When You Have ALL THE THINGS To Do... Do The Stupid Thing

I've wanted to write so badly.

If you can call this malarkey I type "writing".

Pretty sure I have no fucking clue when it comes to grammar and syntax and proper use of the comma. I love me a comma. I will use that little bastard whenever I feel like it.

Anyway.

YOU GUYS. YOOOOOU GUUUUYS. The few of you that still read, and those of you who come upon this blog by accident by searching a vague porn term and are immediately and wholeheartedly disappointed: Life is chaos.

My little guy is so cute. I mean really really adorable. (Comma there? See, I refrained because I figured you were judging me for my comma use, and now I don't even know. And I just used one there.) He's so sweet when he is not crying or screaming. BUT.HE.HAS.BEEN.CRYING.AND/OR.SCREAMING/MOST/OF/THE/DAYS/ALL/DAY.

It is totally exhausting.

He generally will only catnap around 33-47 minutes. YES. I track it. And he will generally only do that if he is contact napping, meaning being held or lying beside one of us. He's so sweet and these days won't last forever, but man. I get NOTHING done.

This is the best you get because he's going to hate me when he's older. Because I consist of, and spew forth, embarrassment. Oh, and privacy and stuff. 

So, little dude has napped a little, and sometimes had a 3-4 hour stretch of sleep once I finally get him down at night.

AND THEN I SURVEY MY MAIN F*CKING FLOOR. And I withhold the immense urge to weep and light the place on fire. So much mess. So much clutter. So many random kid things strewn about the floor. And that is with me TRYING to put shit back immediately, and keep a hamper on the main floor for his dirty clothes and cloths, and gather up Baby D's stuff as soon as I see it somewhere it shouldn't be.

So I have some time to FINALLY accomplish something. ANYTHING. SOMETHING REALLY GODDAMN FAST BEFORE HE WAKES!! And do you know what my brain does? My lucky brain that can finally wash dishes, or clothes, or vacuum, or wash the floor, or put all the toys away, or tidy the art supplies and paper, or gather the items and (corresponding receipts) bought without being able to try them on at the store because he was screaming, or clean the toilets, or wipe down the sinks that have an IMPRESSIVE amount of toothpaste spray and spittle from Baby D?

My brain gives a hearty, intense DEEEERRRRRRRP.

I fucking BLANK OUT. I start something and see something shiny and fucking throw my chance away. I don't go to bed. I rarely watch TV (I miss the odd mental checkout of Chicago PD or Jim Jefferies). I just fucking blank out and scroll my phone and start three things and finish nothing. Then realize I haven't gone pee in 7 hours, so I do that for the first time by myself all day. Then grab junk food because that is all I feel like and have the time and energy to "prepare".

And I PISS THE MOTHERF*CKING OPPORTUNITY AWAY. And the GUILT. Oh man, the guilt. But I cannot emphasize enough how utterly draining it is to have a baby that doesn't want to sleep and cries so often in the day. I love him so much and it breaks me that I can't make him happier in the day. Holding him in my arms is the best solution, but it has a time limit. He is heavy. I have another kiddo. I have to eat and poop and SOMEHOW shove coffee into this gullet.

Those who don't have "high needs" babies have NO FUCKING CLUE how good they have it. Everyone has issues, and motherhood/parenthood is hard and requires sacrifice no matter HOW you slice it, but goddammit having a baby that won't let you be more than 1' away, that cries all the time... that is a serious brain drain. Emotional drain. And my anxiety just soars.

So anyway, here I sit. He actually stayed asleep after the initial put down in the crib for the first time in... seriously I'm trying to calculate but my brain is slow and mashed potato-like. I think in ever. He always wakes multiple times after the initial put down, until 11 or 12. Then it's every 45 minutes to 2 hours. And I poured the last of my red wine and sat to blog. Because I really wanted to. Assuming I'd get 20 minutes and start more again in three weeks. (I know, you're thinking - it took her more than 20 minutes to put this garbage together?!?!) And I have nearly a full post, and an empty glass, and no more red wine (WHAT THE FUCK, THAT'S NOT FAIR).

In truth, I've been so wiped out, this past week is the first week I've had wine in over two months.

Anywho.

I had the chance. The laundry hampers creaked. The table barely had enough room for me to push my laptop on top of shit to type. The floors are covered in baby food splatter. And I typed.

The mess is overwhelming. The sense of failure and disappointment is heavy.

My brain? She sends out a solid DEEEEERRRRRRRRRP.

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The Reality of a Baby That Won't Sleep

I do want to blog more.
But life is a touch insane right now.

Baby X has a real problem with this one little, teensy thing we do sometimes. You may have heard of it? It's called sleep. I think, anyway. I haven't really experienced it for months so I'm pretty sure that's what it's called. I think you pronounce it "slay-eep", but again, sort of a vague concept at this point.

Little dude is amazing. So goddamn cute, seriously. If I didn't respect his whole and complete embarrassment of being associated with me in his older age, I'd be plastering his adorable mug all over this blog. You betchur ass I would.

Anyway, he's a gem, but he F*CKING HATES SLEEP, unless he is attached to me via my nipple, and even then the naps are sporadic, short, and I usually can't indulge because
A) he's attached to me,
B) I'm terrified of smothering him,
C) I'm worried I'm going to miss school pick up or not hear my alarm or (fill in the blank with any scenario an anxious person could worry about, and
D) if I AM able to relax, I generally start to drift off just as he wakes up.

I am not emotionally able to do sleep training, at least for now, but every single other adult I ever utter the word "tired" to has informed me that I'm foolish and that it is my only option. Not there yet. Whenever he cries for more than a little bit (think seconds, maybe a minute), it makes me feel physically ill. If he's just whining a bit and I HAVE TO do something else, I can tolerate it, but he tends to panic/hysterical cry once it's dark out/bedtime/in his room and I just can't stomach it.

So, for now, I am the master of my own misery. Unless the Hubs can start to lactate, I'm in a bit of a baby prison. A very cute, adorable, snuggle-bug baby prison. It could be worse. I'm just so so sleepy.

SO, I think somewhere deep down inside of me I am capable or blogging again. I do enjoy it. I just never have any time. But I will get back to it. When he doesn't cry if I am more than one foot away from him. So... by 15 or 16... years?

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Damn. D Day Is Near.

Well everyone... I'm still alive. For now, anyways.

The day is drawing near that the obstetrician plans to open me up like a walnut and get this baby out. His abdomen is huge. So large that for the gestational age estimate, they have only listed "n/a". We asked, and that is NOT a good thing.

And this is with MANAGED gestational diabetes. My midwife all but ignored my concerns until I got my own glucose meter after family and a family friend said it was pretty obvious that baby's abdomen measurement meant I had diabetes. I can only imagine what things would be like right now had I not started testing and drastically changing my eating. (Spoiler alert: They denied that I had it and said I was referred to the diabetes clinic because I was anxious about it. Are you fucking kidding me? I ate a banana and my sugars went through the roof, I was huge! They caused a lot of grief with this during labour. It's safe to say I hate my midwives for the treatment I received...)

At my last ultrasound last week, they could tell my fluid levels have gone up another 50%. My own belly is measuring at 42 weeks. That's insanity. I'm so uncomfortable and the pressure is so intense, I vomit every time I lay down. I wish I were exaggerating. Following my stomach check and measurement at the OB's office the other day, I promptly scanned the room for a garbage and when I couldn't find one I proceeded to puke a few times in his sink. Proud moment. I may have scarred his accompanying resident student.

This photo was taken the day I wrote this post, which also happened to be the day I ended up in the hospital! Spoiler alert: WE BOTH SURVIVED BUT IT WAS SCARY AS HELL!!

I love my little kiddo, Baby D. I hope that a new baby doesn't change things too much for her. I want her to know and feel how loved she is, no matter how needy the new baby is and how tired and totally depleted Mommy and Daddy are. It's going to be a tough transition, I have no doubts about that. And I am not looking forward to recovering from surgery... I'm such a wuss. I know we will get through it but man oh man, it's gonna be painful and bumpy.

Next post: We survived.

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My Labour Story: Part 4... My Heart Breaks

I had a great visit with a friend tonight, and I got to recalling a part of my labour story... I know I haven't finished it on here, and it's been intentional. I feel like it was traumatic and it hurts to think about. I wanted to document the story so I would always remember the emotion... how things happened and the details. I don't honestly think I would forget, but I know the mind has the powerful ability to block out the bad things to trick us into further procreation. Ha.


Anyway, if you haven't read the first parts, you can find:
Part One HERE
Part Two HERE
Part Three HERE.


I follow the Badass Breastfeeder on Facebook, and she shared the following photo. It got me thinking that I NEED to tell this part of the story. To gain some kind of acceptance and closure to how things went down.

It really is true.

I just re-read part three to refresh my own mind. And while I am F_CKING HILARIOUS, I also feel sick inside revisiting that night. But here goes. (The things I do for you guys... hehe).


I was pushing and pumping my pain pump thing. The nurse somehow got approval to let me keep using the pain pump because I was feeling things so much but still pushing despite it all. She really was great. Alice, I thank you.


Do you remember the monitors I talked about in Part Three? They showed both the baby's and my heart rate. What I couldn't see in my insane state of determination was that the baby's heart rate was sitting just over 200. Not a good thing. I also remember the Obstetrician commenting that her head felt swollen, and that was also not a good thing.


The Hubs could see the monitor, and after all the pushing, he could tell that something wasn't right.

The doc had come back in, and it was then that he said he believed it best to use the vacuum to help get the baby out. I had heard horrific stories of forceps deliveries, and I really really didn't want that. It was unspoken that if things didn't move along soon, I would need to have a C-section.


As you all know quite well by now, I am a huge wuss and I probably would STILL be recovering today if I'd been forced into the C-section. I heal sloooowly and always have complications. It's kind of my thing.


So I prayed to the vagina gods to spare me lifelong disfigurement and I agreed to the vacuum. The doc said it should be fairly easy to get her out with it, along with my pushing. He casually asked the nurse if they should call "peds" (pronounced peeds, meaning pediatric docs). He played it so cool. So did she. She said "probably". I had no idea that my baby was in danger and that I needed to get her out. NOW. Like, NOW NOW. She made a call, but it didn't register in my brain.


I commend the Hubs for staying calm and supportive. I can only imagine how scared and helpless he must have felt knowing there was absolutely NOTHING he could do to help the baby or change things for the better. He did the best thing he could have, by staying calm and essentially pretending he knew nothing. For that, I thank him. I had been the calm one throughout the start, but he was clutch when I needed him. Had he started to panic, I would have lost my shit and things could have ended much, much differently.


Now, a lot of moms will tell you that after enough hours of pushing, you won't give a shit who sees your boobs, your lady parts, and it won't matter if you poo all over the walls. Surprisingly, I was okay with the nurse (though I would have preferred to have wiped my own butt if given the choice... damn huge belly and peeing laying down...), and I eventually was comfortable with the male OB I had.  I was not okay with students, I was not okay with shitting myself (though if it would have helped the baby I would have). I thought that we were still smooth sailing.


Then 4 more doctors entered the room. I specifically remember trying to cover my lady parts with my hands, WHILE MY LEGS WERE UP ON A BAR, mid-push as the OB was trying to Dyson out little Baby D. Yes, apparently I was still a bit self conscious, but also taken aback by the new viewing section of my labour.


The room was set up in such a way that there was a table across from where I was laying, where they test the baby's reactions (APGAR score) and clean baby up before handing back to mom. These doctors quietly began setting up, not saying a word, besides whispering with the nurse. I remember feeling totally confused and starting to feel nervous. I didn't think this was standard operating procedure, but I was totally exhausted and relatively vulnerable.


I asked who the male doctor was. I don't remember if the OB answered me or not.


I kept pushing. I may have been crying, I don't remember.


I remember that Baby D got closer to freedom, and then the worst burning pain I've ever felt took over my loins. I may have sworn a curse word or two, which was pretty tame for me considering I hadn't really before that.


And then she was out.


All day we heard as other babies were born around us in the nearby rooms. Sweet, frantic little newborn cries as they were thrust into the bright, loud scary world. The same sound in each room.


My baby made no such sound. She made no sound at all. The OB held her up, and I still can see her little white limp body in his hands. No noise. No sign of life. No sign of anything.


I asked if she was okay. No one spoke. I raised my voice. I asked if she was alive. I started to yell, asking if she was breathing, if she was okay. No one spoke.


The team of doctors took her to that table, and surrounded her as they worked. I couldn't see her at all.


I remember the OB casually mentioning that the umbilical cord had been wrapped around both legs, and somewhat tangled. I remembered thinking that explained a lot because no one could seem to figure out how she was positioned in me (my bump looked quite weird and they needed a bedside ultrasound to figure it out the day before).


The OB wasn't a jerk. He wasn't dismissive. He was just incredibly calm and I think trying to get me to simmer down. But not hearing anything was just awful.


There was no crying, no coughing.


I was stuck on the delivery table while the doctor started stitching up all that had been burning. I could feel the stitches and I remember he had to give me another needle with extra freezing there so he could do his handy work.


I felt so helpless and so so scared. I was certain she was dead. The little squirmy ball of baby inside of me for the past 8 months came out silent and still. I was starting to go into shock.


My baby still wasn't making any noise. I asked the Hubs over and over what was going on. It was kind of a blur, but I remember that feeling of being trapped on the table and feeling so powerless.


At one point they asked the Hubs to come over, and I think he then cut the cord.


Then, I heard some kind of sound, and I think the Hubs said she was ok. I didn't believe him.


Then this little, sweet, monkey of a girl was passed to me. She was wrapped in a towel. I don't know if I asked the Hubs to take her photo, or if he did it on his own. I remember the flash went off and the team of doctors actually shouted/scolded him, even though it was accidental.


I held her for all of 45 seconds, and then she was whisked away.

My first few second with her. Looking at this brings back the disbelief, fear, and pain. I remember thinking she looked so beautiful and so perfect.

She didn't get skin to skin contact.
I didn't get to try to nurse her.
I didn't get to feel her sweet little newborn skin on my chest, or get to feel her heart beating.
I didn't get to shower her with the love I had.


They took her away. And that was it.
I didn't understand. I wanted to see her, I needed to see her. The doctor finished stitching, and the nurse told me I had to stay laying down.


The Hubs didn't know what to do. I was hysterical and she was leaving, so I told him to go to her. To go with her. I didn't want her to die alone if she was going to die.


It all felt like an awful dream. It didn't feel like I had a baby. I remember the doctor cleaning up... I had bled quite a bit. I remember the spot light that had been on me was turned off. I was told to rest. It felt in my heart that my little girl was dying in some hospital room near me, and that I wouldn't see her again.


At that point I'm pretty sure that the Hubs knew she was stable, but in my state of shock I couldn't understand that.


I remember trying to rest, and then insisting that I needed to see her. I have no idea how much time had passed. I know the Hubs was there for part of it, and the nurse was trying to get him to sleep in the chair there with me. But he was also with the baby. It is all mixed up in my mind.


The nurse said I could go to her in the Intensive Care Unit if I could walk to the bathroom. I got to the bathroom, and once I tried to sit down, I remember shaking so violently and shuddering so hard that I smacked my head off the shower and almost hit the floor. I've heard of women "getting the shakes" after labour and medication, but this was more seizure-like than I ever could have guessed.


I was in incredible pain and so unbelievably cold. The nurse barely stopped me from face planting on the tile floor. I had no control over my body.


It took her and the Hubs to get me into a wheelchair to return the 10 feet I needed to pass to get back to the bed. At that point she told me there was no way I could see the baby. I remember crying so hard. I was certain that I was going to die. I know that probably sounds quite stupid and dramatic, but I had nothing left in me and my body was turning on me entirely. I had been awake for a long time, with no food, in shock, and completely out of control.


The pregnancy felt like an illusion. I had no baby. I was confused and weak and so tired. I remember wanting the Hubs to be with her, and being so sad and scared that I was dying and that I wouldn't get to see or hold my baby again.


Around 6am or so, I think, we were moved up to a room on the maternity ward. I remember crying, sick that I wasn't with my girl, and Alice patted me on the head and told me to rest, that I would see my baby soon. Alice was just so sweet and kind and rational throughout.


I wanted to hug her and thank her and cry on her shoulder, but I was too weak to do anything but lay on my side in the fetal position and whisper thank you to her through my tears. I clearly remember the Hubs giving her a big hug and thanking her immensely for her help. I remember feeling so glad and thankful that he did because I couldn't, and I remember feeling so much love towards him for being so candid and sincere with her. I know he appreciated all she did for us.


We tried to sleep. Our neighbours in the room were loud jerkfaces.

I will post about my first real meeting with my baby next. But this is crazy long.

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A Wonderful Moment

I had fully anticipated writing about 6 snarky, embarrassing posts since the last one or two. I always tend to write them in my head when I am out somewhere, or when I am rocking the baby to sleep. I never seem to do it. Or justify spending the time.

But this afternoon I had such a wonderful moment, I just have to document it here. I don't want to forget it, and I always mean to put pen to paper in the baby book or her notebook, and then I always forget.

Baby D has been fairly unhappy - whining a lot, not letting me out of her sight. Teething, tired, hungry, and who knows. Often, when different or new people are around, she is quite smiley or at least not totally miserable, and the other person has no idea what it's been like for weeks in and out of her being so hard to soothe.

But... this afternoon...

Earlier, she woke up from her nap around 11ish. A touch unhappy, but willing to giggle if I jumped in her direction or made funny sounds. Her smiling was encouraging and it made me smile.

I showered fast (just the vitals, as us new moms seem to do), and she was getting impatient. I got dressed, got her dressed, took a short movie of her and a few pics. I had intended on going to get bulk stuff at Costco - I've been meaning to go for a few weeks, and I am antsy to get it done.

I knew I'd have to time it right, and hope she'd last. She usually gets upset in there, but The Hubs hasn't gotten his membership card, and I refuse to go on the weekends. So that means bringing her in the day if I want to get the latest sale.

I had a feeling she wouldn't do well. And to be quite blunt, I am so sick of not enjoying her; I try to soothe her upset while I run around the house trying (fairly unsuccessfully) to clean up, wash dishes, do laundry and tend to the dogs. I am always behind on house work, the clutter builds, yet I am trying and stressing and worrying what The Hubs will think when he sees the state of the place at the end of the day.

I decided to fuck it.

I wanted to enjoy my baby this afternoon. I got out her light snowsuit. The sun was shining and the sky was blue. I got her bundled up in my Ergo carrier, got the dog harnessed, and we walked outside. We talked about the trees. We walked up the path and talked about dog poo. And how much Mommy loves her Baby. And we talked about the sounds of nature, and how pretty it is, and how peaceful it can be if you just stop and take it in.

On our walk today... she looks unimpressed, but we had fun. I enjoyed my baby immensely today.

We stopped and listened to the water rushing past in the stream. I could see her little blue eyes taking in the trees, the moss, the rocks. I could see her look to where I was pointing... where the birdies were chirping. When we started walking again, she squawked at me to stop. I did, and she quieted and listened to the water and the birds again.

It was beautiful. Even the dog was relatively good.

We walked home. We had some lunch, and she ate some cheddar and puree like a rock star. She smiled when I tickled her feet. It made me feel so happy. We even went without a bib and avoided total shirt destruction.

I knew she was ready for sleep again. We went to her room, and I nursed her with the little, dwindling milk supply I have left. She stared in wonder at the sunshine as it made a new pattern on my shoulder, through the slats of the blinds. She smiled.

She wasn't falling asleep right away on the pillow, which was unusual for her if she is pooped. So I turned her, facing the same way as me, and we rocked together. She touched her toes, and I put little kisses all over the side of her face, her head and her hair, and her ears. I didn't hold her tightly to be still, I didn't change anything.

She chewed on my fingers a bit, and talked a little. Kept making the "mumumum" sound. And then she did something totally beautiful.

She turned her head to me, mouth wide open, to give me a series of Baby D kisses. It was so incredibly sweet, my heart nearly exploded in my chest.

And I thanked her and kissed her head.
And then she turned and gave me Baby D kisses for a second time!

After that, she rolled her head to the side, and fluttered her eyes as she fell asleep. She stirred awake, and I whispered in her ear that I will love her always and forever.

Then she closed her eyes and was off to sleep.
I rocked her for a while still while the tears of gratitude, joy and love spilled down my cheeks. Her little toes still, her little hand wrapped over my arm. I am so lucky to be her Mamma.

It's the moments like these that are a reminder that it's not always hard. That sometimes the house is better off being a mess. That a Mamma should sometimes (if not always) just trust her gut and choose to enjoy her baby while she can.

And now she's already awake... that was a fast nap.

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My Sleeping Child: For Baby D

My Sleeping Child

My sleeping child
My tired, sweet little baby

Asleep, so peacefully, breathing lightly on my chest
Sometimes restlessly until a few more rocks and whispery kisses put you at ease

My sleeping child
So full of life
Potential
Inner beauty
Outer beauty that I can't help but praise

Your little hands, flexing ever-so-slightly as we rock together
Your fingers, sometimes tickling my ribs and making me smile in the glow of the night light.

My sleeping child
Your quiet breathing so near to my heartbeat
Calms my soul
The most quiet, soothing whisper in the dark of night
I have to resist kissing your sweet little face awake

My sleeping child
The reason I am on this earth
My reason for being
Your sweetness and innocence filling my heart with overwhelming joy



My sleeping child
So perfect
So darling
So free of doubt, guilt, shame, sadness

My sleeping child
How I hope you will grow to know how loved you are
By Mommy
and Daddy
and every other family member who knows you and sees the wonderful girl you are

My sleeping child
How I promise to be the best parent I can be
To learn as you learn
To strive for patience and calmness
To guide you gently and with understanding and love

My sleeping child, rest well
Dream of colours and smiles and love and yummy milkies
Of doggies and kisses and snuggles and naked bum time

My sleeping child
How I love you so



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