As of Friday, I was riding bps like 148/95 whenever I got up to pee. On Saturday, 2 doses into my labetalal (or something like that), the numbers were more like 130's over 80's - much better. Today, I had 106/69 - which would be okay for a normal blood pressure, but lower than my normal level and definitely lower than what my doctor wants. I was light headed and felt pretty funky.
Part of the problem is that I took my morning dose only 8.5 hours after the previous dose, rather than 12. I had a cup of coffee at church, but felt funky until after lunch. Still, even at my busiest, my bottom number is high seventies. I'm giving it a little time to see where we level out, before calling my ob and asking for a lower dose.
The ride for my heart follows a similar pattern, maybe. Going from thinking there were two weeks left to just really not knowing when or how has been a ride.
Here's where I landed:
"I want hold you."
Most of my children have gone through that delightful developmental stage of saying, not, "hold me," but "hold you." And some of them, as their language has progressed, went on to say, "I want hold-you."
Pick me up, I'm tired, I'm afraid, I don't know all these people, I don't understand what is happening, I feel small, this place is unfamiliar . . . "I want hold-you" can mean so many things, but it can all be summed up with this: whatever is wrong right now, I know you can fix it.
A little one often doesn't know why they feel the way they do. Maybe he needs a diaper change, maybe she doesn't feel well, maybe hungry, maybe thirsty, maybe a child's sensitive little spirit just knows something's just not right.
But they know the answer. Whether I'm scared, hungry, tired or poopy, being held my daddy will take care of it.
My friend Dave spent some time holding my littlest one today, and the picture of tall strong Dave holding my little baby girl, combined with the sermon and the worship reminded me of something so true.
"You are my hope," we sang. "Be silent, while the Lord fights for you," Kevin preached. "I want hold You," my heart cried out.
Pick me up, Daddy. This is hard. I feel out of control. I don't know what is going to happen. I'm frustrated. I'm lonely. I'm angry. I want hold You. Pick me up and carry me. I know You know. That is enough.
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Birth Stories, part 5
The Amazing Supermom Rides again, sort of
17 months and 2 weeks later . . .
The Show
Summer 2007
1, bad, 2, 3, 4, good, 5 horrible, 6, 7 great, 8 not great. I talked to a midwife and researched the internet - what can be done about high blood pressure. I was put on a very strict diet, lean meats (not processed - basically didn't do pork), vegetables, 30-50 grams carbohydrates per day (I did have whole wheat pancakes at least once a week, with blueberries and almonds, butter, no syrup), 120 oz water a day and a boatload of vitamins (C, juice plus, garlic, and I honestly don't remember what else).
Probably the main thing that was different is that I gained no weight. Actually I lost a bunch and gradually worked my way back up until, on the day he was born, I weighed the same as the day I found out I was pregnant.
My blood pressure was borderline near the end, but I didn't have to be induced and went into labor on my own, a few days BEFORE my due date. And I was bleeding. That day was my most typical labor, starting very gradually, writing the contractions down with times and seeing them get closer together all day long.
My husband was working, finishing our retaining wall, and I had the pleasure of telling him to hurry up because it was almost time to go the hospital. My doctor was not on call, and I had no relationship with the guy covering for him.
So I went in with contractions around 5 minutes apart, still feeling okay, but with bright red blood. I was afraid, and prayed, and gave the baby to God, again. The middle name we had for a boy meant "he belongs to God" and I just kept telling Him that, over and over, praying for the next kick. But he seemed to be okay.
When I got to the hospital I was 7 or 8 centimeters, still in a good mood, doing well. My bp was probably a little high, and I got in bed, thinking we were almost there. Then began the worst hour and a half (or 10 minutes or 6 days - I have no idea how long it was) of labor in my life. It was horrible and nothing I did helped. And this doc didn't know what to do with me. Here I was at 8 centimeters, not progressing, writhing, changing positions, wanting to die, bleeding, and all the while the baby's heart tones are slowing and slowing and slowing.
Finally, the doc says, I need you to try to push. And I did, and I did push that baby out, knowing we were very near a C-section.
He was fabulous. 8 lb 4 oz maybe - I am not sure. It was supposed to be triumphant, but didn't feel triumphant. It felt like a failure because I couldn't handle the pain, because my placenta was abrupting, because even without pitocin or an induction, even going completely natural, it hurt like, well, worse than anything I'd experienced.
Maybe having had the epidural with the last baby, I had forgotten? Maybe I'm getting old? It was unnerving. I lost my nerve. I lost my confidence, my pluck. And for the first time, I was afraid.
Too good to be true
Almost 2 years later
Spring, 2009
There were an additional 5 months between 9 and 10, as compared to the other children's spacing. And each month I would relinquish to God my right to have any more children. If 9 was it, that was fine. If there were more, that would also be wonderful. I was grateful for the set we had and was okay either way, to add more or be done.
So when I found out I was pregnant, I was ecstatic - this baby was not a foregone conclusion, not an assumption. I knew God didn't have to give me any more children - and I was grateful that somehow He had chosen to bless me again.
I think because, even though my ob considered the last baby to be a success for me, I felt like a failure somehow - I didn't try to eat as well during my next pregnancy. I just gave up. My placenta had started to detach, a symptom of high blood pressure, and my blood pressure had been high, not enough to induce, but high nonetheless. For all my sacrificing, I had avoided an early induction, but I had not had a "good labor" like I'd had with 6 & 7.
So I crapped out. I did walk on the treadmill for a while, and kept it under control (maybe), but then I got sick and stopped that too. And when my bp was high at 37 wks, I said, I don't want to risk waiting and having my placenta detach again, let's go for it. The previous labor was scary, why wait.
At 37 weeks and 1 day I went to my check up, my pressure was high, I went to the WEU, it didn't come down, and they sent me upstairs. My stomach was empty, it was mid morning, and that was not in my favor. I had another long haul ahead of me, and my body wasn't ready.
So, just like with Bibith, I had a super long slow tedious unproductive induction, and gave in to an epidural more from exhaustion and hunger than actual pain. I just didn't think I could do it.
Another all day of imaginary labor (that's how it feels), with a little jello maybe, and at some point started to bleed. WHAT? Another abruption? Not good. Not good at all.
The baby did fine, heart tones good, no distress, but not coming down. Finally, a nurse suggested a position change that seemed to help and our baby girl was born, 7 lb 2 oz, after 17 hours of seeming futility. She didn't nurse well, had a bruise covering the top of her head (poor presentation) and became quite jaundiced.
So even though I have these 10 amazing children, all healthy and strong, all of whom who went home from the hospital on time and nursed for at the least 4 months, even though all that, I look back on my last 3 deliveries as relative failures. I probably shouldn't, but compared to how great and confident I felt after the earlier ones, I do.
The next birth story is not mine, and has had some attention already, and really deserves it's own post.
But, heading into the next delivery, having gained 40 or more lbs, with swollen ankles and feet and calves, knowing my blood pressure will most likely be high, knowing our little person may have challenges of his or her own, I don't know even what to hope for.
I think I'll be induced. Either my bp will be high, or the baby's growth will necessitate a delivery. I do not want to have an epidural. I think my labors with epidurals and especially stuck in bed do not progress, baby gets stuck, labor is long and often hard on baby, and potentially affects the health of the baby after, including blood sugar and jaundice.
My plan is to go to every ob appointment with a very full stomach and schedule all my appointments early in the morning. If I get sent to the WEU I'll have a snack on the way. I have a friend who is going to help me get through the hard parts, only allowing me to have an epidural if I say the secret password. I have to lay down if I can to conserve my strength, use heat, massage, anything available to get through the parts that I can stand to be in bed, so that I have strength to be up when it gets hard.
And I need to find that secret place again, that place where I find the Lord, praying and seeking His face and basking in His presence during my most sacred moments. In my weakness, He shows Himself most strong - hasn't that been the theme of this season.
I have to give my best labor this time. More than ever, my baby might need it. And I need it. I need to not feel like a failure again. I need one more good story. I need to find that place of communion with the Creator, Womb-Wonder-Worker, the Knitter in the secret place. I need to link arms with Him again, as together we bring another life into His world for His glory.
So help me God.
17 months and 2 weeks later . . .
The Show
Summer 2007
1, bad, 2, 3, 4, good, 5 horrible, 6, 7 great, 8 not great. I talked to a midwife and researched the internet - what can be done about high blood pressure. I was put on a very strict diet, lean meats (not processed - basically didn't do pork), vegetables, 30-50 grams carbohydrates per day (I did have whole wheat pancakes at least once a week, with blueberries and almonds, butter, no syrup), 120 oz water a day and a boatload of vitamins (C, juice plus, garlic, and I honestly don't remember what else).
Probably the main thing that was different is that I gained no weight. Actually I lost a bunch and gradually worked my way back up until, on the day he was born, I weighed the same as the day I found out I was pregnant.
My blood pressure was borderline near the end, but I didn't have to be induced and went into labor on my own, a few days BEFORE my due date. And I was bleeding. That day was my most typical labor, starting very gradually, writing the contractions down with times and seeing them get closer together all day long.
My husband was working, finishing our retaining wall, and I had the pleasure of telling him to hurry up because it was almost time to go the hospital. My doctor was not on call, and I had no relationship with the guy covering for him.
So I went in with contractions around 5 minutes apart, still feeling okay, but with bright red blood. I was afraid, and prayed, and gave the baby to God, again. The middle name we had for a boy meant "he belongs to God" and I just kept telling Him that, over and over, praying for the next kick. But he seemed to be okay.
When I got to the hospital I was 7 or 8 centimeters, still in a good mood, doing well. My bp was probably a little high, and I got in bed, thinking we were almost there. Then began the worst hour and a half (or 10 minutes or 6 days - I have no idea how long it was) of labor in my life. It was horrible and nothing I did helped. And this doc didn't know what to do with me. Here I was at 8 centimeters, not progressing, writhing, changing positions, wanting to die, bleeding, and all the while the baby's heart tones are slowing and slowing and slowing.
Finally, the doc says, I need you to try to push. And I did, and I did push that baby out, knowing we were very near a C-section.
He was fabulous. 8 lb 4 oz maybe - I am not sure. It was supposed to be triumphant, but didn't feel triumphant. It felt like a failure because I couldn't handle the pain, because my placenta was abrupting, because even without pitocin or an induction, even going completely natural, it hurt like, well, worse than anything I'd experienced.
Maybe having had the epidural with the last baby, I had forgotten? Maybe I'm getting old? It was unnerving. I lost my nerve. I lost my confidence, my pluck. And for the first time, I was afraid.
Too good to be true
Almost 2 years later
Spring, 2009
There were an additional 5 months between 9 and 10, as compared to the other children's spacing. And each month I would relinquish to God my right to have any more children. If 9 was it, that was fine. If there were more, that would also be wonderful. I was grateful for the set we had and was okay either way, to add more or be done.
So when I found out I was pregnant, I was ecstatic - this baby was not a foregone conclusion, not an assumption. I knew God didn't have to give me any more children - and I was grateful that somehow He had chosen to bless me again.
I think because, even though my ob considered the last baby to be a success for me, I felt like a failure somehow - I didn't try to eat as well during my next pregnancy. I just gave up. My placenta had started to detach, a symptom of high blood pressure, and my blood pressure had been high, not enough to induce, but high nonetheless. For all my sacrificing, I had avoided an early induction, but I had not had a "good labor" like I'd had with 6 & 7.
So I crapped out. I did walk on the treadmill for a while, and kept it under control (maybe), but then I got sick and stopped that too. And when my bp was high at 37 wks, I said, I don't want to risk waiting and having my placenta detach again, let's go for it. The previous labor was scary, why wait.
At 37 weeks and 1 day I went to my check up, my pressure was high, I went to the WEU, it didn't come down, and they sent me upstairs. My stomach was empty, it was mid morning, and that was not in my favor. I had another long haul ahead of me, and my body wasn't ready.
So, just like with Bibith, I had a super long slow tedious unproductive induction, and gave in to an epidural more from exhaustion and hunger than actual pain. I just didn't think I could do it.
Another all day of imaginary labor (that's how it feels), with a little jello maybe, and at some point started to bleed. WHAT? Another abruption? Not good. Not good at all.
The baby did fine, heart tones good, no distress, but not coming down. Finally, a nurse suggested a position change that seemed to help and our baby girl was born, 7 lb 2 oz, after 17 hours of seeming futility. She didn't nurse well, had a bruise covering the top of her head (poor presentation) and became quite jaundiced.
So even though I have these 10 amazing children, all healthy and strong, all of whom who went home from the hospital on time and nursed for at the least 4 months, even though all that, I look back on my last 3 deliveries as relative failures. I probably shouldn't, but compared to how great and confident I felt after the earlier ones, I do.
The next birth story is not mine, and has had some attention already, and really deserves it's own post.
But, heading into the next delivery, having gained 40 or more lbs, with swollen ankles and feet and calves, knowing my blood pressure will most likely be high, knowing our little person may have challenges of his or her own, I don't know even what to hope for.
I think I'll be induced. Either my bp will be high, or the baby's growth will necessitate a delivery. I do not want to have an epidural. I think my labors with epidurals and especially stuck in bed do not progress, baby gets stuck, labor is long and often hard on baby, and potentially affects the health of the baby after, including blood sugar and jaundice.
My plan is to go to every ob appointment with a very full stomach and schedule all my appointments early in the morning. If I get sent to the WEU I'll have a snack on the way. I have a friend who is going to help me get through the hard parts, only allowing me to have an epidural if I say the secret password. I have to lay down if I can to conserve my strength, use heat, massage, anything available to get through the parts that I can stand to be in bed, so that I have strength to be up when it gets hard.
And I need to find that secret place again, that place where I find the Lord, praying and seeking His face and basking in His presence during my most sacred moments. In my weakness, He shows Himself most strong - hasn't that been the theme of this season.
I have to give my best labor this time. More than ever, my baby might need it. And I need it. I need to not feel like a failure again. I need one more good story. I need to find that place of communion with the Creator, Womb-Wonder-Worker, the Knitter in the secret place. I need to link arms with Him again, as together we bring another life into His world for His glory.
So help me God.
Sunday, January 09, 2011
Getting closer
I am 33 and a half weeks pregnant. Not sure if that's any kind of milestone, but it feels like getting closer to me. I was looking at one of my youngest, who is, today dressed in layers - a really loud purple, pink, orange and white paisley dress, a dark purple velvet dress up dress, pink long johns, the teal butterfly print skirt of a swimming suit, and a red shirt with royal blue sleeves and small white polka-dots (don't let yourself imagine that any of those pinks and purples compliment each other, either)and enjoying the uniqueness of her. She has pale blue eyes, dimples that rival the perfection of a cabbage patch kid, fair skin, and blond whispy hair that explodes into a puff of curls on the back of her head (reminds me of Sally from Peanuts). She is delightful.
She is still nursing, which for me is bizzaro, since none of my other children made it past 10 months nursing, and she has kept going through a week without mom (Bermuda:) and another 2 when we went to get our precious #11. But she is, and I think there is good in that - maybe helping get my body ready to deliver a little early.
I'm pretty convinced that this baby will be early because of my blood pressure (and the irresponsible way I've managed it this pregnancy, gaining much, exercising little) and potentially because of my potential to have a potentially chromosomally enhanced bundle of potentiality.
As I look at her, I find myself counting up in my head, then on my fingers, and at last breaking down and getting a piece of paper, how many of my darlings have blue eyes, hazel, chocolatey brown; how many have curls; and all the varying statistics that quantify the uniqueness of God's creation in my house, and wondering . . .
Who will this baby, this #12, this Doze (Portuguese for 12, hence the nickname Dozer) be? Will we have a boy, a girl, blue eyes, brown, green, blond, brown, curly, straight? Who is coming to meet us? Dozer is very busy these days, moving, kicking, hiccupping, rolling, exercising for his or her debut.
And I wonder, even though I think I've found some peace either way, boy or girl, 46 or 47 chromosomes, what manner of child is God giving us? Do we have the typical model, or the enhanced? I don't know. Some 50% of women who have a baby with Down syndrome had NO markers whatsoever on their ultrasounds. And I've never had any, until now. On the other hand, there are women who have all the markers I have and deliver babies who have the typical # of chromosomes. I don't know.
But I'm getting closer to knowing. I am 33 and 1/2 weeks today. 2 of my last 3 were born at 37 and 1/2 weeks. Four weeks left, maybe? I will start having non-stress tests at my next visit. Never did that before.
One thing I've done on my little journey with Down syndrome is read blogs of women who have had babies with Ds. Here are my 3 favorites. Not easy to read, but worth reading, worth knowing, worth feeling.
www.theblessingofverity.com
www.babynumber10.blogspot.com
www.kellehampton.com/2011/01/pay-it...
The third one is doing a fundraiser for the national down syndrome society (at least I assume that's what NDSS stands for). I'm not asking you to give, not sure I'm giving, but I am passing it on. Whether my baby has 46 or 47 chromosomes, I don't think God has called me to be an advocate in the way some moms are. But I do have eyes that are opener than they were, and I think it is worth giving you the chance to have your eyes be opener too. (I know that's not proper grammar, just being funny)
She is still nursing, which for me is bizzaro, since none of my other children made it past 10 months nursing, and she has kept going through a week without mom (Bermuda:) and another 2 when we went to get our precious #11. But she is, and I think there is good in that - maybe helping get my body ready to deliver a little early.
I'm pretty convinced that this baby will be early because of my blood pressure (and the irresponsible way I've managed it this pregnancy, gaining much, exercising little) and potentially because of my potential to have a potentially chromosomally enhanced bundle of potentiality.
As I look at her, I find myself counting up in my head, then on my fingers, and at last breaking down and getting a piece of paper, how many of my darlings have blue eyes, hazel, chocolatey brown; how many have curls; and all the varying statistics that quantify the uniqueness of God's creation in my house, and wondering . . .
Who will this baby, this #12, this Doze (Portuguese for 12, hence the nickname Dozer) be? Will we have a boy, a girl, blue eyes, brown, green, blond, brown, curly, straight? Who is coming to meet us? Dozer is very busy these days, moving, kicking, hiccupping, rolling, exercising for his or her debut.
And I wonder, even though I think I've found some peace either way, boy or girl, 46 or 47 chromosomes, what manner of child is God giving us? Do we have the typical model, or the enhanced? I don't know. Some 50% of women who have a baby with Down syndrome had NO markers whatsoever on their ultrasounds. And I've never had any, until now. On the other hand, there are women who have all the markers I have and deliver babies who have the typical # of chromosomes. I don't know.
But I'm getting closer to knowing. I am 33 and 1/2 weeks today. 2 of my last 3 were born at 37 and 1/2 weeks. Four weeks left, maybe? I will start having non-stress tests at my next visit. Never did that before.
One thing I've done on my little journey with Down syndrome is read blogs of women who have had babies with Ds. Here are my 3 favorites. Not easy to read, but worth reading, worth knowing, worth feeling.
www.theblessingofverity.com
www.babynumber10.blogspot.com
www.kellehampton.com/2011/01/pay-it...
The third one is doing a fundraiser for the national down syndrome society (at least I assume that's what NDSS stands for). I'm not asking you to give, not sure I'm giving, but I am passing it on. Whether my baby has 46 or 47 chromosomes, I don't think God has called me to be an advocate in the way some moms are. But I do have eyes that are opener than they were, and I think it is worth giving you the chance to have your eyes be opener too. (I know that's not proper grammar, just being funny)
Saturday, January 08, 2011
"better"
(written November 23, 2010)
i sent out a text last night to 3 batches of people because i have made myself vulnerable to so many people my phone has to break it into 3 groups to send a text. anyway, this is what the text said: after ultrasound today our odds for down syndrome were lower, baby looks healthy, trusting God for whatever He blesses us with. i don't think i meant to say our odds are all better. i didn't mean we had no risk. i just meant we went from 1 in 2 to something like 1 in 5 at the worst.
the doctor appointment itself was confusing to me. when asked about the nasal bone, both the sonographer and the perinatologist said it is too late for that to mean anything, but last time the peri based her 1:2 odds on its absence. this doc said because the baby is growing and is a good size and that he wouldn't worry.
so this is what i think: i think the doc spoke as from the Lord to my heart. he basically said, don't worry about this. you cannot see the future. your baby may have downs. or you could have a child with autism, or a cancer diagnosis, or lose a child in a car wreck. you can't know the future. right now, you need to focus on what you have, focus on the baby you have in your arms, on your family. whatever God gives you, you will do great with.
but then i have the responses of the whole world who received my text. they all seem to have taken it as a "never mind, we don't have downs." and i don't know if we do or not. i will still be seen monthly. i will still be monitored weekly at the end if the kidneys don't normalize. i think if we had had a different perinatologist we might have had a different interpretation. we Just Don't Know.
and here's the tough little thing - i have come to see the baby in my belly as a baby with an extra chromosome. that's who i think is in there. that is who i'm looking forward to meeting, because that is who i thought God was making. all the people praising God for not giving me that T21 baby are rejecting the baby i want. they are very excited for me, but i feel like i've lost someone.
i'm also having to let go of my pride, and acknowledge that maybe God isn't giving me a baby with Ds because i can't be that good of a mom, that i wouldn't be able to make sure he got everything he needed.
i feel like a fool, having told so many loved ones, sometimes in tears, and now it looks like there wasn't ever that big a risk, and why did i even go there anyway.
but mostly i'm disappointed, because i have loved and potentially lost an imaginary little baby with an extra chromosome, and at the moment of finding out he was only in my heart and never in my uterus (maybe), i also learned that the rest of the world is seeming glad, thrilled that he went away - nobody wanted him but me.
i do not want to be disappointed when my baby comes. for this reason, i will set my heart to receive what to me is the less desirable option - i will anticipate a baby like all the others. and if He ever does in fact trust me with a little 'tongue-er' (nick's name for Ds), i will be the one dancing for joy that God trusted me enough to give me such a reward.
i sent out a text last night to 3 batches of people because i have made myself vulnerable to so many people my phone has to break it into 3 groups to send a text. anyway, this is what the text said: after ultrasound today our odds for down syndrome were lower, baby looks healthy, trusting God for whatever He blesses us with. i don't think i meant to say our odds are all better. i didn't mean we had no risk. i just meant we went from 1 in 2 to something like 1 in 5 at the worst.
the doctor appointment itself was confusing to me. when asked about the nasal bone, both the sonographer and the perinatologist said it is too late for that to mean anything, but last time the peri based her 1:2 odds on its absence. this doc said because the baby is growing and is a good size and that he wouldn't worry.
so this is what i think: i think the doc spoke as from the Lord to my heart. he basically said, don't worry about this. you cannot see the future. your baby may have downs. or you could have a child with autism, or a cancer diagnosis, or lose a child in a car wreck. you can't know the future. right now, you need to focus on what you have, focus on the baby you have in your arms, on your family. whatever God gives you, you will do great with.
but then i have the responses of the whole world who received my text. they all seem to have taken it as a "never mind, we don't have downs." and i don't know if we do or not. i will still be seen monthly. i will still be monitored weekly at the end if the kidneys don't normalize. i think if we had had a different perinatologist we might have had a different interpretation. we Just Don't Know.
and here's the tough little thing - i have come to see the baby in my belly as a baby with an extra chromosome. that's who i think is in there. that is who i'm looking forward to meeting, because that is who i thought God was making. all the people praising God for not giving me that T21 baby are rejecting the baby i want. they are very excited for me, but i feel like i've lost someone.
i'm also having to let go of my pride, and acknowledge that maybe God isn't giving me a baby with Ds because i can't be that good of a mom, that i wouldn't be able to make sure he got everything he needed.
i feel like a fool, having told so many loved ones, sometimes in tears, and now it looks like there wasn't ever that big a risk, and why did i even go there anyway.
but mostly i'm disappointed, because i have loved and potentially lost an imaginary little baby with an extra chromosome, and at the moment of finding out he was only in my heart and never in my uterus (maybe), i also learned that the rest of the world is seeming glad, thrilled that he went away - nobody wanted him but me.
i do not want to be disappointed when my baby comes. for this reason, i will set my heart to receive what to me is the less desirable option - i will anticipate a baby like all the others. and if He ever does in fact trust me with a little 'tongue-er' (nick's name for Ds), i will be the one dancing for joy that God trusted me enough to give me such a reward.
Saturday, November 06, 2010
Mary pondered these things
Been doing a lot of pondering lately, a lot of thinking, a lot of nodding off.
I am enjoying my lovely girl, well, all my lovely girls and all my boys. My oldest son's voice is changing. We watched Toy Story 3 last night and I cried at the thought of him growing up. On the other end of things, #5 son, whom we call The Show, put some poop in the potty today, finally. I gave him prune juice, which today was a magic feather, and tomorrow will probably mean a mess to clean up. But maybe not. He went for it today.
My youngest sister had a baby this week. Looking forward to introducing his brown skinned cousin to him.
I am finally feeling the baby in my tummy move. My placenta is typically out front, so I don't feel the child until he/she is bigger than that placenta. But I'm there finally. I'm tired. Reflux has struck - I won't be going to bed without my zantac again, let me tell you.
With our little bottle fed girl, Daddy is playing a much bigger role, which works with my pregnancy, if you know what I mean. He has become the expert. If she is fussing or sputtering, he says, "here, give her to me". It is sweet.
And all the while, I am thinking about the new one and who he or she is going to be. The end of February is a very long way away.
I am enjoying my lovely girl, well, all my lovely girls and all my boys. My oldest son's voice is changing. We watched Toy Story 3 last night and I cried at the thought of him growing up. On the other end of things, #5 son, whom we call The Show, put some poop in the potty today, finally. I gave him prune juice, which today was a magic feather, and tomorrow will probably mean a mess to clean up. But maybe not. He went for it today.
My youngest sister had a baby this week. Looking forward to introducing his brown skinned cousin to him.
I am finally feeling the baby in my tummy move. My placenta is typically out front, so I don't feel the child until he/she is bigger than that placenta. But I'm there finally. I'm tired. Reflux has struck - I won't be going to bed without my zantac again, let me tell you.
With our little bottle fed girl, Daddy is playing a much bigger role, which works with my pregnancy, if you know what I mean. He has become the expert. If she is fussing or sputtering, he says, "here, give her to me". It is sweet.
And all the while, I am thinking about the new one and who he or she is going to be. The end of February is a very long way away.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Giving up . . .
on the supplementary nursing system. It has been a great thing. I nursed my adopted daughter. I bonded with her. And if I were not 4 whole months away from being physically able to really produce milk, and if my pregnancy were not in conflict with my ability to make milk, or if she was consistently taking in all she needs in a relatively appropriate amount of time, I would keep it up.
But the situation is that I am only 5 months pregnant, she doesn't eat well or fast with it, and I need to sleep. Getting up 2 or 3 times at night is one thing. Getting up for an hour each time is something else, and it doesn't have to be that way. She can drink a bottle in 10-15 minutes.
My pregnant belly is getting bigger in front of me, and wondering about the person growing in it is growing in my mind. I've begun that pregnancy obsessiveness. It is so fun, to hold my sweet girl and just enjoy her and at the same time wonder who her brother/sister will be.
I know for certain that God has a very specific plan in the timing and details of this whole adventure. I don't have the full picture of His reasons or His ways, but I am trusting His goodness.
But the situation is that I am only 5 months pregnant, she doesn't eat well or fast with it, and I need to sleep. Getting up 2 or 3 times at night is one thing. Getting up for an hour each time is something else, and it doesn't have to be that way. She can drink a bottle in 10-15 minutes.
My pregnant belly is getting bigger in front of me, and wondering about the person growing in it is growing in my mind. I've begun that pregnancy obsessiveness. It is so fun, to hold my sweet girl and just enjoy her and at the same time wonder who her brother/sister will be.
I know for certain that God has a very specific plan in the timing and details of this whole adventure. I don't have the full picture of His reasons or His ways, but I am trusting His goodness.
Monday, October 11, 2010
delusions of grandeur
It's not that I thought it would be easy. But I am not sure I did the math exactly. I have great pregnancies, and this has been the best. But my primary pregnancy symptom is 'tired'. I nod off during afternoon school on many a day. Indeed, it is how I know I'm pregnant before taking a test.
So then you add the newborn thing. I'm up about every three hours during the night for about an hour (she sleeps for 4 during the day, not sure how to adjust that).
Then you add in the sns feeding system, which just takes longer than simply breastfeeding (oh how simply) or even straight bottle feeding. I'm washing out the bottle and tubing, making a bottle, feeding with the sns, trying for burps all the while, finishing the feed with a bottle, because she only takes about a ounce through the sns and is small enough to need more, plus I'm trying to fill her tank so I can sleep a little longer.
So late night feed at 10:30, bed at 11:30, up at 1:30, sleep at 2:30, up at 4:30, bed at 5:30, up at 7:30, up, up and breakfast, up and school, up and tired, up and falling asleep during Rocket Phonics, during spelling tests, during Geometry, frustrated children. Do I drink the coffee, which will make me more alert but slightly nauseaus?
I know, I'll eat. Eating and eating and eating. Not the lo-carb diet - no I'm going for straight, protein free, devoid of nutritional value carbs. I got in the habit at the Ronald McDonald houses we stayed in of having dessert at least 4 times a day. So I'm eating a whole lot of junk.
At any rate, it is dawning on me today that if I'm going to try to be the amazing supermom and nurse two babies (yes, my toddler still nurses a couple times a day) and grow a third, I need to eat like the amazing supermom.
This is my goal: drink lots of water, take my vitamins, and eat a lot of protein and veggies and healthy carbs. It will take a couple days of re-working my system, breaking some habits, and I will likely be incredibly crabby.
But wait, I already am.
So then you add the newborn thing. I'm up about every three hours during the night for about an hour (she sleeps for 4 during the day, not sure how to adjust that).
Then you add in the sns feeding system, which just takes longer than simply breastfeeding (oh how simply) or even straight bottle feeding. I'm washing out the bottle and tubing, making a bottle, feeding with the sns, trying for burps all the while, finishing the feed with a bottle, because she only takes about a ounce through the sns and is small enough to need more, plus I'm trying to fill her tank so I can sleep a little longer.
So late night feed at 10:30, bed at 11:30, up at 1:30, sleep at 2:30, up at 4:30, bed at 5:30, up at 7:30, up, up and breakfast, up and school, up and tired, up and falling asleep during Rocket Phonics, during spelling tests, during Geometry, frustrated children. Do I drink the coffee, which will make me more alert but slightly nauseaus?
I know, I'll eat. Eating and eating and eating. Not the lo-carb diet - no I'm going for straight, protein free, devoid of nutritional value carbs. I got in the habit at the Ronald McDonald houses we stayed in of having dessert at least 4 times a day. So I'm eating a whole lot of junk.
At any rate, it is dawning on me today that if I'm going to try to be the amazing supermom and nurse two babies (yes, my toddler still nurses a couple times a day) and grow a third, I need to eat like the amazing supermom.
This is my goal: drink lots of water, take my vitamins, and eat a lot of protein and veggies and healthy carbs. It will take a couple days of re-working my system, breaking some habits, and I will likely be incredibly crabby.
But wait, I already am.
Monday, September 27, 2010
true confessions of a crazed hormonal maniac
The Amazing Super Mom is chilling out.
Here's why:
From what I understand, baby girl eating her quota is something she will just do, when she is ready. It will happen. Like so many other things, potty training, labor, reading, riding a bicycle, it will happen. I can work with her, but I also need to trust what the docs and nurses are saying and not blow a small gasket every time she doesn't finish a bottle.
I have no real idea what a gasket is or what it takes to blow one or what the consequences would be if you did in fact blow yours. Do we all have gaskets? Are they easily replaced?
My other children are fine. Even the littles will be okay. I am only one part, albeit a significant part, of my children's safety zone. They are not missing me all the time. The youngest misses me when she wakes up. (My friend said she's in her own personal groundhog day.). The Show misses me when he's sleepy. But most of their world is in tact.
Time and everything related to it is within the realm of the King's authority. I can trust Him. He got us down here at the right time, He will get us home when we need to be there.
I think the scariest part of adopting is the question, 'will she change her mind?'. She didn't. She is hurting now, but was resolute throughout the process. Heck, if she wasn't grieving, we'd worry about her a whole lot more. There's a word for that kind of strength: denial. Doesn't make it easier. Does make it less scarier.
I made me a whole milliliter of breast milk. Yippee!
It is starting to feel like that little baby girl in the NICU is mine. One nurse, who I'll call Tammy, cuz that's her name, treats me like the mom (as opposed to the illegitimate sneak), and I practiced introducing her to a couple of the nurses as "my daughter".
And I think, but could be wrong, but I think the baby in my belly kicked me, and that is a miracle that always reinforces my conviction that God can do anything. He can make something from nothing. He hung the stars and spread out the heavens like a curtain. He is weaving a human in my unseen places. He is worthy of my trust.
Therefore I will not fear.
Here's why:
From what I understand, baby girl eating her quota is something she will just do, when she is ready. It will happen. Like so many other things, potty training, labor, reading, riding a bicycle, it will happen. I can work with her, but I also need to trust what the docs and nurses are saying and not blow a small gasket every time she doesn't finish a bottle.
I have no real idea what a gasket is or what it takes to blow one or what the consequences would be if you did in fact blow yours. Do we all have gaskets? Are they easily replaced?
My other children are fine. Even the littles will be okay. I am only one part, albeit a significant part, of my children's safety zone. They are not missing me all the time. The youngest misses me when she wakes up. (My friend said she's in her own personal groundhog day.). The Show misses me when he's sleepy. But most of their world is in tact.
Time and everything related to it is within the realm of the King's authority. I can trust Him. He got us down here at the right time, He will get us home when we need to be there.
I think the scariest part of adopting is the question, 'will she change her mind?'. She didn't. She is hurting now, but was resolute throughout the process. Heck, if she wasn't grieving, we'd worry about her a whole lot more. There's a word for that kind of strength: denial. Doesn't make it easier. Does make it less scarier.
I made me a whole milliliter of breast milk. Yippee!
It is starting to feel like that little baby girl in the NICU is mine. One nurse, who I'll call Tammy, cuz that's her name, treats me like the mom (as opposed to the illegitimate sneak), and I practiced introducing her to a couple of the nurses as "my daughter".
And I think, but could be wrong, but I think the baby in my belly kicked me, and that is a miracle that always reinforces my conviction that God can do anything. He can make something from nothing. He hung the stars and spread out the heavens like a curtain. He is weaving a human in my unseen places. He is worthy of my trust.
Therefore I will not fear.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)