The Birth

     I'm not sure I'd win the award for the world's worst labor, but I'm definitely a contender for the world's oddest labor! Before it all even began, my doctor had prepared me for challenges that may arise, and to remember that things can change in the blink of an eye so it's best to be flexible during delivery.... these things I knew and I prepared myself accordingly. However, what I wasn't prepared for was EVERYTHING being thrown up in the air, causing me to face fears I didn't think I could face in moments that I felt too tired to face them. So, for those who are interested, here is the story of Wyatt's birth.
     Past my due date and convinced that he was never going to come out, I decided that I was tired of waiting around for him. It was Friday night and we planned some family time, so we rented the beloved "Frozen" to watch for the evening. Halfway through the movie, I started to have contractions (not that I got too excited over this, because who knew if they were real or just another form of Braxton Hicks, right??). Either way, I decided to pull out my handy dandy contraction tracker app on my phone, just to see if there was a pattern to these annoying pains. And after several hours, I realized that there was no consistent pattern, but that I was averaging a contraction once every 15-20 minutes. I'd already had one false labor scare and my poor parents drove all the way from Michigan just to sit here and watch me remain pregnant, no grandchild to be produced, so I certainly didn't want to make that mistake again and call them too hastily. I decided to just go to bed and see how I felt in the morning.
     Except trying to sleep through contractions is kinda like trying to sleep through an earthquake. Some things can't (and shouldn't) be ignored! By morning, the contractions were averaging 10 minutes apart, but still there was no set pattern to them, which I was told was a sign that they were Braxton Hicks and not true contractions. So, on I labored (I just didn't know I was doing so). We picked up Isaac for our weekend visit and hung out around the house for the day, just in case my body did anything too crazy. And anyways, I was exhausted from not having slept at all the previous night. Never having pulled an all-nighter before, my body was stuck in Zombie Mode. Finally, by around 5pm, my husband encouraged me to call my parents to come out. The contractions were getting stronger, but still all over the place. And, as sure as I'm sitting here, about an hour after making the call, the pains slowed down considerably. Great, I thought, another false alarm as soon as my parents get on the road! However, being several days past my due date, Mom and Dad decided to keep driving because it was only a matter of time before I would have to pop, right?
     They arrived at 11pm on Saturday night and we all decided to "get some sleep" just in case things were to pick up again. Sure enough, moments after placing my head on the pillow, the contractions went from about 15 minutes apart to 6 minutes apart (but STILL irregular!!). I laid awake monitoring frequencies and strength of the pains as my husband sawed logs next to me. But once I had two episodes in a 4 minute span, I promptly woke him and my parents up at 1am and we began the hour ride into Pittsburgh where my hospital was located. Thankfully, there isn't a whole lot of traffic in the middle of the night and our trip was shorter than expected! Long story short, the doctor examined me and found I was only half a cm dilated (seriously?!?!) and he had me walk laps for an hour to keep the contractions coming strong. They were 2-3 minutes apart when he checked me again, but I had only increased to 1 cm dilated. The option to induce labor was mentioned by the nurse and I told her that I didn't want to do anything that would increase my chances of having a c-section (my horrific fear of needles and knives being a major concern!). So, after almost 11 hours at the hospital, the doctor gave me a shot of morphine to help me sleep (aka help me hallucinate) and sent me home to finish laboring there.
     I managed to get 2 hours of sleep, although somewhat interrupted.... my hubby's nerves through this whole process had the poor man sleep talking and asking me random questions every few minutes! When I woke from the nap, the contractions had slowed to about one per hour. Awesome. I spent the rest of Sunday evening power walking up and down my driveway and my patient and sleepy husband even took me on a bumpy quad ride to try to get things going again. But all of it was in vain. There was nothing left for me to do other than wait until my OB appointment the following afternoon. Feeling defeated, I went to bed. I managed almost 4 hours of sleep before contractions woke me up again, keeping me hopping until mid-morning, at which point they decided to hibernate once more. I was starting to become very angry at my uterus. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe it was the mostly consistent pains I'd been experiencing for almost 3 days... but I had just about had it with this pregnancy! I was hanging on by a very loose thread and my hormones just couldn't take it anymore. By the time me and my family arrived at my doctor's appointment on Monday afternoon, I was a frazzled, hairy mess. My doctor checked me and informed me that, guess what, I was 1.5 cm dilated. Oh my gosh, for real???? All those contractions for 3 days and I'm only 1.5 cm and 50% effaced??? There had to be some mistake! My mind was reeling and my doctor could tell I was going to lose it, so she offered up some more bad news, just for good measure.
     "I hate to tell you this, but I'm not usually wrong about these things. Your baby is very high and isn't dropping at all. You need to prepare yourself for a c-section." (Cue waterworks now.) Too tired to contain myself, I let the sobs take over. And when I could catch my breath, I politely begged her to get my baby out of me.... immediately. Lucky for me, she was the on-call doctor for the following day, and she was able to schedule my induction for 7am the following morning. Thank GOD! Finally some good news!
     My plan was to sleep well that night so that I'd be in better shape for delivering a kid into this world the next morning. BUT, true to form, as soon as I laid my head on the pillow, the contractions picked right back up. 10 minutes apart... 7 minutes apart... 5 minutes apart.... shoot, gotta puke.... oh no, both ends? really??... oh, Lord in heaven, make it stop!... 4 minutes apart.... time to go, but can't bring the toilet with me... At 5 am, we were in the car, barf bucket in one hand, contraction tracker in the other. We made it to the hospital in time for me to book it to the bathroom yet again. It was later that morning that I learned my mother-in-law and son both developed the flu, which I had probably caught on my delivery day, as luck would have it. But since my contractions were moving along steadily on their own, the hospital staff decided to wait on the induction and just let me labor for a bit. I was 2 cm dilated and having strong contractions 2-3 minutes apart.
     My husband held my hand for the next few hours as I practiced my breathing and tried new positions to see what would help alleviate the pain. And then, my husband surprised me and asked me when I was going to start yelling at him.... I guess he thought I was gonna be a monster during labor, screaming and yelling and writhing in pain, but I told him I didn't think it would help and he didn't do anything worth yelling at (yet) so what would be the point?? He sweetly stayed by my side and repeatedly told me how proud he was of me for doing such a good job. I don't know why, but that meant more to me than anything else. By early afternoon I was only at 4 cm and ready to talk epidural (hello, Fear!). The lovely nurse Shelley assured me that my progress would increase when my body was more relaxed. So, I made the doctor promise to not tell me what he was doing and the nice man agreed to let Pat stay in the room with me for the process. Unable to control my full body convulsions (these happen whenever I'm terrified or in great pain....so having contractions while terrified didn't help) I was overwhelmingly proud of myself that I didn't pass out!! And sure enough, an hour later I was at 6 cm.
     However, 6 cm is where I stayed for the next 5 hours. During this time, Wyatt's heart rate kept dropping off the radar and they had to hook a little coil into his scalp to better keep track of his heart beats, also inserting a probe into me to monitor the strength of my contractions as they tried to find the right dose of Pitocin that would keep me progressing without risking Wyatt's health. "Try to sleep," they told me as my baby's heart rate blipped inconsistently on the monitor next to me. "It may just the the cord wrapped around his neck, which is really quite common." Sleep?? Really??? Tell me, exactly how does one sleep when their baby is in danger? Pat was watching me stare at the monitor, refusing to rest. So, my incredible husband told me that he would watch the monitor for me and would wake me if anything was wrong, but that he wanted me to rest. So I tried.... not very well, but I think I got a few minutes in here and there.
     Finally my doctor came in and told me that we had given it as long as we could.... Wyatt was still far too high for whatever reason, and I was not dilating any further. It was time for the c-section. Nurse Shelley was there and held my hand. "You've been so strong all day... it's ok to cry," she said. And I did. I couldn't keep it in any longer. My greatest fear was happening and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn't get Wyatt out any other way and his heart rate was still posing a concern.... it had to be done, but how was I gonna make my mind get through it?? I looked over and saw my husband, still holding my hand, crying right alongside me. He knew I had tried so hard all day and that I was scared beyond belief. In that moment, it was as if he felt my pain and helped share it with me. All of a sudden the nausea came back with a vengeance and I felt like I was on fire. Out of nowhere I had spiked a fever and the puking returned. But there was no time for this, because prep work had already began and I was being wheeled to the Operating Room moments after my parents prayed over me and the baby one last time. Pat wasn't allowed into the room until the very last minute and I laid there, shaking like a leaf, unable to move anything from my neck down. I vomited through most of the prep and part of the surgery.... throw up ran down my cheek and rested in my ear, in my hair, and down my neck. The slightly-too-peppy anesthesiologist didn't see this as a problem and just kept chattering on to me about how a nice alcohol wipe to the forehead was just what I needed. (No, what I needed was for her to unclog my puke-ear and to get out of my face for a few minutes!)
     Eventually, Pat was allowed into the room and they immediately began the procedure. He held my hand and I found myself getting dizzier and increasingly convulsive as the minutes ticked by. My dream delivery was to have worship music playing, my mom and husband next to me, and for me to immediately hold my baby as he came out. I pictured myself crying happy tears and planting loving kisses all over his face. But my reality was far less lovely. There was no music, just the sounds of instruments clanging and doctors exchanging words I didn't understand. My mind felt heavy and my body felt sick and out of my control. And when I finally heard little Wyatt's first cries, I felt nothing. I didn't see him until everything was over, but even then, I couldn't keep my eyes from crossing and I couldn't even make it register in my mind that I had just had a baby.
     They wheeled me back into recovery and shoved Wyatt's little face onto my breast, telling me long instructions of how to feed him as I stared blankly at them, unable to make words that even resembled English come from my mouth. Machines beeped frantically behind me and doctors ran in and out injecting more and more medication into my IV. What is going on? Why all the beeping? Why is this lady telling me to feed my baby when I can't move anything below my neck? Why am I so confused??? Apparently my blood pressure had decided to plummet and they couldn't get it re-stabilized with the medications. And since I had thrown up so much during delivery, the doctor told me that they had given me literally every single nausea medicine they had in stock at the hospital, none of which made a difference. Not to mention the anti-anxiety med they injected to help me stay calm, and the high dosage of benedryll that probably aided my overall feelings of loopiness! They finally got my BP somewhat stabilized (68 over 44!) before sending me upstairs to my new room where I was able to actually meet my new little man without my eyes rolling back into my head! And as I looked at his little face, I realized that he was perfect. (Well, mostly.... he had a bit of a cone head from sitting in my pelvis too long earlier that day! Turns out, Wyatt had been sunny-side up with his head cocked to the side.... there was no way he was ever going to come out vaginally, and he had the funny-shaped head to prove it!)
     After 4 sleepless days and nights, it was finally time to rest. Or was it?? Due to the low blood pressure, the nurse had to come in and check my vitals every 30 minutes, and due to some bleeding issues I was having, the doctor had to come use my uterus as a trampoline every hour, pushing on it as though giving it CPR as I gagged in pain. And at 4am, apparently my bleeding was a bit more than they had planned for and I heard a code go out over the loud speaker as no fewer than 20 nurses and doctors charged into my room to look between my sprawled legs, push on my uterus some more, and discussing with each other my state of "gushing". I looked over at my personal nurse and told her I was starting to feel like a $2 whore.... "Oh no, honey, you're worth way more than $2," she said with a smile. And once the bleeding stopped, it was time for vitals again, and then to feed Wyatt, and then to have my uterus jumped on, and then vitals..... so on and so forth. It had now been 5 days with only 6 hours of sleep... my blood pressure still teetered on and off the safety zone, and my fever wouldn't go away. Apparently my blood count was also rather low, due to the loss of blood, and the word "transfusion" was flippantly tossed out there. Good heavens, this was getting ridiculous! To top things off, the local anesthesia they gave me refused to wear off and I couldn't properly use my legs for almost 2 days, AND I had an allergic reaction to all the tapes they used on my skin (the reaction is still with me to this day, as is the persistent fever, hooray!)
     Pat, Wyatt, and I were finally released from the hospital on Friday, a week after this entire event began. My parents were here to help out, and my husband has been a God-send. In fact, before we left the hospital, Pat looked at me and told me that he loved me more than he ever thought possible, and that, after going through this experience, he had never felt this close to another human being in his entire life. And even now, he tells me daily that I'm doing a good job, that I'm a good mother, that, even when I'm crying and exhausted, he's so proud of me. I don't think I would've made it through quite this well without him being my faithful cheerleader and backbone. Still tired, still sore, and still kinda sick, I am at least in my own home with helpers all around me as I learn how to be a brand new mom in a way that I haven't had the privilege of experiencing before. Are there tears? Um, yes. Are there a few breakdowns as I stare into the refrigerator at 1:30am not knowing what to eat, but recognizing the somewhat familiar pangs of hunger jabbing at me as my baby refuses to sleep? Yep. But overall, we're getting through it! Cameron and Taylor love their new sibling, and Isaac will eventually get through his feelings of "dethronement" with a little extra love :) Thank you to everyone who sent up prayers, cards, and words of encouragement through this entire ordeal. I have loved sharing every second of this journey with you all!

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

     From what I can gather, there comes a time in every woman's pregnancy where she is simply done with being pregnant. I mean, over it. That time when all she wants to do is hold her new baby, get her body back to a somewhat normal existence, and finally stop feeling sick. Sadly, I may have reached that mark prematurely, because now this ticking time bomb flipping and flopping inside of me has me living on pins and needles, fearful that he won't come out at an opportune time or, worse, that he simply won't come out at all! I have vivid dreams that my water has broken, only to wake up and realize that I was just sweating.... really badly. And, when asked the daily question "Wait, you're STILL pregnant??" I joke that I'll be taking this kid to college in utero, only to seconds later well up with tears because maybe I wasn't really joking. And since pregnant women are known for their highly rational thoughts and emotions (gulp), it shouldn't come as much of a surprise that I bounce and rock back and forth on my yoga ball so much during each day that I induce motion sickness and nausea instead of labor.... and since this method obviously doesn't work, I continue to do it again later that day.... and that evening.... and right before bed.
     I had one ray of hope on Monday when I went for my weekly check-up and the doctor gave me my "show".... ladies, for the men's sake, I won't discuss what kind of show it was, but let's just say that I was mortified and thoroughly grateful that this happened at the doctor's office and NOT in my bathroom at home, or I would've thought I was dying for sure. It looked like Edward Scissorhands himself had performed the pelvic exam. My doctor followed this ray of hope up with the usual comments about 0 cm dilated (blah blah blah) and still only the same amount of cervical softness as last week (blah blah blah). So, in true pregnancy form, I decided to celebrate my feelings of overwhelming disappointment with a blizzard from Dairy Queen.... size? Large. But, Shivonne, you may ask, won't that upset your lactose-sensitive stomach??? And in reply, I would laugh heartily in your face, because this stomach of mine refuses to keep ANYTHING inside, lactose or not, for more than an hour anyways.... one more "symptom" that labor is surely on it's way (which I'll believe when I see it, because this has been going on for WEEKS and still, no labor!).
     The "show" is yet another sign that labor is 24-48 hours away, or so I'm told. Although, like weathermen, the writers at What To Expect are simply misguided fools getting paid to raise one's hopes, only to dash them away again with a clause that says "But every body is different" or "There's a 50% chance of rain, hail, and sunshine". Because it's been 49.5 hours and I am still not contracting, laboring, or doing anything else that would make me feel hopeful that my baby will ever come out. And D-Day is tomorrow! A mere 9 hours away!! What is he waiting for!?!? Does he not want to meet me as much as I want to meet him? Is he just as scared as I am that he's too big to fit through an impossible opening?? (Because I could at least get on board with that line of reasoning.) Or maybe he just really likes a good game of Hide and Seek.... whatever his thoughts, I hope he changes his mind soon, because I want to see him (and my feet) in the worst way. Please come out, Baby Boy. Mama wants to hold you, kiss you, and finally be able to sleep on her stomach again. PS, I love you.

Sometimes There Really ARE Worms In The Bathroom

     Taylor has a tendency to exaggerate just the tiniest bit when it comes to insects. She is convinced that ladybugs are bees, flies are wasps, and that stink bugs can outrun her. Granted, she's a pretty slow runner and all, but it's highly unlikely (not 100%) that a stink bug could catch up to her.... not to mention that they don't bite, but this has yet to eliminate her fears of the pre-historic looking creepsters. In fact, just this week, I went to the bathroom in the middle of the night, only to find that there was no toilet paper left in the upstairs.... that was when I noticed that ALL of it had been crumpled up and thrown into the bathroom trashcan. I pulled out wads at a time and examined that they were all perfectly clean. Why? WHYYY??? The next morning, after a rather lengthy round of "He/She Did It!", Taylor finally confessed that she was the one that had thrown away all of the toilet paper. When asked the reason for this odd and frustrating behavior (afterall, I noticed the lack of paper AFTER I had already sat and comfortably relieved myself), she informed me that during shower time the night before there had been a stink bug on the shower curtain. And in each moment of bravery, she grabbed a massive amount of tissue and walked cautiously towards the bug, only to chicken out and throw the paper in the garbage seconds later. She had these brave moments until every last square of toilet paper was gone, followed by paralyzing fear an equal number of times. I know this because I found the same stink bug on the shower curtain the next morning, very much alive and well. (PS, I used one square of tissue and killed the sucker very successfully.)

     So you can imagine my exasperation when Taylor refused to go into the half-bath this morning to brush her teeth before school, stating that "there are worms in the bathroom". (Did I say "stating"? I meant "shrieking".) Frustratedly, I told her to suck it up because it was probably just a lady bug and to brush her teeth. Cameron chimed in that there were indeed worms in the bathroom. Ugh, why do these children insist on making this 9-month pregnant woman come and inspect every little thing??? After I spent a good 5 minutes hoisting myself up off the couch, I slowly waddled to the bathroom. And what did my eyes see? Maggots..... EVERYWHERE. Now, Taylor exaggerates and has irrational fears of most insects. But there are two weaknesses that this mama shares with her and they are spiders (things with too many legs) and maggots (things with no legs).... I seriously cannot even deal with them without throwing up. (Not to mention my extra sensitive gag reflex that felt the need to kick in every few minutes while I panicked, cried, and stood in the kitchen staring at the bathroom door with terror in my eyes.

     Assuring the kids that their teeth wouldn't fall out if they missed brushing just this one time, I sent them out the door and watched them escape this House of Horrors by way of school bus. And then, I was left, alone, with a house full of flesh-colored fly larvae. It was then that I began inspecting the floors closely, only to realize that they were not just in the bathroom, but that they had spread to the family room, coat closet, and underneath the computer desk. I nauseously began to do the only sensible thing I could do..... I stood on a chair and sobbed. Thankfully my newly acquired weight didn't collapse the chair and I was able to eventually come to my senses and declare war on the wriggly creatures that were threatening to multiply and invade the rest of my home. Well, I wasn't going to go down without a fight.... afterall, I'm nesting! So, in a moment of bravery, I put my shoes on and grabbed an entire roll of paper towel (ahhhh, THIS is where Taylor got it from....). I tiptoed towards the first maggot and picked it up with a handful of thick tissue, only to realize that they don't kill very easily. You actually have to dig your fingernail into them until you feel an explosive "pop", assuring that they've actually been eliminated before going to their final resting place in my trash can (otherwise, the mating process will begin and the can will soon overflow with new little maggoty children crawling all over the place!).

     As I swallowed down mouthfuls of vomit, popping worms as I went, I realized that I had lost count after well over 100 killings.... and I hadn't even made it out of the bathroom yet. Where had they come from?? They weren't there the night prior, so how? HOW??? But no matter how much I tried to reason, I couldn't come up with an explanation. I allowed a Stalin-like mentality to overtake me as I plowed through worm after worm without ceasing, gaining momentum and courage as I went. And then, after doing research on what will kill maggots AND prevent their return, I thoroughly scoured the floors and re-sprayed the vinegar and poison solutions religiously every half hour, picking up carcasses and stray maggots in the potion's wake. I did this all day. Even now, each time I go into the infested rooms, I find escapees furiously looking for a safe haven to reproduce. But I have no mercy and I pop them with a spirit of vengeance. I curse them to Maggot Hell by promptly flushing them down the toilet after they've been severed.

     And when the kids arrived home, I had them put on their battle gear (shoes), grab their swords (ONE square of toilet tissue), and showed them how to fight the enemy. By the end, even little Taylor was willing to squish them and send their bodies floating down the drain. "See mom?" she said after a particularly productive casualty clean-up. "There really WERE worms in the bathroom!" And she was most certainly correct.

Big Belly Update

     The inevitable FMLA / maternity leave has finally begun. No, there is no baby yet, but this Mama's health had been deteriorating (along with her sanity) and she needed a break to help prepare this abundantly rotund body for the vigorous workout that is called labor. And frankly, I'm not sure who is more nervous about this whole process, me or my husband. He routinely informs me that he can't rest because he's anxious with not knowing the when, where, and how all this is gonna go down, like we're waiting for a nuclear attack or something. In fact, when I was having contractions the other day (which occur daily at this point), he demanded that I tell him if the baby was coming right then or not..... as if! And then today, he informed me that I'm no longer allowed to call him during the day because it freaks him out that I'm going into labor. In the meantime, he wakes me up almost nightly to ask how I'm doing.... I thought all men had an innate sense of self-preservation that warned them away from ever waking a pregnant woman, especially when she's in her 9th month!! And then, to top things off, he just stares at me while I'm in the shower.... and not in the way he used to stare at me in the shower, but in an entirely new way, as if he's watching in astonishment as the world's largest woman attempts to shave her legs without falling and taking the curtain down with her or as if she's a time-bomb ready to explode.
     Even little Isaac is amazed at my big belly. He routinely tries to climb the mountain that has become his Mama, and he lifts my shirt to try to poke my "button" back in, rubbing my stomach while saying "baby" like it's a magic lamp. He is also quite taken with my equally enlarged "upstairs" as he tries to push those "buttons" back in, too.... I think he's pretty convinced that everything in my torso is a baby, the entire womb-concept proving to be a bit to much his 18-month mentality. Cameron and Taylor are just excited that I'm no longer working. There were actually cheers (complete with fist pumps) when I informed them of my last day of work. Even if I have to spend half the time lying down while they're home, you can see the happiness radiating off of them. Taylor was thrilled that I got to watch her in gymnastics once again and Cameron's homework is improving greatly. Not to mention my own health is improving, just in this first week off! My feet are far less swollen and my back pain is much more manageable. Even my tonsillitis is nearly cleared up (thank God, no surgery was needed!) but the bronchitis is still sucking up my life. In fact, this morning, in the middle of an extra long coughing spell, my bladder just couldn't take the pressure and I ended up wishing I had saved some adult diapers for myself instead of donating them all to my work when I left last week. But lesson learned.... I now know the importance (nay, the necessity) of heading straight to the restroom when I feel a cough coming on!
     And now, it's just a matter of time.... the wait is agonizing, but the end result will be fantastic! Just knowing that my cervix is softening rapidly (although not dilated yet) helps me come to grips with the few stray stretch marks that have made their way from my hips to the lower left side of my belly, and the fact that I'm nearly two hundred pounds (holy crap), and that my groin feels like I have pulled every muscle in the forbidden zone that is humanly possible. Still, it's almost over. Will I miss it? Hmmmm, some say that I will. I say those people probably smoke crack, but whether I do miss it or I don't, I will have my little man in my arms and I will feel so grateful to have had this experience. I know it's one I'll never want to repeat again (not for love nor money!) but I'll have experienced the greatest miracle of a woman's life, an experience I didn't think I was capable of having. So, until the big day, my goals are to 1) find a machine that will carry me up and down the stairs, 2) get a catheter installed, 3) stay under that 199 pound mark, even if it means taking up jogging in my 9th month, and 4) rest (when not jogging) so that I can have a safe delivery for my little guy. Until later!!

Pregnancy Hormones Vs. Life

     Perhaps it's all the running around I do throughout my day, or the normal child neediness of my 6 and 8 year olds when I get home, or the fact that I had a whirlwind trip to Michigan for my second baby shower and maternity photo shoot, or possibly it's the fact that I had the flu for 5 days and ended up sitting in the Triage unit getting pumped full of fluids and meds.... and maybe it's just  a combination of all these things that have me worn and ragged these days. (Not to mention all the normal pregnancy joys that you other Mamas out there warned me of.... ok, screw not mentioning them! If these things have to plague me daily then somebody is gonna hear about them! Things such as insomnia, constant indegestion, peeing EVERY FIVE MINUTES, headaches, nausea, and shear exhaustion.)
     So, today, in honor of not feeling like death, I decided to try to knock a few things off of my to-do list... that ever-growing list that multiplies by 10 each time I cross one thing off. The list that haunts my dreams and makes me sleepy before I even wake up in the morning. But if I'm not puking, I should take the opportunity to be productive, right? Unfortunately, everything that I touched today broke (quite literally). Pay the bills? Sure! Except that our internet connection refused to cooperative for the first half of the day... and then, when it did, wouldn't you know that my bank's page froze on me twice AND pop-up ads almost led to the demise of my computer screen. Forget bills, I said to myelf, I'll vacuum! After spending 20 minutes untangling the cord (yes, someone is going to pay for this injustice when they get home!), I plugged in my brand new vacuum and started in one corner of the first room.
     I was branching out of my corner when I noticed a sea of dead lady bugs in the window sill (no, this wasn't the first time I had noticed them, just the first time I had bothered to care in, oh, about 8 months). So I hooked on my new handy-dandy wand attachment and sucked those little ladies right up! Feeling pleased, I put the attachment hose back into it's place and realized that I was unable to release the base of the wand from the main vacuum. I checked for special buttons, read the manual, and prayed for miracles.... and still nothing. That attachment is stuck like cement on the end of my handle, making it impossible for me to use the vacuum for anything else. Looking at my one clean corner in my one lonely room, and noticing that I had just shook out the rugs in all the other rooms in preparation for The Great Sweep of 2014, a wave of anger washed over me. My calm, rational "There must be a way to figure this out" self went right out the window and a crazed, hormonal woman that I barely recognized appeared. I found great comfort in beating the wand off the arms of the couch... I may have also found it rather therapeutic to scream at the top of my lungs, sending all three dogs, tails between their legs, running for the upstairs with panic in their eyes. And then finally, the vacuum cleaner won.
     In a fit of exhaustion, I flopped myself down on the loveseat (causing me to wince in pain because, let's face it, EVERYTHING hurts these days) and I sobbed. These were uncontrollable, face-swelling wretches that increased everytime I looked back at the sweeper. And I didn't even try to stop them. For some reason, I needed the release, and I let myself have it. Several minutes later, I was feeling slightly better, braver even, and I was ready to try again with fresh eyes. I looked back at the vacuum cleaner and spent about 10 seconds pondering the situation before I chucked the wand across the room and screamed in rage, "I'M PREGNANT, DON'T MESS WITH ME, DANG IT!!" And then I screamed some more and dissolved into a second fit of tears. I decided to call my mother-in-law, the evil woman who bought me said vacuum cleaner, to see if she had any ideas. Before she arrived to give the sweeper a try, I gave the machine one last stab, sending myself into such a tizzy that my nose began to bleed... by the time my husband's mother arrived, I was drenched in sweat, my eyes were almost swollen shut, and I was nursing my nose. Slightly embarrassed, I pointed her in the direction of the broken piece of crap that was once called my vacuum cleaner.
     Twenty minutes later, my mother-in-law was in the same state as me.... except she used cool things like pliars and hammers, butter knives and liquid soap while she did her ranting.... none of which worked, all of which caused her to yell and hit the wand off the same couch that had taken the beating earlier. So we called customer service and this was their reply.... "Why don't you wait for your husband to come home and have him fix it?" Excuse me?? For one, this isn't the 1940's! And two, unless my husband is the Incredible Hulk, he ain't going to be able to get this stupid wand off either!!! So, I yelled about that for a while too. And after two hours, my mother-in-law gave up, as did I, and I continued with my to-do list... I started to unpack baby gifts from my shower and put them away. That will be fun and productivce, right? Which it was, until I bent to pick up the first bag and my back went out. You know the drill.... I cried for a while, although carefully, as not to aggravate my nose again. And I hobbled down the stairs to let my frantic dogs outside while I rested on the unbeaten couch. When it was time to bring them back in, I knelt slowly, keeping my back as straight as possible.... and when my left knee touched the ground, I heard a POP and felt pain shoot up my leg. Unable to now bend my leg, stand upright, vacuum, or accomplish anything on my to-do list, I retired back to the couch and cried for the millionth time today.
    I'm still not sure if it's the flu, the traveling, the long days at work, or the mulititude of lovely pregnancy symptoms that have me down, but one thing IS for sure.... in the battle of Hormones Vs. Life today, it is very apparent that Life won. Now here's hoping that my husband brings home a heating pad and Bruce Banner for dinner this evening! 

A Baby Story

     It has been such an eventful week! From the exhilarating T-DAP vaccine (accompanied by a lengthy and painful reaction for this Mama) to my parents coming into town over the weekend for my first baby shower, life has been a whirlwind! It seems that overnight by stomach has grown at the same rate as the Grinch's heart when he finally learned to love Christmas. It feels as if Baby Boy is ready to bust on out of his current home with each punch and roll he makes, and by the end of each day, I feel thoroughly and utterly worn out. But I have to say, family time was just what I needed. My husband and dad stepped up and watched all the ragamuffins that attended the shower so that the mommies were free to enjoy some grown-up time and delicious food. It was so wonderful to feel such a large amount of love that day from family, friends, co-workers, and church members. My lovely friend who hosted the shower had everyone fill out a sheet that let each guest write down their wishes for Baby Boy Costa. And as I read through them later that night, I was filled with such happiness (along with many tears and outright belly laughs) knowing that this baby isn't even here yet and he is loved by so many.
     On Sunday I had to say good-bye to my family, which always leaves me feeling a bit empty inside for a few days. Luckily, I have to work such long shifts now, that I don't have time to think about such things as emptiness, sadness, hunger, or the constant need to urinate. I just go-go-go until my body falls into bed minutes after walking through the door at the end of the night. Thankfully, I had today off of work... which literally just means that I spent the entire day doing work at home that I wasn't able to do over the weekend or on the days I work long shifts, so, naturally, I pushed myself too hard and ended up on the couch this evening, elevating swollen ankles, resting my aching back, and warding off nausea. The kids' homework was done, dinner was cleaned up, and the little ones were actually playing together nicely upstairs for a change. Therefore, I felt justified to take a few moments to catch up on past episodes of A Baby Story that I had recorded earlier.
     Now, let me just say this. I find this show equal parts terrifying and gratifying, and I'm not exactly positive that it's a healthy thing for me to watch, since it causes my worrying mind to go into overdrive. But something about it is just like that car accident that you stop and stare at as you drive by super-slowly.... you wanna look away but it seems impossible to do so all at the same time. Tonight, I was halfway through the second episode when Taylor came downstairs and stopped, just in time to see the mother on t.v. begin her series of pushes. I watched her face, her little eyes as wide as saucers and mouth hanging open. "Oh. My. Goodness," she whispered to herself. I couldn't help but giggle as she watched the mother scream in pain, nurses hustling and bustling every which way. And then as she pushed the baby out and the doctor lifted the little boy onto his Mama's chest, Taylor's face burst into a huge smile. "Oh, wow! It's really a baby!" she said, still glued to the television. She was literally transfixed until the commercial break.... and that's when the questions began.
     "What was all that stuff on the baby? Where is the hole that the baby came out of? I didn't see a hole on the mommy's tummy... will her belly stay that big forever? When is our baby coming???"
     "Ok, ok, ok. First of all, that stuff on the baby was inside the mommy too, and it was keeping the baby nice and warm while he was in there. And there's no hole in the mommy's tummy because the baby came out of her privates. That's why girls have the privates they have, so that babies can come out."
     "Oh... that's just a little bit gross, I think. So, you will be naked when you have our baby?"
     "I won't be able to have pants on, that's right."
     "Oh my goodness.... so dad's gonna see your vagina???" (The shock was priceless.)
     "Uh, yeah. And the doctors."
     "But it's ok for doctors to see us naked, but NOT BOYS, MOM!!!!"
     "It's ok for daddy's to see mommy's naked."
     "Well, if the baby's gonna be naked, then everyone else can be naked too, I guess!"
     "No, not everyone, just me and the baby."
     "So, when's the baby gonna get here? How many more years?"
     "Not years... just about 2 more months. Remember, it's winter now, and the baby will come in the spring. You'll still be in Kindergarten."
     "I'm gonna be in Kindergarten for that many more years?!?!?"
     "No, Taylor, it's winter now. Then in spring I will have the baby. Then in the summer, you will be done with Kindergarten. It's only 2 more months, not years."
     "Are you gonna be old when you have the baby?"
     "No, I'll be 32 in two weeks and that's how old I will be when the baby is born."
     "Yep,  you're still gonna be old..."
     Thankfully, the commercial break ended and the show has fast-forwarded one month, showing the baby at home. I noticed right away that the parents of this particular episode named their little boy the same name that my husband and I have been contemplating. We haven't told the kids this name yet, because of their struggle with fixating on things and not liking change too much, so we've held out until we're certain. However, Taylor looks me square in the eye and tells me, "I like that name. I think we should name our baby that, too!" (And I have to say, I quite agree with her!)
     We decided to watch one more episode just as Cameron comes into the room. He takes one look at the woman on the screen and says, "Hey Mom, she's not even as fat as you and her baby is already coming??" Awesome. Thanks, Cam!! He quickly became just as transfixed as Taylor had, eyes glued to the screen, but with a much more confused look on his face than Taylor had shown.... and then the questions started all over again.
     "She's making weird noises... why is she making those sounds? It gross!"
     "Cam, she's just in pain. Labor hurts, Bud."
     "So she gets to eat ice cubes and drink juice?"
     "Yep, this Mama gets to. She needs it to help her get through the delivery."
     (Enter the tub for the water birth...)
     "You get to go swimming when you have a baby???" Taylor asks excitedly.
     "No, it's not a swimming pool, it's a tub, and some women have their babies in the water."
     "No fair! She gets to eat ice, drink juice, AND take a bath..." Cameron is actually pouting over the "fairness" of labor.
     "Cam, it's not like she's having a party, man, she's in pain, remember??"
     "Cameron, I'm not even going to TELL you why she doesn't have a hole in her tummy!" exclaims Taylor.
     And just then, with the final few pushes, the baby emerges into the water.
     "Hey, where did the baby even come from?" Cam asks, confused.
     "Mom!" Taylor whispers loudly. "Don't tell him the baby came out of the V-A.... Mom, how do you spell vagina?"
     "Taylor, you're so gross! Babies don't come out of there!" Cameron looked at his sister like she was utterly ridiculous.
     "Actually, Cam, they do. That's why mommies have the parts they have. God made us that way."
     He stares at me for a few seconds as if processing the information he's just learned.
     "Well, at least you get to have some juice." That was his final statement before leaving the room, probably to go hunt down some juice. However, at tuck-in tonight, he did ask me if he would be allowed to tie that cord into a bow and make the belly button. He was rather sad when I informed him that doctors went to school for 8 years to learn how to tie that special kind of bow, and that he wouldn't be allowed to do that part. So, as of now, Taylor loves the idea of labor (yikes) and Cameron finds it basically disappointing and unfair. What more could a Mama hope for, really?

Friend or Foe

     I woke up today and was devastated to find that I had mysteriously grown my first stretch mark while I was asleep last night. One deep, red line standing out against the ridiculously pale flesh of my right hip. I traced the line with my fingertip as my brow furrowed and a stabbing pain of ugliness began to nag its way into my mind. As I stood before the mirror, I examined every part of me (well, the parts that I can still see, that is), making sure that my frustratingly bright new mark hadn't brought any friends with him. I was saddened to see the two cysts on my thighs, ingrown hairs in places that can no longer be attended to, dark circles under my eyes, and a new patch of gray hair coming in at my temple. And let's not even dwell too long on the fact that I am much closer to 200 lbs that I am to 100 lbs, a thought that makes me nauseous and, surprisingly hungry, all at the same time. I realized that it's official.... I am now grotesque.
     So, I decided to take my hideous self to the bathroom for a shower, crying stupid tears the entire time. You know the ones I'm talking about. The tears that don't cleanse you or leave you feeling sated... but the ones that are filled with self-pity and nothingness... the ones that are vain and childish and hormonal and that reek of "I know I shouldn't be crying about this, but I just don't care"... the ones that are over a single, red stretch mark. Was there more to my morning than the mark? Sure, there always is. The kids I already have are nuttier than a jar of peanuts, I argued with my husband over something I can't even now remember, and my sweet baby Isaac looked at the dog and said "Mama" with such heart-felt conviction that I nearly had stupid tears all over again! But there was just something about that single stretch mark that pushed me over the edge into mood-swingy blubbering. Not because I pride myself on being something beautiful to behold, now marred forever by this silly line on my side, but because I now feel like a striped hot air balloon... you know, the family-sized kind. I feel fat. I feel ugly. I feel like crying stupid tears all over again because this dumb laptop I'm typing on can't actually fit on my lap anymore because I NO LONGER HAVE A LAP!!!
     What I do have, however, is a liiitttllle bit too many hormones, and tttaaaaddd bit too much sickness, and a wwweeeee bit of a problem getting a decent night's sleep (because apparently growing a stretch mark will just take it right out of a girl!). Yes, I realize that I could have woken up in some third world nation with little to no food or money to my name. I could have woken to find myself at death's door with an incurable illness. Or I simply could not have woken up at all. These things I was aware of as I balled my eyes out in the shower today. And then I remembered that I'm 6 months pregnant and that now is not the time to kick myself for being a blubbering mess and that everyone is allowed to have stupid tears sometimes, especially when they can't see their feet anymore... it's just a right of passage, I think, and I'm going to let myself have the occasional pity party every now and again (while still thanking God that I woke up in my safe, warm bed anyways!).
     What did help, however, was to realize that all these marks and changes are just reminders of the miracle swirling and kicking inside of me; Mere battle scars from this pregnancy war that I'm sure to win in just a few more short months. I know that when my little boy traces his little fingertip on my deep red line, I can choose to feel honored that his life, his very existence, is forever etched on my right hip... my special little tattoo that will always remind me of the months I carried him in my tummy (and my in back, and my rib cage, and bladder, and oh, in my lungs). Will my husband still find me "sexy" when it's time to undress for bed? Will I wear a burka to the pool from now on? Will I be tempted to Jackie Chan the next Mama that tells me, "You shoulda used cocoa butter...." in that sing-songy voice that oozes with I-told-you-so-ness? (Side note: I DO use cocoa butter, twice daily, and look who still has a red line on her side, folks!) And will I cry stupid tears again with the next stretch mark I see? I have no idea. I'm gonna go ahead and say that all of these are likely at this point. But I am going to try to see this new mark as a friend, not a foe... a line of love, not of shame... my special little mark that will forever symbolize my little baby boy.