Our House is a Very, Very, Very Fine House

I didn't really get to say goodbye to my old house. With all the hustle of getting everything into the new house, getting the old house cleaned, and just general everyday busy life; I never got to walk around my old house, take stock in the memories we made there the last four years, and just say goodbye. We close later today, and I still won't likely get that chance. So here goes.

Being the first house that I've ever owned, that we've ever owned, moving out is a bittersweet thing. Our family is growing, and we need more space.

There were times when I hated that house - like when the basement flooded and our cat, Scout, got sick in the same week. Or when water randomly started spraying out of the wall, and we realized the overall plumbing was crap. Or the leaky nightmare closet in the basement that I didn't like to go near when home alone. Overall, the numerous times something went wrong in that first couple of years.

But after putting time, energy, love (and yes, quite a bit of money) into that place; it became home, a haven, a place I looked forward to greeting each night.

It was the first house that truly belonged to us, and therefore truly belonged to my cat, Stewie. It's the house where we said goodbye to Stewie for the last time. It’s the house where we gave two wonderful cats, Scout and Wren, forever homes. It's the house where we put up real Christmas trees, laughed countless times, cried countless times, celebrated countless times, and hugged countless times. It’s the house where our first neighborhood greeting was by the wild turkeys that live in the area.

I survived my first pregnancy in that house. Our daughter spent her first 22 months of life in that house. It’s the house where Ahsoka and I watched the snow fall from the living room window; her eyes alight with wonder and excitement. I learned so much about life, home ownership, myself and what kind of parent I want to be - while living in that house. It's the house where I watched my husband become a wonderful father; strengthening our bond as partners, and our love for one another.

So thank you old house - thank you for all the memories, good and bad, and everything in between. I hope your new owners love you as much as we did.

The Child

I had my 20 week ultrasound for little Babs (we call her Babs because we still refer to our toddler as "Baby", and don't want to confuse her). Babs is healthy and on schedule! But most importantly, I am now half-way through my pregnancy. WOOT! Admittedly, I have already hit the point in pregnancy that every pregnant woman tends to hit deep into their third trimester - I am just done with it. I'm tired, sore, a bit overwhelmed, and ready to have a healthy baby. But I have 20 more weeks to go. I can be patient, but boy am I having a tough time this go around. I suspect that it has to do with aging.

Since baby is healthy, and I'm mostly healthy; I think I can largely attribute the difficulty and discomfort this time around to the fact that I'm pushing 39. My body is like "ENOUGH!" Don't worry body, we'll get back to our usual non-baby self in... I don't know, 2-3 years? I mean, it's not like you have the baby and, BOOM, body back to normal. There's breastfeeding for a minimum of a year (although possibly much longer as baby will dictate). there's the fact that it can take a couple of years for the uterus to go back down to the original size, and then there's the post-pregnancy and breastfeeding and weaning hormones. Dude, hormones are mother-fuckers. They can really throw things out of whack.

But I digress. I'm super excited to be at this next stage of pregnancy, and now that I know the baby's sex, I'm already debating a list of geeky-inspired names for the child. Oh man, maybe instead of referring to her as Babs, I should start calling her "The Child". Or "Baby Yoda". Okay, "Yoda" would also confuse Ahsoka since he's one of her favorite characters in her Star Wars board book. Seriously, if you want your toddler to start loving Star Wars early this is the book to add to their collection:

While I always encourage people to support their local book store, you can find it on Amazon HERE. You're welcome.

I Don't Understand Fashion

In today's random observation of pregnancy fashion, I just do not understand pregnancy jumpers (not to be confused with the British term for sweaters, but actual one-piece outfits that you have to take off from the top down). Especially since pregnancy, at least for me, comes with a fair amount of running to the bathroom almost every hour of the day, I feel like this fashion trend makes little to no sense for the average pregnant woman. Does the material shown below look lovely? Absolutely. But can I imagine my preggo ass looking flattering in said outfit? Not even a little bit. Aside from this very lovely model, who would?

Don't get me wrong, I don't really understand fashion or am very fashionable even when not pregnant. But for pregnancy, I'm mostly sticking to leggings and either oversized t-shirts for home, or leggings and dresses for work. Whatever is comfortable and soft as possible is my go to. Boring, probably. But pregnant or not, comfort is my priority above all else. I do love dressing cute, but that cute dress better have some functional pockets!

And that ends my rant for the morning. Carry on.

Never Tell Me The Odds

When someone at work tells you that you look like you're about ready to have your baby, and you're only 18 weeks in...

Okay, so maybe I'm already feeling a little bit self-conscious anyways, but can we call agree that talking to a pregnant woman about how she looks should be taken off the table? Or maybe just in general, pregnant or not, can we stop making assumptions about other people's bodies? I'm trying my best here, but sometimes it's a little discouraging as I've had several comments recently about my weight. I eat healthy, I walk daily, I chase after a very active toddler daily. Some women just get big during pregnancy, especially shorter women with short waistlines like myself.

A New Adventure Awaits

Well, we officially went publicly official that I'm pregnant last week. There's a mixture of feelings that come with sharing with the wider circle of friends and family that you're expecting a baby. On one hand, it makes things seem even more real (because at this stage in pregnancy, between the nausea and exhaustion, I still manage to forget that I'm pregnant). On the other hand, all of the congratulatory notes are overwhelming, and I want to hide in a cave the rest of the pregnancy. I'm excited to finally be able to talk about it publicly. I've been holding back baby-related Twitter rants. I wish I had noted them somewhere because I'm somewhat convinced that I'm a hilarious person (okay, I'm the only person who thinks I'm funny, but that's OK, I still get to share whatever the hell I want on my Twitter).

I also want to make sure that we're just as excited for this baby as we were for Ahsoka. It's hard. I'm less anxious in some regards because I've done this before so I somewhat know what to expect overall. But I'm still nervous; mostly about what juggling two kiddos is going to look like, especially early on when Babs is so new and vulnerable. But here's what we shared because we're cool nerds like that.

It's very similar to what we shared when we announced that I was pregnant with Ahsoka, but this time we have a little figure to represent Ahsoka.

Tricky

It’s been a year since I found out that we lost Matthew. This time has passed by in tricky ways. On one hand, it feels like we could have just talked on the phone not too long ago; certainly not over a year ago. On the other hand, it feels like an eternity since we’ve hugged or laughed together. I’m not sure when, if ever, I’ll stop feeling like I’m struggling with this loss. To say things are “easier” isn’t really the sentiment I’m feeling in reality. I don’t cry every time I think of him, although admittedly I’m crying now. I guess the reality is that the loss doesn’t feel any easier, but my ability to cope with the overwhelming waves of grief… or by ability to hide the grief I feel when I’m missing his voice… I guess you could say that piece is “easier”. But none of this is easy by definition; not by any stretch of the imagination.

I miss the way he would inexplicably use corny words like “Broheim”. I miss his 90’s fashion sense. I miss his half-smile. I miss being able to call him about random medical issues and talk through things. I miss the way he would try to understand when I would talk about work or life in general, even if it was beyond his understanding. As much as he would talk, he had really learned how to be a better listener the few years before he left us. I miss telling him about Ahsoka, or his comments in our Baby Ahsoka group on FB. I miss hearing the delight in his voice as I would describe (in probably too much detail) her latest milestone or cute moment. But mostly, I miss his laugh. It was this unmistakably familial laugh that reminded me of my dad.

I don’t think today is an anniversary I will honor each year, although these yearly reminders that he’s no longer with us are difficult. Instead, I hope that with each missed holiday, each birthday, each random memory that pops up randomly about him; that I am able to get to the point where I celebrate his life and the ways in which he made my life better for the short period of time we had him with us. But this last year, this has been by far the toughest, and I can’t ignore that. I can’t ignore the ways in which I feel as though I’m missing a huge piece of myself. I can’t help but regret the times that I took him for granted, and how incredibly hard that feels today of all days. And I can’t allow myself to shut these feelings down, even if I’d rather put them off or never deal with them at all. So today I am grieving. Today I am letting myself cry. Today I say, I miss you so much dear brother. I love you, and I hope that in some way you are watching over us with your half smile.

Deep Blue Sea

"We're not going to be able to keep this a secret as long as you'd like."

As I walked into childcare this morning to drop off Ahsoka, our provider says to me "Have you seen 'Deep Blue Sea'"? I haven't, but she quoted the above to me as she looked at my stomach. Now, I haven't been able to find that quote online, but all of that aside, I do look super pregnant for only being nine weeks along. It's not that I'm trying to keep it a secret at work so much as it's not really something I want to share until I hit that 12-16 week mark. While there's still a chance of miscarriage at that time, especially being 38 years old, it's far less likely that it will happen once you reach that point in the pregnancy.

All of that aside, I'm fucking terrible at keeping secrets. And despite my attempt to wear drapey clothing, I definitely have a very pronounced baby bump. The shirt I'm wearing is probably betraying me even more than I realized when I left the house this morning. I'm wearing a pretty loose open cardigan over it, but this is definitely going to be the last time I'm going to get away with wearing this shirt (mostly from a 'I don't want to stretch it out' perspective). I would love to break out the maternity wear, but with all the cinched around the sides, that will only further extenuate the bump. But that's only a matter of time as my waistline (and cup size) continues to expand.

At the end of the day, whether I'm pregnant or not is really no one's business, and I'm certain no one around the office is going to offer the idea that I might be pregnant before I'm ready to share it... But the thing is, I am ready to share it. I'm ready to shout, "Yep, there's a baby in there, and despite looking like I'm at the 20 week mark, we're only at nine weeks! Yep, fast approaching beached whale status over here!" I'm just a little terrified to do that.

These Dreams go on When I Close My Eyes

Well, it's that fun time in the pregnancy where the first trimester pregnancy symptoms are really hammering in that yes, I am pregnant. My least favorite symptoms are matching pretty much exactly what made my last pregnancy slightly miserable - trouble sleeping, feeling constantly hungry, morning (all day) sickness, sore breasts, mood swings, and my absolute favorite... acne.

The pregnancy symptom that I actually do enjoy is, however, extremely vivid dreams. For some reason the theme of the dreams I can remember for the last two nights is mythical (as in as far as I can tell my brain made them up), yet dangerous creatures befriending me; however, I'm still afraid of them despite their obvious friendliness towards me. Maybe that's kind of an allegory for pregnancy - pregnancy, especially as one gets older (me, I'm the one getting older) comes with a certain level of danger. Pregnancy is beautiful, and in the end you get something wonderful from it; however, there are many worries and bumps along the way that cannot be ignored. Ok, so I doubt that my dreams are actually that insightful. I think I just fashion myself an adventurer in my slumber moments. But I'm rattling off these thoughts as they enter into my head, and it made sense as I typed everything out.

The anxiety about the mythical animals or potentially unknown danger (okay, at least one of them was definitely Pokemon inspired - it was like a Mantine mixed with a puppy) is certainly a reflection of my general pregnancy anxiety. Today is is the first day of my eighth week of pregnancy, and today also happens to be our first ultrasound. Today we will find out if the baby is where they should be, growing on track, and has a heartbeat. I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge that I am anxious about what today means for my family. So I write it all out, and save yet another post to my "pending folder" until we finally reveal to our friends and family that yes, there is indeed a youngling growing in my uterus.

Anywho, for all the things that so far have been nearly exactly like my first pregnancy, there are a couple of subtle (haha, not subtle at all) differences. For one, at eight weeks pregnant, I look to be the same size I was at 16 weeks pregnant the last time (and I showed pretty early the last time too). It's becoming increasingly difficult to hide the fact that I am obviously pregnant between the bump forming under my clothes, and my constant burping from my stomach threatening to lurch every five minutes or so. I also look so tired... because I am so fracking tired! I've never been a good napper, not even during my pregnancy, but I have had no such issues this time around. Thank goodness my toddler is still napping because I certainly need that time in the afternoons on the weekends. My weekday work week, however, is still sadly nap free (despite my deep desire to nap every afternoon).

Wave of Excitement

A flutter, a feeling, a wave of excitement, promptly followed by waves of exhaustion and nausea. This, for me, is the early stages of pregnancy. At this point, just five weeks in, I cannot share with most people my exciting news (this post will stay in draft mode until I reach 12 weeks). So I will write here, and brain dump about what I'm going through.

My feelings about having a second child, even though I said I definitely wanted a second child, are somewhat conflicted. On one hand, I want Ahsoka to experience having a sibling. I also think that as a family, we have so much love to give, and I think I'm ready to share that with another being. But I worry about Ahsoka getting enough attention when I'm 8 and 9 months pregnant and huge... or more so, when I'm 1 week postpartum, and still healing, unable to pick her up for cuddles. While I'm doing all the reading about introducing a toddler to a new baby, I know there will be conflict. I know that Ahsoka will struggle to understand the abrupt change in circumstances; the division of attention from her parents. I worry we'll be less close, or that she will feel emotionally abandoned by me during that difficult newborn stage. I worry I'll lose my patience at times. I love her so much, it's hard to imagine what another child in our mix will even look like. But I also think it's going to be amazing. I think she'll be curious, and that eventually as her younger sibling grows older, she'll have a playmate, a friend; I hope.

One thing I want to do for Ahsoka is create a special space for her. She loves to read, so I want to set up a reading nook in her room. I had high aspirations of setting up an Ewok/Endor themed nursery before she was born, that ended up being simplified into a simple overall Star Wars themed room instead; however, I think I can make the Endor room work for her toddler/ childhood bedroom. Setting up bookshelves that look like trees? Painting the room to look like a forest, as I had intended for her nursery but simply ran out of time to pull it off... I want to do all of the things. We still have plenty of Ewok plushies to make this work.

My brain keeps thinking about all the planning that needs to happen. We'll be so much better prepared for what's to come than we were for Ahsoka. Being a brand new parent is such an amazing, yet trial-and-error, experience. At the same time, logically I know that every child is different so things will be inevitably different with the new baby (I started calling them "Babs" since we still refer to Ahsoka as "Baby" often, and want to avoid confusion).

At the same time, I'm afraid to plan too much, and I definitely don't want to execute any major plans. There's so much to do, but I feel painfully "on hold" until we reach at least the 12 week mark. And that is my least favorite thing about early pregnancy. Hoping for the best, but painfully on hold in case it doesn't work out. At age 38, my chances of miscarriage are somewhere in the range of 20 - 25%. Having never experienced one (at least nothing more than what is considered a "chemical pregnancy" as far as I know), I'm hopeful. But most of the time it happens due to a chromosomal anomaly, and there's literally nothing the mother can do about it. I am, doing all the healthy things of course. But that lack of control... let's just say for an anxious person like me, that's not something I can easily accept.

Something kind of neat though? The baby's heart has just recently started beating (assuming all is going well). It's undetectable at this stage, but they have a two chamber heart by the end of week 5 (or 21 days after conception). I saw a model of it on my pregnancy app, and it made me so happy.

One source of disappointment is that there really isn't a geeky themed pregnancy app. There is a (very advertisement laden) website called babysizer.com that will tell you the size of your baby week by week in geeky terms, but I like having an app on my phone. So I guess I will settle for weekly updates with various animals (I did fruit last time, but that was always a little creepy to me). Right now, they're the side of a lady bug. Okay, let's face it, I was curious about the "geeky" size, so Baby Sizer says that baby is also the size of a piece of Nerd candy. FINE! In case you're curious, they'll be the size of a Lego mini-figure by week 10.

Oh my gosh, do not google "model of five week old baby" if you are five weeks pregnant. Just smile at your pregnancy app of choice, and let it be.

I wish you were here

A wayward post

A song that reminded them of you

And now I’m reminded too.

I wish you were here.

Desperately searching for old voicemails

So I can hear your voice just one more time

But to no avail because I took you for granted for far too long.

And now I can never get your voice back.

I’ll never hear the scratch

Of a late night voicemail

Deleted in haste

Because I didn’t know.

I didn’t know how desperate I would be

To hear your voice again.

I wish you were here.

I’m so sorry that I took you for granted.

I’m sorry for deleted voicemails,

Neglected conversations.

Missed calls.

Missed chances.

I wish you were here.

I wish I could hear your voice just one more time….

Shout, Shout, Let it All Out

When I was little I lost my dad. Let me rephrase… when I was six years old my dad died suddenly and unexpectedly, and that loss has been with me my entire life. It sits on my chest, and weighs on me heavily when I stand still long enough to think about it. In many ways, losing someone so pivital in my life at such a young age has seemed to shape me - it shapes the way I view the world, and I largely believe that my generalized anxiety disorder can be traced back to this first life altering event. And then I just kept losing the people that I love.

When I was 13 I lost my granddaddy Stewart, and it was awful. We were there at the end in the hospital with him, and it was horrific. He was dying. We were there to see him dying. And in my preteen brain, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that there was literally nothing I could do about it. Although losing grandparents is probably most children's first introduction to the inevitability that everyone dies, my granddaddy had become a replacement father figure in my life, and therefore his loss was akin to losing my father all over again. 

When I was 14 my cousin Paul (who was more like a brother than a cousin) died by suicide. It was (and still is) one of the worst things that has ever happened in my life. It completely changed my family, our holiday traditions, and to this day, I still have nightmares about the night we lost Paul.

Because of these loses, since I was very young, my worst fear has been that someone I love dearly will die again. While I know that death is an inevitable part of life, losing people is terrifying to me. 

And then a few months ago, it happened again. My brother died unexpectedly. While he had been disabled for a very long time, and while my brain likes to play the game of “worst case scenario”, and play out how I would react or feel if someone I loved passed away (usually when I’m trying to sleep); nothing can ever fully prepare you for losing one of your favorite people.

My siblings aren’t just random people in my life (it seems like I know so many people that aren’t particularly close with their siblings, or who haven’t talked to their siblings in years). My siblings are my best friends. We don’t live close to one another, but we talk often; and when we see one another, we go out and spend time together like no time has passed at all. We play pool, we eat food, and we enjoy the time we spend together. They raised me when my mother simply wasn’t mentally capable (or even physically present). Losing my brother is one of my worst nightmares, one of my greatest fears, and it happened. And even though it happened months ago, feels like it’s still happening to me. My brain won’t let it go. I expect to be able to call him with good or bad news at every turn. I expected to see him this past Christmas. I expect him to see my daughter grow up. And he’s… just… Not… There… and when I let myself think about that, it’s excruciating.

And the worst part is, I don’t feel like I have time to deal with any of it. Or more accurately, I don't want to make the time to deal with it. When I start to think about it, I cry; and simply put, I don’t have time to cry. I have a job, I have responsibilities, I have a baby who I love dearly and I don’t want to cry in front of yet, not yet. As someone who grew up with an absent mother who was always crying when she was around (who always cries even now), I just don’t want to cry around my daughter. I know that’s not logical. I know I will never be like my mother. But I just hate crying anyways, and I really don’t want to cry around my baby. 

So I shove it down. I don’t have time, I have to get work done. I don’t have time, I want to be present for the little time I get to spend with my daughter because of working. I don’t have time, I need to sleep. Oh in the quiet moments right before I fall asleep, my brain tries so hard to think about it, to make me feel it, and I keep shoving it down. I don’t want to think about it. He’s still there… he’s just a phone call away… I’ll see him the next time I come to visit… it’s not happening again. He’ll always be there. It’s alright.

But it’s not alright. I’m anxious all of the time anyways. I’m terrified something will happen to my husband, or my daughter, or my sisters. I’m so anxious, my entire body is tense all of the time. I'm so tense, I keep hurting my back simply by existing. When I drive, horrible images float through my brain - I keep imagining horrible accidents that will take it all away with a blink of an eye. I’m on high alert. I need to keep my family safe. At night, I wake up all of the time even when my daughter isn’t stirring or awake because I need to check the monitor. I need to see that she’s OK. Everything in this life is so fucking fragile, and I just can’t seem to cope with any of it.

And then I shove all of that down too… and logically I know that this will only last for so long, that I can only put off these feelings for so long; but I spent so much time in my life feeling like shit. I worked so hard in my life to get to where I am now. I have such a good life (you know, aside from the loss and the anxiety). I just want to enjoy the good things in my life, and ignore the bad things… just a little while longer. But if I keep shoving it down, it's only going to get worse. The detachment/anxiety cycle is going to keep getting worse.

And what is the worst thing that could happen if I really let it sink it, if I think about it, if I let myself cry? It becomes real... if I actually let myself feel this, he's really gone. If I stop thinking that he's just a phone call away, he really isn't just a phone call away. If I stop expecting to see him, if I stop thinking about the next time I get to see him... he really won't be there. I'm not ready to accept it. I'm not ready to accept that he's gone. Over and over again, like a child throwing a tantrum, my mantra is that it's not fucking fair. It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not right. It'll never be right. And I'm just so fucking sick of losing the people that I love. I'm so fucking sick of feeling like I've been left.

A good friend of mine told me that I need to start writing; that I need to start dealing with these emotions. So I’m trying now. I’m trying so fucking hard to let it out, but I’m afraid. I’m afraid that if I think too much about it, I won’t be able to stop. But I have to start letting it out sometime. It may as well be pen to paper… or you know, typing words into a screen.

The Ignored Child and the Intensive Parent

The Ignored Child and the Intensive Parent

Recently, I’ve been seeing more articles coming out about “Intensive Parenting”. One that I ran across just yesterday “The Relentlessness of Modern Parenting” by the Atlantic (an article I found to be completely judgmental), had me thinking about my own parenting style. According to them, I am an intensive parent because I play with my daughter doing crafts and reading her books - or due to my intention to put Ahsoka into at least a couple of classes throughout her childhood. But what the article fails to really cover, is why parents have become this way. I mean, they talk about why rich parents are this way, but they fail to look at the middle class and what may drive us to make sure that our children get the most out of well, their childhood. They fail to talk about why those of us who grew up in vastly different households may choose to be more hands on with our own children.

I didn’t grow up middle class. I grew up poor. I wasn’t so poor that we were homeless at any point, but we were poor enough that my bi-polar, often absent, mother struggled to keep things afloat. We were poor enough that I can remember not always having food in the house (even if sometimes it was due to my mom simply not caring to buy food). And we were poor enough by the time I came along that things like classes and quality time with mom simply didn’t happen. I was fortunate that there were nearly free things in my community which enabled me to be in a Children’s quoir, or that my church had enough activities that allowed me to do fun things, such as girls’ camp when I was a teenager. But even so, I was raised with a large sense of detachment from my mother.

When I was six months old, my mother had her first mental breakdown, and was hospitalized for the first time because of it. After that, she suffered from migraines, and general depression that kept her in bed for long periods of time. When I was six years old, and my father passed away, she worked full time, and I saw even less of her. While I had an imaginative childhood spent exploring the woods behind my house, I also had a childhood spent largely in front of the television. My brother referred to me as “The Ignored Child” because being 10 years old than me, his early childhood experience was vastly different than my own. His memories of me as a baby and toddler are of waking up, changing my diaper, feeding me breakfast, and putting me in front of the TV before school. When he would return home from school, I would still be in front of the TV, often times still in the same diaper.

So when I read articles about this intensive style of parenting… It kind of pisses me off. Yeah, I do read parenting books, and articles, and have really thoughtfully considered the type of parent I want to be. And I did “breastfeed exclusively” for her first six months because, um, guys, that’s not a new thing… that’s a thing most developed countries do well beyond the 1 year mark that the AAP (American Academy of Pediatrics) recommend. Why is that even part of this article?

Yes, I do read to my child daily, and try to be present with her. I also encourage her to play by herself. I encourage her to explore the safe spaces in our house we have created for her. And when she is older, I will encourage her to explore more freely (she is only one year old after all). Yeah, I did make her a sugar-free birthday cake for her first birthday because I like her teeth to be healthy, and as this article may judge me for that, there are a million other articles talking about how prevalent childhood obesity has become in our society. There are so many damn contradictory articles and studies and books, it makes my fucking head spin. Why do I do all of this? Because I believe that my daughter deserves a better childhood than the one I had. While I do appreciate my childhood in many ways because I like who I am as a person at this point in my life, it took so much struggle to get here, and many MANY experiences, that frankly, I could have done without. I had plenty of “life experiences” to craft me into a strong person that occurred prior to the dumpster fire that was my 20s. So if I can give my daughter a childhood filled with the magic and wonder and exploration I had, but subtract the death and depression and neglect? FUCK YEAH I’m going to do it.

I don’t do these things because I think that it will make my daughter be rich, or because I think I can prevent all of the bad things from happening to her. I do these things because I love spending time with my daughter, and I want to enjoy this time we have together because once she’s a teenager, I know that I will not have these opportunities. But more importantly, I don’t want her to feel as lonely as I did as a child. I want her to feel loved. I want her to feel supported. I’m not going to spend countless hours doing her homework as this article states modern parents do, but I am certainly going to be a resource for her because frankly I did poorly in school throughout my childhood because I didn’t have resources. My siblings were teenagers by the time I really needed help in school, and being children themselves, they had their own shit to work through.

I’m also not planning on putting her into all of the classes, or doing all of the activities. But I do think that there’s some fun and learning to be had by doing some fun things together or independently. I believe that there is a healthy balance there. I think parenting is a constant balancing act between what we want for our kids, being there for our kids, and also letting our kids experience and make mistakes. And I think that instead of being helpful, these articles are painfully judgmental of what modern parents are experiencing. We have so much more data and information to sort through. In some ways, it’s amazing because it does allow me the opportunity to see what kind of parent I want to be. In some ways, it can be maddening because sometimes as a new parent, I just need some fucking help figuring out if it’s, for instance, diaper rash or something worse. Sometimes I just need some fucking help getting my house clean! But what I don’t need, is one more damn article telling me that I’m doing something wrong – too much this, but too little that! Fuck you! Parents are largely doing the best that we can with the resources and information we have.

And yeah, it sucks that not everyone has these resources, or abilities to put their kids in classes, or activities. My mom certainly didn’t – although frankly, she was resourceful enough to take advantage where she could, and I think that’s what we should focus on for families doing without. What we can do to offer activities for kids that aren’t so ridiculously expensive in communities that can use them? What can we do to provide these stressed out and busy parents with the information they need to get at these programs that they aren’t aware of - assuming that they even want to take advantage of those types of things, because some parents are happy with a completely free range style.

And that brings me to another point that this article seems to fail to mention. I think more parents would LOVE to leave their children unattended in their yard, or let them go to a local park after a certain age/ maturity level. But guess what? We can’t! In this modern day and age, your neighbors will literally call the cops on you, and you could have a mark on your permanent record for letting your child play in your front yard without you; even if you can see them from your kitchen window. Gone are the days of letting swaths of children plan and explore alone because our society has gotten so fucking judgmental. I hope more states pass free range parenting laws. But until then, some of us parents will have no choice but to always keep our kids in our presence when outside of our home. That’s not intensive, that’s just reality.

The Birth Story

Today is the one year anniversary of Ahsoka's due date. She waited a whole week from her due date to make her way into the world (or perhaps it took a week of contractions/ early labor + over 33 hours of active labor to convince her to come out). But as I read my "still pregnant" post from this date last year, and thinking about everything it took to get her into our lives; I think today will always be a special anniversary to me.

I meant to write out her birth story soon after it occurred so that everything would be fresh in my mind. I wanted to note every single detail. But life is busy, and working full time while being a full time mama leaves little time to write. But as I take stock of the things in my life that help me process my thoughts, that help me navigate through this life, writing is at the top of the list. So, in celebration of the date my doctors thought my daughter might be born, I will write the birth story. Why not wait for her actual birth date? Because the reality is that the story of Ahsoka's birth was a week-long adventure. 

A year ago today, the day started like any other typical Monday. Except for the fact that I was an extremely uncomfortable pregnant lady who had spent the past few weeks thinking that my baby was coming early, and that had not happened. I was fortunate because my job at the time allowed me to work from home the later part of my pregnancy journey. So I was gearing up for an uneventful day at work, even as I was having what I thought were "pretend" contractions, and going about my day. My husband went into work because nothing indicated to me that Ahsoka was coming anytime soon.

But then about mid-day, my "pretend" contractions started to feel a little more... intense. Nothing too painful, just... more frequent and more of a full body experience. So I texted my husband, and said that I didn't want to alarm him, but I think that labor might be starting. Now, knowing from our birthing class that early labor can take a day or two, we weren't too concerned, but being the loving husband that he is; Zach rushed home to be with me. As the contractions intensified, we realized that there was a winter storm rushing through the area. And we thought, let's call the nurse line to see what they recommend. They recommended that we go to the hospital immediately. 

Upon arrival to the hospital, they hooked us up to a monitor, we talked about what our birth plan was going to be (a natural birth in a birthing tub, which the hospital was happy to accommodate)... and were told that neither my doctor nor my OBGYN were not on call for that day. I was incredibly dismayed. My OB had been with us throughout the entire journey, and my regular doctor (who is also an OB) was also someone that I would have loved to be in on the process. A couple of hours after our arrival, and after testing my birth canal for any amniotic fluid that might be leaking out (there wasn't any), they realized that my contractions (while they were legitimate contractions) were simply not consistent enough to move labor forward. I was also barely dilated at half-an-inch. Given they weather, they said that we would wait around a couple of hours; however, it was very unlikely that anything was going to occur any time soon. So we decided to trek though the bad weather and make our way home.

By the time we left, the snow storm was heavy underway, and rush hour traffic had started. One of the highway exits that we would have taken to get home was completely blocked by an accident, so we had to get off the highway and drive through the city. Our car threatened to get stuck numerous times, we navigated around cars that were legitimately stuck, but somehow I knew that we were going to be ok. It took us two hours to get across town (10 miles). Despite my rather uncomfortable contractions and the stress of driving through bad weather, the whole thing was kind of funny to us and surreal. We joked that it would be funny if I had the baby on the road (it wouldn't).

Finally, once we were across town, and probably only a few miles from home, we realized we were starving. So we stopped at a local burger joint and through my contractions, we enjoyed what was yet another possibly last meal before the baby comes moment (we had eaten out several times leading up to the due date thinking that it could be the last time we sit as childless adults together in a restaurant). It was kind of comical because I was HUGE and obviously having contractions, eating a burger, drinking a root beer, and watching the snow dumping outside. The wait staff watched us curiously.

We made it home that night exhausted, and complete bewildered as to what to expect next.

The next morning, I had my weekly doctor's appointment with my OB. They examined me, witnessed me having a couple of contractions, and took a peak at the baby to see how she was doing. While she was head down, she was facing the wrong way; which is likely why labor was not progressing. They advised that I just continue to wait it out at home, and my OB felt very strongly that Ahsoka would emerge in the next day or two. 

For for nights and five days, we waited... Well, "waited" isn't the right word. We tried to do anything we could to get labor to progress. I did yoga every day, I went for very short and very awkward walks outside (in over a foot of snow, with my husband holding me to make sure I didn't fall). I went to the pool to walk around, in attempt to try to convince Ahsoka to come to us. And we did very awkward (and at times very uncomfortable) stretches that were supposed to help the baby "turn" the correct direction. Every night I would go to sleep with my contractions intensifying, and every morning I would wake up with barely a contraction every 20 minutes.

Finally that Saturday night around 10PM, I noticed that the contractions once again seemed to be intensifying, and I thought JUST MAYBE this would be it. But it still didn't seem as intense as the nurses at the hospital indicated the would be. So we went to bed. Then I awoke with the intense feeling I needed to use the bathroom. It was at that point that I lost my mucus plug (something I had been told to anticipate in our birth classes, but that I still didn't full understand until it happened). It was an exciting moment because I knew that meant we could go to the hospital, that labor was finally progressing. I woke up my husband, and he and I decided to take quick showers before heading out. Unfortunately while he was showering, and I was packing my bag, my water broke as I was standing in front of my dresser. I had to laugh. I had been told by SO MANY PEOPLE that your water does not simply break while at home. That only happens in the movies you see. Well, not only did my water break right there in my bedroom, but I continued to leak all the way to the hospital.

Upon arrival the hospital checked us in, and got us set up in a birthing suite. Monitoring the contractions (after testing yet again to make sure my water had actually broken, which it had), they said that we still had a while to wait and that we should get some rest. I was still only dilated about an inch. My OB was on a road trip, and would not be back until Sunday evening, so I was sadly aware she would not likely be there; however, my regular doctor was going to be there the next day, which made me happy because I thought at least she would likely be there for the birth. Despite knowing that we were likely in there for the long haul, I had trouble sleeping that night. I was too excited.

The next morning my doctor warned that approximately 12 hours after my water broke (so around noon she said), that if the labor didn't progress we would want to speed things up with pitosin because you are more open to infection once your water breaks. Surely the baby would be ready to get here by then! But as the day wore on, my contractions slowed yet again, so my dreams of having a natural water birth were tossed out the window, and I was hooked up to an IV to begin the pitosin drip. I would still be able to labor down in the bath tub if I wished, but they can't do a water birth when you have to take pitosin. I understood because the reality is that I was more concerned about having a healthy baby than having a perfect birth story. 

Of all the things I had prepared for in getting ready for Ahsoka's birth (knowing full well that birth plans often go out the window), I had not really read up on pitosin. I knew that pitosin moved slow labors forward, and was used to induce labor, but that was about it. I didn't realize that in the process of "Speeding things up", pitosin also causes contractions to intensify. And the word "intensify" doesn't really quite capture the feeling. I went from breathing and humming through my contractions to howling and weeping through them. The contractions were coming every minute, without any relief. I was using the bathroom every five minutes. I sat on a birthing ball, I leaned over the bed, I tried to walk, I labored in an extremely hot bath... nothing gave me any sense of relief. The only thing that seemed to kind of feel a little bit okay was sitting on the doctor's swivel stool and leaning on the edge of the bed. My poor husband looked so dismayed.

Six hours into the pitosin drip; six hours of grueling, intense, horrific pain, they decided to check to see how much I had dilated. When I was in birthing class, they said all moms go through some kind of breaking point during labor. It was hard to imagine not having gone through labor, what that would be like. At that point, I had labored for over 18 hours, and the past six hours had been the most intense pain that I had ever experienced. So when they checked to see how far I had dilated, and told me that I was only at three inches... that was my breaking point. I hadn't cried, nor even complained (other than you know, howling in pain), but I began to heavily weep. The nurses (the saints) who were there tried to comfort me, tell me that I had come so far, and that I was doing so good... but that was it. That was my breaking point. 

I felt another sense of bowel pressure, so I went to the bathroom for what felt like the hundredth time, and I heard my doctor talking to my husband through the bathroom door. She knew I had wanted to go through labor unmediated, but in hushed tones I heard her say "are you sure she doesn't want try some kind of pain intervention?" She sounded worried. My husband sounded worried. I came out of the bathroom and said "what are my options" because I was at my breaking point. They had offered me gas, and I had taken that, but it didn't touch my pain, nor had it touched the anxiety that had taken over with the intense pain. She listed out options, but the only one that sounded reasonable (because it wouldn't impact the baby) was an epidural. I had kind of bucked the idea of utilizing an epidural previously because I knew that it didn't really work for other women in my family, and in general I was really tied to the idea of a natural birth. But the pain I was in wasn't natural. It was medically induced pain. And I needed it to stop.

So I went for the epidural... And it was the best decision ever. Within half-an-hour the pain had become manageable. Within the hour, I was completely numb. I was so numb in fact, I was very little help when the nurses had to turn me and move me around every so often. I felt embarrassed, but I also felt so relieved from the lack of pain, the embarrassment was slight and faded quickly. I'm also glad that I finally relented and did the epidural because I was in labor for 15 + more hours. And fuck being in that kind of pain for that period of time. 

That night, despite having to be re-positioned every couple of hours, I actually got a decent amount of sleep. I watched "Crazy Ex-Girlfriend" on the ipad until I passed out. I woke early the next morning, and both my doctor and my OB were now there. They checked to see how labor was progressing, and promised it would be soon. They kept saying "let us know when you feel an intense pressure because that means she's coming". I never felt the intense pressure. I was still so completely numb that I had no idea when I was even having a contraction.

Around 9AM they realized that she was beginning to crown. Then shortly after they realized that malcum was there (which means the baby pooped, and means that NICU needs to examine the baby shortly after birth to ensure she was fine). Around 9:30 they prepped me to begin pushing. I asked if NICU needed to be there but they assured me that they had plenty of time to call them in. I would be in the final stage of labor for quite some time they said...

Four very easy contractions later, Ahsoka emerged. Let me repeat that because that was less than thirty minutes of pushing. FOUR contractions. I think they expected it to take a couple of hours because my OB was SHOCKED. They had to call NICU after the fact, and they rushed the baby away to examine her (she was fine). I then delivered my placenta, and they asked if I wanted to see it (I did not, but saw it anyways). While they were examining Ahsoka, they stitched me up (only a few level 3 tears, lol). 

My doctor laughed and said that all of our baby turning stretches must have worked because Ahsoka came out exactly in the position they needed her to be in... but upon looking at her umbilical chord, they found it had a perfect knot in it. It's kind of a scary prospect given that she needed that chord to survive in the womb, and who knows when that knot occurred; however, she was in perfect health. I did have to joke about how she had been doing somersaults in the womb for months (she was VERY active most of my pregnancy). 

After they completed their exam, they laid her on my chest. She was perfect and beautiful. She was (and still is) the most beautiful, precious baby I had ever seen. My baby was 20.5 inches long, weighing 8 pounds and 7 ounces. She had a full head of thick black hair, and dark blue eyes. Shortly after they laid her on my chest, they encouraged her to nurse for the first time, and she immediately latched. Watching my perfect little baby nurse for the first time, holding her, looking down at the perfect being we had created; it was a spiritual experience. She was meant to be there with us. After nursing, they handed her to my husband, who had the happiest look on his face. He was in love. I wish we had thought to take pictures in those moments, but the truth is, shortly after that, I began to fade, and went in and out of sleep. It actually took a while before we could move me to recovery because my blood pressure had dropped, and I didn't have any strength. I think we finally got some pictures a few hours later, but the details become very fuzzy to me during that time. But by the next day I had recovered (to a point), and was in good spirits. We had an excellent experience the next couple of days and nights in the hospital. The nurses were amazing and supportive. 

So maybe I have missed a detail here and there. Maybe I'll edit this blog at some point. But that's the story of how Ahsoka came into the world. I will love her unconditionally forever. I actually fell in love with her when she was growing inside of me, but nothing could have prepared me for the love I felt upon seeing her sweet face for the first time. And nothing could have prepared me for the love that continues to grow each day I spend with her. She is the light of my life. Happy due date Ahsoka.