Sunday, July 24, 2011

No Baby Yet. In case you think you missed something. . . .

I know, I know. It's been like two weeks since I've updated. No, we do not have a Peanut yet.  Lots has happened, but not that. I can't even remember most of it. So I'll highlight what I do remember. . . .

My last Doc appt was this previous Thursday. Everything is looking good! Peanut's heartbeat is 156 BPM. And I weighed in at exactly 36 pounds more than when I started - which is good, considering that with Bjorn, I tipped the scale at a whopping 51 pounds when all was said and done! Of course, when I weighed myself this morning - 3 days later - another 4 pounds somehow jumped on the scale. I blame a faulty scale.

The C-section is set for this Thursday, July 28 at 11:30 am. Getting closer!!!!

I had one day last week when I had contractions all day. Not bad ones. I could still talk and walk and do everything normal - which is good, because The Hubs was working til midnight that night and I DID NOT want to go into labor at home on my own! And not long contractions - lasted less than a minute every 45 minutes to an hour. But the next day, there were no contractions. Then none the next or the next or the next. Must have been a fluke.

With the date rapidly gaining on us, The Hubs and I decided to finally take a date night out. We begged my cousin to watch Bjorn for the night and went to do what I had been dying to do for months.

We went to the casino.

Yes, I know, I'm like 20 months pregnant. Whatever. I really wanted to gamble. And I knew, just knew, that rubbing my big ol' belly was going to be about as lucky as rubbing a Troll doll. We were gonna win.

But we didn't.

I lost my first $100 in the first 20 minutes. On slots. Quarter slots. Oooooh. . . I was such bad luck.

Good thing The Hubs was on a streak and won it all back - and more - within the next twenty minutes.

And that was our night. Back and forth. He would lose, I would win. I would lose, he would win. In the end, though, the only winner was the casino. As usual.

Today we took some maternity/family portraits at a local ranch nearby. They turned out exactly as I wanted. So even though I had to set my alarm for 5:30 am just so we could possibly beat the heat and the sun (which we didn't - we finished at 9 am and it was already 100 degrees), we got some great shots. And had a great time.

39 weeks

I've also continued my 'super couponing' (I'm not extreme - I buy one set of papers and that's all the coupons I have. Although I have been tempted lately to buy extra inserts. . . . . ). I'm keeping track of my expenditures and savings a little more closely, but since The Hubs is scared of using coupons, I'm also trying to stockpile a little bit before Peanut. Not much. Just in really cheap items right now - like we now have 8 jars of great tasting spaghetti sauce (no Ragu for us - yech), normally $4, for $1 a piece and 10 boxes of cereal, normally $4.50 (who pays this much for this stuff?!) for $.75-$.90 a box. Oh yeah, and we have enough toothpaste to last us for 6 months. Which isn't going to stop me from getting two more tubes for free when I go to the store tomorrow. . . . . .

It's been a fun couple of last 'Just the Three of Us' weeks. Busy, exhausting and fun. Now we've had our date night, I got a cute pedicure and the crib is set up. We are ready for baby!

** Oh yeah, I almost forgot. I quit my last Mommy's group and found another one that sounded interesting. So far we've only met up three times but I am really liking these girls! These Moms feel like the Moms I wanted to meet with Bjorn - the ones I could call for anything and meet up with for everything ranging from playdates to Moms Nights Out to 'Please Take My Child for Just an Hour so I can Please Grocery Shop in Peace'. I am sooooo glad to have met them. Better late than never!!**

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Story Time

Bjorn and I were sitting on my bedroom floor playing with his cars when suddenly he stopped, came to sit on my mostly non-existent lap and began talking.  This is his story (with my questions because I needed to make sense of it):

Uh oh, Roar coming.

There's a dinosaur coming?

Uh huh. Babble babble babble babble roar stopping car.

Is the dinosaur trying to stop the car?

Uh huh. Stop, Roar. Stop! Car ok.

Did you stop the dinosaur and save the car?

Uh huh. Uh oh. Roar babble babble Mommy bed babble Zahza*.

Is the dinosaur getting on Mommy's bed to get Hansa?

Uh huh. Stop, roar. Zahza move!

Good job. You stopped the dinosaur from getting Hansa.

Gro'er feet.

Is there water on your feet?

No. ROAR feet.

Oh, you see dinosaur feet?

Uh huh. Bjorn roar feet. Stinky. *Sniffs*

Does Bjorn have stinky dinosaur feet?

Uh huh. Mommy feet?

Does Mommy have stinky dinosaur feet?

*Sniffs* Nooooooo. Uh oh. Roar babble babble coming Sesse** babble car.

Ummm. . Is there a dinosaur in the street with the car?

Uh huh. Stop Roar! Stop! No Sesse! Car ok.


Then he put his fingers in his mouth and leaned up against me, storytime over. I can't help but be proud. Maybe I have a future little writer in Bjorn. As I send off one writing submission and work diligently on another due tomorrow (Talk about procrastinating - oops!), I think that maybe, just maybe, he got some of that imagination from me. Here's hoping.

*Zahza is Hansa, our Brittany Spaniel dog.
** Sesse. What he calls the street. As in 'Sesame' Street.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Kick it like Beckham

I read recently that as it gets closer to D-Day, I may feel less of the babe's movements, being that they are starting to have less room to maneuver.

Either I have the largest womb and the smallest kid, or those books are a bunch of crap.

This kid is kicking the bejeezus out of me.

Not the foot-in-the-ribs kind of kicking. That really only lasted about a day. Peanut is extraordinarily gracious and kind in leaving my lungs and ribs alone.

But in every other way, this kiddo will not.stop.moving. Sometimes I get irritated at the constant movement. I can't sit on the couch to watch America's Got Talent without my stomach rippling and ebbing like the tide.

I can't use my belly as a cup holder anymore. Peanut keeps spilling my coffee.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

In case you were wondering. . . .

The time is getting closer to Peanut's birth (2 weeks, people - 2 weeks!) so I thought I should write the one post I have been putting off, telling myself it wasn't even necessary to write.

But if it wasn't necessary, I wouldn't keep thinking about it, then, would I?

So here goes.

I am going to have a repeat c-section.

Yes, even if my water breaks on its own. Even if I start to go into labor early. Even if that means rushing to the hospital at 2 am to get cut open and gutted.

Not a very good visual, I know, but let's be honest here, that pretty much sums it up.

I have friends who are considering VBACs (Vaginal Birth After C-Sections). Friends who had completely natural births. Friends who do the "normal" delivery of epidural and vaginal birth. Friends who don't truly understand why I am choosing to have surgery.

Trust me, I really wish I didn't have to. Especially after the depression and breakdown following the previous one.

But it's the right decision for me.

I did alot of research and talked to my doctor about the possibility of a VBAC. While he doesn't do them often, he - and the hospital where I will deliver - will do them. Which is rare, I'm told. Not many doctors or hospitals will allow them.

Which is Strike One against VBAC's for me. Because if a hospital is saying it is an unsafe practice and they won't allow them to be done at their facility, who am I to argue? Call me naive; call me innocent, but I can't bring myself to believe that the entire health care system is using c-sections as a revenue generator for doctors and health care providers. Which is what Pro-VBAC'ers always say to me. That doctors and anesthesiologists want to make that extra $1500 per patient, so they would rather put the mother through surgery than let her deliver on her own. That c-sections are a way for doctors and hospitals to rack up the bills on the patient, increasing their fees.

I cannot think that people - even a large, greedy group of people - could really think this way. So I believe instead that doctors and hospitals don't allow them for the reason they state in their medical practices information. Because it is more dangerous for the mother and baby, and the risk is higher for both.

Which is what my doctor told me when we discussed VBAC. He was completely honest with me. I remember the conversation going something like this: "A VBAC is not dangerous in itself. It is dangerous in the 5% chance that something goes wrong. And in the 5% chance that something goes wrong, there is a 90% chance of something going very, very wrong for mother and child. Hysterectomy for the mother. Permanent brain damage or death for the baby." And this is where I stopped listening, because after you mention brain damage or death, what more is there to hear? Nothing. Not for me.

Because if there is an increase in a chance that something would go wrong with my baby, then I am totally out.

Strike Two and Three. Hell, let's strike out the next two batters and move to the next inning.

Deal Breaker.

You might say that there is always a risk when it comes to birth - and you're right. I understand that completely. There is a risk when it comes to surgery. I understand that, too. But the increase of any risk in a c-section is not to the baby. It is to the mother, in terms (mostly) of infection because of surgery. Although I don't like the possibility of having surgical complications, I feel that it is more important to make sure that the baby can be born as healthy as possible.

So that is why I am choosing surgery this time. That is why even though I am scared to pieces of having another c-section, I am willing to do it.

In case you were wondering.

Friday, July 8, 2011

Nobody Nose the Trouble I've Seen. . . .

This morning, Bjorn was eating a balanced breakfast of 1/2 Cheerios, 1/2 Cocoa Puffs when he comes running up to The Hubs and I.

"Nose. Nose! Cer-e-ul. Nose!"

"Ummm. . . Do you have cereal in your nose?"

"Uh huh!" he nods emphatically.

"Bjorn?! Did you PUT the cereal in your nose?"

"Uh huh!" Another emphatic nod.

And, sure enough, the kid had stuffed a cocoa puff up his nose.

After a few nostril squeezes and no results, I was just about to grab a pair of tweezers and go digging when The Hubs stopped me.

"I'll get this," he says. "I have experience with getting things out of noses."

To which I wondered, How?! I mean, the guy has changed a zillion diapers now, but none before Bjorn's birth. So no experience in the baby department, but he has experience in taking small objects out of noses?! Maybe I don't need to know. . . .

Sure enough, he had that puff out in no time at all.

Four hours later, just as Bjorn and I were finishing a sandwich lunch, I see something strange hanging out of his nose.

And I pull out a piece of rolled-up ham. Sigh. . . . .

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Kids say the Darnedest Things. . . .

We've been asking him lately about Peanut, and which sibling he would like, occasionally throwing in a twist. No matter what, he always picks the last option we give him.

"Bjorn, do you think Peanut is a brother or a sister?" "Sister!"

"Do you want a girl or a boy?" "Boy!"

"Would you like a brother or a puppy?" "Puppy!"

But then he got to be a little too smart for us. At my latest OB visit, Doc asked Bjorn, "Do you want a brother or a sister?"

To which he replied eagerly, "Puppy!!"


Although Bjorn is right on schedule with his pediatrician-approved 5 new words a week, we are trying to work on some of the words he won't say.

Like he won't say 'elephant', he will just make the sound (whinny? snort?) like an elephant.

He won't say 'motorcycle', just 'Vroom vroom' or, more often than not, 'Rtrtrtrtrtrtrtr'. It's more like a grunt than anything else.

And horse. He won't say it - just goes 'Neeeiiigghh' like a good horsie.

Until today. Watching Sesame Street today, he pointed to the TV.

'Mommy! Mommy! Hor! Hor!'  To which I looked at the screen, expecting to see Heidi Fleiss and friends.

Nope. Just a HorSE. NOT a Hor.


A few days ago, I took Bjorn to a park with a slide he can go down all by himself.

At first he was a little anxious, so I made a big deal about it - clapping, smiling, the whole shebang. he quickly got the hang of it, and I felt my applause was no longer needed.

Then after sliding down, he looked over at me. 'Mommy. Quack. Quack now!'

'Quack? A duck? Where do you see a duck?' I asked him.

'No Mommy! Quack. Not Quack!'

Which thoroughly confused me.

We went back and forth a few times, until finally I asked him to show me what he meant.

He walked right over to me, took my hands and made me clap. 'Mommy. Good job, Bjorn. Quack!'

So I quacked. Ummm. . . I mean, clapped.