There is a teeny piece of me that wishes I were a fashion blogger.
Says the girl currently wearing a nursing shirt with a hole in it and a pair of her husband's socks.
But whatevs.
It's just that I find myself wandering around the internet when David is at work, staring at these wonderful, cute outfits other people just throw together and thinking "wow. I could never do that. Never." It just wouldn't occur to me to mix those things together. Even when I'm doing my absolute best, I look neat and tidy and clean and put together, but not, you know, fashionable per se.
We brought home our new camera today!! Yay!! So far I have opened the box, wrestled it away from the toddler, figured out how to charge the battery and taken one picture; I have yet to figure out how to hook it up to my computer so be patient, pictures are coming.
Samuel is obsessed with the $2 pack of small, green soldiers that David brought back from the dollar store the other day. Seriously obsessed. He wants to 'play soldiers' all the time now; in fact it's overthrown cutting up paper with scissors, playing 'post office' and 'cooking' on the Cool Things To Play chart. The only thing better is cooking in the kitchen with mama and real food.
But is anyone else completely grossed out by toddler hands? Eww. Who knows what they've touched? And why oh why can you never completely get their nails clean? Really, children are disgusting creatures.
We have company coming over for supper on Saturday. Which means that there will be TEN people in this house eating supper! I've never cooked for this large of a crowd before, but I am notorious for making too much food so I think I'll be alright. After a lot of to-ing and fro-ing in my mind, I decided that we're going to have a baked ham, steamed peas and homemade mac 'n cheese. I'm really looking forward to hosting a crowd; one of the main reasons I agreed to the recent move is because a larger house means more opportunities for hospitality.
And speaking of food, I broke out the B@by Bullet today and made several trays of purees for Clara, the ravenous child-wolf that she is. Sweet potato and Honeycrisp apple, sweet potato and carrot, apple and pear, summer squash and tilapia and peas. A friend on FB asked me if I blended the tilapia, and yes, yes I did. I blended everything. In fact, I should have added even more liquid to the carrots because the puree was a bit too thick for Clara Bear. I also put a bit of olive oil in with the sweet potato and carrot, because I thought it might help boost some healthy fats in the drying winter months, but I think I'll skip that next time; it was quite olive oily.
I also tried the grain mill portion of the BB and made some organic brown rice cereal. We'll try that for breakfast tomorrow, shall we, Clara?
Terribly enough, today was Saint Nicholas' Day, and we forgot to give Samuel his gift. So we'll do that tomorrow. And hey! We can take pictures of it now! Yay!
Showing posts with label Babies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Babies. Show all posts
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Monday, December 3, 2012
Coping
Ana of Time Flies When You're Having Babies wrote this post recently, and not only is it funny and so so so true, but I had several additions of my own.
Things I Do To Make Parenting Young Children Easier on Myself
1) I leave my children with either a sitter or their father for an hour every night I can stand it, and I go for a run with other friends of mine. We shuffle along our regular route and just talk about our lives. I do this (this is the key) even if my screaming, drippy, starving offspring need to be peeled off of my body. Then I come home and resume normal activities.
2) I feed everyone supper at the ungodly hour of 4:30pm. And I put Clara to bed at about 6pm and Samuel to bed at 7:30pm. Yes, this is early. Yes, this means my mornings start early. Yes, very early. But it's worth it to me to have some evening time before I crash from exhaustion.
I also enforce a nap for Samuel. Even if he doesn't sleep, he has to stay in bed for an hour. Quietly.
3) I take advantage of every offer of help in some way. If you offer to help me, I will find something for you to do. If you come over to my house to have a cup of coffee, I will use your presence in the livingroom to go to the bathroom by myself and probably pluck that stray eyebrow hair while I'm in there. And maybe trim my nails. But that's it, I swear.
4) I turn off the television. We don't have cable but the endless loop of children's dvds drive me crazy. Instead I force poor Samuel to play with toys quietly. Toys that don't have batteries.
5) I listen to adult music in the house.
6) If I think that someone is feeling sick, I don't wait 'just to see what happens' but immediately give them a dose of ibuprofen. I also pre-dose before innoculations, even if the child doesn't have a history of getting grouchy or hot afterwards.
7) On days when David works in the evening, I make a very large lunch and reheat it again as supper for the children and myself.
8) I keep several activities at the ready for times when I need Samuel to stop. touching. me. A set of tongs and a glass jar of acorns and an egg carton is one. Sets of markers and paper is another. Playdough, stickers, scissors and origami paper to cut into confetti...
9) I only bathe when David is home to watch the children. And then I lock the bathroom door.
Things I Do To Make Parenting Young Children Easier on Myself
1) I leave my children with either a sitter or their father for an hour every night I can stand it, and I go for a run with other friends of mine. We shuffle along our regular route and just talk about our lives. I do this (this is the key) even if my screaming, drippy, starving offspring need to be peeled off of my body. Then I come home and resume normal activities.
2) I feed everyone supper at the ungodly hour of 4:30pm. And I put Clara to bed at about 6pm and Samuel to bed at 7:30pm. Yes, this is early. Yes, this means my mornings start early. Yes, very early. But it's worth it to me to have some evening time before I crash from exhaustion.
I also enforce a nap for Samuel. Even if he doesn't sleep, he has to stay in bed for an hour. Quietly.
3) I take advantage of every offer of help in some way. If you offer to help me, I will find something for you to do. If you come over to my house to have a cup of coffee, I will use your presence in the livingroom to go to the bathroom by myself and probably pluck that stray eyebrow hair while I'm in there. And maybe trim my nails. But that's it, I swear.
4) I turn off the television. We don't have cable but the endless loop of children's dvds drive me crazy. Instead I force poor Samuel to play with toys quietly. Toys that don't have batteries.
5) I listen to adult music in the house.
6) If I think that someone is feeling sick, I don't wait 'just to see what happens' but immediately give them a dose of ibuprofen. I also pre-dose before innoculations, even if the child doesn't have a history of getting grouchy or hot afterwards.
7) On days when David works in the evening, I make a very large lunch and reheat it again as supper for the children and myself.
8) I keep several activities at the ready for times when I need Samuel to stop. touching. me. A set of tongs and a glass jar of acorns and an egg carton is one. Sets of markers and paper is another. Playdough, stickers, scissors and origami paper to cut into confetti...
9) I only bathe when David is home to watch the children. And then I lock the bathroom door.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
November 18th
Whilst washing my hair in the sink this morning I started thinking about church, and that got me thinking about the potluck after church today, and that train of thought led me over the hill of self-pity that I had to feed two children solo since David works, before it pulled into the station of social conventions.
Which is a convoluted way of saying that I wonder just how inadequate my offering of chocolate chip cookies is. I was always told that the potluck rule is to bring as much food as your family would eat, because the idea is to switch foods, not eat something someone else brought. And I know that everyone always says "Oh don't worry there's always lots of food" but honestly someone has to bring this food of which there is lots. Today, though, it isn't going to be me. Last month's potluck saw me bring some sort of casserole thing, I think, and I feel like you should be able to switch between bringing a lot and bringing a little food. This month is chocolate chip cookies. It is what it is.
Plus, I saw you wince there when I said I was washing my hair in the sink. I'll have you know that if I leave my two children to fend for themselves for the amount of time it would take me to have an actual shower, they will destroy something. And cry a lot. And no I don't want to bring the baby into the bathroom in her carseat so don't suggest that. And no the toddler won't sit and talk to me while I'm in there either. And don't suggest that I shower at night, either, because if I go to bed with wet hair I wake up looking like...well, let's just say I couldn't go out in public without a hat. And no, I don't own a hair dryer.
Plus, washing your hair in the sink is so nice because the water is close to your scalp and you get a little massage.
I'll leave you with two more things to ponder.
1) Could I make a play kitchen out of a television hutch as easily as everyone says I can. 'Everyone' being, of course, Pinterest.
2) Is making gourmet baby food a hipster thing to do? Or is it a very hipster thing to do?
Which is a convoluted way of saying that I wonder just how inadequate my offering of chocolate chip cookies is. I was always told that the potluck rule is to bring as much food as your family would eat, because the idea is to switch foods, not eat something someone else brought. And I know that everyone always says "Oh don't worry there's always lots of food" but honestly someone has to bring this food of which there is lots. Today, though, it isn't going to be me. Last month's potluck saw me bring some sort of casserole thing, I think, and I feel like you should be able to switch between bringing a lot and bringing a little food. This month is chocolate chip cookies. It is what it is.
Plus, I saw you wince there when I said I was washing my hair in the sink. I'll have you know that if I leave my two children to fend for themselves for the amount of time it would take me to have an actual shower, they will destroy something. And cry a lot. And no I don't want to bring the baby into the bathroom in her carseat so don't suggest that. And no the toddler won't sit and talk to me while I'm in there either. And don't suggest that I shower at night, either, because if I go to bed with wet hair I wake up looking like...well, let's just say I couldn't go out in public without a hat. And no, I don't own a hair dryer.
Plus, washing your hair in the sink is so nice because the water is close to your scalp and you get a little massage.
I'll leave you with two more things to ponder.
1) Could I make a play kitchen out of a television hutch as easily as everyone says I can. 'Everyone' being, of course, Pinterest.
2) Is making gourmet baby food a hipster thing to do? Or is it a very hipster thing to do?
Sunday, November 4, 2012
November 4th
Am really tired. I really just want to go to sleep and sleep straight through the night one night. Well, I'm ok with nursing, but a reasonable amount. Clara has recently decided she does not want to sleep in her little rocking basinette thing beside our bed. She doesn't like it anymore. So this is fine, but it means that until we get back into our master bedroom (David's parents are staying there right now) we can't set up the portable crib, which is the 'next stage' my babies go through, and instead she is sleeping with us.
My friends can tell you how I feel about sharing my bed with children. I. don't. like. it. This is a personal thing; I have many people in my life who bed share with great success and happiness, but I am not one of those people. I like to sleep not touching anything, and on my stomach, and slightly star-fishy, and sleeping with children is not conducive to this. Therefore they sleep, and I lie in a cramped position trying not to breathe so as to not wake them.
So yes, the portable crib. She'll go into that until she isn't waking regularly to feed throughout the night, about a year or so, and then she'll go into the 'big' crib. It's all about stages.
But Clara is not the only one unhappy at night these days, with her constant nursing and grouchiness. Samuel is not having good overnights either. He's up in the wee hours almost every night and climbing in with us. I'm not sure why this is but I do know that he kicks a lot, and thrashes about hitting Clara in the head and waking her up, and kicking the cats and my legs and just generally being a very unpleasant person to share a bed with.
Two unhappy sleepers. It wouldn't be so bad if they would nap simultaneously. Because then I could put them down for naps and I could sleep for a few hours as well. But usually Clara is tired and sleeps, and then when she wakes up Sam is tired, and then a third switch. No sleep for Mama. For a terrifying few days I thought Samuel was actually dropping his last nap, which would be horrific. I need that nap. That's my break from a toddler. But of course it wouldn't be unusual for him to stop needing an afternoon nap - he is going to be 2 years and 8 months old. But still. Clara, thankfully, shows signs of being an excellent napper. Two solid naps a day. They've gone down a bit in length since birth but she's six months old. How is that possible?
Speaking of which, I went to the doctor for something the other day and he asked about Clara and then said "Six months. Time for another one." Ohmygoodness. I think I laughed and made some lame joke.
Wait, I was going to say something else about bedsharing. It's funny the difference between the mother I feel I would be if the children were personality free and the mother I am. I would not, for example, share my bed. But my children have other ideas. I would not probably be nursing an almost three year old, that's for sure. Speaking of which, the weaning is going very well. Samuel is down to nursing once a day. He's being pretty good about it. I think he'd still nurse all the time if he could, but he's content enough with what he's offered. Clara is eating a wee little bit of solid food now, so she's thrilled with life. Oh mashed banana, where have you BEEN all my life?
My friends can tell you how I feel about sharing my bed with children. I. don't. like. it. This is a personal thing; I have many people in my life who bed share with great success and happiness, but I am not one of those people. I like to sleep not touching anything, and on my stomach, and slightly star-fishy, and sleeping with children is not conducive to this. Therefore they sleep, and I lie in a cramped position trying not to breathe so as to not wake them.
So yes, the portable crib. She'll go into that until she isn't waking regularly to feed throughout the night, about a year or so, and then she'll go into the 'big' crib. It's all about stages.
But Clara is not the only one unhappy at night these days, with her constant nursing and grouchiness. Samuel is not having good overnights either. He's up in the wee hours almost every night and climbing in with us. I'm not sure why this is but I do know that he kicks a lot, and thrashes about hitting Clara in the head and waking her up, and kicking the cats and my legs and just generally being a very unpleasant person to share a bed with.
Two unhappy sleepers. It wouldn't be so bad if they would nap simultaneously. Because then I could put them down for naps and I could sleep for a few hours as well. But usually Clara is tired and sleeps, and then when she wakes up Sam is tired, and then a third switch. No sleep for Mama. For a terrifying few days I thought Samuel was actually dropping his last nap, which would be horrific. I need that nap. That's my break from a toddler. But of course it wouldn't be unusual for him to stop needing an afternoon nap - he is going to be 2 years and 8 months old. But still. Clara, thankfully, shows signs of being an excellent napper. Two solid naps a day. They've gone down a bit in length since birth but she's six months old. How is that possible?
Speaking of which, I went to the doctor for something the other day and he asked about Clara and then said "Six months. Time for another one." Ohmygoodness. I think I laughed and made some lame joke.
Wait, I was going to say something else about bedsharing. It's funny the difference between the mother I feel I would be if the children were personality free and the mother I am. I would not, for example, share my bed. But my children have other ideas. I would not probably be nursing an almost three year old, that's for sure. Speaking of which, the weaning is going very well. Samuel is down to nursing once a day. He's being pretty good about it. I think he'd still nurse all the time if he could, but he's content enough with what he's offered. Clara is eating a wee little bit of solid food now, so she's thrilled with life. Oh mashed banana, where have you BEEN all my life?
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
5 Blatently Obvious Parenting Observations
On the other hand, three years is a really long time. You can get a university degree in three years. You can also, apparently, become the mother of two children and still be learning the basics of parenting.
Today I was thinking about everything I've learned since having Clara five weeks ago, and the list was pretty pitiful, as in it will help no one, really. Still, for my own sake, here are the top 5 blatently obvious things I've learned about children.
1. Babies are little.
They're really little. Even if they're big babies, they're still really little. If you keep reminding yourself of this fact every time you interact with them their behaviour makes a lot more sense. When they do that 'arms flailing' thing? That's because they think they're falling. Because they're little. When they poop in a clean diaper? That's because they're little and they don't know any better. When they want to nurse for hours or refuse to let you leave the room or want to follow you to the bathroom or gag on a cheerio? It's all because they're little.
2. Feeding them helps.
I have developed a very sophisticated rotating series of trial and error actions intended to calm all crying. It's quite elaborate, so try and keep up, ok? Number 1: Try food. Number 2: Try changing. Number 3: Try burping. Repeat. Literally, when Samuel cried I would feed him, and if that didn't work I changed him, and then burbed him. If he was still crying I fed him again. I just kept going until he fell asleep.
3. Children will tell you things if you ask them.
This was a revelation to me! Sometimes, when Sam is upset, and I say "Hey friend, why are you crying?" get this...he'll tell me why he's crying! I know, right? Crazy. No guesswork involved. But with Clara I have discovered something even more fascinating. She will also tell me why she's crying without using words. Tongue sticking out and head rotating means feed me. Arms flailing and legs kicking means swaddle me. Eyes fixated on me means talk to me. It's nuts is what it is.
4. Things that bother me also probably bother them.
I don't like coughing when I'm sick. Neither do they. I don't like having an upset stomach. Neither do they. I don't like being hot or cold or hungry or tired. Neither do they. And whatever I would usually do to fix the things I don't like are the same things I should think of as solutions to their problems. So, if Samuel says his head hurts, and if my head hurt I would take a Tylenol and lie down in a dark room with some ginger ale, then it's not fair to say "Just close your eyes, buddy." or get on my high horse about not giving him a dose of Tylenol unless he 'really needs it'. If he's in pain, he needs it.
5. They're not going to stop making toys and clothes.
These items are not going to disappear off the face of the earth tomorrow. So it's ok to get rid of them once I don't need them anymore. Really.
Maybe by baby #3 I'll be an old pro...
Friday, May 4, 2012
The Day Off
For the past several weeks I have been 'on the edge' of going into labour - and I think it might be one of the most emotionally exhausting experiences you can put yourself through.
Imagine, for a moment, a huge life-changing, irreversible event with an uncertain outcome that depends on factors largely outside of your control, and that may or may not happen at any point during the day or night, requires medical facilities distantly located from your present location and has the power to greatly damage your body (but might not). Now assume that the only control element you have over this event is a list of 'possible triggers' and another list of 'possible dissauders' that may allow you to exert a modicum of will over the event; maybe stopping it or slowing it down, and maybe speeding it up or kick-starting it - but the lists are vague, and mostly unscientific, and have their own inherant problems. You have one other tool, as well, and that is a somewhat agreed-upon societal belief that the event will be immediately preceeded by several smaller 'mini-events', which theoretically will allow you to, if not control the situation, at least recognize it.
That's waiting for childbirth.
And I've been waiting for weeks, mostly because I've noticed two things. The first is that at the end of my pregnancies I have lost the ability to recognize labour signs. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that almost all signs of immediately impending labour are with me with increasing regularity. I'll get contractions, for example, and they will get closer together, and more intense, and longer. They'll last for hours, days even, and then they'll stop. Or I will have an undeniable urge to clean, and as I'm cleaning I'm interspersing it with desperate bathroom runs and enough cramping and back pain to down a horse, and then...nothing.
None of the pre-labour signs seem to apply to me with any certainty at all.
The second thing I've noticed is that none of the triggers work. Those things that are supposed to help start labour don't seem to work at all, and in some cases are slowing down any progress I am making. I have walked until my hips were too sore to take another step, eaten food where the only outcome was to make me sick, induced vomiting and other unpleasant things, nursed until I was blue in the face, sat on bouncy balls, rocked on my hands and knees, watched tv while standing on my head, forced my husband to learn how to use a Rebozo, drank hippy tea that claimed to 'tone my uterus', taken up dancing, rubbed and pressed on accupressure points until my heels were raw and people started to look wary when I asked for a backrub, and yelled at my abdomen while simultaneously attempting to 'remain calm and relaxed'.
None of these things have worked. This led me to believe that maybe a vague 'something' might be wrong. I verified my pregnancy dates, had an ultrasound, checked my bloodwork and made sure the baby was as optimally positioned as I could manage. All was good...she just, well, wasn't coming. She wasn't coming. Then I wondered if I was being impatient; maybe she needed 'more time to bake'...and that amount has now hit 8 days with no signs of impending labour on the horizon. Or maybe every sign of impending labour on the horizon, depending on how you look at it.
And so, today, I'm taking a break. I'm going to do nothing to start or help labour along. I'm going to sit on my bum, I'm going to eat and drink whatever I please. I'm going to take an Advil and relax my contractions away in a hot bath whether it stops them or not. I'm going to knit, and spend some time with my son and ignore the nagging feelings that I should be doing something. I'm going to give Samuel a cup instead of encouraging him to nurse, and we're not going to discuss 'Baby' at all. In fact, I think we might go to playgroup this morning, and I might have a giant coffee and a croissant.
Because sitting on the edge is exhausting. Sometimes it's truly better to hop off on one side, regardless of the side, and just BE for a little bit.
Imagine, for a moment, a huge life-changing, irreversible event with an uncertain outcome that depends on factors largely outside of your control, and that may or may not happen at any point during the day or night, requires medical facilities distantly located from your present location and has the power to greatly damage your body (but might not). Now assume that the only control element you have over this event is a list of 'possible triggers' and another list of 'possible dissauders' that may allow you to exert a modicum of will over the event; maybe stopping it or slowing it down, and maybe speeding it up or kick-starting it - but the lists are vague, and mostly unscientific, and have their own inherant problems. You have one other tool, as well, and that is a somewhat agreed-upon societal belief that the event will be immediately preceeded by several smaller 'mini-events', which theoretically will allow you to, if not control the situation, at least recognize it.
That's waiting for childbirth.
And I've been waiting for weeks, mostly because I've noticed two things. The first is that at the end of my pregnancies I have lost the ability to recognize labour signs. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that almost all signs of immediately impending labour are with me with increasing regularity. I'll get contractions, for example, and they will get closer together, and more intense, and longer. They'll last for hours, days even, and then they'll stop. Or I will have an undeniable urge to clean, and as I'm cleaning I'm interspersing it with desperate bathroom runs and enough cramping and back pain to down a horse, and then...nothing.
None of the pre-labour signs seem to apply to me with any certainty at all.
The second thing I've noticed is that none of the triggers work. Those things that are supposed to help start labour don't seem to work at all, and in some cases are slowing down any progress I am making. I have walked until my hips were too sore to take another step, eaten food where the only outcome was to make me sick, induced vomiting and other unpleasant things, nursed until I was blue in the face, sat on bouncy balls, rocked on my hands and knees, watched tv while standing on my head, forced my husband to learn how to use a Rebozo, drank hippy tea that claimed to 'tone my uterus', taken up dancing, rubbed and pressed on accupressure points until my heels were raw and people started to look wary when I asked for a backrub, and yelled at my abdomen while simultaneously attempting to 'remain calm and relaxed'.
None of these things have worked. This led me to believe that maybe a vague 'something' might be wrong. I verified my pregnancy dates, had an ultrasound, checked my bloodwork and made sure the baby was as optimally positioned as I could manage. All was good...she just, well, wasn't coming. She wasn't coming. Then I wondered if I was being impatient; maybe she needed 'more time to bake'...and that amount has now hit 8 days with no signs of impending labour on the horizon. Or maybe every sign of impending labour on the horizon, depending on how you look at it.
And so, today, I'm taking a break. I'm going to do nothing to start or help labour along. I'm going to sit on my bum, I'm going to eat and drink whatever I please. I'm going to take an Advil and relax my contractions away in a hot bath whether it stops them or not. I'm going to knit, and spend some time with my son and ignore the nagging feelings that I should be doing something. I'm going to give Samuel a cup instead of encouraging him to nurse, and we're not going to discuss 'Baby' at all. In fact, I think we might go to playgroup this morning, and I might have a giant coffee and a croissant.
Because sitting on the edge is exhausting. Sometimes it's truly better to hop off on one side, regardless of the side, and just BE for a little bit.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Appointment Update
There is a plate of blue cheese and liverwurst waiting for me in the livingroom, maybe with a pickle, and so this is going to be a fast update.
David and I made the hour long trip to the city today for my fetal assessment, which went exactly like I thought it would in terms of scheduling. I was early, and they took me early anyway, and I sat for 20 minutes with a monitor belt on and then had an ultrasound.
Good news is: the baby is fine. In fact, she's better than fine. I needed two 'peaks' on the monitor for movement and heart rate, and I had four, interspersed with textbook calm periods. They were thrilled. My ultrasound showed that she was moving wonderfully, perfectly formed, swimming in almost double the amniotic fluid she needed as a minimum, and my placenta showed no signs of aging at all.
With that, I was sent home free until my Monday appointment.
So, I mean, great news and all, but on the other hand, I am still pregnant. 41 weeks and counting, now. I walked over 2km when I got home, which actually seemed to stop the contractions, and so I'm off to sit on my borrowed exercise ball and see what that does, if anything.
David and I made the hour long trip to the city today for my fetal assessment, which went exactly like I thought it would in terms of scheduling. I was early, and they took me early anyway, and I sat for 20 minutes with a monitor belt on and then had an ultrasound.
Good news is: the baby is fine. In fact, she's better than fine. I needed two 'peaks' on the monitor for movement and heart rate, and I had four, interspersed with textbook calm periods. They were thrilled. My ultrasound showed that she was moving wonderfully, perfectly formed, swimming in almost double the amniotic fluid she needed as a minimum, and my placenta showed no signs of aging at all.
With that, I was sent home free until my Monday appointment.
So, I mean, great news and all, but on the other hand, I am still pregnant. 41 weeks and counting, now. I walked over 2km when I got home, which actually seemed to stop the contractions, and so I'm off to sit on my borrowed exercise ball and see what that does, if anything.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Sunday, April 29, 2012
A non-update...because nothing is happening.
40 weeks and 3 days. Le bebe est not here.
Wandering around an antique shop, of all places, scored me a very cute little summer dress that I can nurse in for $5. It's been drafted into service as my 'something to bring to the hospital' outfit, thankfully replacing David's sweatpants and a t-shirt, which previously held that distinguished position in my overnight bag.
We ate delicious spinach and chicken alfredo pizza for supper. And Haagan Daas lemon sorbet for dessert. Celebrating nothing in particular.
More accupressure. More contractions. More raspberry leaf tea. More opportunities to be a calm, prayerful mother slipping through my clenched fists.
Sweet Samuel complaining that his 'tummy hurt' had me rummaging for the gripe water. 2 tsp and 30 minutes later he was his happy self again. If only all problems were that easy to fix.
Ok, back to knitting...
Wandering around an antique shop, of all places, scored me a very cute little summer dress that I can nurse in for $5. It's been drafted into service as my 'something to bring to the hospital' outfit, thankfully replacing David's sweatpants and a t-shirt, which previously held that distinguished position in my overnight bag.
We ate delicious spinach and chicken alfredo pizza for supper. And Haagan Daas lemon sorbet for dessert. Celebrating nothing in particular.
More accupressure. More contractions. More raspberry leaf tea. More opportunities to be a calm, prayerful mother slipping through my clenched fists.
Sweet Samuel complaining that his 'tummy hurt' had me rummaging for the gripe water. 2 tsp and 30 minutes later he was his happy self again. If only all problems were that easy to fix.
Ok, back to knitting...
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Induction...that's the question.
Alright. So we're past due now, and here's the deal.
When I went past due with Samuel I felt a great deal of pressure to just have the baby already since my mother and my sister were coming down to help me after the birth, but could only be here for a very short and completely non-negotiable amount of time. And so I agreed to an induction at 41 weeks, which turned out to be a terrible, horrible, no good very bad thing.
Now my mother is here again to help with baby #2. She's been here 1 week already, and can stay up until the 5th of May. There is a leeetle bit of flexibility this time, but not really, and so every day that ticks by is another wasted day of having my mom here. I don't need to tell you how incredibly helpful having her here after the baby was born would be, (not that she isn't helpful now, of course, my kitchen has never been cleaner) and instead of utilizing this help I'm sitting around, timing contractions that look like this:
3 min.
8 min.
1 min.
52 min.
3 min.
And handling all sorts of fun, completely unsolicited advice and fielding lots of ridiculous comments and way. too. much. physical contact.
So, is it any wonder that this coming Monday, when I am going in for my next OB appt., I'm starting to feel that old pressure to perform? It isn't my mother who's making me feel this way, but ME. I want her to meet her grand-daughter. I want to know Samuel is safe and sound while I'm at the hospital. I want to not have to rushrushrush to get discharged, rushrushrush to get a ride home and rushrushrush to figure out everything again on my own. Again. On my own. Agaaaaaaain.
I have literally tried everything I can think of, excluding the truly unpleasant and clearly illogical induction options. I've done them all. In clear defiance of all generally accepted convention the contractions actually come much less frequently and with significantly less intensity when I move in any way. Five weeks of contractions have equalled, um, essentially no progress physically, anything that is supposed to start labour has pretty much drawn it to a screeching halt, and every change I see alters the next day.
The next choice is a clear one: do I go in to my appt. on Monday and agree to some professional assistance, or do I throw my hands up in the air, ignore logic, and muddle through the constant fights with the doctor, the constant questions and prying eyes of the population at large, and the lack of any help from family whatsoever in order to try for a zero-induction labour?
Clear choice, no clear answer.
When I went past due with Samuel I felt a great deal of pressure to just have the baby already since my mother and my sister were coming down to help me after the birth, but could only be here for a very short and completely non-negotiable amount of time. And so I agreed to an induction at 41 weeks, which turned out to be a terrible, horrible, no good very bad thing.
Now my mother is here again to help with baby #2. She's been here 1 week already, and can stay up until the 5th of May. There is a leeetle bit of flexibility this time, but not really, and so every day that ticks by is another wasted day of having my mom here. I don't need to tell you how incredibly helpful having her here after the baby was born would be, (not that she isn't helpful now, of course, my kitchen has never been cleaner) and instead of utilizing this help I'm sitting around, timing contractions that look like this:
3 min.
8 min.
1 min.
52 min.
3 min.
And handling all sorts of fun, completely unsolicited advice and fielding lots of ridiculous comments and way. too. much. physical contact.
So, is it any wonder that this coming Monday, when I am going in for my next OB appt., I'm starting to feel that old pressure to perform? It isn't my mother who's making me feel this way, but ME. I want her to meet her grand-daughter. I want to know Samuel is safe and sound while I'm at the hospital. I want to not have to rushrushrush to get discharged, rushrushrush to get a ride home and rushrushrush to figure out everything again on my own. Again. On my own. Agaaaaaaain.
I have literally tried everything I can think of, excluding the truly unpleasant and clearly illogical induction options. I've done them all. In clear defiance of all generally accepted convention the contractions actually come much less frequently and with significantly less intensity when I move in any way. Five weeks of contractions have equalled, um, essentially no progress physically, anything that is supposed to start labour has pretty much drawn it to a screeching halt, and every change I see alters the next day.
The next choice is a clear one: do I go in to my appt. on Monday and agree to some professional assistance, or do I throw my hands up in the air, ignore logic, and muddle through the constant fights with the doctor, the constant questions and prying eyes of the population at large, and the lack of any help from family whatsoever in order to try for a zero-induction labour?
Clear choice, no clear answer.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Seven Quick Takes: 40 weeks
And most especially the people who make comments about how big I am. Which, har-dee-har, are actually Not Funny. Isn't that surprising.
So what am I doing to celebrate this momentous and beautifully touching time in my life? Yeah....well...
1) I'm eating a lot of scalloped potatoes. Thanks to David, who made them.
2) And I'm knitting, which is pretty much all that's keeping me sane right now.
3) And in between those two activities I'm still ardently attempting to kick start labour by doing crazy bouts of cleaning, drinking raspberry leaf tea, pressing various accupressure points and yelling at people.
4) I've heard yelling at people is actually a very effective form of induction.
5) And I'm trying in between all of this to remain somewhat a normal mother to Samuel, who, poor bean, has taken to sighing dramatically when asked to do things. An action I found annoying until it was pointed out to me that I do exactly the same thing.
6) Alright, back to the potatoes.
7) Still pregnant.
Check out Jen.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
39 weeks and 6 days.
::making...every effort to stay pleasant.
::feeling...contractions, contractions. When will they stop being and start doing?
::doing...the laundry. Almost, almost done. Surely this is what the baby has been waiting for?
::reading...The 100 Mile Diet. I must be the last person I know who's interested in local eating to read it.
::listening...to Orchestra For The Moon by Jenn Grant.
::watching...Samuel bond with his grandmother. It is the sweetest thing.
::dreaming...of little bonnets, little spring dresses, little everything.
::cooking...our favourite apple cider pancakes.
::stretching...forward. Literally and figuratively.
::eating...pineapples and bacon linguini and parmesan cheese!
::drinking...tea. And for something completely different, more tea. Although I'm thinking of shaking things up a bit.
::feeling...contractions, contractions. When will they stop being and start doing?
::doing...the laundry. Almost, almost done. Surely this is what the baby has been waiting for?
::reading...The 100 Mile Diet. I must be the last person I know who's interested in local eating to read it.
::listening...to Orchestra For The Moon by Jenn Grant.
::watching...Samuel bond with his grandmother. It is the sweetest thing.
::dreaming...of little bonnets, little spring dresses, little everything.
::cooking...our favourite apple cider pancakes.
::stretching...forward. Literally and figuratively.
::eating...pineapples and bacon linguini and parmesan cheese!
::drinking...tea. And for something completely different, more tea. Although I'm thinking of shaking things up a bit.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Oh my bags are packed...
and I'm cooking a steak for David. Because that man is a saint. Granted, a saint who rubbed my hip the wrong way the other day and has given me a limp, but a saint all the same.
 |
| 39 weeks and 5 days with Baby #2 |
Why I feel better when my fridge is empty
I used to hoard food, thinking that somehow it made me thriftier, when in reality it made me crazier. I was one of those women who debated saving the water their vegetables were steamed in to use later when making their own broth. This saving food compulsion was born of a thrifty childhood, nurtured by some long, lean college years, and finally blossomed and bore a lot of fruit after David and I got married, had a child, and firmly slipped into a pretty low economic class.
Not only that, but our discovery of healthy eating (aka - skip the Ramen noodles every night and buy something labelled 'fruit' on occasion) led me to believe that I had to scrimp and save nutrients constantly. Don't throw out bones, because bones have calcium and, um, 'good' stuff, whatever that means, and they should be boiled to extract it and the reduced liquid should be frozen...or something. It was becoming an obsession.
I also noticed that the more I fell into this mentality, the more two things happened. The first was that I was actually LESS likely to make and eat food. Food had become a huge chore, requiring lengthly prep time and exhaustive research to be delicious. I would make it, and then be loathe to toss a Tbsp of leftovers and instead let them molder away in the back of the fridge. Half of the produce I bought, I tossed. Half of the healthy stuff I made, required a ridiculous amount of time. Not to mention space. My fridge and freezer both were crammed with food. Little labelled bags of stuff. Can't throw out that half a calcified lemon, since it was organic and all, and cost the earth.
The second thing that happened is that we all lost out on the joy of eating, as well as the supposed financial benefits of doing so in a healthy way. Who wanted to eat Mama's lentil casserole three days in a row? No one, that's who, including Mama. So the casserole sat there and Mama, exhausted from the two days of prep work it took to produce a healthy, entirely homemade lentil casserole, ordered a pizza. A delicious melon, or some perfectly ripe apples, supposing I hadn't forgotten them and left them buried under mounds of food in the back of the fridge somewhere, got pushed aside again and again in favour of convenience and 'food planning'. I couldn't give Sam an apple because those were the 'special' apples I was saving for a pie, which I couldn't make because we weren't buying piecrust anymore, just making it, and I was too tired to make piecrust. So let the apples sit.
So what changed this? To be honest, it's still changing, and the change is slow. I still hoard food. I still buy a bunch of 'excellent deals' at the grocery store and then throw them away. I still save bits and pieces. I have a peeled ginger root in my freezer as we speak. Yesterday my husband threw out a pumpkin that I had been holding onto in cold storage since before Hallowe'en, and to be honest, if he hadn't thrown it out I wouldn't have. I would have kept it.
But, I'm a lot better. To start with, we've all noticed that if there is one food option, then when you're hungry that's what you'll eat. If you look at that picture above, that big bowl on the second shelf is the roasted pepper soup I made yesterday - and we'll have it for lunch today. Because that's what there is for lunch. The top shelf holds some stuffed pasta shells, and David will take those to work for his supper today. Because that's what there is for supper. When I went to the store yesterday, I bought exactly what I needed for ONE intensive recipe - in my case, a roasted portabella mushroom soup. I bought three onions and whipping cream - you can see my onions in one of the crisper drawers. You know what else you can see in that drawer? Nada. There's nothing else there. On purpose.
There's enough food in that fridge (and my freezer, and the fruit bowl on the counter, etc.) to feed us for a few days only. Then I will have to go shopping again. I have a loaf of bread on the counter, but only one, and then I will have to make more bread. I have some homemade energy bars wrapped up, but only half a dozen, and then I will have to make more. I have three apples, a kiwi, a banana and a cantaloup in my fruit bowl - this means that in about two days, I will need to buy more fruit. These small, manageable amounts of food tend not to go to waste anymore. If you only have three apples, and they're all visible, then you'll eat your three apples. When they're done, you'll buy more apples. Simple.
I've found myself not only saving on tossed food, and therefore money, but also on stress. It's stressful to look in a fridge and have no idea what to prepare for a meal, and it's equally stressful, for me at least, to prepare this elaborate meal plan every week that I cannot hope to achieve. I don't want to spend two hours every day in the kitchen, making food. I like food, I want to eat food, I want to serve healthy and delicious food, but I don't want to use up my life preparing food. I can tell you right now what we'll have in the next couple of days without a meal plan. We'll have apple pancakes for a meal. We'll have portabella mushroom soup. We'll have a cheese souffle. And then at some point in the next few days as I run low on fruit I will also pick up some vegetables and we'll do a stirfry, and then an omelette. Then we'll be down on eggs and so...you get the idea. I don't need a meal plan, I can look at the dozen items in my kitchen and tell you right now what you can expect to eat if you arrived for supper.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
39 weeks and 4 days
Up at 4am again. It was a nice change, though, because usually I'm up with a horrible anxiety attack or the frightening remnants of a nightmare swirling around me (I don't sleep well when I'm pregnant, can you tell?) and this time it was just a dream and heartburn.
I dreamed I was at the cottage, and I was there with a girl I knew from elementary school, another girl who may have been my daughter but it fluctuated through the dream, and two toddlers. And it seemed to focus on a desperate race to get to the hospital because someone had eaten shellfish and didn't have their epipen. I spent the whole dream packing the car and racing around on the phone with 911 dispatchers. When I woke up, the adrenaline was pumping so fast I knew, without a doubt, that we were up now for a while.
A real Nor'Easter is banging around outside; we're supposed to get 100mm of rain, or so the weather man tells us. And in local news, the cat has shredded part of a box of kleenex left out on the dryer overnight.
Ok, now, induction methods:
The pineapple is still getting eaten. Hey, it's harder to eat an entire pineapple in one sitting than you'd think. I'm not entirely certain what's in the pineapple that's supposed to help, and so I washed the skin thoroughly and them simmered it in a simple syrup to pour over the fruit bits as well, to get any extra chemical compounds that may lurk in there. Verdict: doesn't seem to be doing much.
Found this website. It seems like they don't put a lot of trust in the pineapple method. Not surprising. I'm noticing a trend in natural induction methods, though; they seem to fall into a few clearly defined categories. Firstly, you've got your diarrhea-starters, the theory being that if it starts intestinal spasms it may start uterine ones, too. Next, you've got your cervix-changers, with the idea being that if you can just get to some magic position/number/softness then contractions will start on their own. Finally, you've got the contraction-focusers, these try and get contractions started and hope that the rest follows along.
I've been nursing since day one, and it hasn't done anything at all to start labour, or even give me a cramp. So today's attempt is going to involve breaking out the breast pump and giving this a more concerted effort. I've read that one hour is the time you should aim for, so that's what I'll do.
I dreamed I was at the cottage, and I was there with a girl I knew from elementary school, another girl who may have been my daughter but it fluctuated through the dream, and two toddlers. And it seemed to focus on a desperate race to get to the hospital because someone had eaten shellfish and didn't have their epipen. I spent the whole dream packing the car and racing around on the phone with 911 dispatchers. When I woke up, the adrenaline was pumping so fast I knew, without a doubt, that we were up now for a while.
A real Nor'Easter is banging around outside; we're supposed to get 100mm of rain, or so the weather man tells us. And in local news, the cat has shredded part of a box of kleenex left out on the dryer overnight.
Ok, now, induction methods:
The pineapple is still getting eaten. Hey, it's harder to eat an entire pineapple in one sitting than you'd think. I'm not entirely certain what's in the pineapple that's supposed to help, and so I washed the skin thoroughly and them simmered it in a simple syrup to pour over the fruit bits as well, to get any extra chemical compounds that may lurk in there. Verdict: doesn't seem to be doing much.
Found this website. It seems like they don't put a lot of trust in the pineapple method. Not surprising. I'm noticing a trend in natural induction methods, though; they seem to fall into a few clearly defined categories. Firstly, you've got your diarrhea-starters, the theory being that if it starts intestinal spasms it may start uterine ones, too. Next, you've got your cervix-changers, with the idea being that if you can just get to some magic position/number/softness then contractions will start on their own. Finally, you've got the contraction-focusers, these try and get contractions started and hope that the rest follows along.
I've been nursing since day one, and it hasn't done anything at all to start labour, or even give me a cramp. So today's attempt is going to involve breaking out the breast pump and giving this a more concerted effort. I've read that one hour is the time you should aim for, so that's what I'll do.
Monday, April 23, 2012
39 weeks and 3 days
Went to the OB today.
The stats are:
I'm 1cm dilated. I've been 1cm dilated for the last month.
I don't have diabetes. Good to know. Thanks for the orange crush.
I don't have Strep B. Excellent news.
I have had my Rhogam shot. So my baby doesn't turn into an alien. Or whatever.
My blood pressure is great.
My weight gain is apparently just fine.
I'm not sure what they're doing with all of that pee, but they seem happy with it.
My symptoms are all 'normal'.
Baby's heart rate is good.
I'm measuring exactly at what I should belly-wise for 39 weeks.
And I declined having my membranes stripped, because I really want to go into labour naturally. Whatever that means at this point.
However, my OB said something a wee bit ominous at today's appointment. She said that next week she wants to talk about our game plan. I know what this means; she wants to induce me. And I'm having none of that, having done the whole thing once already with Samuel.
So this week, we're having a baby if it kills me. And it might. I'm going to try everything I can think of to induce labour before my next appointment, and if, come 40 weeks and 3 days, we're still sitting here, then I feel like I can have the 'game plan' conversation with a clear conscience.
In the past few weeks I've tried walking, (about 2 hours a day, every day, for weeks) and spicy food. Quite a bit of spicy food. Neither of these has done anything whatsoever. At this point walking is getting really painful so I'm going to have to cut back on that and up the ante with something else. I figure, let's go from least awful to most and see where that takes us. I continued my 'eat spicy food' campaign with really hot samosas for lunch, but I also bought a pineapple that I've been diligently attempting to eat all evening.
I've also heard a lot about, ahem, the power of castor oil. Now, I don't have castor oil, but I do have stuff left over from my c-section that theoretically would perform the same action as castor oil, so I took a bunch of that tonight as well. We'll see what that does, although I'm guessing that combined with half a pineapple the results are not going to be something for the baby book.
The stats are:
I'm 1cm dilated. I've been 1cm dilated for the last month.
I don't have diabetes. Good to know. Thanks for the orange crush.
I don't have Strep B. Excellent news.
I have had my Rhogam shot. So my baby doesn't turn into an alien. Or whatever.
My blood pressure is great.
My weight gain is apparently just fine.
I'm not sure what they're doing with all of that pee, but they seem happy with it.
My symptoms are all 'normal'.
Baby's heart rate is good.
I'm measuring exactly at what I should belly-wise for 39 weeks.
And I declined having my membranes stripped, because I really want to go into labour naturally. Whatever that means at this point.
However, my OB said something a wee bit ominous at today's appointment. She said that next week she wants to talk about our game plan. I know what this means; she wants to induce me. And I'm having none of that, having done the whole thing once already with Samuel.
So this week, we're having a baby if it kills me. And it might. I'm going to try everything I can think of to induce labour before my next appointment, and if, come 40 weeks and 3 days, we're still sitting here, then I feel like I can have the 'game plan' conversation with a clear conscience.
In the past few weeks I've tried walking, (about 2 hours a day, every day, for weeks) and spicy food. Quite a bit of spicy food. Neither of these has done anything whatsoever. At this point walking is getting really painful so I'm going to have to cut back on that and up the ante with something else. I figure, let's go from least awful to most and see where that takes us. I continued my 'eat spicy food' campaign with really hot samosas for lunch, but I also bought a pineapple that I've been diligently attempting to eat all evening.
I've also heard a lot about, ahem, the power of castor oil. Now, I don't have castor oil, but I do have stuff left over from my c-section that theoretically would perform the same action as castor oil, so I took a bunch of that tonight as well. We'll see what that does, although I'm guessing that combined with half a pineapple the results are not going to be something for the baby book.
Hair styles of the poor and pregnant.
My son may very well become a world famous stylist...or just annoy his future wife.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Baby Soap - What do I use?
So far, so good. I wonder how they will fare on fresh, new infant skin?
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Frustrations
39 weeks and 2 days.
This isn't fun anymore.
It stopped being fun a long time ago.
Ok, honestly? It was never fun.
Also I would like to live alone until the baby arrives.
Any chance of that happening?
Still throwing up. Nine months and counting, now.
Additions to the list of fun symptoms now include swelling. Feet, legs, ankles...
My cats, or possibly just one cat, I can't tell, has started having poop streaked with a little blood. I don't know which cat. I can't tell if anything is wrong at all because they're both completely healthy looking, eating and drinking, running around and being perfectly normal - except that one of them, or maybe both, has started pooping blood. I can't afford this right now. My mother and I brainstormed and decided maybe it was a recent food change - we're going to return to their previous food and see if that does anything.
Nothing I own fits anymore. Not even my housecoat. I'm serious.
Tomorrow I go to church and get to...
dodge the belly rubbers, the people who oh-so-wittily say "haven't had that baby yet?", the people who comment on how tired/grumpy/stressed I look, those who point and stare and those who comment when I put sugar in my coffee.
Then I get to come home and, apparently, clean my oven.
Samuel has been 'going to sleep' for going on just over an hour now. If I have to nurse him again this evening I may change my name and leave town.
This isn't fun anymore.
It stopped being fun a long time ago.
Ok, honestly? It was never fun.
Also I would like to live alone until the baby arrives.
Any chance of that happening?
Still throwing up. Nine months and counting, now.
Additions to the list of fun symptoms now include swelling. Feet, legs, ankles...
My cats, or possibly just one cat, I can't tell, has started having poop streaked with a little blood. I don't know which cat. I can't tell if anything is wrong at all because they're both completely healthy looking, eating and drinking, running around and being perfectly normal - except that one of them, or maybe both, has started pooping blood. I can't afford this right now. My mother and I brainstormed and decided maybe it was a recent food change - we're going to return to their previous food and see if that does anything.
Nothing I own fits anymore. Not even my housecoat. I'm serious.
Tomorrow I go to church and get to...
dodge the belly rubbers, the people who oh-so-wittily say "haven't had that baby yet?", the people who comment on how tired/grumpy/stressed I look, those who point and stare and those who comment when I put sugar in my coffee.
Then I get to come home and, apparently, clean my oven.
Samuel has been 'going to sleep' for going on just over an hour now. If I have to nurse him again this evening I may change my name and leave town.
cold chicken
::We ate Kentucky Fried Chicken last night - we like to do it once a year!
::Which means cold leftover chicken for breakfast.
::And is there anything more reminiscent of summer than a slightly cool morning with all the windows open and cold chicken for breakfast?
summersummersummer
::Which means cold leftover chicken for breakfast.
::And is there anything more reminiscent of summer than a slightly cool morning with all the windows open and cold chicken for breakfast?
summersummersummer
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