A Lifetime in Review

I know I haven't posted anything about Becca's birth yet. Part of that is due to the demands of having a newborn at home and part of it is because I'm still trying to process the whole event. Portions of March 8th feel vaguely dreamlike and it's odd looking at pictures of the day. So I'll try to break it down as best I can, for my own memory as well as for the story I can relay to Becca one day.

The Banker and I checked into the hospital at 7 a.m. and soon after the doctor came in to break my water. Things turned funny when I realized the doctor was breaking my water on top of a pad that's identical to the potty training pads we use for our dog, Ginger. I looked at The Banker and we couldn't help but laugh out loud, much to the amusement of the doctor and nurse. As one wee-wee pad after another was soaked, we giggled about how Ginger had nothin' on me.

I was hooked up to a bit of Pitocin because Becca wasn't engaged far enough into my pelvis. In the back of my mind I kept worrying that I'd have to have a Cesarean, but we tried not to talk about the possibility. My mom showed up first as I slowly dilated from a 4 to 5. The contractions started small and gradually grew incredibly intense. My mom and The Banker stood on either side of me as I writhed in pain on the bed.

Unfortunately The Banker kept telling me when the contractions we coming in addition to when they were peaking and subsiding. I snapped twice at him that I knew when the contractions were coming, thank you very much. When he began to utter those fated words again, even my mom told him to shut up. After that, he was careful just to tell me when the contractions were fading.

By the time I was dilated to a 7, the contractions were peaking off the monitor--giving new meaning to "off the charts." I felt like I was being split in two and was struggling to maintain my metered breathing. The nurse said it would be the best time to have an epidural, especially given that things could roll into a last-minute Cesarean. I caved, even though I feared having the epidural. Part of me was disappointed--I wasn't tough enough to struggle through labor unaided.

But the epidural was an almost-instantaneous, incredible relief. The only thing that bothered me was that my legs felt tingly and while I could move them, I hated not having full control over myself.

By that time my dad and sisters had arrived and my utter relief spread to everyone in the room, lightening the mood considerably. Everyone felt more at ease, and we laughed and joked and watched TV (including the Oklahoma game for my dad) as the monitor became a constant map of peaks and valleys.

It's funny that during most of this time, I was more concerned with everyone else's wellbeing. I asked what the family wanted to watch, offered them snacks we'd packed, sent them off to lunch at around noon, and constantly apologized that this process was taking so long and was so boring. I think I was trying to keep my mind off of my own fears. I function that way: Denying that something big is going to happen until it actually occurs. While I plan and prepare appropriately, I guard my emotions by not fully comprehending what will happen until it actually does.

This lasted until I began to feel the contractions through the epidural, a sign that the Pitocin had really ratcheted up the labor pains (in addition to making my face and body swell) and that things were beginning to progress. It wasn't long before the nurse informed the room it was time to push and everyone but The Banker went to the waiting room.

I felt like each push got me nowhere, though the nurse kept encouraging me to continue. About a half hour in, the epidural began to wear off and I could only push so long before I would smack into a wall of pain and lose my breath. The nurse told me to quit pushing and she called in another anesthesiologist. This doctor was different than the first and as he swaggered into the room he informed me that what he had may not help me and that maybe I needed "to tough it out and just push through it." If I'd been able to talk, I would have shared some choice words with the idiot, but it's just as well that all I could do was weakly nod.

Thankfully the doctor was wrong, and the pain medication was able to take just enough of the edge off that I was able to continue to push. The pushing was so exhausting, and I uttered to the Banker that I didn't think I could do this. But almost an hour into it, the doctor said she could see the head. The Banker stood (safely) by my head, encouraging me to keep going and to keep my chin tucked to my chest. Much of what followed seemed surreal--suddenly the doctor and nurse let out a cheer and the doctor told The Banker the sex of the baby. "We've got a Becca," he beamed.

It's funny that after nine months of wanting a girl I was too exhausted to fully register the news. I'd been right all along but couldn't even utter a triumphant "yes!" The doctor put Becca on my chest and I looked at this little creature with bewilderment. I remember thinking how perfect she looked before the nurses whisked her away to be cleaned up and weighed. And as the doctor stitched me up and The Banker shouted out how big Becca was, I lay there and thought that, just like that, we were parents. Wow.

More Becca

Yeah, we're already camera happy. But can you blame us?

P.S. Thanks for the warm wishes everyone has sent via e-mail and more! It means so much to The Banker and me. I promise more musings later about lack of sleep, stumbling exhaustion, stress over no poopy diapers and more. This parenthood thing is one tough but incredible ride.

Welcoming Not-So-Little Rebecca

At 4:56 p.m. on March 8, 2007 we finally welcomed Rebecca Marie into the world! Weighing in at an impressive 9 lbs., 4 oz. and 21 inches in length, Becca was quite the big girl. Mom will never be the same. And that's a good thing.

Bed rest

So in the ongoing saga of NOTHING HAPPENING, I've been put on bed rest. My blood pressure was a tad high at yesterday's doctor's appointment and my overall discomfort convinced the doc that walking four blocks from the garage to my desk and sitting there for much too long was not in my best interest. Mmm. Afternoon naps! Reading! Oh, yes, and that dang freelance project.

It seems that while I'm ready in almost every way to go into labor, the baby's not engaged far enough into my pelvis to start contractions. So we wait--at least until the 8th when the doctor will break my water. The concern is that if the baby doesn't move far enough into my pelvis before or during labor it will force an emergency c-section. So cross your fingers the baby drops down far enough to cause me the significant discomfort that is contractions. Yeah, silly to be saying, "bring on the pain," but that's exactly what's needed right now. Let's please get this thing going!

And...still nothing

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

I've walked, cleaned, nested. You name it, and if it's a safe wives' tale for inducing labor, I've done it. But no more contractions--no sign the The Peanut is going to make his or her grand entrace anytime soon.

And I soooo don't want to have to return to work on Monday morning. Sigh.

Where things are starting to happen

Okay, so I'm only 37 weeks and 3 days along. But it seems I'm also dilated to 3 centimeters. The doctor has said she'll break my water the morning of March 8th--if I make it that long.

My holistic chiropractor "read" my body over a week ago and thought I'd go between the 23rd and the following week. The Banker thought she was full of it, but it turns out she may have known what she was talking about.

So will I languish at 3 centimeters for week after uncomfortable week? Or will this 7-plus pound baby spring for a February birthday rather than a March one? Stay tuned...

Where are the warm fuzzies?

So the really big company I work for just underwent a major internal overhaul. Each employee had an individual meeting yesterday, but it wasn't until this morning that an e-mail was sent out detailing all the changes.

I guess I must have been pretty naive. I thought workers would just be shifted about, allocating the talent to the company's current needs. I didn't see the demotions and forced retirements coming. Happy Valentine's Day indeed. And considering the company I work for, the irony is that much greater.

I've been assigned a new line of work within the company--work that I should be thrilled about. It's highly visible, it's creative, and it’s a strong position. But I'm working for the woman who outted my pregnancy against my will at a staff meeting. And while she was incredibly friendly today, I can't help but be wary.

All of this coincides with Tuesday's trip to the doctor. The baby has dropped, suddenly I'm measuring big, and things are beginning to soften--all of which indicate this labor thing could start sooner rather than later.

Talk about being in limbo. When will I go into labor? When will my job transition take place? Will my odds of part-time work improve any? And will I want this new position when it's all said and done?

It's been awhile...

...I know. Life has been so crazy over the past few weeks that it's taken what little energy I have left to stay atop of things. First I was hospitalized overnight for fear of appendicitis (no worries--pain and white blood cell levels dissipated the next day), and then construction work began on the kitchen as The Banker's nesting instincts kicked into full gear. I don't know how many of you have experienced a serious bit of construction in a house you were abiding in--but for those of you not in-the-know, let me tell you, it sucks. Nothing but headaches, constant messes, setbacks, and new expenses cropped up as the project stretched into a full two weeks. Just yesterday we kicked the final worker out, still leaving us with considerable cleaning and touch-up work.

But the kitchen looks much better (as does the bathroom off the kitchen and the new carpeting in the office). Over the next few days we're going to attempt to put everything back in order. Then the serious waiting begins. Five weeks and counting. Baby is in the exit position but has yet to drop. At least the construction kept our focus off the timeline! After we've completed the clean-up, nothing will keep me from agonizing over the “when.” I'm huge, bloated, and about ready to get this thing started. I can't believe I'm saying I'm ready for that kind of craziness. But I guess I am. I think. I hope.

So tired of being tired

It's nearing 2 a.m. and I'm ridiculously awake. Welcome to third trimester, my gal. Between the heartburn, constant waves of heat, and the energy and alertness it takes to maneuver rolling over, an uninterrupted night's sleep has become the faintest warm memory. It would be fine if I had the freedom for daily naps, but with that whole working thing, I only really have the chance to catnap during the weekends, and sometimes not even then.

And the fact that I'm the size of a small house has really started to wear on me. While in Santa Fe, we were visiting one of my favorite galleries when a woman working there tried to make small talk. Or rather large talk about my expanding size.

Lady from Gallery: "You must be due any day now!"
Me: "Well, I know it may look that way, but I'm actually not due until March..."
Lady from Gallery: "WHAT'S IN THERE? MORE THAN ONE?"
Kindly jumping in is Sister #2, who by this point in the trip has heard far too many of these comments and is sympathetic: "It's just one really large Irish baby in a small torso."
Lady from Gallery: "But you're just HUUUUUUUUGE!"

Huge became the catchword for the remainder of the trip. I'm huge. My skin is stretching, scarring, and itching. I don't remember the last time I could turn to get a decent glimpse of my ass--not that I imagine I want to see it at this point, anyway. I have seven-and-a-half more weeks of this and I'm starting to wonder if I'm going to be able to make it. The old me feels forever lost and this new me is just fat and tired. So very, very tired and HUGE.

Where decisions may be made for me

So a major announcement came down at the really big company yesterday, one that may mean fewer options for me once the baby comes. Nothing like someone making a decision for you, huh?

My boss, an incredible woman with the rare ability to nurture the people around her, was permanently moved within the company. I've lost someone who would have gone to bat for me in my hopes for part-time work, someone with true empathy for my situation, due in part to her three little ones at home. In her place comes a guy with no managerial experience in this part of the company. I've met him a handful of times, and he's always been funny and fabulous. But he's not a family man and doesn't know me well enough to risk anything on my behalf. So my already slim odds of an alternative work schedule are now almost non-existent.

I'm not sure exactly where that leaves me, aside from probably having one less option to choose from. I'm going to see how this motherhood thing feels once it arrives and keep an eye out for part-time work elsewhere. It's strange not to have a plan, but it's the only situation that seems to fit at the moment.

A little bit of everything

I've been gone for awhile, but a good part of that has been out of my control. Now where exactly to begin?

First, thank you to all who weighed in with advice on how to handle the whole work/life balance debate. The decision has--for the moment--been put on the backburner. With my workplace undergoing a major internal overhaul, The Banker and I thought it best to wait and see. There's a good chance my position and responsibilities will change in the next month, so we're in a holding pattern.

I meant to post a "Happy Holidays!" message but somehow never found the time. The entire holiday season seemed to follow in this pattern: too much to do and too little time.

Christmas was a mixed bag. The Banker's family changed their schedule at the last moment, so that it no longer meshed with my family's plans. After four years of precariously balancing the needs of both families, we were thrown off. And it didn't bode well. Needless to say, Christmas morning no one was happy, tears were shed, and much guilt was endured. (And did I mention the present the baby got me? Huge purple stretch marks that appeared between Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. Sigh.) I pray next year that The Banker and I can start our own traditions and truly enjoy ourselves for once.

The rest of the day improved, thankfully, and everyone ended up in better spirits. And I got to spend some quality time with my grandparents, which is so important and rare. They live out of town, and my PopPop is 92 with Alzheimer’s beginning to take its toll. My Grammy is younger, but she's enduring constant rounds of chemo to keep cancer at bay. They're incredible people who mean the world to me and each Christmas is truly precious.

The day after Christmas, The Banker and I and my parents and Sister #2 headed off to Santa Fe, where my parents are breaking ground on their retirement home. The vacation started out great--beautiful art galleries, incredible food, amazing scenery. The day before we were to leave, thick snow began to fall. And fall. And fall. Before we were to fly out of Albuquerque, there were 26 inches on the ground. The highway and airport closed, forcing us to stay in Santa Fe another day. Amazingly though, we managed to get the last five tickets on the last flight heading home the next day--the last open flight for the following three days given the backlog from the snowstorm.

The next day we got the car unstuck and headed into Albuquerque and waited in the airport, all day. Flights were taking off and all looked good, until a wall of fog rolled in an hour before our flight was to depart. No flights in or out, and the airport shut down, again. We scrambled to find a hotel room and rental car and spent New Year's in a Holiday Inn Express that was overtaxed by passengers stranded by the snowstorm and fog. I was asleep by 10 for our 5 a.m. wake-up call...at which point the five of us crammed into a little car and drove 16 hours home.

I took that next day off of work--an extra day of "vacation," but much needed due to my exhaustion, and apparent case of the 24-hour stomach flu that has been circulating. So I'm tired, still vaguely sick, and just thankful the holidays are over with. 'Cause the next couple of months will be busy ones. I'm now at 30 weeks and counting and there's much to do before the little one arrives. Things are about to get very exciting.

Where we get...nowhere

After months of isolation from her team, my boss finally was re-assigned to her previous post...on Fridays. The poor thing is still expected to run a million task forces the rest of the week. So this is good news. Sort of.

At the very least, it enabled me to make a lunch date with her this week (from an invitation sent two months ago) to discuss my options after the baby. We started out talking about how the team had been in her absence, how she was doing, how I was faring, and so on. Then she told me I'd been promoted. All good, even great, things.

But then I asked about the potential for part-time work. Here the clear communication began to falter. My boss honestly explained that the company was undergoing some very large changes and that there was no telling if there'd be any open part-time positions (already quite rare) in six month's time.

The good news is that she didn't deny me outright because of my lack of tenure. The bad news is that I've no clear direction in which to move. I still don't know what I'm going to do, which makes it nearly impossible to go about finding daycare. And all the quality establishments and decent nannies have long waiting lists.

Will I be employed in 2007? Will I be at home?

It's funny that I'd find myself in this position. I'm a Type-A personality, a planner. I applied to one high school. One college. One graduate program. I set my sights and I move. But for the first time I have no plan. And it's scary. What does this mean for me?

Surprisingly, it hasn't sent me into a total panic. But it sits darkly curled up in the back of my mind whispering. And I feel more than a little lost in this place.

Holiday spirit? Or pity?

I woke this morning at 2:45 for a typical bathroom break. As baby gets bigger, my bladder has less room to spare. But instead of slipping back into sleep like normal, I found myself wide awake. For hours. I tried every position and relaxing thought but nothing worked. I only scraped together maybe another hour-and-a-half of sleep.

So this morning I stopped by Starbucks for a much-needed cup of decaf. I hoped that just that smidgen of caffeine would help keep my eyes open a little longer. One decaf non-fat peppermint mocha later, I began backing up the Jeep. Then, THUD. A little black Camry had parked illegally behind me, and I hadn't given it wide enough berth.

I pulled back into my parking spot and got out to look at the damage. A paint scratch on the Camry, with the Jeep sporting a crack in the paint on the bumper. Shit. Shit. Shit. I found a sheet of paper and wrote down my insurance information, waiting for the car's owner to return.

Someone must have gone into Starbucks and mentioned the fender-bender, because a cute young girl popped her head out and eyed her car.

"Is that your black car?" I asked. "Because I just bumped it. I'm so, so sorry--I scratched some of your paint. With this silly stomach I can barely turn around and I didn't give your car enough room. I've written out all my insurance information. I'm so sorry!"

Maintaining the most pleasant demeanor, she walked over to look at her bumper. "Don't worry about it!" she said. "It's nothing!"

"No. There’s a scratch and it's all my fault. Please, I've all my information, please take it."

"You've bigger things to worry about," she responded, motioning to my bulging belly. She smiled, shook her head at my offered paper, and turned around and walked back into Starbucks.

Stunned, I got into my car and began to cry. God bless that sweet girl. Whether holiday spirit or pity on how pathetic I must have appeared, she gave me a break on a day when I really needed it. May we all keep that attitude this season!

Just another holiday weekend

Was at the Emergency Vet's till 11:30 last night because there was blood in Cassie's urine. It seems she has a very nasty UTI and we need to be on the lookout for kidney stones. Poor thing. And poor me, who almost fell asleep in the waiting room.

Then we slug it home only to find a beheaded mouse in our office. Ketchum, it appears, has been doing his job.

So a $200 vet bill and mice. The Banker looked at me and in uncharacteristic calm laughed, "If it's not one thing, it's another."

We've been focusing on the saying: Plenty to think about, nothing to worry about. Maybe it's slowly taking hold?

So ill-prepared

Friday marked the 24th week of pregnancy, or six full months. And everyone in the family agrees that the time has gone by so quickly. I agree and disagree with this assessment--in many ways it's gone fast but there's still so much time to go.

And I'm going to need every bit of those four months. The Banker and I haven't had any success finding a nursery set--every set we love and ask to order has been discontinued. It seems the end of the year is the time for companies to dump their designs in preparation for the rollout of new design lines. Except those new lines don't roll out until late January--even later for some companies--which doesn't leave the requisite two months for ordering and shipping that we'd need. So we're torn between settling for a set that can get here before March or waiting to see what the new designs have to offer, even if it means a delivery date far after the little one arrives. (Which is not as drastic as it sounds, since the first few months the baby will be in our room in a pack-and-play or bassinet.)

And the whole registry thing? Nope. Not done that, either. Registering for baby items is a far cry from registering for a wedding. When you marry, you like the looks of something, you zap it into the registry. But baby items come with all sorts of inherent responsibilities and fears. Is it safe? Is it of the highest quality? Will it help in the baby's development? Is it necessary? And the ever-important: Will the baby even like it or will it only serve to piss off that little one?

To be honest, I'm not even sure where to begin. I've talked with a few moms and purchased a book, but still doubt I'm ready to enter the mammoth halls of Babies R Us. So I welcome any advice on the can't-miss items that simply must be on our registry. Please. I don't think I can avoid this anymore!

Hmmm...

You Belong in London

A little old fashioned, and a little modern. A little traditional, and a little bit punk rock. A unique woman like you needs a city that offers everything. No wonder you and London will get along so well.

What City Do You Belong In?

Stupid people

In my (relatively) short tenure as a pregnant woman, I've been repeatedly shocked by what people feel they can say or do to those who're expecting or have newborns.

Just yesterday The Banker and I were in the doctor's waiting room (for 45 minutes!!) and I watched as a young mom settled in a chair with her newborn in a carrier at her feet. An older, tackily attired woman across the way began to make conversation with the young mom, peppering her with questions that ranged from, "What's her name?" and "How old is she?" to more personal assaults that included, "Will you be returning to work or do you get to stay at home?"

The young woman looked exhausted--she had an infant, who wouldn't be?--but she weathered the onslaught kindly. The questioning continued for well over half an hour. At one point the older woman got up from her seat across the way and sat down in the seat next to the new mom, even though there was a diaper bag there.

And then I heard the line of questioning that almost made me scream. I didn't quite catch the first question, but the mom's response was unmistakable: "Her father and I broke up when I was six months along." That stupid cow! I couldn't believe she'd asked such an incredibly personal question. But rather than be ashamed, she continued on, asking, "Has he been in contact with the baby?" I watched the mom shake her head in an exhausted "no."

I wanted to jump in. I wanted to save the new mom from the terrible questions, but I didn't want to make a scene and further embarrass her. So I did nothing but sit there and fume. I imagined throttling the big-haired idiot in her too-tight culottes.

While I've never had to endure such extended torture, I've been on the receiving end of several idiotic comments from coworkers.
Are you sure you're only that far along? You look bigger than that.
Wow! How can you possibly get any larger?
Whoa! Those things have gotten really big!

Don't know exactly what to say to a new mom or mom-to-be? Here's a clue for the clueless:
* Don't mention my size. Tell me I look good, even if I'm not going to believe you.
* Don't ask if I'm coming back to work. I don't know yet and that's no shortage of stress for me. Plus, it's probably none of your damn business.
* Don't ask if I'm breastfeeding. Unless I whip out a nipple and offer you a drink, consider that a private matter.
* Don't assume there's a partner involved unless I mention one. Single parenting is tough enough without nosey assholes.
* Say POSITIVE things about me, the child, the world at large. There's enough stress and fear going around--don't spread more shit.
* If you're a stranger, don't ask 20 questions. In fact, limit yourself to two. Then back off. New moms are probably appreciating the short-lived calm. Don't fuck it up.
* If you're a stranger, don't touch me or new little ones without express written permission, a drug test, and a 10-day waiting period.

I realize that people most often have the best of intentions. I really do. But some common courtesy, respect for personal space, and thinking before speaking isn't too much to ask. Or at least, I hope not!

Secrets, secrets

One of my nearest and dearest friends has been hiding a secret from me.

For twelve long weeks.

Yup, it seems that my best friend is expecting her second child and is only a mere two months behind me in terms of due dates. Her big day? May 13, or Mother's Day. How she managed to keep the secret so long, I'll never know. She already has a red-headed munchkin who's not even 2 yet. And I thought my hands were going to be full!

So even though she's not a blog reader, I just have to say, Congrats Jess!!

Halloween Party

One of The Banker's many charities hosted a Halloween party tonight. As it turns out, they don't make costumes for pregnant ladies. The outfits at the store consisted of naughty nurses, slutty cats, naughty nymphs, and so on. Since I won't be showing my midriff this year, nor will I be tempting trick-or-treaters with a glimpse of my behind, I had to improvise. So this was my costume:



The get-up was a huge success, with many of the 2,200 party goers exclaiming how much they enjoyed it. Complete strangers asked to take my photo, and one drunken co-ed ran up and excitedly rubbed my belly and yelled how cute I was--much to my shock--before racing off.

A drawback? After hours of wearing the green mud mask, my skin has the slightest tinge of green in some areas. Just in time for the little trick-or-treaters!

Some icky business

When I was in college and working at the local paper, one of the crappy jobs I had was to write obituaries. It was really awful stuff, something that made me feel uncomfortable, sad, and depressed. Even today, I hate reading the obit section and rarely do so. So it was with some trepidation that I logged on to have my own obit written for me. And here's what I got:

'What will your obituary say?' at QuizGalaxy.com