I left the house at 5:45 this morning for roughly a two hour drive to the tiniest hospital I have ever seen. Ever. So small I drove right past it and ended up circling a mountaintop somewhere. Eventually I arrived and headed inside for one hell of a ride.
My neice was born at 11:17. Seven pounds, four ounces, twenty-one inches long. Healthy. Perfect. Absolutely adorable.
I missed my nephew's birth almost five years ago because my sister was living across the country at the time. And Punky came via C-section with me behind a sheet, drugged and exhausted after nineteen hours of labor, so I virtually missed the whole thing. They say childbirth is a miracle worth witnessing. I made damn sure I didn't miss this one.
My sister arrived at the hospital at 4:30 a.m. for a planned induction due to a blood disorder. She had the same issue with my nephew. Once they broke her water, she progressed super fast and he was born fifty minutes later. I made sure I got on the road early in case history repeated itself.
And it did.
When I arrived, she was having some mild contractions and things weren't progressing much at all. In about an hour, they intensified a tad and unfortunately hit her in the lower back. I had all back labor with Punky and I remember it all too well. I felt her pain.
About another hour later, the doctor finally arrived and checked her cervix. Four centimeters. She decided it was time to break her water and see what developed. The roller coaster left the station and started its clinky-clanky assent to the top.
Ten minutes later, my sister was yelling. Crying. Begging for drugs. And fast. While the hospital staff debated on whether or not it was safe for her to have an epidural due to the heparin injections she was taking, a transformation occured and my sister morphed into something hardly recognizable. And she was threatening to push.
To the absolute astonishment of the nurses and doctor, in a matter of minutes she went from four to nine centimeters and the baby was coming. Even though she warned them about her last experience, they weren't ready. Not even close. At any rate, this development ended the epidural debate. It was too late now. All bets were off. She was on her own.
The next ten minutes lasted forever. With every contraction, her face went from light carnation pink to rosey red in three seconds flat. Her mouth opened one hundred and eighty degrees as she let out screams capable of raising the dead. The nurse literally held her legs closed and begged her not to push. By this point, I couldn't help but cry. It was awful to see her in so much pain.
Seemed like a lifetime till they were finally ready to catch the baby.
Once set up, it only took two pushes for her tiny head to emerge. I almost fainted. The doctor pulled for all she was worth but finally reached for the scissors and I heard a snip. I almost fainted again. One more push and gush and out she came. This time I think I may have blacked out for a few seconds but thankfully regained my composure without hitting the floor.
And I was still crying, but now it was tears of relief and joy. I was at a loss for words over everything I had witnessed. Talk about a whirlwind of emotions. I couldn't take my eyes off the beautiful little girl experiencing her world for the very first time. It took my breath away.
Welcome to the world, Emersyn Grace. I'm so happy I was able to be there for your grand entrance. And I will always remember the twenty-minute wild ride leading up to it. That I can guarantee.
I survived my first full week in my new position at work. Sigh.
Not much training...more of a "here you go, sink or swim" transition. It wasn't exactly a beautiful butterfly stoke, but I managed to tread water nonetheless. I think. If I royally screwed something up, it hasn't yet come back to bite me in the ass.
This position is the exact opposite of my last one. I worked solo on about ninety percent of my work. I worked on specific projects at a time, lasting days or weeks depending on what was involved. I had little direct contact with my boss who was based in another state. I didn't have to attend many meetings or interact with many people inside or outside the company. I was able to totally lose myself in data for hours on end with little interruption from anyone. Occasionally I was faced with a stressful deadline, but could usually work at a calm, steady pace on most things. I was even bored at times.
I don't see much boredom in my future in this new position. There is always something to deal with from the minute I get in till the minute I leave. The phone rings...constantly. People are in and out of my office...constantly. I already have more meetings scheduled in the next couple weeks than I had in the entire last year. I'm faced with paper after paper that require immediate attention. My new boss is right around the corner and pops in often. At the end of the day, I'm tired.
Years ago I had a similar position but I'm out of practice. I used to thrive in a fast-paced environment. I was a hard core multi-tasker. I didn't need to write stuff down. I remembered everything. Soaked it in like a great big sponge and never missed a beat. I was in control. I had my act together. I was great at my job. I was tired at the end of the day, but not like I am now. Things were different then. I wasn't a mom. My day ended when I left the office.
I'm having a hard time functioning on the level I need to for this position. My mind is on overload, and for the first time in my life I need to write everything down to stay on track. I know, it's only been a week. It's an unrealistic expectation to have it all figured out in only five days...right?
Despite popular opinion, I think I may actually enjoy this job once the dust settles. It will take some time, but hopefully I'll re-learn how to cope in this type of position. Until then, I'm afraid, blogging is one thing that will suffer due to my complete exhaustion by Punky's bedtime. I just didn't have the energy to stay awake and write this past week. I hope that changes quickly. I really need the outlet.
"Stuck" is Punky's new favorite word.
It all started one night when I put her in her crib at bedtime. On her back with her legs straight up in the air, she struggled to get her feet out from under the blankie. "Are you stuck?" I casually asked as I helped her get free. When the scenario repeated itself the very next night, she told me, "Mama... Stuck..." before I even had a chance to ask. It has since become part of our night time routine.
Around the same time, she began climbing into her toy box. Sometimes she gets a leg down deep between the toys and needs help getting out of it. Again, one time I asked her, "Are you stuck?" as I rescued her from the toy quicksand. Now she tells me she's stuck every time she gets in it...whether she needs help getting out or not.
That made me wonder if she really understood the meaning of the word, or if she was simply repeating what she heard me say in the prior identical situation. I've gotten my answer many times over this week.
Like when I shut her little finger in the refrigerator door...
I didn't even realize she was actually stuck. She was standing by me while I opened and closed the door, and I didn't think a thing about it when I walked away and she remained by the fridge. I thought she was trying to get the door open. She knows apples are in there and she gives the handle a daily tug in the hope of it opening so she can grab one.
About thirty seconds later, I heard a pitiful, "Mama... Stuck..."
"You're not stuck, baby," I said in that reassuring mama tone as I continued making her dinner.
Another half minute went by and I heard an even more pitiful, "Mama... Stuck..." which was immediately followed by a, "Stuck! Mama!"
So I went over to the fridge and sure enough, one finger was stuck behind the magnetic strip that holds the door closed. Her tiny little finger was no match for the powerful magnet and she couldn't pull her finger out without opening the door.
My next clue came a night or so later when I was distracted right after dinner. I unbuckled only one side of her highchair belt and attempted to lift her out of the seat. Only half her body moved and she quickly told me "Stuck!" before I even fully realized it myself.
And, as if I needed further evidence, tonight she walked into the bathroom to brush her teeth before bed. The light switch is on the opposite wall so she is used to it being dark in there for a few seconds until I can get around her to turn it on. I forgot I left two garbage bags of clothes in there earlier today and she got her leg all tangled up one of the drawstrings. I hit the lights just as she let out a loud, panicked "Stuck! Stuck! Stuck!" and proceeded to shake her leg violently to escape the tiny strap of plastic around her ankle. I knelt down to help free and calm her.
Yep. Stuck. She gets it.
One plain, pink Hanes t-shirt...a couple dollars. Some acrylic paint...a couple more dollars. That same t-shirt covered in acrylic paint...hand, finger, and foot prints...absolutely priceless.
That was my Mother's Day gift from Punky. Her aunt got creative while watching her one day last week. On the front of the shirt, she put her hand prints around in a circle to look like blue flower petals. The center of the flower is filled with bright yellow finger prints. And red footprints walk diagonally up the back of the shirt. Yesterday morning Punky proudly got it from its hiding place and grinned ear to ear as she carried it through the house to hand it to me. My heart melted.
I noticed something blue on Punky's arm while giving her a bath one night. It wiped right off so I didn't give it too much thought. At least now I know the source of the blue hue. I imagine she had so much fun making it. What a clever idea! I'll cherish it forever. It is more valuable than any famous work of art.
The rest of Mother's Day was quiet around here...and that was fantastic. Punky's dad made me a nice breakfast and I had a few hours of play time with my favorite little girl. Then she treated me to a full three-hour nap so I had plenty of "me" time while she slept. And when she woke, her dad took her to visit her grandmother for a couple more hours which gave me even more time to relax and enjoy my day. Don't get me wrong, I love every minute I spend with her and would've been just as happy playing with her all day, but once in a while I cherish some old-fashioned alone time and I don't get the opportunity very often.
Two years ago today I had my first peak at the little peanut that took up residence in my uterus. One tiny little speck pulsing on a black and white screen. Too soon to hear that precious heartbeat, but the flutter was clearly visible. The doctor said we may not have seen it only a few hours earlier. The peanut measured six weeks on the nose. I willed myself to look away from the flicker. I didn't want to get too attached.
For most mothers, that first glance is a moment filled with complete joy. For women who have experienced losses, that moment is filled with fear and hesitation. It had been over six years since my last miscarriage, and the worry that I was headed for another one totally consumed my every thought.
I was convinced there would be no happy ending. I braced myself for the horrible news lurking around the corner. After all, if I failed in my twenties how would I ever manage a successful pregnancy in my upper thirties? I had more health problems. My eggs were surely starting to rot. I just wasn't destined to be a mother. I watched the clock and waited for the bomb to drop.
Tell people about the pregnancy? No way in hell. Been there, done that. It only leads to a large group of people staring and stuttering to find the right words when they find out you lost the baby. Start buying cute baby things? Another no-no. More to cry over as you pack it all up and bury it in the attic so you never have to look at it again... yet you can't bring yourself to throw it away. Think of names for the little life inside you? Not a chance. Then it's like mourning a real person. Somehow it's easier to move on if you think of it as merely a nameless group of cells that stopped growing. I'd be prepared this time around...
I was a total case for the next nine months. At one point my mother told me that she wouldn't be able to handle the stress if I were to ever get pregnant again. Yeah, I was that bad. My sister tried to be understanding but she just didn't get it. She had a successful pregnancy. She never experienced a loss... Unfortunately, one year ago she had the opportunity to join a club no woman ever wants to join. Now she gets it. She is currently over 36 weeks pregnant and endured the same constant worry that plagued my pregnancy.
Some of my health problems caused issues in those nine long months. I was labeled high risk and faced a full calendar of doctor appointments and ultrasounds, but on the whole I truly had a pleasant go of it. I didn't experience any of the usual pregnancy woes and I honestly felt great, but I wish I could've sat back and simply enjoyed it instead of suffocating under a thick blanket of constant worry. I feel like I was robbed of experiencing the natural high and excitement of pregnancy. The blind innocence that other mothers get to enjoy. I wasn't buying into any of it until I held that healthy baby in my arms... which opened a whole new can of constant worry, of course.
Now I can look at the pictures from that first glance and smile. Now my tears are happy tears. She was an adorable little speck two years ago. Not just a cluster of dividing cells, but a perfectly beautiful little baby.
When we got home yesterday after our weekend away, Punky was restless so I thought we'd play outside for a bit. As soon as you mention it, she runs right to the door. She definitely her father's daughter. He's an outside guy, every chance he gets no matter the weather. Me? Not so much.
We took the bubbles and sidewalk chalk out with us. The first time she saw bubbles she really wasn't impressed but now she enjoys chasing them as they fly away. Her aunt brought her the chalk and taught her how to make lines all over the pavers. And of course, picking rocks remains at the top of the list of her outside entertainment favorites.
I'm not sure how long we were out there, but it was time to come in when I needed to pee. I held it as long as I could because I knew she would cry when we went back in the house. To my surprise, she was really cooperative and there were no tears. My good girl...
I tried to take the chalk out of her hand once we got in the door. No dice. Cue the tears. So, I ran to the bathroom and she was still hanging onto it when I went to take her shoes off a few minutes later. I bent down to open the velcro on her sneakers and she leaned in toward me. All of the sudden the world went black.
She must've swung her hand forward with the chalk still clenched in her fist. It landed dead center in my right eye and dropped me to the floor. Damn, I've never been poked in the eye like that. This chalk is about the diameter of a quarter and the end is nicely pointed from drawing on the sidewalk. And I think she pushed it an inch into my eyeball, or at least that's what it felt like.
The worst part is that it was my good eye, so I was left to rely on what little I could see through the one with the astigmatism as I fumbled around trying to figure out what to do to stop the blinding pain I was experiencing. I couldn't even open it at first, and when I did I wished I hadn't.
Blood red. My entire eye was blood red. And bulging. I had a bug eye. The iris, circular by nature, looked more like a dented oval. My heart started pounding in my chest. How the hell was I going to drive myself to the ER when I could only see through one bad eye? Visine! Yeah, visine. It takes the red out. Big misktake... The red remained and now my eye was on fire to boot.
So...I called my mom. I don't care how old I get, when I'm hurt or sick I want my mama. Her advice was a cold compress, which I was already doing, and to get to the ER if it didn't improve. Two hours of ice later, my eye almost returned to it's normal shape. The red dulled to a pretty shade of pink and I could stand to keep it open for more than a second at a time. By the time I went to bed, it was still very sore but about ninety percent better in the shape and color departments so I skipped the ER visit.
All appeared normal this morning but it felt like I took one hell of a punch to the eye. If it had to happen, I'm so glad it happened to me and not Punky. You can bet I'll be keeping a close eye on that chalk in the future, no pun intended.
Despite the fact that we were both sick most of the week, Punky and I felt well enough to make that first swimming class Saturday. It went as I expected. She seemed to really enjoy it so I guess we'll continue going for the next nine weeks.
The class was held in a therapy pool with ninety degree water. I watched her face as I carried her down the steps and into the nice, warm pool. She was smiling ear to ear. She quickly took to splashing just like she does in the bath and giggled as she soaked my face and hair.
The instructor is more like an advisor...only there to answer questions and assist if needed. So it's basically just an hour of pool playtime with balls and other available toys and that's fine with me. Punky's only sixteen months and that was her first time in a pool. There will be plenty of time for real swim lessons; now it's great to just get her used to the water and how her body reacts to it.
Everything was going smoothly...until I dropped her face first into the water. I stood her up on the steps of the pool and she slipped right out of my hands. That baby soft skin is darn slippery when wet. She went under for a second until I was able to get a good grip and pull her out. A few coughs were followed by a minute of crying...and a few dirty looks for mama. I felt terrible but thankfully she got over it and we were able to enjoy the rest of the hour.
And I'm happy to report we made it through without a poop incident. Punky usually goes like clockwork, and the class falls during her morning poop window. I wasn't looking forward to peeling a wet bathing suit and dirty diaper off a shivering baby on a bench in a locker room. I know, I'm speaking too soon. There are nine more weeks to go; I'm sure she'll get me sooner or later. And she owes me one after nearly drowning her.
And I was still crying, but now it was tears of relief and joy. I was at a loss for words over everything I had witnessed. Talk about a whirlwind of emotions. I couldn't take my eyes off the beautiful little girl experiencing her world for the very first time. It took my breath away.
