Saturday, August 28, 2010

Another New Addition

This is the second time this summer I've been swindled into buying a "new" jet ski. (after we swore off jet skis forever, since they are always breaking and are a suckage of time and money)

This one is from 1989, and is the old school stand-up kind. It's just what Workaholic always wanted. Seriously. He's lucky he works so hard.

Charlie Pooped!!

The past couple of weekends, I have left the comfort of my green house for the comfort of another house…my in-laws' house on the lake. I have a couple of reasons for doing this.

1) Workaholic has been working a LOT and when I go to the lake, well…I have more help.

2) My green house is a mess. And when I am there, all I think about is food and laundry and vacuuming and food and what isn’t on TV.

3) When I go to the lake, I have more help. (my mother-in-law is there full-time, plus her friends come over and rock a crying baby to sleep, or play with an energetic toddler)

4) There is just something more calming about sitting on a porch listening to the waves lap at the boats than sitting in your house watching Ellen re-runs.

5) Did I mention that I have more help??

So my mother-in-law and I got to the lake on Thursday, and by Friday afternoon, Charlie had decided not to poop. Since Wednesday morning. And this made her cry…relentlessly. All afternoon. The two of us were fried, and thankfully Samantha took about a 4 hour nap. It was during this nap that I found myself sitting on the porch, looking out at the lake, just crying. I couldn’t stop, and I found myself getting upset with Workaholic for working so hard. Even if he sent his mother as a substitute (and she did a great job!), it wasn’t the same as having your husband there to help when your newborn daughter can’t shit and won’t stop yelling at you about it. And I was wondering how in the hell I was going to raise two kids, and would I really ever have the desire to have any more??

By Friday night, we had decided to go ahead and go to dinner at a friend’s house on the other side of the lake. I wasn’t too sure about this decision, but we did need to eat. Plus, more adults meant more people to help with my kids. (I’m shameless, yes, I know.) While we were there, Workaholic and his dad got there. I had been missing him, well, since before Charlie was born.

As soon as he walked in, I wanted to go fall into his arms and just cry. Charlie had been crying all day, I felt as though it was my turn. I wanted him to just wrap his arms around me and rock me and then I would grab the car keys and run. To the car and leave him and the kids behind. It was his turn, after all.

But I didn’t. I hung out and ate dinner and let other people hold my infant and entertain my toddler. And then it was time to go home. And Charlie still hadn’t pooped. And this is why I love Workaholic, and why I was missing him so much.

When we got back to the house, it was decided that everyone was getting a shower, except for me. I would be the one to take the kids out and dry them off and get them dressed. I had told Workaholic how I had called the pediatrician about the not pooping, and she told me to wait it out. And how I had read online about using a Q-tip to, um…help things along. (***Disclaimer…there may be strong feelings regarding what happened next, and you know what?? I don’t care…it worked and that is all that matters.)

And so, in all his Workaholic glory, he did it. While he had Charlie in the shower with him, he used a Q-tip and stuck it in her ass pooper. He had asked me if there would be an immediate response, to which I said, “Yeah…I don’t know.” If you are wondering, yes, there was an immediate response. And even after he handed her off to me, (after she pooped on his hand) and I wrapped her up in a towel, she pooped in the towel, twice!! And then when I put a diaper on her, she pooped in there too!! A lot!!! Dear God…thank you for letting my daughter poop. And thank you even more for giving me a husband who will do what it takes to make my daughter poop.

So today, so far, is a much better day than yesterday. Workaholic took one of the night feedings, and Charlie ate and then went back to sleep, just like she is supposed to. And after she was up for about an hour and a half this morning, I was able to swaddle her!! And get her to sleep without using me to go to sleep!!! It’s the little things. And those are what keep me going.

Friday, August 27, 2010

Two Weeks In

I know I had a baby 2 weeks ago and I haven’t really posted much since then. Let me allow you into my days…

Wake up a minimum of twice a night, for anywhere from 30 minutes to 2 hours. Yes, 2 HOURS.

Try to nap “when the baby naps”, except I have a toddler. My mother-in-law has been great about taking her away so I can nap, I am not sure if that helps me recover from the nights or makes it worse since my body remembers that it isn’t getting 8 hours straight of sleep.

Try to quiet a crying baby. I think I’ve figured out she is very gassy. VERY gassy. And now I think she is constipated. I am about ready to shove a Q-tip up you-know-where if that will just help to make her poop.

Try to get an overtired baby to sleep. Hand her off to mother-in-law to rock…since Charlie seems to think if I am holding her, I must feed her. (PS Feeding a gassy baby makes everything worse!)

If you can’t tell, I am the epitome of the new, tired mother. People are being nice and telling me that I “look good”, but just so ya’ll know, I feel like crap. Not to mention I want to cry at just about any moment. I’ve just got to get her sleeping through the night…

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Charlotte's Birth Story

I thought I’d tell little Charlie’s birth story, if for no other reason than to have it written down. So if you don’t care, just move right on folks!

Last Wednesday morning, I woke up with this terrible pain. I just felt that it couldn’t be right, so even if I wasn’t in labor, I decided that my last day of work was the day before, instead of that day. I did go in and have lunch with the girls and clean out my cubicle…we are moving offices, so I won’t be returning to my stomping grounds, EVER.

Needless to say, nothing happened on Wednesday. Thursday, I got up and ran errands and just tried to ignore the ever-constant stomach-tightening pains that I was having. I made plans to go the next morning with my mother-in-law to the lake, and Workaholic made plans to stay home and finish up the house. You know what they say about best-laid plans…

I knew around 10pm that my back labor had started and we were going to go to the hospital that night. (For those of you who have never had back labor, let’s just say that it’s like have lower back pain. times 100. It actually reminds me of the time the heat went out in my car and I had to drive to school in the dead of winter, and I would get so cold that my whole body would convulse and end with my lower back spasming.) I can’t remember if I shared with Workaholic that I was in labor, as I knew we weren’t prepared for this child and was slightly in denial about it. By midnight, there was denying nothing and I woke up Workaholic and told him to call his mom to come over and watch Sam. As I did that, a contraction hit and I got on my knees on the bed and he started rubbing my back. And it felt soooo good. And we laid there on the bed, and he fell asleep and I thought, “Ah, going to the hospital doesn’t have to happen right now, I can rest here and labor a bit.” (I had so many people tell me to labor as long as possible at home. BTW...that's crap.)

Bad idea. My contractions had been coming between 5-6 minutes apart, and I was scared to go to the hospital for fear they send me home like they did last time. And then I had one 9 minutes from the previous one. And it was so bad I had to go throw up my spaghetti dinner. When I came out from the bathroom, Workaholic was on the phone with his mom.

On the 10 minute ride to the hospital, I had three contractions and another one or two while waiting to be brought upstairs. They take you into this “observation room”, where you strip and get checked. I had most of my clothes off before the nurse left the room (to give me my privacy while I stripped) and had already told her to call the anesthesiologist. Turns out I was at 3 ½!! Yay!! Now go call the anesthesiologist. When she informed me that she had to call the doctor first, I told her under no circumstances was it ever discussed me NOT getting my epidural as soon as possible. She promised to be firm and left. (next time that shit is totally in writing) This all happened around 2am.

You know how you have those times in your life that you swear you will never forget? 2-2:45am on August 13th is that time for me. And while the memory is already fading fast, I will forever see 2:35 on the clock in the hospital room. (by this time, I had been forced to WALK from the observation room to the labor/delivery room) It was at 2:35 that I asked AGAIN how long it would take the anesthesiologist to get there. I knew I had gone from 3 ½ to 6 in the short time I had been there, and I was, let’s just say, EXTREMELY concerned the doctor would get there and be all, “Oops, sorry, too late! You’ll have to do this on your own.”

The nurse promised that he should be there very shortly, and that he was the quickest of all Lord and Savior Doctors, as I was now thinking of them. And sure enough, around 2:45, in he walked, I sat up, had a contraction, and he got to work. And as I felt the cool something go in my back, it occurred to me that if I moved or he fucked up, I could be paralyzed for the rest of my life. I almost shit myself. And then he was done, and I lay down and waited. A long 10 minutes later, things were much, much better. The next hour is a blur, as I rested and contracted and felt as though I would poop myself every couple of minutes while I watched Workaholic sleep with his head against the wall. Poor guy, he tries to hard to be everywhere all at once and was just worn out. (Yes, that is me feeling sorry for my husband while I am in labor. Wait, I might not have felt sorry for him at the time, but I do remember not minding him sleeping.)

My water had broken at some point, and I decided I needed some help getting comfortable “down there” again, so I called the nurse. She came in, checked me, and was all, “Oh! You’re at a 9!” Umm….where’s the doctor?? I wasn’t getting my beloved Dr. Bow-Tie, but I was getting a guy I had heard of and knew he had a pretty good reputation. (Turns out, he was kind of a pretty boy too.) Which always helps when you are in labor and high on opiates. When he finally got there, hair a mess, I let him know of his stellar reputation and he just sort of nodded. Looking back, what was he supposed to say? “Yeah, I’ve heard I’m awesome too.” ?? (I guess I am lucky he got there at all, he said that his car was almost out of gas and he forgot his phone at home. Not very responsible, don’t you think?)

By this time, nurses had started to flood the room, and I made idle chit-chat with the nursery nurse who had been standing next to me for about 10 minutes waiting on Dr. Good Reputation. She was scared of moms in labor, and really just wanted to snatch the baby and take it back to the nursery. My main nurse, whose name I don’t remember, asked the doc if he wanted me to push, “Just to see how she does.” So I did, and the baby’s head damn well about came out!! Eeks!! This is all happening so fast!!

He rolled his chair over, and I pushed once more, and out came Charlie. Well, halfway. You see, the umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck twice, so the doc looked at Workaholic and said, “I have to cut the cord.” Workaholic was like, “Yeah…whatever you have to do.” DUH!! So he did, and somewhere in this, muttered something about a “she”, and so I leaned forward, saw the parts for myself and said, “IT’S A GIRL!” No one seemed to care as they were too busy keeping my baby from choking herself to death.

But then she was released from my body’s grip (ew), and he held her up for me to see and the nurses whisked her away. Workaholic kept an eye on her while I got stitched up. (Yep, a stage 2 tear, again!) My whole labor, he had sort of just wandered around the room, not sure what to do because no one gave him any direction. Sam’s labor nurse, Peggy, was constantly telling him what to do, but we were with her a lot longer. Once Charlie was born, I made sure he took pictures, and he went back and forth from me to her. We were sort of in shock, it all happened so much faster than it did with Sam, and with much less fanfare. Looking back, I realize that Sam’s cord was causing issues in-utero, and so there were more people in and out and checking me and generally a lot more action.

We chilled out for a while, made a couple of phone calls, seeing as how it was 5am, we weren’t really comfortable with calling the world. I got some shit for not sending out a text when I had her, but in all honesty, I really was just enjoying attempting to feed my kid and getting to know her. Had I sent out a text, I probably would’ve been a lot busier with my phone. Facebook would broadcast it soon enough. My mom and Workaholic’s mom showed up and ooh’d and aah’d appropriately, and Samantha was starry-eyed when she got to meet her sister. She adores her…with an appropriate amount of jealousy. It’s OK, we’re working through it…poor little kid’s world has been turned upside down. (I guess Charlie’s has too…seeing as how she was head down for the longest time!)

Since then, it’s been a whirlwind of continuous work on the house, eat-sleep-poop cycle, and laundry. Why is it when you have a baby that laundry just multiplies?? Any-hoo…that’s the story. Quick, painful labor, followed by a short, painless delivery. Healthy, vibrant, chilled out little girl welcomed to the world. Welcome home, Charlotte Mae!!

Friday, August 13, 2010

New Addition!!

It happened!! I had the baby!!!

Introducing Charlotte Mae, otherwise known as Charlie!

She was born Friday the 13th at 4:52am after 2 pushes. And yes, I did get my epidural.

She weighs 6lbs, 10 oz and is 19 inches long.

She's got dark hair and so far is nice and mellow. So far.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Not Today

Do you ever have those days where you wake up and have a feeling that something isn't right?

Like this morning, I woke up and thought, "OHMYGOD, I HAVE TO PEE."

And then I thought, "OHMYGOD, I CAN'T MOVE."

Obviously, I managed to move, and pee, and shower at 4 in the morning.

And then I was convinced that while I may not be in labor, I definitely should go to the hospital to get checked out...because let's just say that what I was feeling "down there" was not normal. Any day of the week.

But then the feeling passed, after I freaked out my husband and made my mother-in-law get out of bed extra early. Oopsy...sorry 'bout that.

And now I am laying in bed, officially on vacation, and not quite sure what I am going to do with the next few days. I'll find something to do, I am sure. I also am sure it'll involve spending money. I also am sure that it won't involve moving furniture. Even though there is still a lot to be moved.

So recap...I woke up, thought I was going to have to deliver this baby in a bathtub, skipped out on work, went to lunch with the girls from work, wound up spending 4 hours at work, went shopping, got my hair did, and made my baby go to sleep without her milk because I left in in the refrigerator when I went upstairs and I was NOT about to go up and down the stairs again.

Hopefully tomorrow is a less eventful day.

Monday, August 9, 2010

Weekend Fun...Against Doctor's Orders

We recently got a "new" jetski...which is pretty funny considering we had sworn off all personal watercraft as huge expensive wastes of money. But when this one came in as a trade, my brother-in-law couldn't pass it up and conned us into giving a couple hundred dollars to it. And insuring it under our policy. Sigh.

Anyway, I used to love the jetskis, until they died on me, so I wanted to try this one out before I am banned from the lake for 6 weeks. It is way more unstable than it appears! And yes, when I let it slip this morning to my doctor that I rode a jetski this weekend, he slightly freaked, sighed, and rolled his eyes at me. And then told me NOT TO DO THAT ANYMORE. Funkill.

Workaholic is also determined to permanently traumatize our daughter to anything that is fun. She went on two rides this weekend...the first, I could hear her crying as he drove away from the pier. The second, she actually waved as they were coming back in and cried when he made her get off!! That's my girl!

Of course, she handled tubing like it was nothing a few weeks ago. Not sure why this was so different, unless the fact that it was way more stable and we were going 2 miles an hour and she had buddies with her who thought she was pretty awesome. That might've helped a bit. If you look close, you can see she is the only one in the picture who is really smiling!
We love to have fun at the lake, and I am glad that she is starting to enjoy know, just as summer is ending. Oh well, snowmobiling is in a few short months!!

Sunday, August 8, 2010

List, Schmlists

Have you ever noticed how people blame their, um...idiosyncrasies on their last name? Like, my family is very forgetful. My mother is not, so it’s all put on my father. (poor guy) Whenever he loses something or forgets something, she just sighs and rolls her eyes, as she has been dealing with it for 40+ years. When one of us kids forgets something, she sighs and rolls her eyes and says, “It’s the G in you.” (I won’t even let him blame brain surgery on forgetting things…I tell him he was that way before.) Usually the forgetfulness involves wallets and car keys, and at the most inopportune of times.

My in-laws have a very ethnic last name. So much so, that people seem to think that I’m Irish, even though I married into the family and obviously am not red-haired and freckled, or a dark-haired beauty. If I get mad about something, it’s “Oh…you have an Irish temper.” Yeah…I’m mostly German, not a spec of Irish. But that’s beside the point.

I will say that when it is convenient, I’ll blame a temper tantrum on my “heritage.” It’s easy, and people seem to accept it. My husband and his father love to blame things on their last name, from restless legs to holding grudges. (I say nurture over nature, but whatever.) One thing they don’t blame on their last name is forgetfulness. Sorry dad, I guess we do have to blame you.

Since I tend to be so forgetful, and it has gotten much, much worse since I was a kid, I make lists. (My mom actually grounded me from staying the night at my friends’ houses because I couldn't come home without leaving something there. The last straw was my glasses and I think it made us late for church. I also once went to a slumber party and forgot to take my sleeping bag and pillow.) Now, if it isn’t on the list, then it doesn’t get done. The downfalls of “being organized.”

I make lists for everything. At work, I make a list if I have a lot to get done in a particular day or week. For month end, I have a three page list. When we leave the lake, I make a list of the things that we need to bring back the next weekend. (I also have an issue not losing that list.) And now, since I am due in 11 days, I have a list of things that need to be done to get ready for the baby.

The vague part of this list included moving our office to the basement and making our office Sam’s new room. This involved painting both rooms, as well as moving massive quantities of random crap to our basement. That in itself took several hours for 2 grown men to do. I was shocked that we had so much stored in the office. All of which is now scattered around my basement. As well as Sam’s toys, which were in the playroom which is now the new office.

So let’s recap, in 11 days or less, I’ll have a new baby. And Sam is still in the nursery, the furniture that I bought is still in our garage, and my basement is still trashed. I’m not panicking or anything. We did go to the lake this weekend instead of staying home and work like responsible adults.

I’ve decided to not look at my lists anymore. That’ll make everything better. Maybe I can just forget everything that is on them.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Who Am I?

Hello? Are you out there?? Yes, it' s me, I'm still here.

I'm still pregnant too.

For those of you keeping track, and even for those who don't care, I have 12 days until my due date. Which is August 19th. It's a Thursday.

Recently, I've had a lot of people ask me if I am ready to be done. My answer? Besides the obvious "Duh", (and by obvious, I mean by the pained look I have on my face due to the heavy weight hanging from the front of my body), my other answer has become, "I've been pregnant forever."

And I am serious. I mean, I'm no Michelle Dugger, but no kidding, I've been pregnant since Thanksgiving. Do you even remember what you did last Thanksgiving?? I do, but only because there are pictures.

People talk about me not being pregnant, and how I'll get to drink and do things that I can't do now. And I can't even imagine it at this point.

I'll be able to bend over without squishing a baby and being in pain?

I'll be able to sit on the floor and get up without falling over?

I'll be able to shave, and see what I am doing?

I'll be able to go up a flight of stairs without having to sit down afterwards?

Forget drinking, I'm just excited to be "normal" again. Although I really, seriously, in all honesty, don't remember what that is.

Am I still that same girl who used to go to the bar every weekend? Who used to have a few beers and sing the same song karoke? And think that I kick ass every time?

Am I that same girl who used to rollerblade on campus for an hour straight? Or who used to play in the water with my Fonz? Or who would go to agility class with him?

I barely remember doing those things. But I know I used to. And someday, somehow, I'll do them again. But give me a few weeks. Having a baby is no vacation, so even though I will be off of work for 13 weeks, I need to do some healing first. Well, I need to go into labor first, then heal. Then I'll think about rollerblading. It'll be the perfect weather. I can't wait.