burnt toast life

oh… Bird

Anyone who has been following along for any length of time knows that Bird is my “problem child.” Lovable, yes, but also naughty. Prone to antics. (Remember this?) (And this?)

Well, this time it may not be his fault, but the incident caused us plenty of headaches nonetheless.

Every year when we go on vacation, we have to board our dogs at the kennel. Up until this year, we’ve taken them to the same place – it’s in town, it’s convenient, and it’s reputable. But part of me never felt good about it, mostly because the dogs are kept in large cages all day and night. Yes, part of the caged area is outside, so they can “enjoy the outdoors.” And yes, my dogs are kept in my bedroom for 8 hours a day during the work week usually, so it’s not really that different. But still. I always felt so bad leaving them there, especially since I was going to enjoy a beach vacation. Ryder would usually come home with some sort of physical proof of his anxiety, like last time when his paw was red and hairless from being chewed on all week.

So you can imagine my delight when a new kennel came to town a few months ago. Not only did they have open play for dogs (and doggy daycare), but boarders enjoyed luxury dog accommodations. They got their own little rooms with beds and windows (no cages). So all week while I was at the beach, my dogs would socialize with the other dogs, play on the outdoor kiddie toys, bathe in the multiple pools, and then go to sleep tired out and happy in their own private room. It was perfect! And I even managed to convince myself that it wasn’t THAT much more expensive than the other place (ahem… $200 more expensive. Eeesh).

I took the boys for a personality evaluation a week before we left to ensure they would get along with the other dogs, and of course they passed with flying colors. I left them there for a day of daycare, just to test the waters, and the owners raved over their awesome personalities and said they were welcome to come and play anytime. We left for the beach feeling really good about the whole situation. And zero guilt!

That is… until Wednesday. Early in the morning Eric got a phone call from the Pennsylvania Department of Health. They were calling to inform him that there was a complaint filed against Bird for biting someone. Eric assured the woman that there must be some mistake, as his dog was safely ensconced at a kennel and we were on vacation. And we had received no phone calls from the kennel.

Well.

Apparently it went down like this: one of the employees at the kennel left a bagel unattended (um, why was she eating a bagel around the dogs in the first place?). Bird and another dog, Fred, stole the bagel and started eating it. The employee removed Fred from the area, then attempted to take the bagel out of Bird’s mouth. So…he bit her.

Apparently he bit off the tip of her finger and she had to go to the hospital and get stitches. She wasn’t mad or anything, but since it was a dog bite it did need to get reported to the state. Luckily, the whole place is equipped with web cams (which we were able to view remotely, another huge selling point on this place), so the owners were able to view the incident and confirm that the employee handled it 100% incorrectly. The bite was reactive, not aggressive. They were totally on our side. But despite this, Bird had to be quarantined for the remainder of his stay, and he is never allowed back there for boarding or daycare.

Also, when we asked why the hell they didn’t call us, they said, “It is what it is. We didn’t want to ruin your vacation.”

Um…OK? Really? Because it wasn’t much better hearing it from the Board of Health, that’s for sure.

The whole thing just sucks big time. Because now, not only can we never go back to that place, but also Bird will have this mark on his permanent record forever. So we can never board him anywhere. Trust me, one of the first questions on any application for a kennel or doggy daycare is, “Has your dog ever bitten anyone?” and now we will always have to answer “Yes.” What are we supposed to do next year on vacation?

Because of the incident, the girl who got bit was fired. Not that I’m ever happy to hear about someone getting fired… but it sounds like she’d be better suited to a different profession anyway. Too late for us, though.

I don’t know what I’m going to do with this dog. But then something like this happens, and all is forgiven:

birdmolly1

beach baby

Every year we go to Ocean City, Maryland on vacation.

It’s really the perfect place for us. No, it’s not classy – in fact, it’s cheesy and tourist-y and even garish at times. The boardwalk is loud and the shops are jam-packed with chintzy memorabilia that’s horribly overpriced. But we’ve been going since I was ten years old. What was once just my nuclear family vacation has grown over the years, and this year we had a record turnout – 36 people. My family, my extended family, and many member of Eric’s family. We spread out in five condos and took up a decent plot of land on the beach.

Every year Ocean City has been different. When I was ten, it was all about playing in the sand. When I was fifteen, it was all about dressing cute and walking up and down the boardwalk with my best friend, collecting phone numbers we knew we’d never call. When I was 21, I started going out to bars. Eric proposed to me in Ocean City (twice). Last year I was so, so sad. We drank in the condo a lot. There are a bunch of pictures of me on the beach, at night, trying to look peaceful. I know I keep saying this, but it’s just remarkable how different everything was this year. Everything I’d been imagining and wanting for so long finally happened.

Molly did great on the beach. There was one minor incident where sand got thrown in her face, but other than that the whole thing went off without a hitch. She slept in the car for most of the way there, and even though we hit traffic we only had to stop to feed her once. Oh, did I mention she’s been sleeping through the night since she was 4 weeks old? I know. I have no idea how I got so lucky. Every night I wait for it to stop abruptly, but so far she’s out from about 10 pm to 5 am. It’s so nice. Breastfeeding is also going better, and she’s slooowly starting to not rely on the nipple shield anymore. I bought a Maya wrap before vacation and every day I would nurse her in it on the walk to the beach. After a week, I started to get good at it. Hands-free nursing is so much easier and more convenient!

What else? Just two short weeks until I go back to work. So far I’ve only been separated from her for four hours at most. A full workday will definitely be an adjustment.

I swear I had more to say, but I’ve been waiting for two days to write this post. The hours pass by so quickly…and I’m trying to savor each and every one.

Here’s some vacation photos:

chillin' in her beach chair

chillin’ in her beach chair

beachmemolly

hanging out with the big kids

hanging out with the big kids

oh, my heart...

oh, my heart…

sleeping with Aunt Sarah

sleeping with Aunt Sarah

first dip of toes in the sea!

first dip of toes in the sea!

I searched far and wide for a hat that small

I searched far and wide for a hat that small

beachfam

beachme

hospital captivity journal

It occurs to me that I really should have written this when it was more fresh in my mind, because now I’ve been home for 10 days and I’m fully immersed in baby bliss-dom. A.K.A., I’m not as distraught as I was when we were stuck in the hospital. However, I would like to try to record everything that happened, if for no other reason than to have it for myself for later.

It’s funny…I used to get annoyed at the new moms who stopped posting. I used to think, “What the hell are they doing, anyway? Home from work… sleepy newborn…good God woman, just give us some snippets!” I vowed to never become one of them. I vowed that I would blog more often on maternity leave, not less often.

And then I had a baby.

I can’t believe how much of my time I spend doing nothing of record. Breastfeeding is so time-consuming. When she sleeps, I usually throw her in the Moby wrap and rush around trying to keep up on chores – dishes, laundry, etc. A simple trip out to Target has become a carefully orchestrated event. And by the time Eric gets home from work to help me, I’m usually too exhausted to blog, plus I want to spend a couple of hours of time with him (at the moment, that means slogging through the 120 episodes of LOST. I mean, it’s a great show, but I didn’t realize the level of commitment it required when we started!).

So anyway. The thing that sucks is that I have so many posts in my head. Posts about breastfeeding, about our time home and our routine, about how my husband has stepped into his role of new father so well that it makes my heart hurt with happiness to think about it. That said – and I’ve said this before – I think this blog is going to be different from here on out. Not that I’ve forgotten where I came from. I’m still carrying these scars of infertility, and I always will. When it comes time to try to expand our family, we’ll need to contact New Hope and pay a few thousand dollars for another FET, not just go on a date that ends with a roll in the hay. That’s the painful truth. But for the near future, the things that I’m going to talk about will have to do with navigating the world of being a new mom, hopefully with a sense of gratitude and joy and a healthy dose of humor. So if you find that you need to stop following me for your own sanity, I totally understand. I just wanted to forewarn that baby-centric topics will most likely be the norm now.

And if you’re still with me… good! I have so much to say. I’m going to try to cram it into the next 30 minutes before it’s time for Molly’s sponge bath, because once again she smells like sour milk and we have a visitor coming in an hour. Apologies in advance for typos.

We left off right after the birth, when I was exhausted beyond belief, yet wishing I could bond with the baby. At that point it still didn’t feel like she was really mine. Unfortunately, that feeling would continue for the next few days.

Day 2 (Tuesday)

After a C-section, after your catheter is removed, they encourage you to get up and go for a walk. This is nice because for all the time you’re stuck in bed, they put these large cuffs on your legs to discourage blood clots, and the constant inflation of the cuffs every 10 minutes is super annoying. So being released from bedrest definitely comes as a reprieve (though I must admit, tired as I was, the catheter was actually a welcome apparatus. Not getting up to pee = the ultimate in lazy living).

For my first walk, Eric took my hand and gingerly led me to the edge of the bed. Together, we eased my feet onto the floor and I stood up. And I felt…good. Like, surprisingly good. I slid on my flip flops and started walking at a good clip down the hall. “How about you slow down a little?,” he said. “No, no, I feel really good!,” was my reply. I couldn’t help but wonder why people made such a big deal about C-sections. I felt like I was healed already.

Little did I know that I was still feeling the effects of really good intravenous pain medication (Morphine? Yes, please!). And that by the next day, I’d be downgraded to nothing but Percocet and Motrin. I had not made a miraculous recovery. I was just drugged out and didn’t even know it.

On the breastfeeding front, Molly was doing pretty well. She made good attempts at latching, but would detach often and never got a good flow going. She was still having lots of wet and poopy diapers, so I wasn’t very concerned.

Friends came to visit. I got more morphine. I only have vague recollections of our conversations, as I desperately tried to sound normal while feeling like my head was floating way above my body. The good news was that I felt no pain at all.

Day 3 (Wednesday)

This was when things started to go south with breastfeeding. Despite all the progress we had made, things seemed to get worse instead of better. She would attempt to latch, get frustrated, and scrunch up her little red face and scream at my breast. I cried. She cried. I’m pretty sure this is when she had her first low blood sugar reading, and coupled with her small size, the hospital staff started to get concerned. The lower limit for blood sugar range is 45, and her reading was 44. So it wasn’t yet a 5 alarm situation, but again… they were definitely concerned. People started showing a lot more interest in my feeding record and it seemed a nurse was always “conveniently” present when I attempted a feeding. Of course, the more they watched me, the more stressed out I was, and the worse we did. Eventually our hospital pediatrician insisted on supplementing with formula. Mama was not happy.

Here I should mention the pediatrician fiasco. Our family doctor is equipped to do pediatrics, and all along we had assumed we would just go to him rather than search for a separate pediatrician. I’ve been seeing him since I was a little kid. He knows me, my history, and my entire family and their history. Since Eric and I have been married, he’s been seeing Eric too. It was really a no-brainer. The problem, then, was that the hospital only had a limited number of pediatricians who visited the hospital and checked on the new babies, and he wasn’t one of them. Despite the fact that he would be seeing Molly once we were released, I was forced to pick one of their providers from a list, at least for the duration of our stay. I chose a group that another mom I know had highly recommended. Little did I know this would be the biggest mistake of my stay (cue ominous music here).

From here on out, we’ll call him Dr. Satan.

I can’t really blame him for insisting on the formula supplementation. Low blood sugar for newborns is no joke, and if left untreated it can lead to things like permanent brain damage. Was I upset that she’d be having formula? Of course I was. But in that moment all that mattered was getting her a stable reading that made everyone happy.

Here’s a fun fact about me: I am really good at producing colostrum (or as they call it, liquid gold!). While some women pump and pump and only get a few drops (which is usually sufficient, since it’s so packed with nutrients), I was somehow able to produce an ounce per pump session. The nurses all expressed their surprise and awe over this apparent miracle of my breasts. In this case, it was a real plus, because I got to mix my pumped colostrum with formula rather than just give her straight formula. When it was all said and done, she only received one ounce of formula total in her entire stay. The rest of her feedings were pure colostrum, delivered to her hungry belly via a combination of finger feeding and SNS (supplemental nursing system).

My pain levels were finally what they were supposed to be since my morphine prescription had run out. It hurt to bend forward, to walk, to sit, and to lay flat. It felt like my abdomen was way too short and they had stitched me too tightly. Plus, I found out that rather than stitches, my doctor preferred staples. The thought of seeing my lower abdomen all stapled up like Frankenstein’s monster was enough to make me glad for my big belly to hide it. I couldn’t bear to look. And it hurt just to exist. I’m officially not a fan of C-sections.

I’ve taken Percocet in the past when I got my wisdom teeth out, and all I remember is that it made me pass out into a deep sleep – HARD. I didn’t want to sleep like that because I knew I had this baby to take care of, and on top of that she was having issues. So I requested the Motrin. A few hours later, crying from the excruciating pain, I caved in and took one Percocet. When that made absolutely no dent in my suffering, I went for two. It did not make me fall asleep, but it did take the edge off enough so that I could function. For the rest of the time I found the perfect mix was to alternate between Percocet and Motrin every 4 hours.

Day 4 (Thursday)

Going home day…

…or so we thought.

Dr. Satan came into my room fairly early. He went over Molly’s stats… good, good, everything looked good. But then. Because of her low blood sugar, there was no way he could let her go home. He also couldn’t tell me when she might be able to go home.

This news was delivered nonchalantly, and I, in my incredibly hormonal, sleep-deprived, overwhelmed new parent state, immediately started hysterically crying. I mean, full on, borderline hyperventilation, uncontrollable sobbing. Did Dr. Satan offer a sympathetic pat on the shoulder? Did he try to explain further why they were keeping her? Did he even take a break in his spiel and acknowledge my distress? No, no he did not. He kept talking. When he finished, he stood, and without a backwards glance, exited my room. I was left alone and confused.

I immediately called Eric, who probably had a hard time trying to figure out what the hell I was trying to say as by that point I was totally freaking the hell out. At the time, he was busily loading up my car with the car seat, with every intention of bringing us both home in the morning/afternoon. But alas, it was not to be.

He came to the hospital and really just having him there calmed me down immensely. My nurse came in and immediately assured me that since I had a C-section, my insurance would cover the extra day, so no need to worry about that. We found out through her that every single feeding should be 30 mL minimum (1 ounce), and since it wasn’t, Dr. Satan was displeased. That along with those low blood sugar readings (though at this point she was back within range) and the fact that she lost 10% of her weight (within limits, but on the high side) made everyone nervous. So we were stuck.

This 30 mL thing came out of left field. I knew that for the one supplemental feeding that was the goal, but no one ever explained that every single feeding was supposed to be that much. As it was, she would sputter and choke if I tried to feed her too much. I mean, she was tiny. Her stomach was the size of a grape. It seemed logical that she wasn’t eating a ton.

The rest of the day was not fun. Eric was mad. I was sad. Molly was still being a fussy eater, and as much as I tried to breastfeed, she just wasn’t into it. Each time I fed her felt like a mini science experiment – I had nipple shields and SNS tubes all hooked up for every feeding. As soon as I was done feeding her that way, I’d pump and pump to assure I wouldn’t need to supplement any more with formula and that I’d always have an adequate amount on hand. I prayed desperately for my milk to come in, assuming this would make everything better.

The hospital allows you to keep your baby in the room, provided you put him or her in the plastic bassinet whenever you’re in the bathroom or sleeping. All night long I held her and cried, drifting somewhere between sleep and delirium. Every time a nurse came in, I faked being wide awake so they wouldn’t make me put her down.

Day 5 (Friday)

Pretty early in the morning Dr. Satan came in and made the call – he wanted to keep Molly another day. Since I was no longer covered by insurance, he talked about having her transferred to Pediatrics.

This time I was openly hostile. I explained that her blood sugar was still good. I explained that all of her feedings the previous day had been 30 mL, or pretty damn close to it, just as he had prescribed. Her weight had gone up, from 4 lbs. 14 ounces to 4 lbs. 16 ounces. I demanded to know why he was torturing us like that and making us stay. Again, rather than explaining anything, he simply said, “She must stay,” and left the room.

I think this is the point where I legit went crazy. I called Eric, hysterical again, and told him that this man was trying to steal our baby and keep her forever. In that moment, it really felt that way. The nurses (I seriously cannot say enough good things about the entire nursing staff at this hospital) came in and tried to calm me down. They promised that no one wanted to keep her, he was just being thorough, and that I would not have to leave her side, even if we were transferred to Peds. Unsure of what our rights were, we asked for a second opinion.

At some point Eric arrived. My head was pounding, my face was puffy, and thanks to clinging to my baby all night and nonstop feeding and planning for feeding, I’d slept a total of 2 hours in the past four days. To say I was a hot mess would be an understatement.

Our second opinion ended up being the hospital’s neonatologist, a woman who we shall call Dr. Angel. She had a soothing voice, a competent nature, and a calming bedside manner. While she essentially drew the same conclusions as Dr. Satan, she took a good hour to explain in-depth exactly why they wanted Molly to stay. She had charts and research to back up her decision. She commiserated with us. She also promised that Molly could potentially go home later in the afternoon or first thing Saturday morning if we kept doing what we were doing. I really should write her a review or send her a note and thank her – she managed to take me from crazy deranged mother who thought a pediatrician was trying to steal her baby to calm and determined mother who could form rational thoughts and sentences.

We kept feeding her and hoping that we would get discharged that night, but one of Dr. Angel’s colleagues came by the room a few hours later and said he would rather err on the side of caution and evaluate her first thing in the morning. He promised that her chances of going home Saturday in the AM were “very, very good.” For once I was not devastated to receive the news because at least it was coming from someone on Dr. Angel’s team and at least there was an end in sight.

Luckily, the maternity wing was quiet and mostly empty, so even though I was discharged as a patient, we got to stay in the same room. The nurses even encouraged me to quickly order myself dinner from the cafeteria and have a last dose of pain meds on the house before I was kicked out of the system (see, told you they were all awesome). That night I met a nurse who really helped me with the whole breastfeeding thing. I gave up on the SNS contraption and the finger feeding completely and just focused on her feeding with the aid of the nipple shield and nothing else. By this point my milk had come in, and feedings began to last longer and she managed to stay latched for the duration. I was still pumping just so I could keep an accurate record of how much she was getting, but it seemed like overkill. I was pretty sure we could switch to just breastfeeding by the time we went home.

Day 6 (Saturday)

The neonatology team checked on Molly early, at 7 a.m. This time her weight went up again – she weighed 5 whole pounds! Woo hoo! We got the all clear to go home soon after. I excitedly called Eric and told him to bring the car seat…for real this time. A few hours later and we were finally on our way.

Since coming home, things have been much, much, MUCH better. It’s only been 10 days since we left the hospital and already we have a great little routine going. Molly is still stuck on the nipple shield, which felt a bit like failing at first, but yesterday we had a lactation consultant come by and she assured me that some babies just need a little extra help at first. She said Molly has such a small mouth, and sometimes latching comes harder for smaller babies. She said she was confident that soon she wouldn’t need it at all.

I am happy to report that she is definitely getting enough to eat, and she’s growing! Yesterday was also her two week check-up with our actual pediatrician (family doctor). Babies are supposed to at least be back up to their birth weight by 2 weeks old, and Molly succeeded – she was 5 lbs, 8 ounces. She poops all the time (like, literally every diaper change) and has plenty of wet diapers too. It appears that our rough start in the hospital was just an adjustment period, and not an indication of things to come.

What else can I say? It’s still utterly surreal and magical. I still can’t believe she’s mine. I think I’m handling it all pretty well, and the only thing I do that I know I shouldn’t is hold her all the time. I really dislike putting her down if I don’t need to. When she’s sleeping and it’s just the two of us at home, she’s usually nestled against my chest in her Moby wrap (a new mom essential, as it turns out). When Eric comes home from work, he gets his turn. Even though we have swings and papasans and rockers and baby loungers, I find myself reluctant to put her down in any of them. I’ve just waited so long to hold my baby… I don’t want to waste a single second of it.

I’m sure there’s more to say but once again, this post is very long. I promise to post more updates soon. This weekend we’re going camping (yes, camping with a newborn!) and we’re also counting down the days until our family beach trip at the end of the month.

In the meantime, I’m just going to hold her.

home stretch

I can’t believe it’s June.

I’m really trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’m due to have a baby in 17 days. Seventeen days! I started doing that thing where I relate it to the mundane tasks I’m doing – as in, “The next time I purchase new face wash, I’ll have a baby,” or “The next time I have to refill the sugar bowl, she’ll be here.” We haven’t quite reached the point of, “the next time I put gas in my car…” or, “the next time I buy milk,” but we are close. Very close.

I have a lot of random thoughts, so I’m just gonna do bullet points. Lately my mind has been on a constant loop day and night and I literally have to carry around a handwritten list of “things to remember” so I don’t go insane. Physically, I feel like I’m 87 years old. Mentally, I’m more similar to a 20-something that just did a few lines and drank a pot of coffee. It’s an interesting combination.

-I’m very sick and miserable. It started out as a common cold (or maybe allergies??) with just a lot of congestion and subsequent congestion headaches, but now has become a hacking cough/super sore throat due to the post nasal drip (gross, I know). As if it wasn’t hard enough to get a few hours of sleep here and there.

-That “burst of energy at the end” thing totally exists. I no longer have any desire for naps on the weekends, and would much prefer to rush around the house completing random, urgent tasks such as vacuuming the ceilings of every room (true story). I can see why women tend to go on maternity leave before the baby arrives – sitting at a desk working for 9 hours per day Monday through Friday seems like such a waste when there are ALL THE THINGS to do at home. Plus, it doesn’t really help that when I am at home tackling my endless to-do list, I have to keep stopping to take breaks because of the physical strain of gettin’ stuff done. I’ve also had a bunch of events these past few weekends (picnics, dance recitals, book club) that took up some time and energy. The good news is that this coming weekend my calendar is totally clear. I guess that means there will be lots of ceiling vacuuming in the near future.

-I’ve been banished from the bedroom. Well, sort of. Every night Eric gives me the option of couch or bed, but he now refuses to sleep next to me because I toss and turn and get up too many times in the middle of the night to pee (I think I’m up to like 5 or 6 times per night now. It’s preposterous). Anyway, it’s been keeping him up and making him cranky at work from being so tired, so alas we had to part ways. I’m actually more comfortable on the couch for some reason, plus there’s a TV out in the living room to keep me company. It’s kind of nice to have it on low volume in the background, which is weird for me, because I’m one of those people who HATES when TVs are just on and no one is watching them. Ugh! That’s partly why I established the bedroom as a TV-free zone, because in our apartment I used to hate when he fell asleep with it on all the time. But right now, at least, I find the background chatter soothing since I can’t really sleep anyway. The one downfall to this is that the infomercials have me convinced that I need SEVERAL items. Every morning I tell Eric what my latest obsession is (this morning it was the Dessert Bullet). Luckily for him and our bank account, I’m way too lazy/beached-whale-like to actually go get my credit card and order any of these things at 4am. But I do fall for it each and every time.

-The nursery is still not finished, but it’s MUCH, MUCH closer. My friend came over and helped me do stuff on Saturday (thanks, Ash!!), plus Eric brought the furniture down from the attic and set it all up. I’m not taking photos until it’s all the way finished – art on the walls, clothes folded, ready for action finished. But don’t worry. I think that day will get here soon. Dare I say… sooner than she gets here?

-I’ve been going to the perinatal center monthly for growth scans, which started to seem a bit unnecessary, but at least it was an excuse to get some of those awesome 4D ultrasound images. Anyway, Eric and I are total weirdos and like to joke that “maybe she’s not our kid” since it’s IVF and all and technically that could happen. Since the majority of the patients at New Hope are of Asian descent, I think it would be obvious fairly quickly. But I think about this pretty often – what WOULD we do if that really happened?

Anyway, I don’t think I have to worry about it because at her last growth scan, everything was measuring perfectly right on time except for one thing…her legs were measuring 3 weeks behind. So proportionally, her legs are short for her body. And this is the part where I mention that while I have a torso comparable to a friend who is 5’5, I am only 5’1 because of – you guessed it – my short legs. For some reason it was incredibly reassuring/adorable to hear that she’s just like me in this respect.

I guess that’s all for now. I’m just gonna say it again… I cannot frickin’ believe it’s finally June.

The next time I flip my calendar, I’ll have a baby. Damn.

Poor Bird!

What a day!

First off, today is my 4th wedding anniversary. Time flies when you’re battling infertility, amirite? I’m going to share a photo from my wedding day to prove that I was thin once (and it wasn’t that long ago). Maybe my “goal outfit” should be this teeny, tiny, exorbitantly overpriced white dress…

mark my words, I will get this body back...

mark my words, I will get this body back…

Anyway. This morning I was taking the dogs out, as I do every day right before I leave for work. Ryder, our Golden, is free to roam the yard off-leash and won’t run away, but Bird would sprint cross-country if we let him. So I had Bird’s leash in my hand, and he yanked on it, and I guess my grip wasn’t as good as I thought because the leash dropped. I watched helplessly as he ran with Ryder to the other side of the yard.

THANK GOD Eric hadn’t actually walked out the door yet to leave for work yet, because clearly my fat ass wasn’t going to catch Bird. I yelled up the stairs for help and stood by uselessly as Eric followed Bird around, using his best stern voice to try and get him to come back. No luck. Our property borders a large field where horses are kept, and Bird thought it would be a good idea to go chase the horses, who were out and grazing just beyond the perimeter of our yard.

I didn’t see it happen, but apparently the horses didn’t take too kindly to being chased, and one of them expressed his anger by straight up kicking Bird smack in the face. The good news is that this caused Bird to come running back to Eric for assistance, so at least we got him back in the house. The bad news is that he got kicked in the face by a horse.

I felt terrible, and the whole thing was 100% my fault. Eric ended up working from home and of course rushing Bird to the vet immediately. The poor little guy wouldn’t let anyone near his mouth without snapping at them, so they had to put him under anesthesia to assess the situation and to sew him up. His jaw wasn’t fractured, but he did need both internal and external stitches and he might end up losing a tooth.

Happy anniversary, right? I mean, it could have been SO much worse (like, if the horse had stomped on his head in earnest… if he ran out into the road and got hit by a car… if we was still missing and unaccounted for, and possibly halfway to Canada). But still. Poor Bird has to wear a cone of shame for 2 weeks, has to be on medication, and woke up crying from surgery because he was in so much pain. As it stands now, he’s just moping around the house not being himself (it probably has a lot to do with wearing the cone, which he does not like). I feel like a terrible mother. Oh, and the $1100 vet bill wasn’t pretty, either. This comes not even a week after dropping $450 on new brakes and rotors for my car and a few short weeks after accidentally putting my iPhone through the wash. So much for saving up for maternity leave, eh?

Also… selfishly… I’m mad about how it kind of ruined the whole day. First, it cast a negative light and became the central focus of our anniversary. Second, Eric sent me beautiful flowers to work, along with a card that said, “Surprise! We’re going out to dinner. Your choice of where.” This coming from a man who doesn’t really like going out to dinner, and who I usually have to bribe to go out to dinner. Me, I love going out. So had we not had our little drama, I’d have spent the afternoon eagerly weighing my options in terms of restaurants. Instead, I was stuck knowing that we’d have to do takeout because Bird couldn’t be left alone. And I even straightened my hair today!

But as I said, it could have been worse.

Lessons learned for me: double wrap the leash, pay attention, keep a tight grip, stop making expensive mistakes.

Lesson learned for Bird: don’t go chasin’ horses.

poorbird

big bathroom reveal

The bathroom is finished!

It’s been finished for a little while now, but I’ve been a lazy blogger. I’m also easily overwhelmed, easily winded, and I cry at the drop of a hat. But despite all of this, I’m pretty excited about my new bathroom.

First, a quick reminder of the “before:”

ugbath2

Oh, yeah, that’s the hotness right there.

But now…

bath11

Yayyy! There are still a few things to finish (of course). We need towel bars, a tp holder, some art, shelves, a clock… just a bunch of annoying little things. Plus the trim and the doors need to be painted. But, the majority of the work is done, it’s fully functional, and I’m not brushing my teeth in the kitchen sink anymore. I call that a win.

Another shot:

bath22

Shower time:

bath44

Huge new linen closet (needs some organizational help, but again, my motivation levels are low these days):

bath33

And this I’m really proud of. We found two single vanities on clearance at Home Depot and had a friend seal them together. Want to know how much they cost? $150 each – for the vanities, the countertops, AND the sinks. The full priced versions of the same brand, similar styles were $350 and up… each! So we scored a custom double vanity for $300, all in. That’s my savvy shopping moment of the year, for sure.

Love my vanity most of all:

bath55

So that’s it!

And before you even ask the burning question…

Yes, as of yesterday, the nursery is painted!

nurserywall

On the eve of 37 weeks, I have a (mostly) empty painted room. I told you we’d be cutting it close, didn’t I? Hopefully a post in the near future will announce the news that the nursery is done, and hopefully that post will precede the one that says, “She’s here!”

But hey, only time will tell.

need a coupon? I’ve got a coupon!

In my last post I mentioned that Eric got me these amazing, handmade, organic nursing necklaces on Etsy. But it gets better.

Apparently these necklaces are made by the wife of a friend of his, and after perusing my blog for a bit, she decided to offer my readers a 10% discount on their purchase! Hurray! (Gypsy Mama, these totally remind me of you…)

Oh, and since I didn’t know this before last week:

nursing necklace: a nursing necklace gives baby a focal point and has been proven to keep a child breastfeeding longer, not only each time but for longevity. Nursing necklaces have been given credit for helping moms breastfeed up to two times longer…moms wear it during feeding so baby can focus on colors and shapes, sharpening their visual skills and keeping baby focused on the necklace, not painful head-turning distractions. Nursing necklaces have been around for over a decade, but are just now really starting to catch on. They have been approved by La Leche League as an aid to new mothers.These necklaces have also been called mother’s necklaces, feeding necklaces, and breastfeeding necklaces. (source).

So if you or someone you know needs a nursing necklace, please consider checking out her totally adorable store. She also has hair accessories for older girls, so if you need to shop for nieces, cousins, or friends, this is the perfect place.

The code to get your 10% discount is: BURNTTOAST

Here’s the link to the store: http://www.etsy.com/shop/becreative14

And below are some pics of the merch. Happy shopping. :)

merch1

merch2

merch4

merch3

Friday night caption contest!

Ever go through a bunch of old photos on Facebook just for fun? I do. And I found this gem below.

This was take in June of 2011, and that’s me with the BITCHY look on my face, and the full cup of vodka and Diet Coke right in front of me. The pregnant person I’m sitting next to is Rachel, Eric’s cousin’s wife, who had come up to hang out and play cards on our Father’s Day weekend camping trip. She’s about a month away from her due date here and only now can I appreciate how miserable she must be in the heat.

I just find it funny because I always thought I was hiding my emotions quite well, but clearly I never could. And Rachel – if you ever noticed me making this face at you – I’m SORRY! It has more to do with me than with you.

So tell me – any caption suggestions? :)

campingphoto

dirty, flirty 30

So yesterday was my 30th birthday.

I’m going to preface this by saying that I’m going to complain again. When we were TTC, and experiencing loss, and when I was staying up nights crying into the darkness about how I’d do anything for a baby, hearing anyone complain about pregnancy made me irate…and understandably so. That’s why I just want to acknowledge, again, that I know complaining may sound ungrateful and it may cause some of my homegirls to want to punch me in the face. That’s OK. Please feel free to skip these posts (or, you know, punch me in the face if you really think I deserve it). But I have decided that since I’m all about honesty, and since this is my blog, there’s no use in sugarcoating the ugly reality of the third trimester and how uncomfortable it’s been making me. I’m not glowing…I’m dripping with sweat. I’m not all belly…I’m pretty much obese. And HAHAHA! is what I have to say to the me of several posts back – it turns out you CAN look pregnant from behind. I look pregnant from behind. I definitely do. Do I know it’s going to be worth it? Heck yeah. Do I take back asking for all of this? HECK NO. But still, to properly document my life, I must tell it like it is right now. And right now… it’s rough.

I take birthdays very seriously, and not only do I take the day off work (I now have a 30 year streak of never working on my birthday, and I don’t plan to break it anytime soon), but I also force my mom and sister to take the day off and hang out with me. Generally the plan involves going out to breakfast (by far my favorite meal of the day) and lots of shopping, and then going out to dinner. Most years we drive an hour and a half to the King of Prussia mall (KOP, affectionately), which as anyone in the Philadelphia metro area will tell you is pretty much the best mall ever. It is MASSIVE. Any store you could hope to shop is there.

This year I knew my limits well enough to know that KOP was out of the question. I have a list of nursery needs that I’ve been carting around, and I figured these items were best procured from a discount store, like Marshalls or Ross or Big Lots or Christmas Tree Shops. These are my favorite places to shop lately anyway.

We started out our day running two hours behind schedule just because that’s how it worked out. The birthday crew included my mom, my sister, and my two nieces (aged almost 3 and just turned 1). We drove to my favorite breakfast place, paid for parking, dragged the kids out of the car, walked over and… it was closed for renovations! Boo, hiss. Loaded everyone back up, consulted Yelp real quick, and ended up finding a perfectly respectable place with yummy food. Crisis averted.

We went to Marshalls and spent a couple hours hunting bargains. I was pretty disappointed because of course last time I was there I found a TON of items that perfectly matched my intended nursery decor (and of course I didn’t purchase anything because I wasn’t ready to commit to the theme or the fact that I was actually having a baby just yet), but this time I found nothing. Strangely, they had a lot of cute boy nursery items but not as many things for girls. The one thing from my list that I did find was a robe and comfy pants for the hospital so I don’t have to take pictures in the ugly hospital-issued frock. The robe is black and white, made of a really cool and comfortable stretchy microfiber, and it was $12.99. Score one for Marshalls.

Even though we were running behind schedule, we still had time to go to a few more stores. I should mention here that by this point, after approximately 2 hours of shopping and walking and standing, my feet were completely miserable. These days I can’t help but think of a friend who was pregnant a few years ago who wore these intense white orthopedic shoes every single day, even with skirts and dresses. At the time I was thinking, Oh, weird, if/when I ever get pregnant I’ll never do that. But do you know how much I would have paid to have orthopedic shoes yesterday? Infinity dollars. My feet were K-I-L-L-I-N-G me. My sister and my mom were apparently laughing behind my back because usually on Birthday Shopping Day I’m the one dragging them around and rolling my eyes at how long it takes them to do everything. Yesterday was a huge role reversal, and I was the one constantly seeking out chairs and bathrooms and walking at the speed of molasses. I couldn’t even handle the checkout line, and opted instead to go sit in the car and wait for them.

They came out of the store and started sorting out everyone’s items and loaded up the little girls into my sister’s car (she had driven separately because she had to leave earlier). Then all of the sudden, my sister ran over in complete hysterics. She had accidentally locked her keys and her babies in the hot car, windows up.

The whole thing was so scary. I mean, when I say hot car, it was 65 and sunny, not like 90 degrees or something. Otherwise we would have found a brick and broken the window. But as it was, it was pretty terrible watching the kids cry and sweat in there with no way to comfort them and no way to open the damn doors. We called 911 and the cop came and used some giant hanger looking thing to pry the lock. The whole experience felt like it took hours but really it was only about 25 minutes start to finish. Sweaty girls were comforted, water was distributed, and we ventured on.

We were supposed to hit like four more stores but after all the drama of the morning and due to the fact that my feet felt like I had just climbed up and down Mount Everest 14 times, my heart just wasn’t in it. We stopped in two more stores quickly, but again I didn’t find anything. Honestly, the most stuff I got was at Wegmans about an hour later. Leave it to a pregnant chick to do her birthday shopping at the grocery store. (Favorite purchase of the day: Turkey Hill All Natural Mango ice cream – a new flavor!).

As I may have mentioned, Eric is away on a business trip in New Orleans, so he wasn’t even there to celebrate with me. I guess it’s not that big of a deal and we can just celebrate later. He did send me lovely flowers, which were waiting for me when I got home. I had just enough time to put away my groceries before heading back out to dinner with my parents, sister + fam, and a friend I haven’t seen in a while. It was a nice way to end a physically and mentally exhausting day. Well, that and the ginormous bowl of mango ice cream I indulged in later on.

30 feels a lot like 29, except when it feels like 85, which is to say every day lately. I’m so run-down and exhausted and I hate that I can’t physically do the things I need to do (LIKE…SHOP). I don’t know why I was kind of expecting this in the last two weeks or so of pregnancy, but totally was not expecting it for the entirety of the third trimester. If I had to do a pregnancy breakdown, it would go something like this:

Weeks 1-4 – Hope against hope.
Weeks 4-12 – Absolute terror that something will go wrong.
Weeks 12-16 – Ok, all right, this is pretty cool. Cute bump!
Weeks 16-18 – Wait… why am I getting so fat?
Weeks 18-22 – Seriously, I need to stop gaining so much weight.
Weeks 22-26 – Ice cream is a food group, right?
weeks 26-30 – Now I feel stupid for saying people can’t look pregnant from behind.
weeks 30-34 – Feet! Oh, my feet! Is there somewhere I can sit down? I just need to sit down.

I’m pretty sure the solution is to be more physically active from the get-go, which would allow me to be more physically active now, which would just make me feel better overall. If I ever get pregnant again, that will be the goal. My excuse for not doing this is that I was so terrified in the first trimester that even low-impact exercise seemed ill-advised. That, and I’m a little lazy.

Anyway! My mom loved her thirties. My 87-year-old grandmother called to wish me a happy birthday and said that her favorite years were 30 to 35, which is pretty specific, and seeing as how she’s lived through almost 8 full decades I’m thinking she would know.

All in all, turning 30 isn’t so bad.

it’s gonna be MAY

Notes from 33 weeks:

– At my last OB/GYN appointment I scheduled all of the rest of my appointments…for the entire pregnancy. Seriously surreal.

are my arms really that fat?

are my arms really that fat?

– Over the weekend I went on a hike (not an intense uphill climb, mind you, but a moderately difficult walk in the woods that a 3-year-old could easily complete) and had to spend half a day recovering from it.

– Exhaustion has hit – big time. My naps even need naps. Not that I can take naps, of course. But I fantasize about them every waking (sleepy) minute.

– I’m about 95% sure I have SPD (symphsis pubis dysfunction) also known as PGP (pelvic girdle pain), which is a harmless yet excruciatingly painful condition. I’m usually fine all day long, but once I get into bed at night I feel these intense shooting pains up and down my inner thighs and groin area, sort of like I just did a 6 hour workout without stretching beforehand. It gets so bad that in the middle of the night when I get up to pee, I almost fall over because my legs have totally tensed up. Turning over (a frequent occurrence throughout the night) is excruciating. The constant waves of pain make it hard to sleep. I can’t stand on one leg (which you don’t realize is important until it’s time to put on pants) and getting in and out of the car is harder than it should be. It’s really bad. Anyone else have experience with this at all?

I’m not really sure why I imagine myself exempt from these basic pregnancy realities. It’s hard because I still think of myself as a young, fit, active girl who can complete all her daily activities with little to no modification. But alas, my body protests. If I keep my feet down for any stretch of time longer than an hour, I can literally feel the fluid building up and my ankles and calves becoming rock hard. My best friend in the world these days is my little prop stool at work that allows me to keep my feet up all day long. Without it, I’d be a miserable mess with gigantic elephant feet that don’t fit into shoes. As it is, I’m already flirting with that title.

mayBut it’s not all bad. It’s almost May, my favorite month of the year! Time is seriously going to fly soon, which is both good and bad. Good because I want the baby out now (and I anticipate this feeling is just going to multiply by a thousand as the weeks go on) and once May is over, it’s June. Also, May has my birthday, my baby shower, my anniversary, and a few other fun events sprinkled in that I’ve been looking forward to for a while now. March dragged. April took forever. But now there’s light at the end of the tunnel.

Speaking of – the bathroom enjoys slow, but beautiful progress. This was a total gut job, and included everything from complete rewiring to moving walls and doors and plumbing. So yeah, it’s not finished yet… not even close. Thankfully, the shower IS operational, so no more field trips to my parent’s house to bathe. Plus it’s kind of nice when I’m behind the shower curtain because I can imagine my pretty, shiny new bathroom totally complete (that is, until I open the curtain again).

The bathroom, or lack thereof, isn’t stressing me out as much as the hindrance it is making on the nursery project. What was once an empty room is now a catchall for uninstalled sinks, contractor tools, linen closet contents, and at least 200 travel-sized shampoos and body lotions (you should have heard Eric yelling at me when he discovered my stash. Truly, I have an addiction to stealing these from hotels). There’s no way we can paint or set up in that mess, so it would seem that there’s no way to start the nursery until the bathroom is done. And now, heavy (emphasis on HEAVY) with child and frantically realizing that OMG, MAY IS THE MONTH RIGHT BEFORE JUNE, that’s starting to become worrisome. Eric? 100% not concerned. Most people I lament this to? Also, unconcerned. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard the phrase, “Oh, you won’t use the nursery for the first few months anyway.” And yes, I KNOW this. I don’t expect her to be sleeping in her crib on our first night home from the hospital. However, tackling painting and setting up and all that stuff with a (cranky? colicky? needy?) newborn strapped to my chest sounds vastly less appealing than tackling it now, when her biggest disruption to my day is a bout of the hiccups. Plus, all of the clothes I’ve gotten so far are piled in a corner, unwashed, unsorted, and decidedly far from organized. I’m sure after the baby shower I’ll have even more stuff to sort. So no, I don’t NEED to have the nursery done before she arrives. But I’d like to. I’d really, really like to.

I’ve gone from envying the baby bumps of complete strangers to envying the anonymous message board posts from the “June Babies Group” on the What to Expect website. Every other post these past few weeks has been all like, “Nursery pics!” and “Check out my nursery!” and “FINALLY putting the finishing touches on the nursery, just need to hang one last picture frame and I’m D-O-N-E!” and it’s making me all bitter and jealous. But then I remember, no, Amanda, please keep yourself gracious and be thankful that you’re having a baby at all. Last year at this time, would I have complained? Over something so silly as not having the nursery done? No. It’s all about perspective. Just a few days ago I was driving home from work and feeling her kicks and all of the sudden I just started sobbing because holy shit, my daughter exists and I get to meet her soon and she’s actually right there in my lap at all times. Yeah. Pregnancy hormones are fun.

What else? Nothing much. Still boring, and glad to be boring. Not that I want anything bad to happen, (duh), but I kind of miss the days of yore when every post would have like 30 comments and we all got to interact and stuff. I miss my blog friends! Now I’m noticing that the unofficial group of girls I’ve been following for over a year now has been posting less and less frequently (with a few exceptions, of course, and to you I say thanks)… a lot of them have had babies, or aren’t doing much fertility-wise, or have disappeared under mysterious circumstances… it makes me sad. And while I haven’t left much room for comments because nothing I say really needs/deserves a reply, still I selfishly want to keep the conversations going. I wonder if anyone is still reading. And to those of you who are, thank you, and please don’t feel like you need to say something just to say it. That’s not what I mean at all. I guess I’m just feeling nostalgic and want to know what’s going on in all of your lives, because hey, blogging makes you slightly voyeuristic whether you like it or not. And to the very, very few people who manage to blog almost every day – I appreciate you, I respect you, and I’m in awe of you. My goal is a post a week and I fail at that most of the time.

That’s about it. See you in a week (maybe).