It's been one of those days. The kind where you want to go sit in a dark room and contemplate your very existence. And if that dark room happens to have a bubble bath and a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon - even better! Because some days leave me wondering if everything I think is true is really just a misinterpretation of facts that I have gotten so comfortable with that I stopped paying attention.
I have a child who is...ahem...difficult. When he was very tiny he started showing signs of having a temper. He is now nineteen months old and the temper is going strong. I'm not talking about the "Terrible Twos". I'm not talking about an occasional fit. I'm talking about having major temper tantrums involving kicking, biting, flailing, and screaming every time some tiny thing doesn't go exactly his way. It's all day, every day. And I'm exhausted. We've tried every discipline tactic you can imagine - short of chaining him to a wall in a dungeon - with very few positive results. He takes his punishment and then he goes right back to doing whatever got him in trouble in the first place.
So for the past several months I have wondered if there could be something "wrong". Could he have some sort of learning disability? Could he be on the autism spectrum? I've talked to friends and family about ways to work with him and I keep being told to contact ECI and get him evaluated, but I don't see any developmental delays (unless you count him being so stubborn he refused to walk until he was 18 months old) so I haven't done that yet. I wanted a doctor's opinion.
Today we went to a new doctor for his 18 month well-child checkup. (Yes, we're a month behind. New insurance is a PAIN.) I had my list of questions for the doctor and I talked while he listened. Then he said what I assumed he would say. "Toddlers are feisty. It's too early to tell if there's anything really going on in the behavioral or social areas; we'll have to wait and see. Just keep up the loving discipline. Etc. Etc. Etc.". I agreed with him to an extent, but I also felt a little dismissed. In my head this voice was screaming "You don't understand! It's NOT just Terrible Twos! Don't write me off as a weak parent!".
And then the doctor did his physical exam.
And my kid has a raging double ear infection and a throat is that bright red and inflamed.
I'm the parent who missed that their kid is sick.
To his credit, the doctor was very nice and assured me that some kids don't show symptoms of ear infections and he could've just developed it yesterday for all we know and that I shouldn't feel bad. But it was what he said next that bothers me. He said "When I look at him I just see a little guy that doesn't feel good".
It bothers me because that's not what I see when I look at him. I mean, it is now. Now it's painfully obvious. But I was so busy trying to correct his behavior that I missed the simple fact that he was trying to cope with being sick. I think back through the last nineteen months and I realize that we have basically gone from diagnosing acid reflux to weaning off reflux medicine when he outgrew it to diagnosing reactive airway disease and working through learning about breathing treatments to flu season to allergy season. And maybe, just maybe, he has spent the majority of his short little life struggling to keep up despite feeling crappy 90% of the time. And I missed that. And now the doubt starts swirling in my head. Satan starts whispering in my ear and I start beating myself up for all the things I'm not.
I wish I could tell you that I have a profound revelation from God about all this, but right now I don't. Right now I'm tired and frustrated and disappointed in myself. I think that's where you come in. Surely I'm not alone in this, right? Surely there is someone out there whose kids are grown; someone who has been-there-done-that-has-the-T-shirt and can tell me how they used to feel the same way? Or maybe a few of my fellow Moms Of Toddlers Club members that can just throw me a comment like "yep, sometimes I suck too but my kid isn't institutionalized yet"?
What do you think?
Showing posts with label Sam. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sam. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Saturday, February 2, 2013
A Few First Words
Sam has been talking for several months, but recently he's really kicked it up a notch. He'll repeat just about anything if he's in the mood to talk. Today I noticed that a page in his My First Counting Book had four of his favorite things all on one page: flowers, fish, cars, and birds. So I grabbed the camera.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Bookworm
It looks like we might have a tiny little bookworm on our hands! Every night before bed we read to Sam - and usually throughout the day, too - so he has figured out where the books are. Now when he wants to read he leans toward the bookshelf or the corner where he knows there is a pile of books. This one seems to be his current favorite.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Nine
My little boy is nine months old today. Nine months. He has been out of my belly as long as he was in it. Here are nine things I have learned in the last nine months:
1) Naptime is a precious commodity. And naptime does not necessarily mean that the baby sleeps as much as it means that the baby is not assaulting my eyes and ears for approximately 90 minutes. Coincidentally, Finding Nemo is 90 minutes long. And there is a strange magical silence that happens when Nemo is on the TV. Nine months ago I would've thought to myself, "What kind of lazy mother lets her child watch a movie to give herself a break?". Today I will tell you that this mom does it almost daily and it is the only thing that keeps me out of a mental institution. I want to kiss the feet of the Pixar employee who created that magical little fish. Judge me if you must.
2) Babies learn at their own pace. Some babies will crawl at six months. Others will drive their mothers crazy by choosing to spend tummy time laying on their faces and whining. Some babies will hold their own bottles. Others will let the bottle sit in their lap and scream until someone puts the bottle in their mouth. Unless that someone is Aunt Velvet. Then some babies will grab the bottle with both hands and use a foot to prop up the bottom of the bottle. Some babies are self-motivated and ambitious and attack life with vigor and purpose. Others are content to just soak in life and let it happen around them while happily sitting still. And when people say, "Oh he's nine months old. I'll bet he's crawling everywhere and pulling up on everything.", the mommies of those "other babies" shouldn't cringe inwardly and try to explain their baby's "lack of development". They should smile and say "Well, he does things at his own pace. I'm sure he'll get there soon." And then they should talk about the other awesome things their baby does.
3) Awesome things babies can do include taking daily Prevacid like a champ, enthusiastically feeding themselves finger foods, clapping wildly when happy about things like dogs or Elmo, and playing a mean game of hide-the-yogurt-melts-under-the-hollow-blocks.
4) Baby boys grab certain "equipment" when the diaper comes off. If the diaper happens to contain more than urine Mommy better be on her toes to prevent the grabbing. Either that or be prepared to disinfect the wall, changing table, and any other nearby surface. <heavy sigh>
5) Music soothes the savage baby. "If I Were A Butterfly" gets a smile every time. And "You Have Been Good" makes a fantastic lullaby.
6) 19 pounds, 9 ounces doesn't sound heavy. Until you try to carry it around while doing other simple tasks. Then it gets heavy awfully quick.
7) If your child's head makes a big jump on the growth curve from month six to month nine it's possible that the pediatrician could call him a "melon head". And if that same head sports a bunch of blond hair that stands straight up like a baby bird's people will stop you at every trip to the grocery store and comment about how cute his hair is.
8) It doesn't matter what happens during the day, Daddy is ALWAYS more exciting than Mommy. So is Nana. And Aunt Velvet. And the hyper-spastic dogs. And the persnickety, self-absorbed whiner you call a cat. And the checker at the grocery store. And basically anyone who is not Mommy. Mommy is ever-present. Mommy is a constant. Mommy doesn't get a big excited reaction when she enters a room.
9) Despite the above statement, Mommy knows things that no one else knows. Like that look in his eyes when he's just starting to get sleepy and really wants to be held and sung to. Or the difference between his "I'm hungry" cry, his "I'm scared/hurt/uncomfortable" cry, and his "I'm mad and pitching a fit" cry. Mommy also gets big smiles with two glowing bottom teeth each morning. And she gets to carry him down the hallway and tell him who everyone in every picture is, and then take him to go pet the puppies, and then snuggle in the recliner for precisely 4 minutes before the morning bottle. Mommy gets the little moments that no else gets. And Mommy thinks that is the best part of her job.
1) Naptime is a precious commodity. And naptime does not necessarily mean that the baby sleeps as much as it means that the baby is not assaulting my eyes and ears for approximately 90 minutes. Coincidentally, Finding Nemo is 90 minutes long. And there is a strange magical silence that happens when Nemo is on the TV. Nine months ago I would've thought to myself, "What kind of lazy mother lets her child watch a movie to give herself a break?". Today I will tell you that this mom does it almost daily and it is the only thing that keeps me out of a mental institution. I want to kiss the feet of the Pixar employee who created that magical little fish. Judge me if you must.
2) Babies learn at their own pace. Some babies will crawl at six months. Others will drive their mothers crazy by choosing to spend tummy time laying on their faces and whining. Some babies will hold their own bottles. Others will let the bottle sit in their lap and scream until someone puts the bottle in their mouth. Unless that someone is Aunt Velvet. Then some babies will grab the bottle with both hands and use a foot to prop up the bottom of the bottle. Some babies are self-motivated and ambitious and attack life with vigor and purpose. Others are content to just soak in life and let it happen around them while happily sitting still. And when people say, "Oh he's nine months old. I'll bet he's crawling everywhere and pulling up on everything.", the mommies of those "other babies" shouldn't cringe inwardly and try to explain their baby's "lack of development". They should smile and say "Well, he does things at his own pace. I'm sure he'll get there soon." And then they should talk about the other awesome things their baby does.
3) Awesome things babies can do include taking daily Prevacid like a champ, enthusiastically feeding themselves finger foods, clapping wildly when happy about things like dogs or Elmo, and playing a mean game of hide-the-yogurt-melts-under-the-hollow-blocks.
4) Baby boys grab certain "equipment" when the diaper comes off. If the diaper happens to contain more than urine Mommy better be on her toes to prevent the grabbing. Either that or be prepared to disinfect the wall, changing table, and any other nearby surface. <heavy sigh>
5) Music soothes the savage baby. "If I Were A Butterfly" gets a smile every time. And "You Have Been Good" makes a fantastic lullaby.
6) 19 pounds, 9 ounces doesn't sound heavy. Until you try to carry it around while doing other simple tasks. Then it gets heavy awfully quick.
7) If your child's head makes a big jump on the growth curve from month six to month nine it's possible that the pediatrician could call him a "melon head". And if that same head sports a bunch of blond hair that stands straight up like a baby bird's people will stop you at every trip to the grocery store and comment about how cute his hair is.
8) It doesn't matter what happens during the day, Daddy is ALWAYS more exciting than Mommy. So is Nana. And Aunt Velvet. And the hyper-spastic dogs. And the persnickety, self-absorbed whiner you call a cat. And the checker at the grocery store. And basically anyone who is not Mommy. Mommy is ever-present. Mommy is a constant. Mommy doesn't get a big excited reaction when she enters a room.
9) Despite the above statement, Mommy knows things that no one else knows. Like that look in his eyes when he's just starting to get sleepy and really wants to be held and sung to. Or the difference between his "I'm hungry" cry, his "I'm scared/hurt/uncomfortable" cry, and his "I'm mad and pitching a fit" cry. Mommy also gets big smiles with two glowing bottom teeth each morning. And she gets to carry him down the hallway and tell him who everyone in every picture is, and then take him to go pet the puppies, and then snuggle in the recliner for precisely 4 minutes before the morning bottle. Mommy gets the little moments that no else gets. And Mommy thinks that is the best part of her job.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Friday, March 9, 2012
Concrete Slabs, Baby Teeth, and Other Matters
Here is a glimpse into the last month of my life.
There is an upper respiratory infection going around. It also referred to as The Plague. This thing is nasty. And I have it. I've had it for almost three weeks. My sincere apologies to the Praise Team at church for making you deal with my frog voice. I know it's not a pretty thing.
I've learned quite a bit about Alzheimer's disease over the last few weeks. My grandfather has it, and has gone downhill before our eyes. I thought we were prepared for this. I mean, we've know for several years that this was coming. But I've found out that you can't really be prepared for what this disease does. You can, however, handle it with humor and lots of prayer. My parents, aunts, and uncles are amazing people, and my grandmother is one tough, wise, ornery woman.
Cats are sneaky and will pee in corners that you never go near, so you don't know the pee is there. Cat urine will soak through carpet, carpet pads, and into the concrete slab. Cat urine is nearly impossible to remove from a concrete slab. A mixture of baking soda, vinegar, and eucalyptus essential oil will remove it, but it requires significant time, elbow grease, and a stiff bristled brush. Dogs will sniff the soda/vinegar/eucalyptus mixture and act like their nose is on fire. THEN they just might decide it's a good idea to take a lick of said mixture. That doesn't end well.
Despite all the warnings I've received - and despite every ounce of common sense in my brain - it is nearly impossible to NOT reach into my son's mouth and feel for teeth. Surprise! They're there. They're like razor blades. And seven-month-olds apparently have the bite strength of a 20 foot alligator.
Sam decided a few weeks ago that he needs to "help" us feed him by grabbing the spoon. Nevermind the fact that it's really not so helpful at all. We learned to get the spoon in and out pretty quickly. Until he got the teeth. Apparently the teeth have awakened his inner beast because now he bites down on the plastic spoon to hold it in place so he can grab with his hands. Strategic thinking. Nice.
Sweet potato Puffs are like oxygen to sleepy toddlers. Just ask my niece. But you might wait until after she finishes having a meltdown because I turned around to get a bowl for her post-nap snack.
Sam seems interested in the Puffs, but his "pinchers" don't work too well yet. Currently his favorite thing to do with the Puffs is to make them stick to his damp hands and then flail, thus flinging the Puffs across the kitchen. The dogs have figured out where to stand, and sometimes can even catch a Puff mid-flight. How is it that they have figured this out, but still keep trying to lick the nose-burning soda/vinegar/eucalyptus mixture?
Tummy time has gotten much easier for Sam and everyone within a four block radius. I'm sure my neighbors think I torture this child. He can sit up completely unassisted, and he loves to sit on a blanket with his toys. As long as I stay out of his line of sight he'll usually sit for 20-30 minutes and play. If I walk in front of him he wails like a tornado siren. I have learned to manage my tasks for the day so I can stay "downwind" as long as possible.
He still will not roll from back to tummy. He can. He just won't. I've used every trick in the book, and he's just not interested. Why should he work to roll for a toy when he can just play with his feet? I thought maybe if he was around crawling babies it might spark his interest. He couldn't have cared less. It'll happen. On his terms. He's stubborn like Mama. And until then I'm going to enjoy him not being mobile.
This week he finally - FINALLY - seemed to get the hang of taking naps. Three days this week I strapped him into his swing and he slept for nearly three hours. I use the swing because I have learned to not even think about putting him in his bed and walking away. Tornado siren. Immediately. Unless it's nighttime and then he goes right to bed with no problems and sleeps for 12-14 hours. Strange child.
Finding Nemo, Elmo, and Bob the Tomato are superheros in this house.
Sam's hair is still completely out of control. It's bananas.
We're laying laminate flooring this weekend in the living room and hallway. We found it on clearance and got an extra 10% off and 0% interest financing. I feel guilty about the money, but when we pulled up the carpet and I saw what Sam would have (eventually) been crawling on I didn't feel guilty anymore. I'm really really excited about the floors.
March Madness is almost here. I'm the reigning champ in our church bracket group, and I'm thinking it's time to start talking some trash. There's nothing like fantasy sports to bring out that Christ-like attitude, you know.
I'm going to finish prepping the house for the floor install and consider loading the dishwasher. Here's a few recent pictures of the munchkin.
There is an upper respiratory infection going around. It also referred to as The Plague. This thing is nasty. And I have it. I've had it for almost three weeks. My sincere apologies to the Praise Team at church for making you deal with my frog voice. I know it's not a pretty thing.
I've learned quite a bit about Alzheimer's disease over the last few weeks. My grandfather has it, and has gone downhill before our eyes. I thought we were prepared for this. I mean, we've know for several years that this was coming. But I've found out that you can't really be prepared for what this disease does. You can, however, handle it with humor and lots of prayer. My parents, aunts, and uncles are amazing people, and my grandmother is one tough, wise, ornery woman.
Cats are sneaky and will pee in corners that you never go near, so you don't know the pee is there. Cat urine will soak through carpet, carpet pads, and into the concrete slab. Cat urine is nearly impossible to remove from a concrete slab. A mixture of baking soda, vinegar, and eucalyptus essential oil will remove it, but it requires significant time, elbow grease, and a stiff bristled brush. Dogs will sniff the soda/vinegar/eucalyptus mixture and act like their nose is on fire. THEN they just might decide it's a good idea to take a lick of said mixture. That doesn't end well.
Despite all the warnings I've received - and despite every ounce of common sense in my brain - it is nearly impossible to NOT reach into my son's mouth and feel for teeth. Surprise! They're there. They're like razor blades. And seven-month-olds apparently have the bite strength of a 20 foot alligator.
Sam decided a few weeks ago that he needs to "help" us feed him by grabbing the spoon. Nevermind the fact that it's really not so helpful at all. We learned to get the spoon in and out pretty quickly. Until he got the teeth. Apparently the teeth have awakened his inner beast because now he bites down on the plastic spoon to hold it in place so he can grab with his hands. Strategic thinking. Nice.
Sweet potato Puffs are like oxygen to sleepy toddlers. Just ask my niece. But you might wait until after she finishes having a meltdown because I turned around to get a bowl for her post-nap snack.
Sam seems interested in the Puffs, but his "pinchers" don't work too well yet. Currently his favorite thing to do with the Puffs is to make them stick to his damp hands and then flail, thus flinging the Puffs across the kitchen. The dogs have figured out where to stand, and sometimes can even catch a Puff mid-flight. How is it that they have figured this out, but still keep trying to lick the nose-burning soda/vinegar/eucalyptus mixture?
Tummy time has gotten much easier for Sam and everyone within a four block radius. I'm sure my neighbors think I torture this child. He can sit up completely unassisted, and he loves to sit on a blanket with his toys. As long as I stay out of his line of sight he'll usually sit for 20-30 minutes and play. If I walk in front of him he wails like a tornado siren. I have learned to manage my tasks for the day so I can stay "downwind" as long as possible.
He still will not roll from back to tummy. He can. He just won't. I've used every trick in the book, and he's just not interested. Why should he work to roll for a toy when he can just play with his feet? I thought maybe if he was around crawling babies it might spark his interest. He couldn't have cared less. It'll happen. On his terms. He's stubborn like Mama. And until then I'm going to enjoy him not being mobile.
This week he finally - FINALLY - seemed to get the hang of taking naps. Three days this week I strapped him into his swing and he slept for nearly three hours. I use the swing because I have learned to not even think about putting him in his bed and walking away. Tornado siren. Immediately. Unless it's nighttime and then he goes right to bed with no problems and sleeps for 12-14 hours. Strange child.
Finding Nemo, Elmo, and Bob the Tomato are superheros in this house.
Sam's hair is still completely out of control. It's bananas.
We're laying laminate flooring this weekend in the living room and hallway. We found it on clearance and got an extra 10% off and 0% interest financing. I feel guilty about the money, but when we pulled up the carpet and I saw what Sam would have (eventually) been crawling on I didn't feel guilty anymore. I'm really really excited about the floors.
March Madness is almost here. I'm the reigning champ in our church bracket group, and I'm thinking it's time to start talking some trash. There's nothing like fantasy sports to bring out that Christ-like attitude, you know.
I'm going to finish prepping the house for the floor install and consider loading the dishwasher. Here's a few recent pictures of the munchkin.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Protein
This is the text conversation between my best friend and I this morning:
Me: Guess what this is...
We took Sam to the doctor last Wednesday. He weighs 17 lbs, 12 oz and is 27.5 inches long. He's getting six teeth. He got three shots, and he gave the nurse one major stink-eye. Everything seems to be going just fine with our little man.
The interesting thing was the doctor's face when she read that he eats 50 ounces of formula each day. She thought it was a typo. It wasn't a typo. He doesn't like solids very much. We really have to work to get him to eat from a spoon. Every now and then he'll scarf things down, but most of the time he eats 7-10 bites and then clamps his jaw shut and grunts every time the spoon comes near his face. He can avoid a spoon like it's an Olympic sport. It makes sense, I guess. I mean, why work to eat solids when you can just suck your food down in liquid form while chilling in mom or dad's lap, right? I'm seeing a pattern develop. Unless he is directly motivated to do something he doesn't see a need to do it. Why roll over when you can lay on your back comfortably? Why make the effort to reach for toys when you have hands and feet that are perfectly easy to access. My child is a hard worker. Cough, cough.
Have you ever seen anything quite so pathetic? After I turned the camera off he cried. He actually cried because we gave him meat. So we gave him some squash. Which he ate 10 bites of and proceeded with Operation Avoid The Spoon.
The end result, after nearly 20 minutes of begging, coaxing, and laughing our butts off, was that we gave in and heated up a bottle. And when he saw the bottle he was one happy chicken-squash-covered little dude.
But before he got his bottle we had to wash the chicken and squash off his face. And out of his hair.
Samuel Bennett Turner, you're lucky you're cute.
Me: Guess what this is...
Her: Frosting? Pureed cauliflower? Cauliflower frosting? Caulk?
Me: That, my friend, is a chicken thigh.
Her: Hurk. I need therapy.
Me: So does Sam. :)
We took Sam to the doctor last Wednesday. He weighs 17 lbs, 12 oz and is 27.5 inches long. He's getting six teeth. He got three shots, and he gave the nurse one major stink-eye. Everything seems to be going just fine with our little man.
The interesting thing was the doctor's face when she read that he eats 50 ounces of formula each day. She thought it was a typo. It wasn't a typo. He doesn't like solids very much. We really have to work to get him to eat from a spoon. Every now and then he'll scarf things down, but most of the time he eats 7-10 bites and then clamps his jaw shut and grunts every time the spoon comes near his face. He can avoid a spoon like it's an Olympic sport. It makes sense, I guess. I mean, why work to eat solids when you can just suck your food down in liquid form while chilling in mom or dad's lap, right? I'm seeing a pattern develop. Unless he is directly motivated to do something he doesn't see a need to do it. Why roll over when you can lay on your back comfortably? Why make the effort to reach for toys when you have hands and feet that are perfectly easy to access. My child is a hard worker. Cough, cough.
Back to the issue at hand...The pediatrician says it's time to introduce protein. She says he needs meat. She says he needs solids more often. Okie dokie. I cooked a boneless, skinless chicken thigh and pureed the heck out of it with water and broth. I had high hopes. After all, his father is quite the carnivore. We waited until we knew he was really hungry and put him in the high chair. He was excited. He knows what happens in the high chair.
Here is what happened.
Have you ever seen anything quite so pathetic? After I turned the camera off he cried. He actually cried because we gave him meat. So we gave him some squash. Which he ate 10 bites of and proceeded with Operation Avoid The Spoon.
The end result, after nearly 20 minutes of begging, coaxing, and laughing our butts off, was that we gave in and heated up a bottle. And when he saw the bottle he was one happy chicken-squash-covered little dude.
But before he got his bottle we had to wash the chicken and squash off his face. And out of his hair.
Samuel Bennett Turner, you're lucky you're cute.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Six Months Old
Six months. That's half a year. Some days have flown, and others have dragged on minute by minute like I'm in a freaky Twilight Zone episode where time stands still. Here's a few things about our six month old:
Weighs 17.6 pounds and is 25ish inches long according to the highly scientific Bathroom Scale and Tape Measure. (We'll get exact stats in a couple of weeks at his doctor's appointment.)
Eats 8 ounces of formula every three to four hours during the day. I make a quart of formula every morning, and I usually have to make a little extra for his last bottle. We got through two cans of formula each week.
Loves carrots, sweet potatoes, and prunes. Tolerates green beans and pears. The verdict is still out regarding peas. He either loves them or he just thinks the word peas is really funny (Click here and see what you think.). We've started solids pretty slowly, but now that he's six months old we'll be introducing a lot more foods.
Takes Prevacid daily for acid reflux.
Thinks tummy time and naps are forms of torture.
Is working on rolling over, but is having a hard time. He makes it over to his side, and then his broad shoulders get in the way. I blame his Daddy's genetics for that one.
Loves Dinosaur Train, Elmo, and Bob the Tomato.
Wants to be held and/or entertained all the time. Let me rephrase...DEMANDS to be held and/or entertained all the time. We are working on teaching him that he is not, in fact, the center of the universe. He's not buying it.
Can be very tempermental. Unless he is at Nana's house where he magically turns into a sweet angel with no flaws whatsoever.
Babbles incessantly. Has started mimicking mouth movements.
Sleeps 12-14 hours straight each night.
Has hair like Beaker from the Muppets.
His Mommy and Daddy pretty much think he hung the moon.
Weighs 17.6 pounds and is 25ish inches long according to the highly scientific Bathroom Scale and Tape Measure. (We'll get exact stats in a couple of weeks at his doctor's appointment.)
Eats 8 ounces of formula every three to four hours during the day. I make a quart of formula every morning, and I usually have to make a little extra for his last bottle. We got through two cans of formula each week.
Loves carrots, sweet potatoes, and prunes. Tolerates green beans and pears. The verdict is still out regarding peas. He either loves them or he just thinks the word peas is really funny (Click here and see what you think.). We've started solids pretty slowly, but now that he's six months old we'll be introducing a lot more foods.
Takes Prevacid daily for acid reflux.
Thinks tummy time and naps are forms of torture.
Is working on rolling over, but is having a hard time. He makes it over to his side, and then his broad shoulders get in the way. I blame his Daddy's genetics for that one.
Loves Dinosaur Train, Elmo, and Bob the Tomato.
Wants to be held and/or entertained all the time. Let me rephrase...DEMANDS to be held and/or entertained all the time. We are working on teaching him that he is not, in fact, the center of the universe. He's not buying it.
Can be very tempermental. Unless he is at Nana's house where he magically turns into a sweet angel with no flaws whatsoever.
Babbles incessantly. Has started mimicking mouth movements.
Sleeps 12-14 hours straight each night.
Has hair like Beaker from the Muppets.
His Mommy and Daddy pretty much think he hung the moon.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Split Personality (aka Three Month Update)
Three months ago I gave birth to a sweet, happy baby boy. Either that or I gave birth to a howler monkey. Most days I'm not sure which.
Sam celebrated his three-month birthday by sleeping 12.5 hours from 9:00pm-9:30am. He woke up with the soggiest diaper in the history of babydom, but he was one happy boy. Until we got halfway through our trip to the grocery store. That's when he decided to celebrate being three months old by throwing an epic fit at Target. And continuing the fit all the way home. He calmed down briefly after chugging down a 4 ounce bottle, but then he whined/griped for another two hours until he finally succombed to the power of the swing. In the meantime we both went through three outfits thanks to Sir Yaks A Lot. I think my shirts have a bullseye on my left shoulder. *Aim Baby Barf Here*.
Once he finally went to sleep for a few minutes I had a little birthday celebration of my own. It involved making a sinfully ridiculous chocolate cake.
The moment the cake was done and I pulled it out of the oven Sam woke up, and we were off to the races again. I finally texted a friend for sympathy who reminded me that my little hellbeast is "cute, beloved, and wanted". Then she reminded me that I can totally get him back in junior high. I'm planning on doing the chicken dance in the car drop-off lane while wearing a tacky floral print bathrobe (which I will buy specifically for that purpose). Either that or rolling the windows down and singing the Star Wars theme at the top of my lungs while wearing my hair in a Princess Leia cinnamon-roll bun and wielding a plastic lightsaber.
In all seriousness, most days Sam really does seem to have a split personality. He can be adorably sweet and happy - laughing and cooing and talking. And then, in the blink of an eye, he turns into a screaming banshee demanding to be held perfectly still in a specific position (which changes daily depending on his mood). His reflux is still a problem sometimes, but it seems to be as under control as we can get it for now. He sleeps really well at night (10-12 hours), but barely sleeps at all during the day. And he most definitely has a temper like me. I mean, if he's unhappy about something - like me not being in his direct line of sight for longer than 2 milliseconds - he immediately starts to scream and then immediately turns it off and smiles when I go over to him. It's like flipping a switch. I need to get it on film so you don't think I'm exaggerating.
And yet, despite, the teddy bear/wolverine personality situation we love him more and more everyday. My favorite part of each morning is going in to get him and seeing that huge gummy smile. He loves to cuddle while he eats, but then he wants to lay down so he can kick and stretch. He won't sleep in his crib yet, but we finally got him to sleep in his swing in his own room (rather than in the living room or our bedroom). We'll keep trying the crib, and eventually it'll click in his little brain. I think he likes the comfort of being surrounded by the swing's cradle. We've tried swaddling him in his crib, but he doesn't like it. He wants room to stretch and kick and squirm while still having the comfort of being surrounded. He's started sitting up in his Boppy without us supporting him, and he grins like he's so proud of himself he could bust. Our favorite game is "Head Shoulders Knees & Toes" which makes him laugh a deep belly laugh. But I think his favorite part of his day is bathtime with Daddy. He lays in the warm water while Aaron sits by the tub. He just stares up at Aaron and they "talk". He is always very content and happy after his bath.
Here's a few three-month pictures.
Sam celebrated his three-month birthday by sleeping 12.5 hours from 9:00pm-9:30am. He woke up with the soggiest diaper in the history of babydom, but he was one happy boy. Until we got halfway through our trip to the grocery store. That's when he decided to celebrate being three months old by throwing an epic fit at Target. And continuing the fit all the way home. He calmed down briefly after chugging down a 4 ounce bottle, but then he whined/griped for another two hours until he finally succombed to the power of the swing. In the meantime we both went through three outfits thanks to Sir Yaks A Lot. I think my shirts have a bullseye on my left shoulder. *Aim Baby Barf Here*.
Once he finally went to sleep for a few minutes I had a little birthday celebration of my own. It involved making a sinfully ridiculous chocolate cake.
The moment the cake was done and I pulled it out of the oven Sam woke up, and we were off to the races again. I finally texted a friend for sympathy who reminded me that my little hellbeast is "cute, beloved, and wanted". Then she reminded me that I can totally get him back in junior high. I'm planning on doing the chicken dance in the car drop-off lane while wearing a tacky floral print bathrobe (which I will buy specifically for that purpose). Either that or rolling the windows down and singing the Star Wars theme at the top of my lungs while wearing my hair in a Princess Leia cinnamon-roll bun and wielding a plastic lightsaber.
In all seriousness, most days Sam really does seem to have a split personality. He can be adorably sweet and happy - laughing and cooing and talking. And then, in the blink of an eye, he turns into a screaming banshee demanding to be held perfectly still in a specific position (which changes daily depending on his mood). His reflux is still a problem sometimes, but it seems to be as under control as we can get it for now. He sleeps really well at night (10-12 hours), but barely sleeps at all during the day. And he most definitely has a temper like me. I mean, if he's unhappy about something - like me not being in his direct line of sight for longer than 2 milliseconds - he immediately starts to scream and then immediately turns it off and smiles when I go over to him. It's like flipping a switch. I need to get it on film so you don't think I'm exaggerating.
And yet, despite, the teddy bear/wolverine personality situation we love him more and more everyday. My favorite part of each morning is going in to get him and seeing that huge gummy smile. He loves to cuddle while he eats, but then he wants to lay down so he can kick and stretch. He won't sleep in his crib yet, but we finally got him to sleep in his swing in his own room (rather than in the living room or our bedroom). We'll keep trying the crib, and eventually it'll click in his little brain. I think he likes the comfort of being surrounded by the swing's cradle. We've tried swaddling him in his crib, but he doesn't like it. He wants room to stretch and kick and squirm while still having the comfort of being surrounded. He's started sitting up in his Boppy without us supporting him, and he grins like he's so proud of himself he could bust. Our favorite game is "Head Shoulders Knees & Toes" which makes him laugh a deep belly laugh. But I think his favorite part of his day is bathtime with Daddy. He lays in the warm water while Aaron sits by the tub. He just stares up at Aaron and they "talk". He is always very content and happy after his bath.
Here's a few three-month pictures.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Fall In The Air
It's a Friday morning in early Fall in Dallas, TX. Which means it starts out overcast and semi-cool (ie. low 70's), and by midday it's sunny and 80-90 degrees. My son is sleeping, and I decided rather than doing the laundry I needed to write a blog update. It's been two months since I posted anything here. It's like I'm busy or something. But on this early Fall morning I have things to say. So here you go...
1) My husband turned 30 on Sunday. You should make fun of him. I always make him a steak dinner for his birthday, but last weekend was so crazy I didn't prep. That meant the meat didn't have time to marinate and the mushrooms didn't have time to cook, so he gets his birthday dinner tonight. Right now my house smells like this:
Pioneer Woman's Burgundy Mushrooms. Two gorgeous petite sirloin steaks are in the fridge soaking in Savory Garlic Marinade. And a large bag of potatoes is waiting to be peeled, cooked, and mashed. My stomach is not appreciating the fact that dinner is still nine hours away.
2) My hubby got a day off mid-week yesterday, so we met my sister-in-law and her kiddos at a nearby park. By the time we left all six of us were wiped out, but we had a great time.
3) I pulled out all my Fall decorations yesterday. You'll be glad to know that my neurotic dog has made progress since last year when this happened. I always shop the post-Thanksgiving clearance sales for decorations, but last year I didn't do much shopping. Something about the fact that the smells of pumpkin and cinnamon made me hurl seriously limited my holiday outings last year. So now I'm scouring Pinterest for budget-friendly Fall craft ideas. I will most definitely be making these:
Mini pumpkins + Glitter + glue. Love this! Anybody have any brilliant decor ideas?
4) Sam is almost three months old. Did you see the picture of him up there? He's a chunk. Seriously. check this out.
At his two month check-up he weighed 12 pounds, 7 ounces. I'm pretty confident that he's closing in on 15 pounds by now. I love it when people say "How old is he? Four months?" and I say "11 weeks" and they gasp and then giggle at his fat baby legs and cheeks. He's taking Prevacid daily for acid reflux and is a much happier baby than he was for the first 9-10 weeks. (FYI...your baby can have acid reflux without spitting AT ALL.) He is still pretty fussy/gripey/whiny most of the time, but that's a million times better than the constant screaming we went through for awhile. He's very active - constantly kicking, grabbing, squirming - and it's been mentioned to me that he may be getting bored, thus the fussiness. I've noticed his best days are when we are very busy, so maybe there's some merit to that theory. He definitely keeps his Mama on her toes!
He is sleeping through the night in his swing which is the only place he'll sleep for more than 30 minutes at a time. Soon we'll be making the transition to his crib, and I'm not really looking forward to that battle. He already has a temper and is showing signs of being seriously strong-willed. Can I just say that I think it's slightly unfair that I dealt with nine months of nausea, back pain, and leg cramps plus 48 hours of labor and the only resemblance this child bears to me is my nose and my temper? This kid looks JUST like his Daddy! He's found his voice, and likes to "talk" to us. He's very smiley after he eats or when he first wakes up. I don't think we've seen his true temperment yet, and I'm starting to catch glimpses of a very happy little guy underneath all this fussiness. Here's a picture of our sweet Sammy Smile.
1) My husband turned 30 on Sunday. You should make fun of him. I always make him a steak dinner for his birthday, but last weekend was so crazy I didn't prep. That meant the meat didn't have time to marinate and the mushrooms didn't have time to cook, so he gets his birthday dinner tonight. Right now my house smells like this:
Pioneer Woman's Burgundy Mushrooms. Two gorgeous petite sirloin steaks are in the fridge soaking in Savory Garlic Marinade. And a large bag of potatoes is waiting to be peeled, cooked, and mashed. My stomach is not appreciating the fact that dinner is still nine hours away.
2) My hubby got a day off mid-week yesterday, so we met my sister-in-law and her kiddos at a nearby park. By the time we left all six of us were wiped out, but we had a great time.
3) I pulled out all my Fall decorations yesterday. You'll be glad to know that my neurotic dog has made progress since last year when this happened. I always shop the post-Thanksgiving clearance sales for decorations, but last year I didn't do much shopping. Something about the fact that the smells of pumpkin and cinnamon made me hurl seriously limited my holiday outings last year. So now I'm scouring Pinterest for budget-friendly Fall craft ideas. I will most definitely be making these:
Mini pumpkins + Glitter + glue. Love this! Anybody have any brilliant decor ideas?
4) Sam is almost three months old. Did you see the picture of him up there? He's a chunk. Seriously. check this out.
At his two month check-up he weighed 12 pounds, 7 ounces. I'm pretty confident that he's closing in on 15 pounds by now. I love it when people say "How old is he? Four months?" and I say "11 weeks" and they gasp and then giggle at his fat baby legs and cheeks. He's taking Prevacid daily for acid reflux and is a much happier baby than he was for the first 9-10 weeks. (FYI...your baby can have acid reflux without spitting AT ALL.) He is still pretty fussy/gripey/whiny most of the time, but that's a million times better than the constant screaming we went through for awhile. He's very active - constantly kicking, grabbing, squirming - and it's been mentioned to me that he may be getting bored, thus the fussiness. I've noticed his best days are when we are very busy, so maybe there's some merit to that theory. He definitely keeps his Mama on her toes!
He is sleeping through the night in his swing which is the only place he'll sleep for more than 30 minutes at a time. Soon we'll be making the transition to his crib, and I'm not really looking forward to that battle. He already has a temper and is showing signs of being seriously strong-willed. Can I just say that I think it's slightly unfair that I dealt with nine months of nausea, back pain, and leg cramps plus 48 hours of labor and the only resemblance this child bears to me is my nose and my temper? This kid looks JUST like his Daddy! He's found his voice, and likes to "talk" to us. He's very smiley after he eats or when he first wakes up. I don't think we've seen his true temperment yet, and I'm starting to catch glimpses of a very happy little guy underneath all this fussiness. Here's a picture of our sweet Sammy Smile.
And here's a video I took for my parents while they are on their annual fishing trip. Ignore the baby talk. I just can't seem to help myself.
I say this often, but I'll say it again...If you had told me one year ago that this would be my life I would have laughed in your face. I have a blog entry floating around in my head regarding being a mother and a recovering control freak, but it'll take awhile to get it from brain to keyboard. Maybe this weekend I'll find time to type it out. Or maybe this weekend, like the last several weekends, will be insanely full and over before I know it. Either way we're enjoying this crazy ride called Parenthood. Happy Fall from me, the Little Monster, and his mohawk!
Friday, August 19, 2011
One Month Already
Sam is already one month old! Here's an update and a picture or two.
He's growing like a weed. At the doctor on Wednesday, August 17th, he weighed 9 pounds, 12 ounces and was 22-1/2 inches long. He still has a full head of dark hair, and his eyes are dark blue. I think they'll eventually change to brown; Aaron and my mom think they'll stay blue. We should make a bet about this. All the newborn size clothes have been boxed away because they don't fit anymore, but he's still a little small for most of the 3-month sized clothes. This means he has about five outfits he can wear on a daily basis which also means I do laundry way too often. It was a little sad to pack away the tiny newborn onesies, but I'm excited for him to be able to fit into the adorable clothes we got as gifts.
Sleeping has become a bit of a challenge. Once he's asleep he'll usually stay down for 2-4 hours, but getting him to really fall asleep is not an easy task. He seems to have learned when he's not being held, and he's not very happy about those times. He definitely knows what he likes and doesn't like. Sort of like his mama?
We'll had some problems with gas that have resulted in marathon crying sessions. It's not colic because he'll calm down periodically, but usually not for more than 5 minutes or so. We've tried mylicon, gripe water, infant massage, warm baths, and everything else you could possibly think of. The only thing that works for sure is to stick him in the car and drive, and we've resorted to that several times.
We're starting to see his personality a little more everyday. He makes the funniest faces, and has started smiling and "talking" (ie. making those little gutteral throat noises). Bath time is one of his favorite things. We have a terry cloth turtle that covers him up, and he'll just sit in the warm water and relax. That's another thing he has in common with me.
He shares traits with Aaron, too. This kid can EAT! And eating is very serious business. Taking the bottle out of his mouth before he's ready (ie. while he's awake) results in a high pitched squeal and a very red face. Of course, all that eating results in us going through an utterly ridiculous amount of diapers. (But thanks to awesome friends and family we haven't spent one penny on them!) He is a pee machine, and if they gave out medals for diaper filling he'd win the gold. Strangely enough, he feels the need to fill his diaper everytime we go to the grocery store. Thank you, son. (To clarify, the trait he shares with his daddy is the eating - not the diaper filling. I'm just not EVEN gonna go there.)
Here's a few pictures and a video from our first month.
Sam's "going home" onesie paired with gangsta-fabulous baggy shorts.
(PS...The shorts were just for fun. They stayed on just long enough to laugh at him and take a picture.)
With Pop and Gran
One week old
First family dinner at On The Border with Nana and Papa, Granna and Grandad, Uncle Thomas and Aunt Velvet and cousins Jake and Ava.
Snuggling with Aunt Velvet
Hanging out with Great Papa Wade, Nana, Jake, and Ava
Meeting Great Grandma Norma and Great Papa Jake
Froggie pajamas
Bath time is fun!
Copying Mama's sarcastic eyebrow raise (already!?)
Sweet smile
And here's two minutes in the life of Sam on his one-month birthday. Admittedly, there's not much excitement except for a surprise sneeze. And yes, I'm baby talking. It's okay; I've come to terms with the fact that the baby talk is inevitable.
Aaron and I are so grateful for the help and support we've received from friends and family. Thankfully I haven't experienced much of the baby blues or post partum depression (which I was worried about). We are sleep deprived and mentally exhausted, but we're head over heels in love with this little punk. Even at 2:30am when he's screaming and peeing all over everything. Yep, we'll keep him around. For now. ;)
He's growing like a weed. At the doctor on Wednesday, August 17th, he weighed 9 pounds, 12 ounces and was 22-1/2 inches long. He still has a full head of dark hair, and his eyes are dark blue. I think they'll eventually change to brown; Aaron and my mom think they'll stay blue. We should make a bet about this. All the newborn size clothes have been boxed away because they don't fit anymore, but he's still a little small for most of the 3-month sized clothes. This means he has about five outfits he can wear on a daily basis which also means I do laundry way too often. It was a little sad to pack away the tiny newborn onesies, but I'm excited for him to be able to fit into the adorable clothes we got as gifts.
Sleeping has become a bit of a challenge. Once he's asleep he'll usually stay down for 2-4 hours, but getting him to really fall asleep is not an easy task. He seems to have learned when he's not being held, and he's not very happy about those times. He definitely knows what he likes and doesn't like. Sort of like his mama?
We'll had some problems with gas that have resulted in marathon crying sessions. It's not colic because he'll calm down periodically, but usually not for more than 5 minutes or so. We've tried mylicon, gripe water, infant massage, warm baths, and everything else you could possibly think of. The only thing that works for sure is to stick him in the car and drive, and we've resorted to that several times.
We're starting to see his personality a little more everyday. He makes the funniest faces, and has started smiling and "talking" (ie. making those little gutteral throat noises). Bath time is one of his favorite things. We have a terry cloth turtle that covers him up, and he'll just sit in the warm water and relax. That's another thing he has in common with me.
He shares traits with Aaron, too. This kid can EAT! And eating is very serious business. Taking the bottle out of his mouth before he's ready (ie. while he's awake) results in a high pitched squeal and a very red face. Of course, all that eating results in us going through an utterly ridiculous amount of diapers. (But thanks to awesome friends and family we haven't spent one penny on them!) He is a pee machine, and if they gave out medals for diaper filling he'd win the gold. Strangely enough, he feels the need to fill his diaper everytime we go to the grocery store. Thank you, son. (To clarify, the trait he shares with his daddy is the eating - not the diaper filling. I'm just not EVEN gonna go there.)
Here's a few pictures and a video from our first month.
Sam's "going home" onesie paired with gangsta-fabulous baggy shorts.
(PS...The shorts were just for fun. They stayed on just long enough to laugh at him and take a picture.)
In the car seat leaving the hospital. Look out world!
With Pop and Gran
One week old
First family dinner at On The Border with Nana and Papa, Granna and Grandad, Uncle Thomas and Aunt Velvet and cousins Jake and Ava.
Snuggling with Aunt Velvet
Hanging out with Great Papa Wade, Nana, Jake, and Ava
Meeting Great Grandma Norma and Great Papa Jake
Froggie pajamas
Bath time is fun!
Copying Mama's sarcastic eyebrow raise (already!?)
Sweet smile
And here's two minutes in the life of Sam on his one-month birthday. Admittedly, there's not much excitement except for a surprise sneeze. And yes, I'm baby talking. It's okay; I've come to terms with the fact that the baby talk is inevitable.
Aaron and I are so grateful for the help and support we've received from friends and family. Thankfully I haven't experienced much of the baby blues or post partum depression (which I was worried about). We are sleep deprived and mentally exhausted, but we're head over heels in love with this little punk. Even at 2:30am when he's screaming and peeing all over everything. Yep, we'll keep him around. For now. ;)
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Sam's Story
So I knew that any child who shared my genetic material would not make an easy appearance into this world. I felt like I was prepared for just about anything. Bring it on!
Famous last words.
Before I start this story there is something I should make sure is understood: I'm stubborn to a fault. I will put myself through hell and back before I yield to something that I don't want to yield to. Sort of like a horse that has to be broken before it can be ridden. It's not a conscious decision; it's just my nature. This fact will come into play. Here's what happened...
Pre-labor started on Thursday evening, July 14th. Aaron and I went to dinner at Razoo's with my mom and my nephew, and I ate some spicy Jambalaya pasta. I was hoping that the spicy food combined with chasing around a 2-year-old would make Sam decide he would more comfortable somewhere other than my uterus. Apparently it worked because I felt the first mild contractions that evening during dinner. They got stronger and more consistent through the night and eventually started waking me up every 10-15 minutes starting at about 3 am. This went on for 12 hours but nothing seemed to be progressing. The contractions were regular, but they weren't getting stronger or closer together and they were just painful enough to keep me from being able to relax. It was the kind of pain that makes you wince or grit your teeth a little and then it passes and you're okay. At 3 pm on Friday, July 15th, I decided to call my doctor who told me to go ahead and come to the hospital for observation.
We got to the hospital at about 5:30 pm. Can I just say that being driven through Friday rush-hour traffic in downtown Dallas in 108 degree heat while having contractions every 10 minutes was not my favorite part of this story? But that's okay. It gets 'better". I was admitted to Labor & Delivery triage where I had a wonderfully sarcastic nurse named Lisa. Seriously, she was funny and personable, and she understood my bizarre sense of humor. She did a pelvic exam (also not my favorite part of this story) and told me I was 80% effaced and dilated to 2 cm. She also said that Sam's head was low and my cervix was posterier which meant that every pelvic exam would be quite unpleasant from here on. They observed me for about an hour then sent me to walk around for awhile in hopes we could make something happen. The contractions were still coming every 10 minutes, but nothing was progressing. I should mention that this was the ONE weekend during the summer that my doctor took a vacation and was unavailable. The on-call doctor offered to induce me, but I declined since I was sure things would pick up on their own. Plus, I was still considering the possibility of labor and delivery without pain medication, and I did not want Pitocin. We went home with instructions to come back when my water broke or when the contractions were 5 minutes apart and I couldn't talk through them.
During the night things began to pick up quite a bit. By 6 am on Saturday the contractions were 4-5 minutes apart, and they were definitely stronger. At that point I hadn't slept more than 15-20 minutes at a time in over 24 hours. The pain was centered in my back and it made my whole body feel cramped up. I couldn't get a deep breath during a contraction, and I definitely couldn't talk through one. We headed back to the hospital with excitement. We were sure that the next time we pulled into our driveway we would have Sam in the backseat.
I checked back into triage at 6:30 am on Saturday morning. Unfortunately the only nurse on duty had all the personality of a wet mop. She was short-tempered and unwilling to listen to me. I needed to use the restroom, and I had a contraction while I was in there (ie. not being monitored). I had two more contractions while she went through the eternal list of questions nurses have to ask including asking where my pain was on a scale of 1-10. When I paused to consider the answer she said "5 is crying. Are you crying?". When I replied that obviously I was not crying since I was sitting in front of her dry-eyed she said "Then you're not even at a 5" and went on with her questions. Then she finally hooked me up to the monitor and did a pelvic exam while I was having a contraction. I was still only 80% effaced and dilated to 2 cm. After the exam the strength of the contractions lessened and then gradually began to build again. The nurse monitored me for about ten minutes more, and then called the on-call doctor (mine was still unavailable) and explained that I had not had a contraction since checking in. Apparently the two during her interrogation and the one during the exam didn't count. There was also apparently no need to listen to me when I told her I was feeling the pain in my back more than in my abdomen. She said that my contractions were "pitiful" and that I needed to "go home and work harder". I was angry and disappointed, but I tried to be rational and ask when I was supposed to come back since I had already followed the original instructions I was given. She told me again to "work harder" and just wait until my water broke. I told her that I live 40 minutes from the hospital, and I was concerned about waiting too long at home. She said that since this was my first baby I would have 2-3 hours of pushing so even if I was dilated to a 10 I wasn't going to have the baby in the car. I knew at that point she had decided I was a wimp who was overreacting, so I decided not to push the issue. I assumed if I went home I could wait through things until the shift change or until my water broke.
I held it together pretty well until we got in the car, and then I let myself break down and cry. I was exhausted and in pain that was worsening by the minute. We probably should have gone back into the hospital and demanded to see another nurse, but I was angry and unsure of my ability to remain rational so we went back home. By the time we got there the contractions were back to a regular pattern of 4-5 minutes apart and I was gritting my teeth and pushing through them. I decided to lay down with a heating pad on my aching back and try to rest.
I occasionally had 10-12 minutes between contractions and I was able to doze off for a few minutes, but for the most part I laid in bed and dealt with the pain. This went on for several hours as the pain continually worsened but no pattern developed in the timing of the contractions. My back ache was constant and moved back and forth from seriously uncomfortable to spasming uncontrollably during contractions. They came in waves and would increase in strength until they peaked; I would have 10 minutes or more between waves. By 4 pm I was unable to grit my teeth and breathe through the pain. By 7 pm I was yelling and crying through each contraction. Unfortunately they were still 5-7 minutes apart (which was the same pattern I had been sent home with) and my water had not broken. I was absolutely determined not to waste the gas to drive back to the hospital and go through the pain of another pelvic exam until I was sure they wouldn't send me home. I also knew that the same nurse was still on shift, and I was in no frame of mind to deal with her again. (Remember that stubborn to a fault thing?) I did place a call to the on-call doctor who reiterated what the triage nurse had told me - although she said that once the contractions were 2-3 minutes apart I should head to the hospital.
My amazing husband had sat with me all day and helped me as best he could, but he was rapidly reaching his wits end after watching me hurt so badly for so long. At 8 pm my dear friend, Kelly, called me and said she had just been hit with the overwhelming feeling that she needed to talk to me. She knew I had been having contractions, but she didn't know how bad it had become. I had a contraction while I was on the phone with her and she was able to talk me through it. Once she heard how badly I was hurting she told me that she was coming over and that I needed to call my mom and have her come too. There was absolutely no room for argument, and I don't think I would have had the strength to argue anyway. I decided to get in a hot shower and try to work my way through the pain while I waited on Kelly and my mom.
While in the shower the contractions suddenly became closer together. They were right on top of each other and I couldn't do anything but moan and yell my way through them. I was able to bend and let the water beat onto my low back while seemed to help a little bit. I finally got a little break and asked Aaron to help me out of the shower. As I dried off I felt another contraction coming. This one hit like a ton of bricks and completely doubled me over. It also felt different than the ones I had been having and suddenly my water broke. We noticed that the fluid was stained with meconium which concerned us a little bit, but I was still feeling Sam move around so we weren't panicked. We called my mom and told her to go to the hospital instead of our house. Kelly was almost at our house already, and by the time the bags were in the car she was there. She helped me breathe a little bit - the contractions had briefly gotten a little less intense - and then we headed to the hospital. As we drove down the street Aaron looked at me and said "Just so you know, once we get on the highway all bets are off". And he wasn't kidding. The man drove 70-90 miles per hour the entire way. My contractions had picked back up and were now 2 minutes apart, and we were both concerned about the meconium stained fluid.
We got to the hospital a few minutes after 10 pm on Saturday night. Of course I had to deal with consent forms, but they got me admitted and into a room as quickly as possible. I was moaning, yelling, and sobbing my way through the contractions while they got my IV in and started fluids. I asked for an epidural - no more grand ideas about non-medicated labor, thank you very much - and they told me it would take about 30 minutes because they had to order labwork. I was fine with that; there was an end in sight. I had a wonderful nurse named Flo who did a pelvic exam (yeehaw!) and told me I was dilated to 7 cm and entering transition labor. Once they found out how far along things were they decided to go ahead and page the anethesiologist. Since my Group B Strep test was negative they could bypass the labwork. From the time they paged him it was 3 minutes before he walked in the door, and I've never seen a more beautiful sight than that gigantic needle. The nurse sent Aaron out of the room and told him to come back in 15 minutes.
I had several more contractions while the epidural took effect. At one point the anesthesiologist told me I would feel some pressure and some cramping and I'm pretty sure I yelled something like "Really?! You think?!?!". I didn't feel a thing when the needle was inserted, but the next few contractions became steadily easier so I knew it was working. I wasn't completely numb - I could still move my legs and feel the pressure of the contractions - but the pain gradually faded away. I told the anesthesiologist that I was leaving my husband and marrying him. He said he'd "never heard that before" and he winked at me.
Aaron came back in a few minutes later and was relieved to find me back in my typical sarcastic form; although I was so exhausted I could barely keep my eyes open. Flo did another pelvic exam (uncomfortable but not agonizingly painful) and I was dilated to 8 cm. We spent the next hour relaxing while my parents, my brother, my "other mom", and Kelly came in to see us. Then we slept for an hour until the next pelvic exam which showed I was dilated to 10 cm. Flo decided to let us rest a little more and then it was time to push.
Funny story: The doctor called the NICU to be on stand-by because of the length of my labor and the meconium stained fluid. The only man in the room, other than my husband, was a NICU nurse who was basically standing by the wall waiting on Sam. And wouldn't you know, he was standing right behind my doctor. So everytime I pushed he felt the need to look over the doctor's shoulder to see what was happening. Which means that everytime I pushed I saw a man's head suddenly appear behind the doctor and then slowly disappear again. At the time I didn't really notice, but looking back on it that was a little bit bizarre.
Contrary to what the triage nurse told me Saturday morning it did not take 2-3 hours of pushing. It took a little less than 45 minutes, and Sam was born at 4 am on Sunday, July 17th. The nurses checked him over, and before I knew it he was in my arms. Perfectly healthy. 7 pounds, 8 ounces. 20-1/4 inches long. With a full head of dark hair and a perfect replica of my nose.
The next couple of days are sort of a blur thanks to sleep deprivation and pain medication, but we had tons of friends and family stop by and see us. We watched the USA women's soccer team play in the World Cup final on Sunday afternoon. They lost to Japan, but it was still a special memory since Sam was less than 12 hours old and was already watching soccer with his Daddy. Thankfully we had no more bad experiences with nurses after the triage nurse. Everyone was wonderful and extremely helpful.
As I sit on the couch typing this entry Sam is two weeks old and growing like a weed. He went to church for the first time this morning, and he picked the middle of the sermon as the perfect time to throw his first epic fit. I'm certain it won't be the last one since he's showing signs of having a temper like his Mommy. I haven't had so much as a twinge of nausea since Sam was born, so I've been enjoying eating again. I'm not quite used to being able to eat a meal without having to ponder the consequences. As an added bonus, when I got on the scale this morning I was thrilled to see that I'm already back to my pre-baby weight. Don't get me wrong - things are definitely in a different place than they used to be, but the number on the scale is back to where it was in November.
The morning Sam was born Aaron and I were given about two hours to sleep while the hospital staff cleaned him up and performed the basic newborn tests and observations. When they brought him back to us we both just peered at him over the edges of his hospital crib. I looked at Aaron and said "You know how they say when the nurse puts the baby in your arms you forget about the pain? They LIED!!". I don't think I'll ever forget that pain, and I fully intend to hold that experience over his head for the rest of his life. But the thing is, if I had to choose to do it all over again I wouldn't hesitate. I still can't believe that when I glance across the living room on a lazy Sunday afternoon I see this...
And that's most definitely worth 48 hours of pain and frustration.
Famous last words.
Before I start this story there is something I should make sure is understood: I'm stubborn to a fault. I will put myself through hell and back before I yield to something that I don't want to yield to. Sort of like a horse that has to be broken before it can be ridden. It's not a conscious decision; it's just my nature. This fact will come into play. Here's what happened...
Pre-labor started on Thursday evening, July 14th. Aaron and I went to dinner at Razoo's with my mom and my nephew, and I ate some spicy Jambalaya pasta. I was hoping that the spicy food combined with chasing around a 2-year-old would make Sam decide he would more comfortable somewhere other than my uterus. Apparently it worked because I felt the first mild contractions that evening during dinner. They got stronger and more consistent through the night and eventually started waking me up every 10-15 minutes starting at about 3 am. This went on for 12 hours but nothing seemed to be progressing. The contractions were regular, but they weren't getting stronger or closer together and they were just painful enough to keep me from being able to relax. It was the kind of pain that makes you wince or grit your teeth a little and then it passes and you're okay. At 3 pm on Friday, July 15th, I decided to call my doctor who told me to go ahead and come to the hospital for observation.
We got to the hospital at about 5:30 pm. Can I just say that being driven through Friday rush-hour traffic in downtown Dallas in 108 degree heat while having contractions every 10 minutes was not my favorite part of this story? But that's okay. It gets 'better". I was admitted to Labor & Delivery triage where I had a wonderfully sarcastic nurse named Lisa. Seriously, she was funny and personable, and she understood my bizarre sense of humor. She did a pelvic exam (also not my favorite part of this story) and told me I was 80% effaced and dilated to 2 cm. She also said that Sam's head was low and my cervix was posterier which meant that every pelvic exam would be quite unpleasant from here on. They observed me for about an hour then sent me to walk around for awhile in hopes we could make something happen. The contractions were still coming every 10 minutes, but nothing was progressing. I should mention that this was the ONE weekend during the summer that my doctor took a vacation and was unavailable. The on-call doctor offered to induce me, but I declined since I was sure things would pick up on their own. Plus, I was still considering the possibility of labor and delivery without pain medication, and I did not want Pitocin. We went home with instructions to come back when my water broke or when the contractions were 5 minutes apart and I couldn't talk through them.
During the night things began to pick up quite a bit. By 6 am on Saturday the contractions were 4-5 minutes apart, and they were definitely stronger. At that point I hadn't slept more than 15-20 minutes at a time in over 24 hours. The pain was centered in my back and it made my whole body feel cramped up. I couldn't get a deep breath during a contraction, and I definitely couldn't talk through one. We headed back to the hospital with excitement. We were sure that the next time we pulled into our driveway we would have Sam in the backseat.
I checked back into triage at 6:30 am on Saturday morning. Unfortunately the only nurse on duty had all the personality of a wet mop. She was short-tempered and unwilling to listen to me. I needed to use the restroom, and I had a contraction while I was in there (ie. not being monitored). I had two more contractions while she went through the eternal list of questions nurses have to ask including asking where my pain was on a scale of 1-10. When I paused to consider the answer she said "5 is crying. Are you crying?". When I replied that obviously I was not crying since I was sitting in front of her dry-eyed she said "Then you're not even at a 5" and went on with her questions. Then she finally hooked me up to the monitor and did a pelvic exam while I was having a contraction. I was still only 80% effaced and dilated to 2 cm. After the exam the strength of the contractions lessened and then gradually began to build again. The nurse monitored me for about ten minutes more, and then called the on-call doctor (mine was still unavailable) and explained that I had not had a contraction since checking in. Apparently the two during her interrogation and the one during the exam didn't count. There was also apparently no need to listen to me when I told her I was feeling the pain in my back more than in my abdomen. She said that my contractions were "pitiful" and that I needed to "go home and work harder". I was angry and disappointed, but I tried to be rational and ask when I was supposed to come back since I had already followed the original instructions I was given. She told me again to "work harder" and just wait until my water broke. I told her that I live 40 minutes from the hospital, and I was concerned about waiting too long at home. She said that since this was my first baby I would have 2-3 hours of pushing so even if I was dilated to a 10 I wasn't going to have the baby in the car. I knew at that point she had decided I was a wimp who was overreacting, so I decided not to push the issue. I assumed if I went home I could wait through things until the shift change or until my water broke.
I held it together pretty well until we got in the car, and then I let myself break down and cry. I was exhausted and in pain that was worsening by the minute. We probably should have gone back into the hospital and demanded to see another nurse, but I was angry and unsure of my ability to remain rational so we went back home. By the time we got there the contractions were back to a regular pattern of 4-5 minutes apart and I was gritting my teeth and pushing through them. I decided to lay down with a heating pad on my aching back and try to rest.
I occasionally had 10-12 minutes between contractions and I was able to doze off for a few minutes, but for the most part I laid in bed and dealt with the pain. This went on for several hours as the pain continually worsened but no pattern developed in the timing of the contractions. My back ache was constant and moved back and forth from seriously uncomfortable to spasming uncontrollably during contractions. They came in waves and would increase in strength until they peaked; I would have 10 minutes or more between waves. By 4 pm I was unable to grit my teeth and breathe through the pain. By 7 pm I was yelling and crying through each contraction. Unfortunately they were still 5-7 minutes apart (which was the same pattern I had been sent home with) and my water had not broken. I was absolutely determined not to waste the gas to drive back to the hospital and go through the pain of another pelvic exam until I was sure they wouldn't send me home. I also knew that the same nurse was still on shift, and I was in no frame of mind to deal with her again. (Remember that stubborn to a fault thing?) I did place a call to the on-call doctor who reiterated what the triage nurse had told me - although she said that once the contractions were 2-3 minutes apart I should head to the hospital.
My amazing husband had sat with me all day and helped me as best he could, but he was rapidly reaching his wits end after watching me hurt so badly for so long. At 8 pm my dear friend, Kelly, called me and said she had just been hit with the overwhelming feeling that she needed to talk to me. She knew I had been having contractions, but she didn't know how bad it had become. I had a contraction while I was on the phone with her and she was able to talk me through it. Once she heard how badly I was hurting she told me that she was coming over and that I needed to call my mom and have her come too. There was absolutely no room for argument, and I don't think I would have had the strength to argue anyway. I decided to get in a hot shower and try to work my way through the pain while I waited on Kelly and my mom.
While in the shower the contractions suddenly became closer together. They were right on top of each other and I couldn't do anything but moan and yell my way through them. I was able to bend and let the water beat onto my low back while seemed to help a little bit. I finally got a little break and asked Aaron to help me out of the shower. As I dried off I felt another contraction coming. This one hit like a ton of bricks and completely doubled me over. It also felt different than the ones I had been having and suddenly my water broke. We noticed that the fluid was stained with meconium which concerned us a little bit, but I was still feeling Sam move around so we weren't panicked. We called my mom and told her to go to the hospital instead of our house. Kelly was almost at our house already, and by the time the bags were in the car she was there. She helped me breathe a little bit - the contractions had briefly gotten a little less intense - and then we headed to the hospital. As we drove down the street Aaron looked at me and said "Just so you know, once we get on the highway all bets are off". And he wasn't kidding. The man drove 70-90 miles per hour the entire way. My contractions had picked back up and were now 2 minutes apart, and we were both concerned about the meconium stained fluid.
We got to the hospital a few minutes after 10 pm on Saturday night. Of course I had to deal with consent forms, but they got me admitted and into a room as quickly as possible. I was moaning, yelling, and sobbing my way through the contractions while they got my IV in and started fluids. I asked for an epidural - no more grand ideas about non-medicated labor, thank you very much - and they told me it would take about 30 minutes because they had to order labwork. I was fine with that; there was an end in sight. I had a wonderful nurse named Flo who did a pelvic exam (yeehaw!) and told me I was dilated to 7 cm and entering transition labor. Once they found out how far along things were they decided to go ahead and page the anethesiologist. Since my Group B Strep test was negative they could bypass the labwork. From the time they paged him it was 3 minutes before he walked in the door, and I've never seen a more beautiful sight than that gigantic needle. The nurse sent Aaron out of the room and told him to come back in 15 minutes.
I had several more contractions while the epidural took effect. At one point the anesthesiologist told me I would feel some pressure and some cramping and I'm pretty sure I yelled something like "Really?! You think?!?!". I didn't feel a thing when the needle was inserted, but the next few contractions became steadily easier so I knew it was working. I wasn't completely numb - I could still move my legs and feel the pressure of the contractions - but the pain gradually faded away. I told the anesthesiologist that I was leaving my husband and marrying him. He said he'd "never heard that before" and he winked at me.
Aaron came back in a few minutes later and was relieved to find me back in my typical sarcastic form; although I was so exhausted I could barely keep my eyes open. Flo did another pelvic exam (uncomfortable but not agonizingly painful) and I was dilated to 8 cm. We spent the next hour relaxing while my parents, my brother, my "other mom", and Kelly came in to see us. Then we slept for an hour until the next pelvic exam which showed I was dilated to 10 cm. Flo decided to let us rest a little more and then it was time to push.
Funny story: The doctor called the NICU to be on stand-by because of the length of my labor and the meconium stained fluid. The only man in the room, other than my husband, was a NICU nurse who was basically standing by the wall waiting on Sam. And wouldn't you know, he was standing right behind my doctor. So everytime I pushed he felt the need to look over the doctor's shoulder to see what was happening. Which means that everytime I pushed I saw a man's head suddenly appear behind the doctor and then slowly disappear again. At the time I didn't really notice, but looking back on it that was a little bit bizarre.
Contrary to what the triage nurse told me Saturday morning it did not take 2-3 hours of pushing. It took a little less than 45 minutes, and Sam was born at 4 am on Sunday, July 17th. The nurses checked him over, and before I knew it he was in my arms. Perfectly healthy. 7 pounds, 8 ounces. 20-1/4 inches long. With a full head of dark hair and a perfect replica of my nose.
The next couple of days are sort of a blur thanks to sleep deprivation and pain medication, but we had tons of friends and family stop by and see us. We watched the USA women's soccer team play in the World Cup final on Sunday afternoon. They lost to Japan, but it was still a special memory since Sam was less than 12 hours old and was already watching soccer with his Daddy. Thankfully we had no more bad experiences with nurses after the triage nurse. Everyone was wonderful and extremely helpful.
As I sit on the couch typing this entry Sam is two weeks old and growing like a weed. He went to church for the first time this morning, and he picked the middle of the sermon as the perfect time to throw his first epic fit. I'm certain it won't be the last one since he's showing signs of having a temper like his Mommy. I haven't had so much as a twinge of nausea since Sam was born, so I've been enjoying eating again. I'm not quite used to being able to eat a meal without having to ponder the consequences. As an added bonus, when I got on the scale this morning I was thrilled to see that I'm already back to my pre-baby weight. Don't get me wrong - things are definitely in a different place than they used to be, but the number on the scale is back to where it was in November.
The morning Sam was born Aaron and I were given about two hours to sleep while the hospital staff cleaned him up and performed the basic newborn tests and observations. When they brought him back to us we both just peered at him over the edges of his hospital crib. I looked at Aaron and said "You know how they say when the nurse puts the baby in your arms you forget about the pain? They LIED!!". I don't think I'll ever forget that pain, and I fully intend to hold that experience over his head for the rest of his life. But the thing is, if I had to choose to do it all over again I wouldn't hesitate. I still can't believe that when I glance across the living room on a lazy Sunday afternoon I see this...
And that's most definitely worth 48 hours of pain and frustration.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Raindrops on Roses...
Well. Sam will be two weeks old tomorrow, and I finally got online to blog about his birth story. When I logged in I found this entry that was unfinished. I started it three days before I went into labor and never got back to it, but I feel like it needed to be published so I have a record of these things.
***************************************************************************
Raindrops on roses
And whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles
And warm woolen mittens...
Can you guess what this post is about? I don't keep a baby book - I blog instead. And now that we're getting close to the end of this pregnancy - (Please God, let the end be near?) - I figured I'd like to have a record of some favorite memories.
Like, for example, the day the test turned positive about one hour after I assured my mother I was most definitely NOT pregnant. And then I had a nervous breakdown. And then I made Aaron drive straight to Mesquite so I could tell Mom I "lied" to her and apologize appropriately. Strangely enough, she didn't seem to mind too much.
Then there's the first time I got dressed to go out once my belly had "popped out" and Aaron looked at me and said "Wow honey, you actually look pregnant instead of just looking fat". Nice.
The day we found out that the little peanut inside me was indeed a boy we told my mom by giving her a tiny boy's outfit that said "I Dig Grandma". Then we started calling people including, of course, my sister-in-law who told my nephew, Jake, that he was going to have a boy cousin. Jake's response? "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" He's gotten used to the idea since then.
A few weeks ago Jake saw my belly move (after I ate a cookie) and he sort of wigged out.
"What IS that, Aunt Sarah?!?!"
"It's Baby Sam in my tummy"
"Like your cookie is in your tummy?!"
"Ummmmm...not exactly. But sort of."
"But how will Baby Sam come out of there?"
"God will tell him when it's time."
"Oh. Okay. Want to play with my cars and trucks?"
<WHEW>
There was the 3D sonogram on Mother's Day weekend
Watching Sam's Daddy, Papa, and Pop Brooks spend a Sunday afternoon putting up the chair rail in the nursery
Shopping for maternity clothes and tiny little baby things with Nana
Getting to FINALLY pull out and wash the onesie, bib, and booties that Aunt Velvet gave us back in 2006. It's been waiting in the "hope chest" since then.
Laughing at my husband trying to "sneak up" on my belly so he could see Sam move. He seemed to get suddenly still everytime Aaron came close.
Pepper digging and barking at my belly when it moved or twitched
Facebook conversations with a high school buddy and a college roommate. Nothing is sacred, folks. NOTHING!
Eating almost nothing but mashed potatoes, refried beans, and Jack In The Box tacos for nearly 20 weeks until my stomach decided to accept something else. And even after 20 weeks it was anyone's guess how each day was going to go. (Okay, that's really not a *favorite* memory, but it should still be recorded so I can hold it over this child's head someday.)
****************************************************************************
So many memories over 39 weeks of pregnancy, and now that it's over it seems like it flew by! For the first few days we were home I would occasionally catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and would do a double-take at the change I saw. No more giant belly. No more swollen feet and face. And usually I would break down and cry. It wasn't that I missed being pregnant - (No more puking! Huzzah!) - it was just so overwhelming how quickly all the anticipation and excitement had changed into responsibility and reality. It's so incredibly surreal to look across the room and see a tiny little human asleep in a bouncer shaped like a frog and know that that same human lived inside of me for nine months. I'll work on writing out the novel that will be Sam's birth story, but let me just say right now that if the last two weeks are any indication...the next 18 years (and more) is going to be one crazy journey!
***************************************************************************
Raindrops on roses
And whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles
And warm woolen mittens...
Can you guess what this post is about? I don't keep a baby book - I blog instead. And now that we're getting close to the end of this pregnancy - (Please God, let the end be near?) - I figured I'd like to have a record of some favorite memories.
Like, for example, the day the test turned positive about one hour after I assured my mother I was most definitely NOT pregnant. And then I had a nervous breakdown. And then I made Aaron drive straight to Mesquite so I could tell Mom I "lied" to her and apologize appropriately. Strangely enough, she didn't seem to mind too much.
Then there's the first time I got dressed to go out once my belly had "popped out" and Aaron looked at me and said "Wow honey, you actually look pregnant instead of just looking fat". Nice.
The day we found out that the little peanut inside me was indeed a boy we told my mom by giving her a tiny boy's outfit that said "I Dig Grandma". Then we started calling people including, of course, my sister-in-law who told my nephew, Jake, that he was going to have a boy cousin. Jake's response? "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" He's gotten used to the idea since then.
A few weeks ago Jake saw my belly move (after I ate a cookie) and he sort of wigged out.
"What IS that, Aunt Sarah?!?!"
"It's Baby Sam in my tummy"
"Like your cookie is in your tummy?!"
"Ummmmm...not exactly. But sort of."
"But how will Baby Sam come out of there?"
"God will tell him when it's time."
"Oh. Okay. Want to play with my cars and trucks?"
<WHEW>
There was the 3D sonogram on Mother's Day weekend
Watching Sam's Daddy, Papa, and Pop Brooks spend a Sunday afternoon putting up the chair rail in the nursery
Shopping for maternity clothes and tiny little baby things with Nana
Getting to FINALLY pull out and wash the onesie, bib, and booties that Aunt Velvet gave us back in 2006. It's been waiting in the "hope chest" since then.
Laughing at my husband trying to "sneak up" on my belly so he could see Sam move. He seemed to get suddenly still everytime Aaron came close.
Pepper digging and barking at my belly when it moved or twitched
Facebook conversations with a high school buddy and a college roommate. Nothing is sacred, folks. NOTHING!
Eating almost nothing but mashed potatoes, refried beans, and Jack In The Box tacos for nearly 20 weeks until my stomach decided to accept something else. And even after 20 weeks it was anyone's guess how each day was going to go. (Okay, that's really not a *favorite* memory, but it should still be recorded so I can hold it over this child's head someday.)
****************************************************************************
So many memories over 39 weeks of pregnancy, and now that it's over it seems like it flew by! For the first few days we were home I would occasionally catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and would do a double-take at the change I saw. No more giant belly. No more swollen feet and face. And usually I would break down and cry. It wasn't that I missed being pregnant - (No more puking! Huzzah!) - it was just so overwhelming how quickly all the anticipation and excitement had changed into responsibility and reality. It's so incredibly surreal to look across the room and see a tiny little human asleep in a bouncer shaped like a frog and know that that same human lived inside of me for nine months. I'll work on writing out the novel that will be Sam's birth story, but let me just say right now that if the last two weeks are any indication...the next 18 years (and more) is going to be one crazy journey!
Monday, July 11, 2011
What's In A Name
Naming a person is not an easy task. There are so many issues to consider. Is this name so common that my child will constantly share it with 17 other people throughout their school years? Is this name so bizarre that my child will spend the rest of their life guiding people through pronounciation or spelling and explaining their parents' need to set him apart? How many mean and spiteful variations can be created from my child's name? Is there a famous person/character that my child will constantly be compared to?
Aaron and I wanted a name that would mean something to us and - hopefully - eventually mean something to our child. Way back in 2003, right after we married, we chose the name Jake Everett if we ever had a boy and Elizabeth Grace if we ever had a girl. (I won't go into the reasoning here because this post is probably going to be too long already.) Then, in 2008, my brother and sister-in-law viciously stole the name Jake from us (I'm joking - I'm joking), and somewhere along the way the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise made me eliminate the name Elizabeth Turner from consideration. And we were back to Square One. Of course, we also were childless unless you count a menagerie of animals which you can name things like "Stupid" without worrying about scarring them for life. (Seriously, my mom had a cat named Stupid. No joke.) So we put off the naming choice and figured something would slap us in the face if the time ever came.
I think it was some time in 2009 when we were sitting on the couch watching Lord of the Rings and talking about the character of Samwise Gamgee. We love LOTR. We own every DVD ever released and three different versions of the books. We love the multi-dimensional story and the depth of the characters. And Samwise Gamgee is our favorite. We think he's the hero of the story. Sure, Frodo carries the ring and Aragorn defeats his own demons and the rest of Middle Earth to become king. But Samwise Gamgee is the backbone behind Frodo's accomplishment. He's kind and loyal and gentle, but he'll also throw himself in front of any danger to protect his friend and stand up for what he believes is right and just. Even Tolkien, himself, called Samwise the "chief hero" of the saga in one of his personal letters.
So back in 2009 (I think) we were sitting on the couch eating popcorn, and we watched the scene in The Two Towers where Frodo says he "wouldn't have got far without Sam". And we both stopped and just stared at each other. And we knew that if we ever had a son we would name him Sam. I think I went and grabbed my Bible right then, and we read the story of Hannah and Samuel. We never even had to finish the conversation because we knew the decision was made.
Last November, when the little stick showed two lines instead of one like it had so many times before, we avoided the "name conversation" for about 12 weeks. I think we needed time to wrap our brains around everything. I think we also needed to keep an emotional distance as much as possible considering the history we had experienced. Once we got past 12 weeks and my doctor pronounced us "over the hump" and out of "the danger zone" we had to talk about names.
We originally decided to keep the middle name, Everett. Aaron has two middle names - Elias Everett - after two grandfathers. We liked the sound of Samuel Everett Turner, and so the decision was made. But something was nagging at me. I still can't put my finger on exactly what it was, but I think it had to do with the fact that Aaron didn't really have any emotional connection to the person he was named after. He didn't have any memories or stories. And I felt like having that connection to a name was important. I wanted to be able to tell my child stories about how he was named, and I wanted to be able to pass on something important through that name. And there was one name that I couldn't let go.
In January 2010, my dear friend Ben lost his courageous battle with cancer. Wilfred Bennett Andersen. Ben was my junior high Bible class teacher back in 1992-94. He became so much more to me as the years went by, but it all started in that hectic classroom full of obnoxious 7th and 8th graders. Ben was that perfect blend of wisdom and childlike enthusiasm. He could teach a class and make us think deeply, and then he could turn around and challenge us to a belching contest - and make no mistake, he'd win! At church camp he was famous for giving wedgies, mercilessly dunking you in the icy cold water at the creek, and being able to "clear a room" (if you know what I mean). But he could lead a devotional with such sincerity that you couldn't help but be affected by his passion. He was full of mischief and innocent pranks, but he was also full of love and compassion. He never seemed to take life so seriously that he couldn't find time to laugh, but he knew when to be calm and introspective. I don't know of one person who knew him that didn't love him. A church full of people testified to that on the day of his funeral.
And that's what we want for our son.
We want to teach him to be loyal, kind, and compassionate while not being afraid to fight when necessary - like Samwise Gamgee. We want to teach him what it means to live a life dedicated to God - like the biblical Samuel. And we want to teach him how to enjoy that life while making an impact along the way - like Ben Andersen. It's an awfully tall order. But, as parents, if we can teach our son to value the things we value in the stories and memories of Samwise Gamgee, Samuel, and Ben then Aaron and I think he'll grow into a man we can't help but be proud of.
And there you have it. Samuel Bennett Turner.
Aaron and I wanted a name that would mean something to us and - hopefully - eventually mean something to our child. Way back in 2003, right after we married, we chose the name Jake Everett if we ever had a boy and Elizabeth Grace if we ever had a girl. (I won't go into the reasoning here because this post is probably going to be too long already.) Then, in 2008, my brother and sister-in-law viciously stole the name Jake from us (I'm joking - I'm joking), and somewhere along the way the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise made me eliminate the name Elizabeth Turner from consideration. And we were back to Square One. Of course, we also were childless unless you count a menagerie of animals which you can name things like "Stupid" without worrying about scarring them for life. (Seriously, my mom had a cat named Stupid. No joke.) So we put off the naming choice and figured something would slap us in the face if the time ever came.
I think it was some time in 2009 when we were sitting on the couch watching Lord of the Rings and talking about the character of Samwise Gamgee. We love LOTR. We own every DVD ever released and three different versions of the books. We love the multi-dimensional story and the depth of the characters. And Samwise Gamgee is our favorite. We think he's the hero of the story. Sure, Frodo carries the ring and Aragorn defeats his own demons and the rest of Middle Earth to become king. But Samwise Gamgee is the backbone behind Frodo's accomplishment. He's kind and loyal and gentle, but he'll also throw himself in front of any danger to protect his friend and stand up for what he believes is right and just. Even Tolkien, himself, called Samwise the "chief hero" of the saga in one of his personal letters.
So back in 2009 (I think) we were sitting on the couch eating popcorn, and we watched the scene in The Two Towers where Frodo says he "wouldn't have got far without Sam". And we both stopped and just stared at each other. And we knew that if we ever had a son we would name him Sam. I think I went and grabbed my Bible right then, and we read the story of Hannah and Samuel. We never even had to finish the conversation because we knew the decision was made.
Last November, when the little stick showed two lines instead of one like it had so many times before, we avoided the "name conversation" for about 12 weeks. I think we needed time to wrap our brains around everything. I think we also needed to keep an emotional distance as much as possible considering the history we had experienced. Once we got past 12 weeks and my doctor pronounced us "over the hump" and out of "the danger zone" we had to talk about names.
We originally decided to keep the middle name, Everett. Aaron has two middle names - Elias Everett - after two grandfathers. We liked the sound of Samuel Everett Turner, and so the decision was made. But something was nagging at me. I still can't put my finger on exactly what it was, but I think it had to do with the fact that Aaron didn't really have any emotional connection to the person he was named after. He didn't have any memories or stories. And I felt like having that connection to a name was important. I wanted to be able to tell my child stories about how he was named, and I wanted to be able to pass on something important through that name. And there was one name that I couldn't let go.
In January 2010, my dear friend Ben lost his courageous battle with cancer. Wilfred Bennett Andersen. Ben was my junior high Bible class teacher back in 1992-94. He became so much more to me as the years went by, but it all started in that hectic classroom full of obnoxious 7th and 8th graders. Ben was that perfect blend of wisdom and childlike enthusiasm. He could teach a class and make us think deeply, and then he could turn around and challenge us to a belching contest - and make no mistake, he'd win! At church camp he was famous for giving wedgies, mercilessly dunking you in the icy cold water at the creek, and being able to "clear a room" (if you know what I mean). But he could lead a devotional with such sincerity that you couldn't help but be affected by his passion. He was full of mischief and innocent pranks, but he was also full of love and compassion. He never seemed to take life so seriously that he couldn't find time to laugh, but he knew when to be calm and introspective. I don't know of one person who knew him that didn't love him. A church full of people testified to that on the day of his funeral.
And that's what we want for our son.
We want to teach him to be loyal, kind, and compassionate while not being afraid to fight when necessary - like Samwise Gamgee. We want to teach him what it means to live a life dedicated to God - like the biblical Samuel. And we want to teach him how to enjoy that life while making an impact along the way - like Ben Andersen. It's an awfully tall order. But, as parents, if we can teach our son to value the things we value in the stories and memories of Samwise Gamgee, Samuel, and Ben then Aaron and I think he'll grow into a man we can't help but be proud of.
And there you have it. Samuel Bennett Turner.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Love-Hate Relationship
I have a love-hate relationship with pregnancy. Here's why.
Things I hate:
I have been sick to my stomach every single day since mid-November. I am not one of those women who can puke and feel better. If I puke once I will puke 8.2 million times until my stomach spasms uncontrollably and I dehydrate. Many days have been spent laying on a cold tile bathroom floor or in bed with a trashcan very nearby. And that is WITH anti-nausea meds.
I have had low back issues for over 10 years. Having a small human inside me has not improved those issues. Especially considering the fact that said human has a uncanny ability for finding pressure points that make my entire back cramp up or my leg go numb.
People like to ask how I'm feeling and then, when I answer honestly, they feel the need to tell me why I shouldn't feel that way. This results in me struggling with either being sarcastic or stabbing myself in the eye with a pencil. Don't ask if you don't want to know! Heavy Sigh...
I have lost my debit card approximately 271 times in the last nine months. I have also lost my keys and my checkbook and have forgotten more important details than I can count. I have become an idiot, and I have no patience for idiots. I could use this as a lesson in patience, but I'm just too annoyed.
For some reason Texas decided that this summer is going to be unseasonably and unreasonably hot. Seriously, Texas? I love you, but Oregon is looking awfully appealing right about now.
After giving up on ever having children I switched to a high-deductible insurance plan last year. Ironically that change took effect about 45 days before I took a positive pregnancy test. This means Sam and I EACH have a separate deductible that has to be paid before insurance kicks in. Nice.
One word: Cankles.
Things like bending over to empty the dishwasher or unload the dryer tend to result in a sudden loss of balance. I have managed not to fall so far, but there have been several instances of me screeching and flailing my arms to prevent ending up in a heap on the floor. This also typically results in my husband giggling uncontrollably but trying to hide it.
Pelvic pressure and ligament pain causes waddling which, in turn, has caused me to stub my toes repeatedly. Combine that with the above mentioned cankles and there is plenty to make fun of where my feet are concerned.
I have to either allow my husband to shave my legs for me or go with the Sasquatch approach. Sexy.
Things I Love
There's really nothing like feeling this little weirdo moving around in there.
I have snarky, sarcastic friends that make me laugh until I cry. Not all advice is cliche and unsolicited.
I get to hear that perfect little swishing heartbeat.
I got to share the majority of my pregnancy with lots and lots of friends. (Nevermind the fact that I'm still waddling in the Texas summer while they are cuddling their newborns. Grrrrrr....)
Somehow God has decided to bless us with the financial ability for me to be a stay-at-home mom. I really never thought that would happen.
Since we are having a boy I didn't have to deal with frilly, lacy dresses and fluffy, cotton candy pink outfits. It also minimalized the ooey-gooey "Awwwwwww, that's precious!" comments at baby showers.
Putting together and decorating a vintage sports nursery has been tons of fun.
Someday I get to tell Sam that we watched the Dallas Mavericks win their first NBA championship when I was 8.5 months pregnant. And that I was so nervous I ate his weight in Laffy Taffy.
My nephew keeps asking when his "best friend Sam" will come out to play. He also loves to poke my belly and say "I'm gettin' Baby Sam, Aunt Sarah! I'm GETTIN' him!".
It's overwhelming how many people have joined us in praying through this adventure. People that I've never even met sent gifts because they know my mom or my grandmother and they feel a connection to our story. (And the emphasis here is on the thought - not on the gifts!)
If you had told me last year that me and my two best buddies from high school would be welcoming boys 14 weeks apart I would have laughed in your face. Not to mention the two baby girls at church, the second-cousin, and the sweet boy born to friends who have been on an infertility journey with us. God answers prayers!
My husband is the most unselfish, hard-working man on the planet who has kept me sane when I thought a nervous breakdown was inevitable. There have been nights where I've woken him up at 3am because my back hurt so bad I couldn't stand it. His response was to run a hot bath and sit with me while the Tylenol kicked in. And somewhere along the way we learned to laugh at everything we could. Like when he referred to my swollen feet/ankles as "flippers" and barked like a seal at me. Yep, he really did.
I get to eat ice cream and pasta with minimal guilt. After being so sick for so long my doctor says "What Sammy wants, Sammy gets." Have I mentioned I love my doctor? :)
Pregnancy is a constant reminder of where we've been and where we're going and who is in control of it all.
Things I hate:
I have been sick to my stomach every single day since mid-November. I am not one of those women who can puke and feel better. If I puke once I will puke 8.2 million times until my stomach spasms uncontrollably and I dehydrate. Many days have been spent laying on a cold tile bathroom floor or in bed with a trashcan very nearby. And that is WITH anti-nausea meds.
I have had low back issues for over 10 years. Having a small human inside me has not improved those issues. Especially considering the fact that said human has a uncanny ability for finding pressure points that make my entire back cramp up or my leg go numb.
People like to ask how I'm feeling and then, when I answer honestly, they feel the need to tell me why I shouldn't feel that way. This results in me struggling with either being sarcastic or stabbing myself in the eye with a pencil. Don't ask if you don't want to know! Heavy Sigh...
I have lost my debit card approximately 271 times in the last nine months. I have also lost my keys and my checkbook and have forgotten more important details than I can count. I have become an idiot, and I have no patience for idiots. I could use this as a lesson in patience, but I'm just too annoyed.
For some reason Texas decided that this summer is going to be unseasonably and unreasonably hot. Seriously, Texas? I love you, but Oregon is looking awfully appealing right about now.
After giving up on ever having children I switched to a high-deductible insurance plan last year. Ironically that change took effect about 45 days before I took a positive pregnancy test. This means Sam and I EACH have a separate deductible that has to be paid before insurance kicks in. Nice.
One word: Cankles.
Things like bending over to empty the dishwasher or unload the dryer tend to result in a sudden loss of balance. I have managed not to fall so far, but there have been several instances of me screeching and flailing my arms to prevent ending up in a heap on the floor. This also typically results in my husband giggling uncontrollably but trying to hide it.
Pelvic pressure and ligament pain causes waddling which, in turn, has caused me to stub my toes repeatedly. Combine that with the above mentioned cankles and there is plenty to make fun of where my feet are concerned.
I have to either allow my husband to shave my legs for me or go with the Sasquatch approach. Sexy.
Things I Love
There's really nothing like feeling this little weirdo moving around in there.
I have snarky, sarcastic friends that make me laugh until I cry. Not all advice is cliche and unsolicited.
I get to hear that perfect little swishing heartbeat.
I got to share the majority of my pregnancy with lots and lots of friends. (Nevermind the fact that I'm still waddling in the Texas summer while they are cuddling their newborns. Grrrrrr....)
Somehow God has decided to bless us with the financial ability for me to be a stay-at-home mom. I really never thought that would happen.
Since we are having a boy I didn't have to deal with frilly, lacy dresses and fluffy, cotton candy pink outfits. It also minimalized the ooey-gooey "Awwwwwww, that's precious!" comments at baby showers.
Putting together and decorating a vintage sports nursery has been tons of fun.
Someday I get to tell Sam that we watched the Dallas Mavericks win their first NBA championship when I was 8.5 months pregnant. And that I was so nervous I ate his weight in Laffy Taffy.
My nephew keeps asking when his "best friend Sam" will come out to play. He also loves to poke my belly and say "I'm gettin' Baby Sam, Aunt Sarah! I'm GETTIN' him!".
It's overwhelming how many people have joined us in praying through this adventure. People that I've never even met sent gifts because they know my mom or my grandmother and they feel a connection to our story. (And the emphasis here is on the thought - not on the gifts!)
If you had told me last year that me and my two best buddies from high school would be welcoming boys 14 weeks apart I would have laughed in your face. Not to mention the two baby girls at church, the second-cousin, and the sweet boy born to friends who have been on an infertility journey with us. God answers prayers!
My husband is the most unselfish, hard-working man on the planet who has kept me sane when I thought a nervous breakdown was inevitable. There have been nights where I've woken him up at 3am because my back hurt so bad I couldn't stand it. His response was to run a hot bath and sit with me while the Tylenol kicked in. And somewhere along the way we learned to laugh at everything we could. Like when he referred to my swollen feet/ankles as "flippers" and barked like a seal at me. Yep, he really did.
I get to eat ice cream and pasta with minimal guilt. After being so sick for so long my doctor says "What Sammy wants, Sammy gets." Have I mentioned I love my doctor? :)
Pregnancy is a constant reminder of where we've been and where we're going and who is in control of it all.
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