I have pictures! In addition to my own point-and-shoot contributions, I included some pictures taken by one of my friends (those would be the larger resolution ones at the bottom).
Category: Daily living
What I’ve really been doing
If you’ve ever met my mother-in-law, you’ll know she’s a force of nature. When she knows she’s right, she’s like water. She can overwhelm you in one great flood, or wear away at you like long, slow erosion. Fortunately, the focus of her nature tends to be home decoration, where she is (I confess) usually right.
About a year ago, we were in progress on buying this, our first house. I vowed when I moved in not to spend a lot of time or money redecorating/renovating right away, until I knew what was most important. I think I kept to that goal. We did some big structural things (hello insulation!), we renovated the baby’s room, but in terms of decoration? We’re still using some things we found on sidewalks 6 years ago.
I’m not really sure how this happened, but my mother-in-law got me started on the living room. Now, my living room is rather bland. It has a wood floor, white paneling, beige leather couches, a white carpet, white curtains and a wood ceiling. So there are three main colors: brownish neutral, white and kid’s toys. All in all, it was a rather bland room. I think her introductory drug was some throw pillows for the couches to spice it up. Then there was the chair cushions for the chairs in the dining room (same color scheme, but brown wooden paneling). The new lamp shades were really quite necessary since the old ones truly were broken. She reorganized the top of the hutch to pull out the blue accent color we’d opted for. The throws were needed to replace rather tattered ones we were given for our wedding. (Makes me feel old — that wedding gifts are old enough to need replacing. 8 years!)
First, she helped me settle on a color. I thought I had settled on a color — a sort of steel blue. She said it would be a very cold color during long New England winters. I suspect she is right. So instead we went with a sort of sage or celadon with blue accents. We used some sheets as tablecloths to give big splashes of color in the dining and living rooms. We pulled it into the downstairs bathroom and kitchen with towels, rugs and potholders. Finally (and here’s the expensive part!) we have ordered new curtains (living room — may be extended to the dining room later) and carpets (dining room and living room) to complete the ensemble. We also picked out new dishes, which I’m giving a trial run before purchasing enough of.
I’ll post final pictures when the final elements arrive, but here’s how it is so far:
You know those TLC programs where people come into your house, tell you what’s wrong in amusing language and fix it over two days with little sleeping? I get that when my mother in law comes to visit. But man, is she right! I’m very excited about a downstairs with, you know, color!
Euphoria
I’ve been pretty euphoric the last week or so. I have reasons for it. I was just blessed with a healthy, sweet, handsome, perfect baby boy. I have physically recovered from the birth in what I consider to be record time. I’m frankly stunned that I feel as great as I do. Other than a certain paunch, not even I can tell that I gave birth less than two weeks ago. My eldest son has dealt with the transition phenomenally. He wants extra hugs and attention, but that I can handle. He clearly fell in love with his brother just as quickly as the rest of us did.
My choice for president won in a spine-tingling fashion earlier in the week and the air feels full of hope that this time it really will be different. The tarnish of cynicism has been polished off our souls — just a bit right now. It feels epic, or at least as though it might be epic.
My husband is home and my family is around us and I have enough of everything I need and everything I want. Thanks to the inlaw phenomenon and sleeping in until 11, I even have enough sleep.
The problems of the world — the economy, the war in the Congo, the sorrows of humanity — they all seem far away from me now.
I’m even doing a pretty good job of not borrowing trouble about how much harder this will all be next week when my support structure poofs away into the ether.
It’s a wonderful time for me. I just want to take the time to say that now. I am more than free with complaints when things are not completely perfect. I should take the time to be deeply grateful and acknowledge it when things actually are as close to perfect as they come.
The trick to being nocturnal
Thane wakes up at about 9 pm. He’s five days old, so it’s hard to say “every night” but this has been true for the last three nights — or more than half his life. He then proceeds to spend the next 10 or so hours awake and *fussy*. Awake is not bad. But last night, I couldn’t get him to be happy unless my boobs were in his mouth.
The first night was miserable. The second night wasn’t fun at all. Last night we planned for him not to sleep, and acted accordingly. Instead of trying to lay him in his crib and sneak back to bed, only the be pulled back out of it just as I was snuggling under the covers, I took him downstairs and watched Dirty Jobs and Black Adder. I took a double shift — from 10 – 2. My MIL took the next shift (2 until about 4 — which last night was three hours). A. took the final shift. Of course, I nursed Thane at every “shift change”. I thought it worked well. I think I’ll watch Stardust tonight.
My boobs are terribly sore — the left one in particular is rather cracked and bleedy. I think Thane is latching fine now, but they took damage early on. And let’s be honest, nursing for basically four hours straight isn’t going to do them any favors.
Thane sleeps through the day. Sub-optimal. It will be fine as long as they’re three of us who can pull these shifts, but if I don’t get him at least partially diurnal before my inlaws leave and my husband goes back to work, I’m in deep doo-doo.
Other than that, things are going well! Grey is still having trouble, but he is often a joy. The other times he’s a fit-throwing melty-boy. A. and Grey went to church this morning. My inlaws are a big help. (I really do have a great relationship with them — I know how lucky I am!) I’m feeling almost completely healed. It’s amazing how much better, stronger, more flexible I feel than I did a week ago!
Would you like some cheese with that whine?
Where to start? My keyboard decided to suddenly have three letters not work. I’m 10 months pregnant. My hormones…. OMG my hormones. I’m not sleeping. I have a three year old who is a great kid but, let’s face it, three. And I am kinda at least a little sick.
None of these are dire, drastic, horrible things. These are what we like to call “annoyances”.
So I went in to my midwife appointment. I spent my usual 5 – 10 minutes HATING the daytime tv they have on with strict notes that we patients are not to touch it. I am subjected to a woman who hates her facial hair and a serious discussion of which kind of nose job is better.
Then I go into the room and don’t really like what the scale says and the nurse-person has trouble taking my blood pressure, as usual. I wait the standard 5 more minutes with a piece of paper across my legs, reading an article in a parenting magazine. It is about a problem I do not have and will never have.
My midwife comes in. I like her, I do. But she has HAD IT. She was in an accident on Friday and no one in the office even asked how she was doing and she came in and the phone calls were stacked high and instead of concern they just told her that people were waiting for her already and when she asked for time off they talked about how it would affect her numbers for the month… in the course of our 15 minute exam, she broke into tears three times. Dammit, I’m the hormonal pregnant woman here! Her staff really do probably not give her much support or nurturing. They’re the sort of “It’s 5 so I’m leaving” types who are all about just meeting their obligations and not noticing what other people need. (In fairness, they’re also pretty efficient.) Her corporate structure (she’s part of a huge organization) is totally failing, because someone in her chain of command should have noticed that she’s really struggling with what’s being asked of her and taken some steps to find ways to address it — just as a good management technique. And she really needs to do a better job of managing her own stress. Maybe she should have the conversation with her staff about how they’re not being supportive — or her boss. Not her 40 week and one day patient who happens to be a good listener.
Oh, and do you remember when she did the pelvic exam at 36 weeks and I was 1 cm dilated and 90% effaced and I told all y’all not to get excited? According to today’s pelvic exam, all the contractions I’ve been having have accomplished…. absolutely nothing. In fact, she said I was 1 cm dilated and 80% effaced. (I suspect the effacement numbers are rather subjective.) So yeah. They haven’t done anything. I’m at exactly the same spot I was a month ago and there is no sign that I’m going to give birth any time soon. I think she didn’t strip my membranes because I wasn’t “ripe” enough. (Although I am having the fun of crampiness and discomfort, so maybe she did strip ’em and it just hurt less than last time.)
At least the baby is at -1. (That means his head really is in the birth canal — ready to go. See also: I have to spread my legs in order to bend down.)
She decides not to send me in for an NST because the heart rate is fine and I’m not looking imminent and there’s no reason to think there’s anything wrong. There really isn’t.
So I decide on some retail therapy. There’s a Linens ‘N Things going out of business right across the street. Surely I can find something I need on sale. Or at least can find a roundabout way of justifying purchasing.
The sale sucks. The prices are all way more than I’m willing to spend. 10% off is not a great sale.
Then I go to Staples. At least I can get a new keyboard.
They don’t sell the split keyboards I use anymore — they only have these weird humpy very expensive keyboards now. While I probably could expense it, why pay more for something I like less? I notice they have also stopped making/selling the mouse I like.
I fail retail therapy. FAIL.
I should probably focus on the bit where everything looks fine with my baby and even in a worst case I only have to work for another 4 days and maybe one of these days I actually will give birth and my husband and I are both gainfully employed and we have no risk of losing the house and my son is adorable and healthy. These are all true and good things.
But waaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
New Pictures
Here are some new pictures of Grey, including is 3rd birthday!
http://tiltedworld.com/brenda/pictures/LateOctober08/index.html
Not about being pregnant, mostly!
It’s rather mentally all-encompassing, this 40 weeks pregnant thing — especially as most of my other interests have been shelved for the time being. The state of mental readiness is tiring to maintain. I notice this morning, for example, that I seem to have forgotten that there will be a BABY as a result of the eventually-coming labor. I’m so focused on when when when that the what is obscured.
I digress back to pregnancy. See how hard this is?
We have two cats: Magic and Justice. They’re both about 8 – 9 years old. (They’re rescues, so we’re not sure of their age.) Magic is a fat, lazy, happy cat whose favorite things involve sleeping, eating, and sleeping. She’s an indoor-only cat because she’s perfectly happy being an indoor-only cat.
Justice is the friendliest dog you’ve ever met, trapped in a cat’s body. He LOVES people. He LOVES adventure. He loves attention. He will walk up to complete strangers and demand scritches. He will purr at the drop of a hat. Everyone loves Justice. He’s in the middle of every party, making friends.
About a year ago, we decided to transition Justice from being 100% indoor to being an indoor/outdoor cat. We’re aware that this reduces his life expectancy, but we’re willing to exchange that for quality of life. I think he would make the same choice if he were capable of doign so. He was miserable and making us miserable being indoor all day. Now he smugly waits for us at the front porch when we come home at night, tired from his escapades. He’s much, much happier getting to play outside. He actually loves to go on walks with us and will follow us for blocks and blocks.
We try to be responsible pet owners, though. We got him chipped and signed him up for one of those pet recovery services and he has his vaccinations in order and a bunch of collars and tags.
That darn cat gets called in ALL THE TIME. I tried putting his address on his collar so that people nearby would see his collar and notice that he’s like 2 blocks from home — he doesn’t usually wander far. There are a goodly number of outdoor cats in our neighborhood — I know about 5 by sight — so it’s not like it simply isn’t done or he’s the only one. And our neighborhood is relatively cat-safe. But at least once a month someone reports him lost — usually within 3 blocks of the house. (Our old neighbors actually had toys and treats for him — he used to invite himself in to their houses when he got bored.)
Saturday it happened again. We identified that he was less than two blocks away. We asked them to just let him out. They said they weren’t comfortable with that. After all, he was pregnant and declawed. (Um, no HE’S not pregnant. And no, he’s not declawed. As a matter of fact, he’s an alarmingly efficient hunter as several squirrels in the area have learned the hard way.) So we walk the short way to retrieve him. And the woman just GRILLS us about the cat. Why wouldn’t he eat her shrimp? (Don’t feed him that! He’s on a special, very expensive diet to try to prevent bladder stones. And shrimp? Ew!) He probably wouldn’t eat her shrimp because he WASN’T HUNGRY having already been fed. Were we planning on keeping him? Yes we were? Were we going to put him down? Uh, no. What part of the well-cared-for, slightly fat, double collared, prescription-dieted, microchipped bit indicated that we are unwilling to care for him? Were we sure we wanted to keep him? (This whole time she has a death-grip on him standing behind her screen door.)
I looked at my husband. This was our big chance! But of course we want to keep him.
But light was shed. She was hoping no one would claim him, or she could talk us into giving him up. I do understand — he’s a great cat. But really, she probably doesn’t want him. He’s also a VERY EXPENSIVE cat. Those bladder stones? You don’t want to know.
He followed us home.
This week, both cats had their vet appointments. Justice, our usual money-sink, only required the standard $100 of cat food and $100 of vaccinations. But it turns out that Magic has gingivitis. For which she needs a tooth cleaning. For which they need to sedate her. For which they need to do preparatory blood tests. Do you hear the sound of money exchanging hands? I do.
Ah, the joys of pet ownership!
Insanity
A popular definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome.
According to this definition, I really will be pregnant forever.
I’ve had lots and lots of contractions this pregnancy. I swear the contractions started before I started feeling fetal movement. I get contractions nearly every time I stand up. Walking up or down stairs (and I live in a 3 stairway house) is almost guaranteed to initiate contractions. Pretty much every afternoon I start getting contractions, and they are worst while I’m getting dinner on the table. By the time I sit down for dinner (nearly every day this week) I’m mentally packing my hospital bag.
Then they go away. I go to sleep. I wake up the next morning, still very very pregnant and feeling slightly foolish about the night before.
You see where I’m going with this?
SOMETIME in the next, uh, 18 days those contractions will actually be for real. And they will be going somewhere. And I just know that by then I’ll have subconsciously learned my lesson and completely stopped paying attention to the damn things. By the time labor pains get truly unambiguous, it’s really pretty late in the process. With Grey, labor was only for-darn-sure maybe 3 – 4 hours before he was actually born. And second babies come sooner. And this time around, we have to get someone to be with Grey while we’re gallavanting off to the hospital, so we NEED the time more.
So every night, when I get the contractions, I think of saying, “Oh, here we go again.” And then I think, “But what if this IS the night?”
Insanity.
In other pressing, important, critically interesting news, I decided yesterday that something had to give. Something simply HAD to change.
My hair was pregnancy-thick and just past shoulder length. It was heavy enough to laugh off most barrettes and hair bands, but too short to braid.
Now, it is much shorter and rather more layered. I don’t think this is my Platonic Ideal of a haircut. I dare say it looks a touch too mommyish. (What? Just because I have a 3 year old and am 18 months pregnant doesn’t mean I have to THINK of myself as mommyish.) But it is also a vast improvement over what came before.
And yes. I am still pregnant. Yes. Still.
No, I have not given birth yet
I promise you are not as disappointed by this as I am. (I’d forgotten that about this stage of pregnancy not only do people get *really excited* when you call them, but if you — heaven forfend — do NOT contact them they get all excited.) But no. Still pregnant.
I do, however, have significantly less hair than I did this morning. I just washed it, and I’ll let you know tomorrow if I like it. But it needed to be done — I couldn’t do anything with it but put it back and it failed to please me. To the headsman! Or the stylist! Pictures will be forthcoming.
One of my cats has gingivitis. Let me tell you how excited I am about paying for full anesthesia for appropriate dental care. I increasingly suspect these two felines are the last freeloaders I’m going to have for quite some time.
These and other FASCINATING events are the substance of my life. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some terribly exciting things to do. Like pay bills.
Fun with false labor
So last night I was experiencing pain, as though all my muscles had knotted up and I was short of breath and a little panicky, and the pain seemed to be coming on a regular basis. Yeah, the first 7 innings or so of the Red Sox game downright hurt.
Oh, and I was having strong contractions that seemed, at least for a while, to be coming in five minute intervals.
When I was pregnant the first time around, this wouldn’t have caused much angst. I was in labor or I wasn’t. Time would tell. Maybe we’d have gone for a walk to see if exercise would solidify the contractions or diminish them. Maybe I’d just take a hot shower, pack the bag and go to bed, and see what I felt like in the morning.
But the second time around, there’s an additional complication. Yes, the product of the FIRST pregnancy needs to have a grownup around at all times. (Funny how that works.) So the question of whether I was in labor or not took on added importance. Did we need to call backup or not? I texted a friend in the middle of a date to let him know that he was on call. I watched Dice-K give up another homer. I attempted to watch the baseball game, gchat with my mom, text message with my friend, read some blogs, check the contents of my hospital bag and have my husband read to me about the difference between false labor and real labor simultaneously.
I felt slightly distracted and as though I had difficult focusing. Clearly, it was labor.
My frenetecism was rewarded. My mom told me that my baby brother was actually on his was New Englandward a day earlier than I thought he was going to be. I called him and asked him to please come spend the night in our house just in case. The great thing about family is that you can inconvenience them and only feel a little badly about it. A few more contractions while I showered, two more runs given up by Papelbon, and I was ready for bed. I figured that the Sox season was over, and that even if my labor progressed while I slept my son would be taken care of.
That was, of course, just the wrong time to turn off the Sox game. But it wasn’t labor. It was just practice. I’m really, really, really hoping that I don’t have too many more ambiguous labor-like periods, or my friends’ love-lives may seriously suffer from ill-timed text messages. But hey, at least I’ll have one more Sox game this season.
On another note, I uploaded all my latest pictures a week or two ago, and got stymied at a near-final step and never got around to, you know, letting people know. So here, a few weeks late, are some pictures, including my birthday, my husband’s surprise concert for me, some apple picking, and Grey playing with Jefferson.
My Truant Pen 