Here on the Eastern Shore we had an earthquake on Tuesday. I live in Maryland. We do not have earthquakes in Maryland. While my house shook, I said to myself, this feels like what I imagine an earthquake to feel like, but there is no way this is an actual earthquake.
It was. It registered at about 5.8 to 6.0, depending on which news report you listened to at what ever time. I think the official final word is 5.8.
Most of the hanging pictures shifted slighted on the walls and an ill placed air freshener fell and broke. Other than that the devastation and destruction was minimal. Embarrassingly minimal.
However, the quake did what all natural disasters seem to do to this area- cause a state of frozen in the headlights and, some how also, a cut and run reaction. I heard stories of grown adults running out of buildings with such forced and speed, their shoes remained where they once stood.
People in the northern part of the country laugh at our grocery lines and school closures at the mere threat of more than 2 inches of snow.
Floridians and the like give us the stink eye as we prepared to hunker down for the "hurricane" headed our way after their peninsula took the brunt of the blow.
Sure Hurricane Isabel hit our area pretty hard a few years ago, but then Hurricane Katrina came in like a big fat angry sister and stomped so hard on New Orleans that years later the area still looks broken in an unfixable way.
Izzy's wrath knocked down several run down water front beach shacks, which were replaced with million dollar water front beach houses. Katrina victims got Drew Brees- even steven?
We have had a few tornadoes touch down and aside from ripping up a rural road and a greasy spoon restaurant, there was little evidence of the twister.
Also, why are hurricanes named, but not tornadoes, blizzards and earthquakes?
There is one thing we have over all the others though. I recently was at a restaurant when I heard a man, who's accent told me was from New York, say, "I'm in the seafood capital of the world, so I'm getting seafood."
Seafood capital of the world huh? I'll take it.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
Go Go Go-Kart
Family is the most important thing to me and family traditions make me swoon with nostalgia and comfort. We spent the past weekend visiting my parents and most of my sibs (and soon to be sib-in-laws).
One activity my family has always enjoyed together is go-karting. We will go kart in the rain, mud or blazing sun.
When most families get together the day after a wedding for a brunch, mine headed to the go kart track the day after Josh and I said, "I do."
Slick track? Bring it on. We laugh uncontrollably at "no bumping" signs.
I can remember my entire family (dad, siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins) getting kicked off a track after we nearly broke several karts do to...aggressive driving shall we say.
Other families give us dirty looks as they climbed into their cars to head home after being ramped from all angles by my family.
This weekend, we took Parker to his first go-kart track.
*Disclaimer- we are all much calmer now, although rain and mud will not deter us from a track.
What can I say, it's in his blood and he is a natural.
One activity my family has always enjoyed together is go-karting. We will go kart in the rain, mud or blazing sun.
When most families get together the day after a wedding for a brunch, mine headed to the go kart track the day after Josh and I said, "I do."
Slick track? Bring it on. We laugh uncontrollably at "no bumping" signs.
I can remember my entire family (dad, siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins) getting kicked off a track after we nearly broke several karts do to...aggressive driving shall we say.
Other families give us dirty looks as they climbed into their cars to head home after being ramped from all angles by my family.
This weekend, we took Parker to his first go-kart track.
*Disclaimer- we are all much calmer now, although rain and mud will not deter us from a track.
What can I say, it's in his blood and he is a natural.
Fearless. Dad, let me show you how this is done.
Bumper cars are not child's play and should be taken very seriously.
Not to be all helicopter mom about it, but shouldn't these kiddos at least be required to wear some kind of protective head gear? Bumper cars driven by toddlers, I mean what drunk moron thought that up? Wait, what drunk moron let's their toddler drive a bumper car? This line of thought is taking an unfortunate turn, let's move on before I shine myself in an even more negative light.
Peyton was less than trilled with the track. Oh well, maybe next year. Oooh, 1st birthday at the go-kart track, I bet that's a new one.
That's more like it, lulling about pool side. That's my girl.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Read My Hands
When I was in high school I worked with children who had disabilities ranging from deaf to profoundly autistic. I took sign language classes once a week. I applied to a college that offered sign language as a major.
I got into the program, but chickened out and ended up dropping the whole sign language thing altogether. I still remember a lot of it though, and like many people who know a different language, I can understand it better than I can "speak" it.
As I moved into motherhood, I realized sign language has taken on such a life of it's own with the kiddos and mommies. They (whoever they are) say that teaching your little bean sign language will encourage verbal communication.
I have to say, based purely on my own thoughts and observations, I disagree. I have seen children who are very good with the signs, but seem to have little to no verbal skills and it is not because they have a disability. It seems almost like the signs became a crutch or substitute for the verbal language.
If they can get their point across without having to learn actual words, then why learn the words?
Despite this, when Pman was a wee-bot, I taught him a few signs. I figured since I knew a bit of sign language anyway, might as well jump on board. I also needed something to stop the grunting and whining coming from both of us.
I only taught him a few words:
Please
Sorry
Eat
All done
More
We only did these until he could speak. Once he figured out the vocal words, I dropped the signs altogether. I dropped them, but he did not.
The other day as he asked me for a lollipop, I realized that he, seemingly involuntarily, signed please as he asked.
My mind flashed forward several years to a full grown Pman in a crowded, loud place with friends, a bar or party maybe. They are all signing as they are shouting across the room to each other. None of them really realizing how or why they know these signs, but they do so they use them.
Kind of like a primitive, instinctual text message. Like their fingers and hands operated some how both independently and in conjunction with their mouths and brains.
Sometimes I'm sad I did not stick with sign language and I know I can go back to school and maybe one day I will. For now, I will chuckle to myself every time Pman's hands form fists and bump each other as he asks for more juice.
I taught him that and it is a part of him now. And yes, I will also likely teach some of these to SBG as she gets older. The grunting and whining can really grate on a mommy's nerves.
I got into the program, but chickened out and ended up dropping the whole sign language thing altogether. I still remember a lot of it though, and like many people who know a different language, I can understand it better than I can "speak" it.
As I moved into motherhood, I realized sign language has taken on such a life of it's own with the kiddos and mommies. They (whoever they are) say that teaching your little bean sign language will encourage verbal communication.
I have to say, based purely on my own thoughts and observations, I disagree. I have seen children who are very good with the signs, but seem to have little to no verbal skills and it is not because they have a disability. It seems almost like the signs became a crutch or substitute for the verbal language.
If they can get their point across without having to learn actual words, then why learn the words?
Despite this, when Pman was a wee-bot, I taught him a few signs. I figured since I knew a bit of sign language anyway, might as well jump on board. I also needed something to stop the grunting and whining coming from both of us.
I only taught him a few words:
Please
Sorry
Eat
All done
More
We only did these until he could speak. Once he figured out the vocal words, I dropped the signs altogether. I dropped them, but he did not.
The other day as he asked me for a lollipop, I realized that he, seemingly involuntarily, signed please as he asked.
My mind flashed forward several years to a full grown Pman in a crowded, loud place with friends, a bar or party maybe. They are all signing as they are shouting across the room to each other. None of them really realizing how or why they know these signs, but they do so they use them.
Kind of like a primitive, instinctual text message. Like their fingers and hands operated some how both independently and in conjunction with their mouths and brains.
Sometimes I'm sad I did not stick with sign language and I know I can go back to school and maybe one day I will. For now, I will chuckle to myself every time Pman's hands form fists and bump each other as he asks for more juice.
I taught him that and it is a part of him now. And yes, I will also likely teach some of these to SBG as she gets older. The grunting and whining can really grate on a mommy's nerves.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Dingbat or Genius?
My kids are slow- nay they are indolent (sloth like, lackadaisical, and lazy even) eaters. When I nursed a baby Parker it took him at least an hour to fill up and he DEMANDED to be fed every two and a half to three hours. Eventually leaving me feeling tethered and trapped.
Saying I tired of nursing quickly with him, is an understatement. He solely consumed breast milk for 5 solid, glorious...weeks. Then I introduced formula. For the next 3 months he got a 50/50 split of formula bottles and either nursed or got pumped milk in a bottle. Then it was all formula all the time.
Poor SBG was soley on breast milk only while we were in the hospital, a whoping 4 days. The day we came home I gave her a formula bottle to see how she would process it.
Success!
Once I was sure all was good, I gave her some formula bottles, some pumped milk bottles, and in a pinch, I nursed. She is even lazier than Parker when it comes to nursing, which is contradictory because she loves to eat.
Here is why I hate nursing, aside from them taking forever:
1. I feel incredible guilt every time I nurse SBG in front of SBB. Poor Pman has played alone a lot since SBG was born. Have you ever tried doing a floor puzzle while nursing an infant?
2. My boobs are uncomfortable and large. Too large.
3. (I admit, this is an entirely silly and selfish reason) All my shirts are totally stretched out by the end of the day.
4. She drinks from a bottle MUCH more efficiently.
5. I'm a modest person and although I have a Hooter Hider, I hate nursing even in front of Josh and Parker, let alone in public.
Here is what I have done:
Quit.
I give. She got my milk for a solid month. I have a TON of it saved in my freezer.
_________
My milk is nearly dried up, so I gave my remaining breast pads to a friend who is inches away from giving birth to her second son. I perhaps got rid of them a tad too quickly (and eagerly).
I had a slight leaking issue and was fresh out of nursing pads, so I pulled out the kitchen scissors and some maxi pads.
For some reason, I have quite a collection of maxi pads, despite the fact that I do not willingly use maxi pads reguarly. (TMI? I'll stop.)
A little snip here, a little snip there- BAM my maxi pads have become homemade nursing pads.
BONUS: They are super sticky and stay put better than any nursing pad I have ever used!
As I went about my day, grocery shopping, picking Pman up from school and going back to the grocery store to get the milk I forgot, I can't help but think, "What if I got in an accident and go to the hospital and they have to cut off my clothes and they see maxi pads in my bra?"
Will they say:
1. "Gee, this is one innovative lady! We must save her at once, who knows what creative potential she holds!"
OR
2. "Just another local dingbat. Should we check her blood alcohol levels, or just assume the obvious- she's totally wasted?"
*P.S. To breastfeed or not is totally a personal choice. No hate mail please.
Saying I tired of nursing quickly with him, is an understatement. He solely consumed breast milk for 5 solid, glorious...weeks. Then I introduced formula. For the next 3 months he got a 50/50 split of formula bottles and either nursed or got pumped milk in a bottle. Then it was all formula all the time.
Poor SBG was soley on breast milk only while we were in the hospital, a whoping 4 days. The day we came home I gave her a formula bottle to see how she would process it.
Success!
Once I was sure all was good, I gave her some formula bottles, some pumped milk bottles, and in a pinch, I nursed. She is even lazier than Parker when it comes to nursing, which is contradictory because she loves to eat.
Here is why I hate nursing, aside from them taking forever:
1. I feel incredible guilt every time I nurse SBG in front of SBB. Poor Pman has played alone a lot since SBG was born. Have you ever tried doing a floor puzzle while nursing an infant?
2. My boobs are uncomfortable and large. Too large.
3. (I admit, this is an entirely silly and selfish reason) All my shirts are totally stretched out by the end of the day.
4. She drinks from a bottle MUCH more efficiently.
5. I'm a modest person and although I have a Hooter Hider, I hate nursing even in front of Josh and Parker, let alone in public.
Here is what I have done:
Quit.
I give. She got my milk for a solid month. I have a TON of it saved in my freezer.
_________
My milk is nearly dried up, so I gave my remaining breast pads to a friend who is inches away from giving birth to her second son. I perhaps got rid of them a tad too quickly (and eagerly).
I had a slight leaking issue and was fresh out of nursing pads, so I pulled out the kitchen scissors and some maxi pads.
For some reason, I have quite a collection of maxi pads, despite the fact that I do not willingly use maxi pads reguarly. (TMI? I'll stop.)
A little snip here, a little snip there- BAM my maxi pads have become homemade nursing pads.
BONUS: They are super sticky and stay put better than any nursing pad I have ever used!
As I went about my day, grocery shopping, picking Pman up from school and going back to the grocery store to get the milk I forgot, I can't help but think, "What if I got in an accident and go to the hospital and they have to cut off my clothes and they see maxi pads in my bra?"
Will they say:
1. "Gee, this is one innovative lady! We must save her at once, who knows what creative potential she holds!"
OR
2. "Just another local dingbat. Should we check her blood alcohol levels, or just assume the obvious- she's totally wasted?"
*P.S. To breastfeed or not is totally a personal choice. No hate mail please.
Monday, August 1, 2011
It Takes a Strong Woman
Since the day I came home from the hospital, I have had someone around to help out with the kiddos- Josh, my mom, my dad and younger sister.
Today is the first day I have them both on my own. I was nervous about this day mostly because I did not want Parker to get too bored or spend his day watching cartoon after cartoon. We can both take only so much Sprout.
SBG woke up earlier than normal, but thankfully went back to sleep.
SBB woke up later than normal.
My stress was already increasing.
The kiddos were setting the stage to be off all day, eating at different times, sleeping at different times going into melt down mode at different times. Things righted themselves, as they do and my worries were put to rest.
I was even able to shower AND brush my teeth while SBB squeeze toothpaste all over the counter in my bathroom and SBG sat in her baby seat looking around the bathroom as if she trusted no one.
She has this face she makes- her eyebrows shoot up and her eyes dart around the room like she is plotting her escape because clearly the people around her are not fit to be in her presence. Sorry chica, you are stuck with us.
Then I grabbed my coupons, a pacifier and put a little Kahlua in my insulated coffee mug and headed out the door. (I'm kidding about one of those.)
My goal?
Grocery shop. Alone. With BOTH kiddos. Did I mention we left the house about 30 minutes before SBG was due to eat again? Not smart.
When it was all said and done we saved over $65 with my coupons.
SBB managed to fall twice in the store. He is fine and actually laughed both times, but the falls were total wipe outs landing him flat out on the ground.
He also had to use the potty twice while we were there. The first time was shortly after we entered the store- no biggie. The second time he announced he had to go, we were in the checkout line with every single item from our cart piled onto the belt. The lady in front of us, of course, was having some kind of issue causing us to have to wait that much longer for a manger to conduct an override at cashier 5.
While we waited for the override Peyton screamed and Parker danced around singing the alphabet in an effort to distract himself.
I was thisclose to just walking out the door, sans groceries and allowing Pman to do his thing in the parking lot.
After paying and making a mad dash to the bathroom, again, we finally got to the car. SBB climbed in his seat and as I was prying SBG out of the Baby Bjorn, I realized she was minus a sock.
I give.
Feeling defeated, I heeved myself into the driver's seat and checked my phone. I had a few missed texts.
Text #1: Oh look my friend had her baby. This is her third baby and the pregnancy was trying, from the very beginning, to say the least. She had been on hospital bed rest since 33 weeks and everyone was doing what they could to make sure the baby stayed put until 35 weeks- the safety zone. The little baby had other plans and came about a week shy of the 35 week goal.
Text #2: (From her husband) The baby was sent to the NICU, which they expected if it came before 35 weeks. It is sad, but they knew it was likely and his issues seems to be minor in a big picture kind of way.
Text #3: My friend is in the ICU. Without putting all her business on my blog, there was a lot of blood loss and other scary things. She did get to see her baby though, which is a huge gift, given her situation.
Talk about perspective. I glanced at my children in my rearview and my eyes filled with stinging tears. Wow, I am lucky.
When we got home, I brought in the groceries and only put away the milk. I let the rest of the food sit on the table. I gave SBG a bottle, while SBB cuddled next to me on the couch and watched a little TV. I did not worry about lunch or the groceries, instead I let myself be totally present in the moment with my kids.
Hang in there friend. Your children are lucky to have you and this time next year you will all be that much stronger for having gotten through this together.
Today is the first day I have them both on my own. I was nervous about this day mostly because I did not want Parker to get too bored or spend his day watching cartoon after cartoon. We can both take only so much Sprout.
SBG woke up earlier than normal, but thankfully went back to sleep.
SBB woke up later than normal.
My stress was already increasing.
The kiddos were setting the stage to be off all day, eating at different times, sleeping at different times going into melt down mode at different times. Things righted themselves, as they do and my worries were put to rest.
I was even able to shower AND brush my teeth while SBB squeeze toothpaste all over the counter in my bathroom and SBG sat in her baby seat looking around the bathroom as if she trusted no one.
She has this face she makes- her eyebrows shoot up and her eyes dart around the room like she is plotting her escape because clearly the people around her are not fit to be in her presence. Sorry chica, you are stuck with us.
Then I grabbed my coupons, a pacifier and put a little Kahlua in my insulated coffee mug and headed out the door. (I'm kidding about one of those.)
My goal?
Grocery shop. Alone. With BOTH kiddos. Did I mention we left the house about 30 minutes before SBG was due to eat again? Not smart.
When it was all said and done we saved over $65 with my coupons.
SBB managed to fall twice in the store. He is fine and actually laughed both times, but the falls were total wipe outs landing him flat out on the ground.
He also had to use the potty twice while we were there. The first time was shortly after we entered the store- no biggie. The second time he announced he had to go, we were in the checkout line with every single item from our cart piled onto the belt. The lady in front of us, of course, was having some kind of issue causing us to have to wait that much longer for a manger to conduct an override at cashier 5.
While we waited for the override Peyton screamed and Parker danced around singing the alphabet in an effort to distract himself.
I was thisclose to just walking out the door, sans groceries and allowing Pman to do his thing in the parking lot.
After paying and making a mad dash to the bathroom, again, we finally got to the car. SBB climbed in his seat and as I was prying SBG out of the Baby Bjorn, I realized she was minus a sock.
I give.
Feeling defeated, I heeved myself into the driver's seat and checked my phone. I had a few missed texts.
Text #1: Oh look my friend had her baby. This is her third baby and the pregnancy was trying, from the very beginning, to say the least. She had been on hospital bed rest since 33 weeks and everyone was doing what they could to make sure the baby stayed put until 35 weeks- the safety zone. The little baby had other plans and came about a week shy of the 35 week goal.
Text #2: (From her husband) The baby was sent to the NICU, which they expected if it came before 35 weeks. It is sad, but they knew it was likely and his issues seems to be minor in a big picture kind of way.
Text #3: My friend is in the ICU. Without putting all her business on my blog, there was a lot of blood loss and other scary things. She did get to see her baby though, which is a huge gift, given her situation.
Talk about perspective. I glanced at my children in my rearview and my eyes filled with stinging tears. Wow, I am lucky.
When we got home, I brought in the groceries and only put away the milk. I let the rest of the food sit on the table. I gave SBG a bottle, while SBB cuddled next to me on the couch and watched a little TV. I did not worry about lunch or the groceries, instead I let myself be totally present in the moment with my kids.
Hang in there friend. Your children are lucky to have you and this time next year you will all be that much stronger for having gotten through this together.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Mama's New (Old) Clothes
I have one rule after I birth a child.
The rule: No more maternity clothes after the baby has vacated my body.
I am very strict about this rule. If it has a stretchy front belly panel or billows in any way around the abdominal area, it is banished to the pregnancy bin. (It still remains to be seen when, if ever, this bin will be reopened.)
This means I spend most of my post pregnancy days in yoga pants and shirts that would otherwise be gym shirts, or ones that are at least larger than I care to admit. I do have some pants that do not have an elastic waist band and still fit, but the digits, yes plural, on the tags of those pants do not make me smile.
I have taken my sit stand stroller out for a maiden voyage around the neighborhood and SBG seemed to be down for the ride. The next day I took SBB and SBG BOTH, at the same time, by myself, out for a walk around the neighborhood and they both did well again. So did I actually, it took about an hour, but there are lots of hills. And I was pushing about 50 pounds of stroller and kids.
This is the only workout I am allowed to partake in at this time. Around mid August, I should be given the all clear to run again. At which point, I have high hopes that I will be able to fit into my normal clothes, post haste and quick!
People are so kind, telling me how great I look, just two weeks out from delivery, but really I know what I look like and great is not the word to describe it.
I do not mean to sound like some kind of post pregnancy jelly belly martyr and at last check (although I did just eat a cookie) I am less than 20 pounds away from my pre pregnancy weight. I also gained less weight with SBG than I did with SBB. I just know how many miles on the treadmill are ahead of me and I am just itching to get started.
Right now, I am nursing (which I hear is suppose to help you lose baby weight, which I think is total crap) but I hate it, so I feel that may be coming to an end sooner rather than later. SBG is a great nurser, I just hate it. I also hate nursing bras. I feel the same about breast pumps.
So, my maternity clothes are packed. My post-pregnancy big girl clothes hang in my closet with my normal clothes on deck. My ipod is charged and ready to roll.
Once I am given the all clear to run, I will celebrate by purchasing a new pair of running shoes
that will help me get into my old clothes.
The rule: No more maternity clothes after the baby has vacated my body.
I am very strict about this rule. If it has a stretchy front belly panel or billows in any way around the abdominal area, it is banished to the pregnancy bin. (It still remains to be seen when, if ever, this bin will be reopened.)
This means I spend most of my post pregnancy days in yoga pants and shirts that would otherwise be gym shirts, or ones that are at least larger than I care to admit. I do have some pants that do not have an elastic waist band and still fit, but the digits, yes plural, on the tags of those pants do not make me smile.
I have taken my sit stand stroller out for a maiden voyage around the neighborhood and SBG seemed to be down for the ride. The next day I took SBB and SBG BOTH, at the same time, by myself, out for a walk around the neighborhood and they both did well again. So did I actually, it took about an hour, but there are lots of hills. And I was pushing about 50 pounds of stroller and kids.
This is the only workout I am allowed to partake in at this time. Around mid August, I should be given the all clear to run again. At which point, I have high hopes that I will be able to fit into my normal clothes, post haste and quick!
People are so kind, telling me how great I look, just two weeks out from delivery, but really I know what I look like and great is not the word to describe it.
I do not mean to sound like some kind of post pregnancy jelly belly martyr and at last check (although I did just eat a cookie) I am less than 20 pounds away from my pre pregnancy weight. I also gained less weight with SBG than I did with SBB. I just know how many miles on the treadmill are ahead of me and I am just itching to get started.
Right now, I am nursing (which I hear is suppose to help you lose baby weight, which I think is total crap) but I hate it, so I feel that may be coming to an end sooner rather than later. SBG is a great nurser, I just hate it. I also hate nursing bras. I feel the same about breast pumps.
So, my maternity clothes are packed. My post-pregnancy big girl clothes hang in my closet with my normal clothes on deck. My ipod is charged and ready to roll.
Once I am given the all clear to run, I will celebrate by purchasing a new pair of running shoes
that will help me get into my old clothes.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Special Delivery: SBG Peyton
On July 5, 2011, I woke up and got dressed. Then I went into Parker's room to get him ready for school. We did our normal morning routine then Josh and I got into his car and my mom and Pman got into our MV.
We were headed to the hospital, they were headed to school.
Before we left, I tried desperately to soak up the last bits of time with Pfunk. I sniffed his head. Kissed his face incessantly. Told him I loved him so much, he stopped answering me back.
I'm not sure why I was so hellbent on reassuring him (or me) that nothing was going to change- I was going to the hospital to have a baby, but he will always be my Sweet Baby Boy (SBB). When I was pregnant, P1 and I read a book called "Will You Still Love Me?" It is about loving the first baby even after the second baby comes.
To say I teared up every time we read it is a drastic understatement.
Once we were at the hospital, we checked in and of course got the new girl and the process took a long time. She kept apologizing and I said, "It's fine, but if I was standing here with broken water, I would probably not be so patient."
We wandered over to the maternity ward to get set up for the c- section. Josh and I were even laughing at the size of his giant coffee and the fact that the check-in point and the maternity ward were so far away from each other and yet a wheelchair was not even offered.
We were the first c-section appointment of the day and no one was in labor at all when we got to the nurses station. When I walked up to this very same desk when I was in labor with Pman, I was...welcomed...by the blood curdling screams of various women in full blown labor.
This time I walked over to several nurses engaged in a hushed conversation and said, "Hi! I'm here to have a baby!"
They got me a gown, an IV, fetal monitor and compression hose.
The gown is what it is- drafty at best.
I hate needles, so after the nurse inserted the IV she wrapped red sticky gauze around my wrist so I could not see the insertion site. She's good people.
Then another nurse came in and put compression hose on my legs. Incidentally, putting thick panty hose on another person has to be one of the most difficult tasks to complete. Especially when the someone is already sweaty with anticipation. Then she slid on two things that looked like air casts over the hose. Then blue plastic bags.
I started sweating so bad that I thought I was going to pass out. They took off the bags and put a 1980's oscillating fan on high and aimed it right at me. Awesome.
When the time came I walked into the OR flanked by the two nurses. I hoisted myself onto the surgical table. I clung to the nice nurse with the red sticky gauze as the Anesthesiologist plunged hard core drugs into my spine.
Warmth.
Numbness.
Nausea, again.
The curtain went up, Josh came in. Everything got familiar, but scary. I could glance over at Josh who sat in a stool just behind my head. I knew we were both thinking the same things. I knew we both needed this little girl to be healthy.
I felt tugging and pressure, which was followed by blood splattering on the sheet curtain in front of me and on the face mask of my OB. Then crying. Beautiful crying from my SBG Peyton.
As she was cleaned and assessed, I was stitched back together. Then I was wheeled to recovery and Josh followed Peyton to the nursery. We both bounced back quickly and within 45 minutes I was nursing her while still in recovery.
The following 3 days we stayed in the hospital with the most doting and attentive nurses. Parker came for visits with my parents, but it was never enough.
We are home now and honestly much calmer than we were when Parker was an infant. P1 is absolutely in love with his sister. We are trying to figure out her night time schedule.
She is back up to her birth weight (within one week, which apparently is amazing, but really this girl likes to eat!)
I love Peyton, of course, she is amazing, but I'm really missing my Mommy and Parker time. Josh and I are trying to make sure he feels like a part of all this. Trying to make sure he knows he is loved now just as much as he ever was, maybe more than ever actually. I want him to know everyone in the family has a special place for him, and P2, in their hearts and nothing will change that.
Last night I was giving P2 a bottle on the couch while P1 laid with his head in my lap. P1 talked to me about whatever was on his mind at the time. Occasionally he would lift his head, say hi to P2 and pat her head or tickle her feet.
Amazing moments.
We were headed to the hospital, they were headed to school.
Before we left, I tried desperately to soak up the last bits of time with Pfunk. I sniffed his head. Kissed his face incessantly. Told him I loved him so much, he stopped answering me back.
I'm not sure why I was so hellbent on reassuring him (or me) that nothing was going to change- I was going to the hospital to have a baby, but he will always be my Sweet Baby Boy (SBB). When I was pregnant, P1 and I read a book called "Will You Still Love Me?" It is about loving the first baby even after the second baby comes.
To say I teared up every time we read it is a drastic understatement.
Once we were at the hospital, we checked in and of course got the new girl and the process took a long time. She kept apologizing and I said, "It's fine, but if I was standing here with broken water, I would probably not be so patient."
We wandered over to the maternity ward to get set up for the c- section. Josh and I were even laughing at the size of his giant coffee and the fact that the check-in point and the maternity ward were so far away from each other and yet a wheelchair was not even offered.
We were the first c-section appointment of the day and no one was in labor at all when we got to the nurses station. When I walked up to this very same desk when I was in labor with Pman, I was...welcomed...by the blood curdling screams of various women in full blown labor.
This time I walked over to several nurses engaged in a hushed conversation and said, "Hi! I'm here to have a baby!"
They got me a gown, an IV, fetal monitor and compression hose.
The gown is what it is- drafty at best.
I hate needles, so after the nurse inserted the IV she wrapped red sticky gauze around my wrist so I could not see the insertion site. She's good people.
Then another nurse came in and put compression hose on my legs. Incidentally, putting thick panty hose on another person has to be one of the most difficult tasks to complete. Especially when the someone is already sweaty with anticipation. Then she slid on two things that looked like air casts over the hose. Then blue plastic bags.
I started sweating so bad that I thought I was going to pass out. They took off the bags and put a 1980's oscillating fan on high and aimed it right at me. Awesome.
When the time came I walked into the OR flanked by the two nurses. I hoisted myself onto the surgical table. I clung to the nice nurse with the red sticky gauze as the Anesthesiologist plunged hard core drugs into my spine.
Warmth.
Numbness.
Nausea, again.
The curtain went up, Josh came in. Everything got familiar, but scary. I could glance over at Josh who sat in a stool just behind my head. I knew we were both thinking the same things. I knew we both needed this little girl to be healthy.
I felt tugging and pressure, which was followed by blood splattering on the sheet curtain in front of me and on the face mask of my OB. Then crying. Beautiful crying from my SBG Peyton.
As she was cleaned and assessed, I was stitched back together. Then I was wheeled to recovery and Josh followed Peyton to the nursery. We both bounced back quickly and within 45 minutes I was nursing her while still in recovery.
The following 3 days we stayed in the hospital with the most doting and attentive nurses. Parker came for visits with my parents, but it was never enough.
We are home now and honestly much calmer than we were when Parker was an infant. P1 is absolutely in love with his sister. We are trying to figure out her night time schedule.
She is back up to her birth weight (within one week, which apparently is amazing, but really this girl likes to eat!)
I love Peyton, of course, she is amazing, but I'm really missing my Mommy and Parker time. Josh and I are trying to make sure he feels like a part of all this. Trying to make sure he knows he is loved now just as much as he ever was, maybe more than ever actually. I want him to know everyone in the family has a special place for him, and P2, in their hearts and nothing will change that.
Last night I was giving P2 a bottle on the couch while P1 laid with his head in my lap. P1 talked to me about whatever was on his mind at the time. Occasionally he would lift his head, say hi to P2 and pat her head or tickle her feet.
Amazing moments.
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