A Month of Hell

I have to convey my deepest apologies for my absence. I actually have an excuse this time; I have been pretty sick. It began as dull back pain not unlike the discomfort one might feel after being hunched over a desk all day - only I don't have a desk to hunch over. For a while I thought it might just be more gas (come on, you didn't think it ended in the first trimester did you?). After about a week of that it became worse and was concentrated more on the right side. I didn't think that even the most stubborn gas bubble would hang on that long so I diagnosed myself with a kidney issue and headed to the hospital with a pain level of about 7 out of 10.

I was right; the diagnosis was kidney stones. I spent two nights in the hospital where they kept me drugged up on narcotics and bloated with IV fluids, collecting everything that came out of my body. I was finally released with a prescription for Percocet and my very own collection kit. The Percocet made me very dizzy and loopy so I couldn't take it when I was alone with the kids and so I suffered through it while Josh was at work. Oh, but you can bet your butt I was waiting with drugs in hand for him to walk through that door so that I could find some measure of relief, at least for a little while, from the awful pain I was trapped in.

Within a week and a half I found myself perched on the end of the bed at 2am, writhing and screeching in pain - this time with a pain level of 11 out of 10, setting a whole new precedent. Despite my best efforts to be quiet so that the kids wouldn't wake up, Josh was disturbed from his sweet slumber and so helped me to the living room where he called an ambulance and got me some of the pain meds and a glass of water. This pain, however, was far too intense for mere Percocet to even touch.

By the time I reached the hospital I'd been dribbled, bounced, jerked, thumped, and poked - all while one of the EMTs was trying to chit-chat with me. He asked me what brought me to Lexington, where my husband works and when he asked me if my husband enjoys his job, I hissed at him through gritted teeth as I writhed on the gurney, twisted and contorted in pain, holding my right flank in a ditch effort to cushion myself against the turns and bumps, "I DON'T F*CKING KNOW!" He remained quiet for the rest of the ride.

Once I was taken to my appointed room and transferred to the bed, I was asked a whole gambit of questions that I don't remember, spitting answers through my clenched jaw while every vein in my neck and forehead stood prostrate through angry, red flesh as my blood pressure peaked with the agony of piercing, stabbing pain that can only be summed up as feeling like you're being skewered in through the flank, straight through and out the bladder.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a nurse came in with a couple of syringes and alcohol wipes. Morphine was the name of the game. One syringe was given to me through the IV that the EMT had clumsily administered through jarring bumps and swerving turns while I was in the ambulance. The other syringe was violently stabbed into the top of my left thigh where it burned like acid as it seeped into my muscle. While it didn't take the pain away, it disconnected me from it enough so that I could relax through it and I went limp. Sleep was next. By the time I woke up, the pain was gone but I was still in Morphine Land. I was released that morning and went home to sleep off the drugs.

My kidney seems to be healing up nicely but it sure took a long time for the Morphine and all the effects of it to pass. After I'd had time to reflect on the whole experience, I decided that from this point on I really want to stay as far from allopathic medicine as possible. I remembered that I wasn't allowed any water - not even ice chips - while I was in the hospital passing a kidney stone. WTF? No, their answer was a slow-drip IV and hardcore narcotics - for a pregnant woman! And my pelvis feels like it's splitting in half from laying in bed for so long. Now I've enlisted the services of a wonderful chiropractor who works with subluxations. It was really the best I could do here in Lexington, KY where the overall lack of evolution and, consequently, modern concepts, means there is a significant shortage of naturopathic healthcare options.

I would also like to find a midwife who will take me seriously and not snicker behind my back when I mention my previous birth experiences. I'm not sure how possible that will be but the quest has begun. We'll see how it goes. If I can't find someone in whom I can convey my confidence, then I will fall back to taking care of myself. I'm standing on that precarious edge now because it's a lot of effort to seek out such an individual and I'm approaching the end of my pregnancy rather quickly. Wish me luck!

Oh, and through all of this chaos we found out that Squishy is a girl. And, for your viewing pleasure, here's a couple of recent pictures. The first is Squishy at 26 weeks and the second is me at 29 weeks. We've only got 11 weeks left!

Howdy Stranger!

Oh, I know you've missed me. And I've missed you too. This last month has been a little hectic with furnishing our home, visiting relatives, being sick and settling in. School is out for summer so that adds a new dynamic to my days now, too. But the good news is that we're all alive and well (that is, except for the chest congestion with which we've all suddenly been stricken).

Over the next month we will be buying beds for all the kids and decorating their rooms. I've also reluctantly decided to seek out a midwife team to oversee my prenatal care. Life is just too hectic around here and I could really use an hour or so away from home with no kids once a month. I found a place that, from the info on their website, sounds like they'll be a little more down-to-earth and a little more respectful than the allopathic chop-shop I visited in Tucson. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that they'll be open to my intentions. I really hate having to lie and fight for my rights.

Squishy is now 24 weeks gestation. This means I've only got 16 weeks to go before I get to kiss that sweet face. The excitement is mounting! On average, Squishy should weigh about a pound and measure a foot long, give or take. However, I'm still measuring pretty big for my dates - about 5-6 weeks ahead, actually. So I'd like to have another ultrasound. Hammy measured big too but it was mainly due to excessive amniotic fluid. And he only measured 2-3 weeks ahead. I joked I was going to birth a Volkswagen. I imagine this time I'll look like a parade float in another couple of months.

So far we've got most of Squishy's wardrobe acquired. We still need a car seat, swing and bassinet but I think we're going to wait until we're a little closer to the end to grab those. This summer will have us busy with my step kids which means an overdose of chaos. I think shopping is going to have to wait until the mayhem subsides and school is back in session. Then I can lose myself in baby heaven. For now I need to work on weaning Daisy and hopefully potty training her as well. So much to do, so little time.

A Sad Day

I realize that I just posted yesterday but today my heart is laden with a heaviness with which I need to make peace. Writing usually enables me to organize my thoughts and feelings so I figured, what the heck?

Only a few short days ago I found that an acquaintance, who was only a week further in her pregnancy than I am in mine, gave birth to a very tiny little boy. Unfortunately, he was way too small to survive outside of his mommy and he died. My heart broke for her and I wept as I imagined the tiny toes she would never kiss, the gentle, gurgling coos that would never sing out to her, the first smile that would never spread across his tiny lips, and a mother's heart with a hole the size of Texas where that little boy should have lived.

My heart burned as these thoughts passed through my head and I thought of the beautiful life growing and squirming inside of my belly. How delicate, how fragile this little person is. I can do everything right, taking care of myself for the sake of this frail child and still, there are no guarantees.

Tonight my mom called to tell me that a friend of our family had gone into labor today, planning a home birth, when her baby's heart rate dropped. She was transferred to the hospital but by the time she arrived, her sweet child was lifeless. She was a going to be a first-time mommy. Once she comes out of the fog of narcotics she's been given, she will go home with empty arms and an empty womb. She will have to face all of the tiny clothes, diapers, and furniture which await a baby who will never arrive.

Once again my eyes are being wrung out as the tears flow uncontrollably. It's so unfair. And what about my own baby? As I'm grieving for these women, I'm terrified of the mortality that is only a heartbeat away from stealing away the life inside of me, like a thief in the night, which would leave me emotionally beaten and defeated. How can I protect him or her? I'm already doing everything I know to ensure a healthy baby. But what if it's not enough? What if death comes skulking with razor-sharp talons and rips away all of my hopes and dreams in a bloody mess of lifeless flesh as I'm left trying to find and repair the shreds of my broken and devastated heart?

Oh, the unfairness of life. I wish there was a way I could wrap my arms around Squishy and protect him or her from harm. I want to kiss him, hold him close to my heart and reassure him that everything will be okay. But I can't. Despite my aggressiveness, my arrogance, my strength, and my determination, there are still things beyond my control and that terrifies me. I already have four great kids who have no health problems or concerns and never have. Am I tempting fate? Infant mortality, especially in this country, is as random a gamble as a roll of the dice. What if it's waiting on my back steps?

Mother's Day

Last night as I was lying in bed waiting for sleep to overcome my exhausted body, I experienced an enlightening epiphany. It began as contemplation over what I'd like to do for Mother's Day when it occurred to me that all this time we've been doing it wrong. Household matriarchs, the country over, each year bask in the breakfast-in-bed-and-flowers scenario each year as their children and partners try to express their gratitude for the mothers in their lives. I can't help but to think this is completely backward.

Maybe my house is a bit unusual in this way but for me, most days are "mother's day". I awake each and every morning surrounded by the little people who bring happiness and joy to my life. They gaze up at me through half open eyelids still heavy with sleep as a smile dances across their lips. They grunt and then wrap their little arms around me in a soft, heartfelt hug and say, "I love you, mommy." Even my husband never lets me forget how much I am loved.

Throughout the day my kids reveal life to me through their naive and innocent eyes - things that have long been forgotten since my own childhood. Just last weekend Damian picked me a grubby handful of Dandelions out of the lawn at park. As he handed me the fistful of dying weeds, he plucked one from the bunch and asked me to bend down. When I leaned forward, he took the fuzzy, yellow flower and tucked it behind my left ear. As I stood up, he looked me over and, with a nod of approval, said, "mom, you're beautiful."

I don't need Mother's Day for that. That day held more sentiment than any Mother's Day I've experienced to date. But what I realized last night as this reflection was playing through my mind is that Mother's Day isn't about being Queen-For-the-Day. I'm the queen in my house every day. Mother's Day is about the gratitude that overflows from my heart when I look into the eyes of my three year old and tell him I'm sorry for yelling at him and he says, "that's ok, mommy." Mother's Day is about looking into the beautiful, shining faces of my sweet babes and NOT taking for granted that they love me unconditionally. These amazing little people don't care about the countless screw-ups I've made in my life, they forgive me when I make a mommy mistake, they stroke my hair and caress my face when I'm sick or sad, and they think I'm beautiful even when I look like I've been hit by a Mack truck. These precious little lives that I've been so lucky to be surrounded with give me more than I could ever hope to give them. They make being a mom worth every peed bed, every snotty nose, every broken dish, every fight, and every "EEEWWW, we're having THAT for dinner?!"

I think that, as mothers, we get so caught up in the stress of work, dinner, laundry, school and fights that we sometimes forget to notice how truly amazing these little people are. So from now on Mother's Day in my house is not going to be a greedy, self-indulgent, matriarchal party where everyone caters to me. On the contrary, Mother's Day in my house will be about showing my kids how thankful I am that they've chosen me to be their mom.

Kentucky Woman

After a trip to the local grocery store here in Lexington, it has become apparent that I absolutely MUST make a local, native friend. How else am I going to learn what chitterlings are? I also encountered an entire shelf of bright purple pickled eggs - and I don't think it's an Easter thing. There are many, many more such things about which I am completely ignorant (hard to believe, I know but sadly it's true).

In my absence from here we have endured the stress, chaos and sheer hell of selling off all of our furniture, acquiring a storage unit and trekking 1800 miles across the country with our meager bare necessities. We have landed in Lexington, Kentucky where my skin is enjoying much-needed hydration via almost daily thunder storms. If we can survive tornado season then we should be ok.

Also, Squishy has grown substantially. He or she is now the length of a bell pepper, 5 1/2 inches long, weighing almost seven ounces. I'm titillated with the feeling of little fluttering kicks daily. Other than being exhausted from the move, I'm feeling pretty darned good now. I am back to eating just about anything I want without suffering eternal gastric damnation for it. My belly is growing a little more every week and will soon be the size of a Winnebago. Maybe I should be calling Squishy "Winnie" instead. Hmm, thought-provoking indeed.

I'm sitting on a pile of extra blankets and pillows contemplating an object with which to compare my expanding abdominal sphere of maternal development because we have nowhere to store the extra bedding and no sofa upon which to thoughtfully consider such queries. What better way to handle both conundrums? We are hoping that Josh's bonus will come soon so that we can begin accumulating furniture. At the very least we need a bed. Air mattresses are really not very comfortable despite the deceptively ecstatic smiles worn by the models posing in the picture on the box. And they become less comfortable as you add more slumbering yet restless occupants.

So with the bonus I will also be ordering my prenatal supplies. While I'm not in a big hurry, I also think that if I don't do it soon then it will become pointless as my pregnancy wanes, dwindling down to mere weeks and then days until delivery. So better sooner than later.

Relocation and Bubbles

Squishy is on the move. Laying in the bed this morning, ritualistically checking email, perusing craigslist, reading up on the latest news (aka Facebook) I noticed a subtle but distinct little bubbly feeling in my belly. I know what you're thinking: gas. And with my previous brief history of overwhelming flatulence, I can see how one might come to that conclusion. However, in the last few weeks the bloating buildup of  intestinal gas has subsided dramatically. My sweet little Squishy, who is now somewhere between the size of a lemon and the size of an apple, is big enough that when he or she moves I can feel it. How exciting! It just makes this whole experience that much more real. Of course in another four or five months when I'm all but crippled with sciatic pain and wetting myself every time Squishy moves, I might not be so excited but for now I'm positively elated and living in the moment.

In other news, my absence here has been for a reason. We are moving. And not just across town either. We're moving 1800 miles across the country to the beautiful town of Lexington, Kentucky. We have been wanting to relocate to Kentucky for some time now and it's finally happening. And what great timing! My morning sickness seems to have passed now - at least most days - and I'm not huge and uncomfortable yet. We'll be closer to Josh's kids which will save us thousands of dollars every year for plane tickets we won't have to purchase anymore. And we'll be swapping the insane heat, cactus, scorpions, javelina and kissing bugs (don't be fooled, kissing bugs are NOT endearing as the name would suggest - each time they bite their victim, he or she becomes more and more sensitized to the venom and will eventually suffer anaphylactic shock from a "kiss") for green grass, trees, four seasons, tolerable summers, and fertile top soil capable of bringing forth life-giving vegetation.

Consequently I've been packing, arranging our move, calling property management companies and utilities and desperately trying to patch up our current house so that we don't have to pay more than our security deposit for cleaning and damages. So far I've ripped up carpet, vinyl and linoleum; laid new vinyl; spackled the built-in entertainment center and painted it as well as the walls that the kids have artistically graffitied with various implements which bring forth permanent ink upon any given surface to which they are applied. This has been repeated a couple of times now because evidently my kids just can't resist white walls. The gleaming, flawless surface calls to them as a blank canvas to Van Gogh.

Despite the stress involved in moving, this experience is actually helping to alleviate the intense anticipation of waiting for Squishy. I'm no longer obsessively perusing craigslist and various online catalogues for baby booty. My dining room has been emptied of its furniture which has been replaced with what feels like hundreds of diaper and beer boxes (my sister, who is bartending her way through college, generously donated several beer boxes to our cause and we already had quite a few diaper boxes because I'm a pack rat and can't bring myself to throw away a perfectly good box) plastered with bits of masking tape labeled in fat, black Sharpie. Unfortunately, our move is going to happen in two stages due to financial unpreparedness. We're going to be putting at least half of our belongings in storage and taking only the barest of necessities along with us using a borrowed trailer. In a couple of months one of us will drive back to return the trailer and retrieve the rest of our possessions. If we time it just right we'll be able to pick up Tianna for the summer in the same trip.

Our move date is around April 21st so my posts here might be few and far between until we are finally settled. In the meantime there is still a lot of packing and cleaning to do.

Show Time

Today Squishy is 12 weeks and is now causing an abdominal protrusion. Even though Squish is only a couple of inches long, my uterus is roughly the size of a cantaloup. And the rest is indigestion. The morning sickness, while slightly milder, is in no hurry to leave. I am, however, able to get out of bed sometimes now which is a major improvement. Hopefully my little couch potatoes will come alive too now that the weather has warmed up enough to play outside. I thought we might grow a garden this year. The only problem is that we're not sure if we'll still be living here when the time comes to harvest our bounty. I think I'm going to do it anyway, though, because it would be a great experience for the kids.