and I was back at school with minutes to spare. The kids LOVED the cupcakes, Tessa's teacher was thrilled and appreciative that I had sent extra cupcakes, hats, and blowers because they had three extra students in class that day, the kids were so cute and fun and were so happy with their goody bags.
So what the hell is my problem? Why do I buy into my own hype, that things are going to be SO BAD, everything is going to be SUCH A DISASTER, that the worst case scenario is not only possible, not only probable, but inevitable?
My life would so much better if I could stop doing this.
[As an aside, at my gynecological exam I was given a real compliment about my vaginal muscle tone :D. At the end of the internal the midwife (yes, all done by a nurse midwife who was SO cool!) asked me to push against her fingers. I did and her eyes widened and she went "Woah! You get an A+ for that! And we don't say that very often!" LOL!!! I said, "I do Kegels." She replied, "We're always telling people they really should be doing that more, so that's great!" Not everyday someone gives your fancy an A+!]
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So I was, obviously, all stressed out two days ago. I was hyped about the following day, stressed to the gills (if I was a fish...where the hell does that expression comes from?).
Tessa had a playdate at 10, school at 12:10, I had a gynecological exam (I can't call it my annual exam since it's been three years :p) at 12:30, and had to be back at school for the school birthday party (armed with 20 cupcakes, punch, goody bags, hats, blowers, SpongeBob plates, napkins, and cups) at 1:45. I had this plan of attack, to frost the cupcakes after dropping Matthew off at school, put them in an ice chest with the punch, go to the playdate, drop Tessa off at school, go to the appointment (which was supposed to take over an hour), then rush to school. It was supposed to be over 80 degrees, so ice in the ice chest was imperative, so we'd have to stop for ice. I was completely beside myself with anxiety about the very small windows of time between all these events.
Then in the morning I realized (DUH!) that I could leave Tessa at the playdate just before she had to go to school, go back home and pick up all the party stuff, bring it all into school and leave it there, and just bring myself at party time. This all worked out fine, Tessa had a great time at the playdate and I had a great time talking to the other moms, I was at my appointment early enough to fill out forms before the appointment, the appointment itself went about as well as a gynecological exam can go, and I was back at school with minutes to spare. The kids LOVED the cupcakes, Tessa's teacher was thrilled and appreciative that I had sent extra cupcakes, hats, and blowers because they had three extra students in class that day, the kids were so cute and fun and were so happy with their goody bags.
So what the hell is my problem? Why do I buy into my own hype, that things are going to be SO BAD, everything is going to be SUCH A DISASTER, that the worst case scenario is not only possible, not only probable, but inevitable?
My life would so much better if I could stop doing this.
[As an aside, at my gynecological exam I was given a real compliment about my vaginal muscle tone :D. At the end of the internal the midwife (yes, all done by a nurse midwife who was SO cool!) asked me to push against her fingers. I did and her eyes widened and she went "Woah! You get an A+ for that! And we don't say that very often!" LOL!!! I said, "I do Kegels." She replied, "We're always telling people they really should be doing that more, so that's great!" Not everyday someone gives your fancy an A+!]
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Stress
So what is it? Is it anxiety about the school year ending, the mad rush I'm pushing myself through to get as much as possible done while I still have "me" time? Is it the heat? Is it PMS? Is it all of the above?
What made me just say through gritted teeth to Tessa, "I am SO angry!" Then tell her to go to sleep, and stomp out of the room.
Yeah, she was pissing me off by whining about the order in which her stuffed animals were placed on her bed, whining that she wanted to sleep with the baby blanket that has been run all over the tile floor, shoved into corners, and not washed in god knows how long. After all I go through to minimize the dust mites she comes in contact with, that wasn't going to happen.
Yeah, I spent the entire day shopping specifically for stuff for her class birthday party tomorrow, organizing goody bags, and baking 2 dozen cupcakes in 80 degree weather. And I couldn't stand any more whining. But geez, she's not quite 5, it was late, it was bedtime, and she was tired. Whining is lingua franca.
But I'm tired too. I'm tired of being underappreciated by these small people. I'm tired of constant demands for stuff, for always more, for nothing ever seeming to be enough. What have you done for me lately (like in the last three nanoseconds?).
It's my own fault too. I'm tired of feeling like I have to have perfect goody bags, perfect cupcakes, give the perfect freaking birthday party for a bunch of 5 year olds. Because that's all I get to do in life, and I have to be perfect.
Pushed and pulled from both sides, but harder on the side I am on, myself.
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So what is it? Is it anxiety about the school year ending, the mad rush I'm pushing myself through to get as much as possible done while I still have "me" time? Is it the heat? Is it PMS? Is it all of the above?
What made me just say through gritted teeth to Tessa, "I am SO angry!" Then tell her to go to sleep, and stomp out of the room.
Yeah, she was pissing me off by whining about the order in which her stuffed animals were placed on her bed, whining that she wanted to sleep with the baby blanket that has been run all over the tile floor, shoved into corners, and not washed in god knows how long. After all I go through to minimize the dust mites she comes in contact with, that wasn't going to happen.
Yeah, I spent the entire day shopping specifically for stuff for her class birthday party tomorrow, organizing goody bags, and baking 2 dozen cupcakes in 80 degree weather. And I couldn't stand any more whining. But geez, she's not quite 5, it was late, it was bedtime, and she was tired. Whining is lingua franca.
But I'm tired too. I'm tired of being underappreciated by these small people. I'm tired of constant demands for stuff, for always more, for nothing ever seeming to be enough. What have you done for me lately (like in the last three nanoseconds?).
It's my own fault too. I'm tired of feeling like I have to have perfect goody bags, perfect cupcakes, give the perfect freaking birthday party for a bunch of 5 year olds. Because that's all I get to do in life, and I have to be perfect.
Pushed and pulled from both sides, but harder on the side I am on, myself.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
STUFF MY BEAR!!!!!
Today was the long anticipated and much ballyhooed Build-A-Bear Workshop birthday party. 14 kids! Choosing and stuffing and "washing" and heart inserting and shirt choosing and parading around yelling "I MADE MY BEAR!!!!!" Then up to the food court for pizza and Ben and Jerry's.
Tessa said it was a great party, though she seemed vaguely overwhelmed through most of it. It was pretty intense, though it was 10AM and thus not busy at BABW yet and the whole deal was a lot less chaotic than I had been expecting. It all went very smoothly for what it was, and two hours and $350 later it was all over. Yay.
Matthew held it together very well for most of the party, only tearing up a bit once when he was confused over the sequence of events (he had misunderstood when the hearts were to be chosen to put into the bears and he got frustrated when I tried to explain). But all in all he did great during this event that was so clearly Tessa's time in the spotlight. He was still concerned about the fairness of whether Tessa will have another birthday celebration on her "real" birthday (which doesn't come for another 24 days) and we have yet to figure out what we'll do for his birthday, but he made it through this day, Tessa's first school friend birthday party, quite well.
This year, Tessa attended parties for nine school friends and there will be a couple more later in the month. It really set the bar for her expectation of what a friend birthday party is all about, in a way that I'm not totally comfortable with. They were all pretty elaborate parties, held at "party places," with varying degrees of high end favors and entertainment. Not one home party with a homemade cake. She went to one last week at a dedicated party event place that had a very fancy kitchen set up so all the kids could make cupcakes during the party. I looked on the website of this place and it said that parties *started* at $750 for 15 kids, with additional kids being $25 apiece. Yikes.
This may change when she goes to K next fall, when not all the kids will come from wealthy families as is the case with her nursery school currently. But I worry that she (and now Matthew) will have the feeling that a birthday party has to be at a fancy place to be fun, that you have to give and receive $25 presents, that in order for a birthday to truly be happy a lot of money has to be spent.
For this year, though, she loved the birthday party she had, and that makes me happy. And I get to have my four year old baby for 24 more days, before she turns into this big kid five year old.
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Today was the long anticipated and much ballyhooed Build-A-Bear Workshop birthday party. 14 kids! Choosing and stuffing and "washing" and heart inserting and shirt choosing and parading around yelling "I MADE MY BEAR!!!!!" Then up to the food court for pizza and Ben and Jerry's.
Tessa said it was a great party, though she seemed vaguely overwhelmed through most of it. It was pretty intense, though it was 10AM and thus not busy at BABW yet and the whole deal was a lot less chaotic than I had been expecting. It all went very smoothly for what it was, and two hours and $350 later it was all over. Yay.
Matthew held it together very well for most of the party, only tearing up a bit once when he was confused over the sequence of events (he had misunderstood when the hearts were to be chosen to put into the bears and he got frustrated when I tried to explain). But all in all he did great during this event that was so clearly Tessa's time in the spotlight. He was still concerned about the fairness of whether Tessa will have another birthday celebration on her "real" birthday (which doesn't come for another 24 days) and we have yet to figure out what we'll do for his birthday, but he made it through this day, Tessa's first school friend birthday party, quite well.
This year, Tessa attended parties for nine school friends and there will be a couple more later in the month. It really set the bar for her expectation of what a friend birthday party is all about, in a way that I'm not totally comfortable with. They were all pretty elaborate parties, held at "party places," with varying degrees of high end favors and entertainment. Not one home party with a homemade cake. She went to one last week at a dedicated party event place that had a very fancy kitchen set up so all the kids could make cupcakes during the party. I looked on the website of this place and it said that parties *started* at $750 for 15 kids, with additional kids being $25 apiece. Yikes.
This may change when she goes to K next fall, when not all the kids will come from wealthy families as is the case with her nursery school currently. But I worry that she (and now Matthew) will have the feeling that a birthday party has to be at a fancy place to be fun, that you have to give and receive $25 presents, that in order for a birthday to truly be happy a lot of money has to be spent.
For this year, though, she loved the birthday party she had, and that makes me happy. And I get to have my four year old baby for 24 more days, before she turns into this big kid five year old.
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