Today is the Infants first day of 'school' aka the baby kennel. As the days passed with the family caring for the little one, I became less and less concerned about Official Corporate Daycare. Pros and Cons - Cons, no real family snugglely time & your child is guaranteed to be disease-ridden for the first 9 months of her little life. Pros - Official Corporate Daycare doesn't show up late to your house, or, occasionally forget they are caring for you child altogether forcing you to scramble around to find some one to watch the Infant at 9am on a weekday. So Yay daycare!
Also, this daycare center is insane. If it wasn't corporately subsidized there is no WAY our child would be attending this joint - They pipe classical music into the rooms. They have a separate baby gym. The 2 year olds have computers. They have a WATERPARK for God sake. Clearly, if one is going daycare, this is the kinda daycare to go.
But still, taking a little critter that can't even roll over yet and releasing her into the wild, sort of, is a little distressing. It would be one thing if she'd had a little jujitsu training or something, but no. She isn't totally helpless though - she can pop someones' eardrum if it comes to that, and her little fingernails are SHARP. Overall, my mommyheart is handling the concept fairly well, but still feeling a little twingy at the whole deal.
So I spent last night assembling everything she needs for her first day of school, and it's quite a list - extra diapers, formula galore, diaper cream, extra outfits for blowouts, blankies, forms and paperwork up the yinyang. I was fussing, as one does, before things one is nervous about, but I had the bulk of it all ready to go. All I needed to do was grab the checklist out of the car in the morning & give everything a last once over to make sure I had everything. I went to bed content.
I also woke up content, mainly cause I was waking up, which meant I got sleep. That is a good night. With most of the pre-daycare prep completed the night before, I felt comfortable spending a little extra snuggle time with the Infant. It was a big day, for me, more so than her, but it still - it called for cuddles. Happy warm family time with birds singing and chipmunks outside doing my lawn work. Quite lovely... I finally rousted myself, got the Infant ready for her big day with minimal hearing damage, and headed toward the door with a big smile on my face to get my checklist from the car....the...car.....WHERE THE F IS THE CAR??!?!
The smile went byebye. Our car had been towed. From our reserved parking spot. TOWED! Today of ALLLLL days, my car gets towed. Um, SUCK! No checklist for me... so now instead of wisking the Infant off to her first day of daycare with a song in my heart, we're running around like maniacs trying to locate my automobile.
The series of phone calls that finally led us to the cars location read like a transcript of Who's On First. I kid not, the woman at the association actually said "well, why don't you go check and see if your car has been stolen, and if it HASN'T then you can call us back." Seriously? Did you just say that? What, I'm supposed to call my local car theft ring? Not really sure where to find them in the yellow pages - under 'J' for 'Jackin''? 'Excuse me, did you steal my car? Yes? Ok cool - no need for me to call the tow-happy association then!' I mean really people.
Finally they 'fessed up to having us towed, cause my registration was expired. Which is wasn't. I had renewed it. However, my stickers hadn't come from the DMV yet so my tags showed a May 08 date. I thought that this would be counterbalanced by the large white paper saying "TEMPORARY REGISTRATION" stuck in the windshield, but, gee, it sure is dark at night and SOMEHOW the tow company 'missed' it. Uh huh. Don't GET me started.
Finally auto located, so now all three of us have to shoe horn ourselves and all the Infants extensive daycare accessories into the husband's convertible studmobile to go reenact an episode of Parking Wars. Props to the dude at the car impound lot - he didn't suck. At least he appeared not to suck. Mainly by blaming the other division of the company and saying that yes they DID suck a great deal, very sorry about that here's their number and the receipt for the $175 bones you just had to had over to get back your car that probably shouldn't have been towed in the first place. Car reclaimed we transfer ALLLLL the baby crap, and the baby into the car, then promptly transfer the baby back OUT of the car since it was approximately 7000 degrees in there. After 10 minutes of AC on full blast, the car was no longer a baby slow cooker. She got retransfered, and we were finally on our way to start our day. At 12:30 pm.
The sole upside to this entire debacle is that I was so discombobulated about the whole towing disaster that I didn't have the emotional wherewithal to get too bent about dropping her off. Happy Monday!
Monday, June 9, 2008
Thursday, June 5, 2008
My boobs can tell time! Bet yours can't....
Since I have become a food source, (which, frankly, is just totally wack) there have been several ripple effect changes in my life, none of which was even remotely expected. The expected change e.g gigantic knockers did NOT occur, mainly because life is cruel. What DID happen is, well, weird. Since the Infant has developed something of a 'feed me' routine, I as food source, have had to fall in line with said routine. The negative reenforcement should I not is really pretty dreadful and is measured in decibels. So I got with the program. After 2 1/2 months of training, we developed this was a lovely symbiotic cover-of-a-mommy-book loving kind of relationship. She'd cry, I'd whip 'em out, everyone was happy.
Then, just when my boobs for fully trained to perform on command, we ran into a little scheduling hiccup, called "working full time". Regardless, every 3 1/2 hours or so the kitchen opens at the brestaurant as scheduled. Not so useful since the Infant is all of 20 miles away. There IS a way around this, but man is it inelegant.
Generally, whipping 'em out in a workplace is frowned upon, unless, of course, your boss is called 'Guido'. My boss is called 'Scott' so, really, not so much. However, when one is a food source, in enlightened aren't-we-so-understanding companies it is considered acceptable to slink off to the 'mother's room' aka the milking barn to have a little rastlin' session with the archaic torture device known as a 'breast pump'.
I have a long and difficult history with said mechanical boob sucker. We had a really rocky start since I was using it to convince my body that I needed to make milk. I wasn't actually MAKING milk when the pumping started so I'd have the thing on full mega suction and, after 30 minutes of high powered mechanical titty-twisters, would extract all of .025 of an oz. of milk. Epic Fail! And emotionally draining, especially considering all this was happening in the first 2 weeks after the major surgery that produced the Infant. I'd come to view the Sucking In Style boobulator with a great deal of trepidation, for obvious reasons.
However, there came a healing in our relationship. See, when one is all boobjuiced up, you begin to develop a somewhat...er... FULL feeling. And not a good full feeling, more of a 'ok don't TOUCH those, OW' full feeling. And if the fullness continues unrelieved, the tatas develop an every rack for themselves mentality and open the pressure release valve, at which point you end up with large damp circles right over your knockers, bulls eye style. I remind you again, that I am back at work. Large damp knocker circles are not technically considered 'business casual'. This is when the Sucking In Style became my new brestest friend.
So now right on schedule at 11:30am everyday the milk train comes, and I have to grab my newly adored breastpump and head out. For those of you who have mercifully not ever had to deal with one of these things, it is roughly the size shape and weight of a cellular phone from 1983 so tromping around the halls with this chiropractor's dream of a bag is hardly subtle. It is however more subtle than a soaked shirt, so yay for that?
This routine continues at roughly 3 1/2 hour intervals, schedule providing. Let me clarify - the NEED arises every 3 1/2 hours regardless - my ability to do anything about it is what gets messed with. And past 4 1/2 hours the pressure valves start to kick in. So there IS a window but it's a small one, and one that is fairly non-negotiable. If I could negotiate with my rack, believe me, it would be a different world.
This compressed time frame has resulted in several of the more unexpected ripple effects, among them, me leaving meetings early, cause the boobs were done WELL before the agenda was. Higher on the things I thought I'd never do list, during all day off site team training events, I've slunk out to my car, plugged the MilkMaster into the cigarette lighter and took my top off in the backseat. And really, you know your life has changed radically when its a boob appliance that's getting to second base in the backseat of your car.
Then, just when my boobs for fully trained to perform on command, we ran into a little scheduling hiccup, called "working full time". Regardless, every 3 1/2 hours or so the kitchen opens at the brestaurant as scheduled. Not so useful since the Infant is all of 20 miles away. There IS a way around this, but man is it inelegant.
Generally, whipping 'em out in a workplace is frowned upon, unless, of course, your boss is called 'Guido'. My boss is called 'Scott' so, really, not so much. However, when one is a food source, in enlightened aren't-we-so-understanding companies it is considered acceptable to slink off to the 'mother's room' aka the milking barn to have a little rastlin' session with the archaic torture device known as a 'breast pump'.
I have a long and difficult history with said mechanical boob sucker. We had a really rocky start since I was using it to convince my body that I needed to make milk. I wasn't actually MAKING milk when the pumping started so I'd have the thing on full mega suction and, after 30 minutes of high powered mechanical titty-twisters, would extract all of .025 of an oz. of milk. Epic Fail! And emotionally draining, especially considering all this was happening in the first 2 weeks after the major surgery that produced the Infant. I'd come to view the Sucking In Style boobulator with a great deal of trepidation, for obvious reasons.
However, there came a healing in our relationship. See, when one is all boobjuiced up, you begin to develop a somewhat...er... FULL feeling. And not a good full feeling, more of a 'ok don't TOUCH those, OW' full feeling. And if the fullness continues unrelieved, the tatas develop an every rack for themselves mentality and open the pressure release valve, at which point you end up with large damp circles right over your knockers, bulls eye style. I remind you again, that I am back at work. Large damp knocker circles are not technically considered 'business casual'. This is when the Sucking In Style became my new brestest friend.
So now right on schedule at 11:30am everyday the milk train comes, and I have to grab my newly adored breastpump and head out. For those of you who have mercifully not ever had to deal with one of these things, it is roughly the size shape and weight of a cellular phone from 1983 so tromping around the halls with this chiropractor's dream of a bag is hardly subtle. It is however more subtle than a soaked shirt, so yay for that?
This routine continues at roughly 3 1/2 hour intervals, schedule providing. Let me clarify - the NEED arises every 3 1/2 hours regardless - my ability to do anything about it is what gets messed with. And past 4 1/2 hours the pressure valves start to kick in. So there IS a window but it's a small one, and one that is fairly non-negotiable. If I could negotiate with my rack, believe me, it would be a different world.
This compressed time frame has resulted in several of the more unexpected ripple effects, among them, me leaving meetings early, cause the boobs were done WELL before the agenda was. Higher on the things I thought I'd never do list, during all day off site team training events, I've slunk out to my car, plugged the MilkMaster into the cigarette lighter and took my top off in the backseat. And really, you know your life has changed radically when its a boob appliance that's getting to second base in the backseat of your car.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Goooooood MORNING! Or it was anyway....
See, I got Sleep, with a capitol 'S'. Any night that includes a chunk of sleep greater than 3 and 1/2 hours is considered a good night. If a good night includes *2* chunks of sleep greater than 3 and 1/2 hours, it will be followed by a good morning. Which was what I was having. Note use of past tense...
Many things were contributing to the good morning-ness, beyond even the sleep. I'd had the presence of mind/time/energy to switch my wallet and phone from my weekend diaper bag to my weekday working drone purse (how terribly symbolic), so I wasn't going to get 1/2 way to work and realize I would be foraging for leftover conference room food for lunch and/or getting arrested for driving without a license.
I'd also prewashed a bottle so I'd have SOMEthing to leave with the sitter to feed the Infant from - so she'd get to eat too. I'd managed to get showered, find underwear AND a bra I can wear, as well as an outfit I don't feel totally schumpy in. Mommy tummy is restricting my fashion options rather severely at the moment. That and being 4 years behind in laundry.
Speaking of laundry, I managed to get a load in without dripping detergent on myself or having to rewash a load from 4 days ago that had gone all stank. And, while in the basement, cleaned the kitty boxes *before* the inevitable editorial poop appeared on a landing or hall corner. All this and I was only running 30 minutes late. Truly a great morning.
And then......
The Sitter-In-Law had the Infant in arms feeding her a bottle - I was in full sherpa mode: boob pump, purse and computer bag all dangling off of me. I was just reaching for my lunch, the last step on the 'exit stage right' routine when..... YOOOOOOORK! The Infant represented apparently the entire 3 oz of formula she had just schlorped down. And, drama queen that she was, it went everywhere, including out of her nose. She was righteously offended. The expression while pitiful, was somewhat amusing - a mixture of 'oh, seriously, ew!' and 'what the f did I do to deserve THAT?!'. I would be lying if I didn't admit to freezing, with my hand on my lean cuisine lunch, and seriously debate just bolting. But one look at that confused and indignant little babyface and mommy guilt won. Plus I *like* my Sitter-In-Law. So I backed away from the the frozen pizza, de-sherp-ed and dove into decontamination. Since it was morning and the happy Infant side was in place vs. the later hours Sybil who shows up, she took it all with relatively good humor. Meaning her screams didn't actually shatter glass, and it only took 7 minutes to peal her off the ceiling after her onesie was removed.
Once the Infant was stripped and the worst of her hurl was hosed off of her, the Sitter-In-Law was kind enough to take over for the last of the dry down and redressing and I made a bolt for the door, now at least 45 minutes late. As I piled all my electronically laden saddlebags back on, I heard the MOST adorable coos and giggles from upstairs. Those sweet little sounds kept me smiling nearly 1/2 way to work. Which is when I realized I'd left my lunch at home. Le sigh.
Happy Monday to one and all!
Many things were contributing to the good morning-ness, beyond even the sleep. I'd had the presence of mind/time/energy to switch my wallet and phone from my weekend diaper bag to my weekday working drone purse (how terribly symbolic), so I wasn't going to get 1/2 way to work and realize I would be foraging for leftover conference room food for lunch and/or getting arrested for driving without a license.
I'd also prewashed a bottle so I'd have SOMEthing to leave with the sitter to feed the Infant from - so she'd get to eat too. I'd managed to get showered, find underwear AND a bra I can wear, as well as an outfit I don't feel totally schumpy in. Mommy tummy is restricting my fashion options rather severely at the moment. That and being 4 years behind in laundry.
Speaking of laundry, I managed to get a load in without dripping detergent on myself or having to rewash a load from 4 days ago that had gone all stank. And, while in the basement, cleaned the kitty boxes *before* the inevitable editorial poop appeared on a landing or hall corner. All this and I was only running 30 minutes late. Truly a great morning.
And then......
The Sitter-In-Law had the Infant in arms feeding her a bottle - I was in full sherpa mode: boob pump, purse and computer bag all dangling off of me. I was just reaching for my lunch, the last step on the 'exit stage right' routine when..... YOOOOOOORK! The Infant represented apparently the entire 3 oz of formula she had just schlorped down. And, drama queen that she was, it went everywhere, including out of her nose. She was righteously offended. The expression while pitiful, was somewhat amusing - a mixture of 'oh, seriously, ew!' and 'what the f did I do to deserve THAT?!'. I would be lying if I didn't admit to freezing, with my hand on my lean cuisine lunch, and seriously debate just bolting. But one look at that confused and indignant little babyface and mommy guilt won. Plus I *like* my Sitter-In-Law. So I backed away from the the frozen pizza, de-sherp-ed and dove into decontamination. Since it was morning and the happy Infant side was in place vs. the later hours Sybil who shows up, she took it all with relatively good humor. Meaning her screams didn't actually shatter glass, and it only took 7 minutes to peal her off the ceiling after her onesie was removed.
Once the Infant was stripped and the worst of her hurl was hosed off of her, the Sitter-In-Law was kind enough to take over for the last of the dry down and redressing and I made a bolt for the door, now at least 45 minutes late. As I piled all my electronically laden saddlebags back on, I heard the MOST adorable coos and giggles from upstairs. Those sweet little sounds kept me smiling nearly 1/2 way to work. Which is when I realized I'd left my lunch at home. Le sigh.
Happy Monday to one and all!
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Things no one warns you about: Infants spawn paperwork
I am still wading through an insane backlog of mail and various other bits of paper built up from The Dark Days (so named because, for the first 2 months of the infants live, day became night and visa versa). But wait! There is still more! The pile of paper I need to fill out to get the infant into daycare makes my extended tax returns look like cake. PLUS, I need to get the pediatricians office to fill out part of it. So there is the added level of difficulty of dealing with medical personnel. PLLUUUSS, I need to fill out even MORE paperwork for the flexspending account that will help me pay for the arm, leg and kidney that daycare costs. They tell you about late night feedings and they tell you about stinky diapers, but they never warn you about THIS stuff...
Pray for me to emerge sans papercuts and still sane-ish...
Pray for me to emerge sans papercuts and still sane-ish...
Overheard from the nusery....BWAHhahaaha!
Infant: WAAAAAHHH!!!!
hubby/studmuffin: Welcome to So You Think You Can Poop! I'll be your judge today... show me what you've got...
Infant: WAAAAAHHH!!!!
hubby/studmuffin: That's it?! That's all you've got?! I've seen better poop from hamsters! Where's the PASSION?!
Infant: WAAAAAHHH!!!!
hubby/studmuffin: Please leave the auditorium
Infant: WAAAAAHHH!!!! WAAAAAHHH!!!!
hubby/studmuffin: You know we're going to have to bleep all that out... bleeping bleepity bleep judges wouldn't know good poop if it bit them on the bleep!
Infant: Waah... Waa.... Aahgoo!
hubby/studmuffin: Come back next year.
hubby/studmuffin: Welcome to So You Think You Can Poop! I'll be your judge today... show me what you've got...
Infant: WAAAAAHHH!!!!
hubby/studmuffin: That's it?! That's all you've got?! I've seen better poop from hamsters! Where's the PASSION?!
Infant: WAAAAAHHH!!!!
hubby/studmuffin: Please leave the auditorium
Infant: WAAAAAHHH!!!! WAAAAAHHH!!!!
hubby/studmuffin: You know we're going to have to bleep all that out... bleeping bleepity bleep judges wouldn't know good poop if it bit them on the bleep!
Infant: Waah...
hubby/studmuffin: Come back next year.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
"Working Mother" = redundant OR, phrased another way, shoot me now
Mommyhood is HARD. Seriously. There is a Darwinian reason that nature makes infants so gosh darn cute. It's so they will survive the day - cause they can't do Jack for themselves, and, frankly, in the early days, they really aren't all that entertaining. In fact, they are downright annoying at times. They are kinda like tiny little asexual Paris Hiltons. Good thing they have their looks. They are, all in all, just a f-load of WORK.
The cruelty of 'life today' means that riiiiight about the time they start to suck a little less - adding cooing and gurgling to their to-date limited vocabulary of shrieks - that's exactly the time your maternity leave is up. Which is like, now. That's right folks - I'm back at work. My OTHER work I mean... the corporate stuff that you can get paid for.
I'm only sort of back, in that my brain is still firmly attached to the infant. Not literally, cause, ew. But figuratively, the hormonally-driven two-way baby clinginess is far far more powerful than I gave it credit for being. I miss the creature - the same creature who keeps me up at all hours, who poops on me, and who chews on my nipples for fun - I MISS her. Clearly this is not a feeling driven by logic.
The 'work' part is a little shaky. In part because, compared to what it takes to keep an infant alive during the first few months of its life, my job can hardly be called work. It's bordering on being a vacation, comparatively speaking. A wicked boring one, but still. I am still expected to produce things, for my pay, and that has been a bit of a challenge.
In part because the small segment of my brain that is not attached to the infant and has managed to make itself present in meetings and whatnot, is TIRED. Bone weary tired. Drooling on oneself tired. Consequently, some of my contributions are tending toward the, 'I don't know whatever you think' category. Others are just, well, lame. See, some people work fine on low sleep. Me? I start walking into walls and giggling to myself. Not really employee of the month type behavior.
One of the other little barriers to peak employee performance are my boobs. I'm not Dolly Parton so they've never really had a large impact on, well, anything before, much less work. But now? Since I've managed to get them up to speed on the babyjuice production, they require a lot more maintenance. Specifically, just like the cows in the fields, if I don't get milked regularly, I start to hurt. And/or leak. Both suck (no pun intended). So every few hours I have to take a midevil style boob sucking torture device roughly the size shape and weight of a cellular phone from 1981 down to the officially designated tata room and have at it. Which is just (and there is no better phrase to describe it) flat-out weird. Some things should not be brought into the work place. Rack Milking is one of those things. But here we are.
So between the exhaustion, the hormonal baby yearnings, and the Bessie the Cow deal, I can't honestly say that I feel like I am running at peak performance. In spite of all these however, I AM able to add a few sniblets of value - enough that I am not a TOTAL waste of space here. Some hours it's touch and go though.
The infant meanwhile is currently hangin with relatives, and apparently being incredibly easy to deal with. "She's SUCH a good baby!!!" This is because she saves allllll her cranky up til mommy's home. Now, granted, my arrival home tends to coincide with when she starts to get tired ( 6 or 7pm which my mommy friend refers to as the 'arsenic hour' ). But still. Its hard not to wonder if there is something deliberate there....or if the relatives are drugging her somehow. And if they are, can I get some of what they are dishing out?
In the next week or two she will be starting 'school' aka day care at work. We struggled with the decision on where to put her/keep her. With relatives is nice AND free, which is no small benefit. But they have lives to lead, lives that don't always mesh with the schedules of the infant. On the flip, daycare = no scheduling conflicts ever, but wicked expensive. Ultimately, family could only help for the the summer anyway, and we got a slot in the work daycare which is like, the Harvard of baby care. So we went for it. They seriously have a 'gym' just for babies. A baby gym. seriously. And, I feel pretty sure that the bean will do great there. Like mommy and daddy, she has the attention span of a hamster, and anything bright and shiny and new is considered good to her. They have a LOT of bright shiny and new at this place - more than we could ever provide even at home. We'll know for sure her review of the facilities next week, and I'll report back in. For now, I'm going back to 'work'....
The cruelty of 'life today' means that riiiiight about the time they start to suck a little less - adding cooing and gurgling to their to-date limited vocabulary of shrieks - that's exactly the time your maternity leave is up. Which is like, now. That's right folks - I'm back at work. My OTHER work I mean... the corporate stuff that you can get paid for.
I'm only sort of back, in that my brain is still firmly attached to the infant. Not literally, cause, ew. But figuratively, the hormonally-driven two-way baby clinginess is far far more powerful than I gave it credit for being. I miss the creature - the same creature who keeps me up at all hours, who poops on me, and who chews on my nipples for fun - I MISS her. Clearly this is not a feeling driven by logic.
The 'work' part is a little shaky. In part because, compared to what it takes to keep an infant alive during the first few months of its life, my job can hardly be called work. It's bordering on being a vacation, comparatively speaking. A wicked boring one, but still. I am still expected to produce things, for my pay, and that has been a bit of a challenge.
In part because the small segment of my brain that is not attached to the infant and has managed to make itself present in meetings and whatnot, is TIRED. Bone weary tired. Drooling on oneself tired. Consequently, some of my contributions are tending toward the, 'I don't know whatever you think' category. Others are just, well, lame. See, some people work fine on low sleep. Me? I start walking into walls and giggling to myself. Not really employee of the month type behavior.
One of the other little barriers to peak employee performance are my boobs. I'm not Dolly Parton so they've never really had a large impact on, well, anything before, much less work. But now? Since I've managed to get them up to speed on the babyjuice production, they require a lot more maintenance. Specifically, just like the cows in the fields, if I don't get milked regularly, I start to hurt. And/or leak. Both suck (no pun intended). So every few hours I have to take a midevil style boob sucking torture device roughly the size shape and weight of a cellular phone from 1981 down to the officially designated tata room and have at it. Which is just (and there is no better phrase to describe it) flat-out weird. Some things should not be brought into the work place. Rack Milking is one of those things. But here we are.
So between the exhaustion, the hormonal baby yearnings, and the Bessie the Cow deal, I can't honestly say that I feel like I am running at peak performance. In spite of all these however, I AM able to add a few sniblets of value - enough that I am not a TOTAL waste of space here. Some hours it's touch and go though.
The infant meanwhile is currently hangin with relatives, and apparently being incredibly easy to deal with. "She's SUCH a good baby!!!" This is because she saves allllll her cranky up til mommy's home. Now, granted, my arrival home tends to coincide with when she starts to get tired ( 6 or 7pm which my mommy friend refers to as the 'arsenic hour' ). But still. Its hard not to wonder if there is something deliberate there....or if the relatives are drugging her somehow. And if they are, can I get some of what they are dishing out?
In the next week or two she will be starting 'school' aka day care at work. We struggled with the decision on where to put her/keep her. With relatives is nice AND free, which is no small benefit. But they have lives to lead, lives that don't always mesh with the schedules of the infant. On the flip, daycare = no scheduling conflicts ever, but wicked expensive. Ultimately, family could only help for the the summer anyway, and we got a slot in the work daycare which is like, the Harvard of baby care. So we went for it. They seriously have a 'gym' just for babies. A baby gym. seriously. And, I feel pretty sure that the bean will do great there. Like mommy and daddy, she has the attention span of a hamster, and anything bright and shiny and new is considered good to her. They have a LOT of bright shiny and new at this place - more than we could ever provide even at home. We'll know for sure her review of the facilities next week, and I'll report back in. For now, I'm going back to 'work'....
Friday, May 9, 2008
Knocked up no more!
Clearly, quite a bit has happened since my last post... I spent the week after penning that puppy in and out of the hospital. BP would go up, doc would send me to the hospital, they'd drug me more, BP would drop, they'd send me home, then BP would go up again. lather rinse repeat. It was an ever escalating battle - drugs vs. skyrocketing BP. 'I dare you!' 'I double dare you!!' By the time we'd reached the triple dog-dare of blood pressure treatment aka 750mg of TWO different BP drugs 3 times a day with full left side only hospital bed rest, it became pretty clear that we were out of options. It was babytime.
Because she was only 34 weeks, I was all for riding it out as long as possible. A couple of docs in my ob's practice were down with that, to a point. And there was a lot of 'discussion' about exactly where that point was. This was a bit confusing from the patient side of the conversation since opinions varied. When you are hospitalized, you get the doc du jour, which means you get the opinion du jour. 'You are good, just hang on your left side indefinitely and when your BP spikes again, we'll have a baby!' Next day, next doc? 'Get her out!! NOW NOW NOW!!!' Um, what? Many confused calls and intense spousal conversations later - we went with doc 2s opinion, who, come to find out, was dead serious about the 'NOW' part of her opinion. The hubby barely had time to get to the hospital before they were wheeling me into the operating room. He was literally met at the door with the little paper booties and hat. Exceptional timing!
I'll spare you the details of the delivery, but it could have been worse. We went c-section. Considering that rolling onto my right side spiked my BP by 20 points, we were pretty sure that a 24 hour bout with intense induced pain would probably have had a negative impact on my readings, to the tune of 'not enough drugs in the world'. So a quick slice n' dice and boom! Baby.
She was born at 3 something on march 7th (hey, I was drugged - cut me some slack!) and weighed 5lbs 9ozs. And after 10 days in the NICU, she was allowed to go home. I had to stay in the hospital myself another 4 days. The first of those 4 days, I was drugged to the gills on magnesium, to prevent seizures triggered by my ridiculously intransigent blood pressure. I refer to that period as my Keith Richards days. I was borderline incoherent and feeling zippy pain. This was especially welcome since shortly post birth the epidural wore off/broke (trust me you don't want the details) and I had been feeling EVERY bit-o-pain that comes along with being gutted like a codfish. Yay for magnesium, I say! And percocet and tylenol 3...
Next few posts I'll get y'all up to speed on the transition from human podcreature to mommyhood - its been quite a ride. But details will need to wait - the infant is paging me (read: there is an air raid siren going off in my home).... Happy Early Mother's Day!
Because she was only 34 weeks, I was all for riding it out as long as possible. A couple of docs in my ob's practice were down with that, to a point. And there was a lot of 'discussion' about exactly where that point was. This was a bit confusing from the patient side of the conversation since opinions varied. When you are hospitalized, you get the doc du jour, which means you get the opinion du jour. 'You are good, just hang on your left side indefinitely and when your BP spikes again, we'll have a baby!' Next day, next doc? 'Get her out!! NOW NOW NOW!!!' Um, what? Many confused calls and intense spousal conversations later - we went with doc 2s opinion, who, come to find out, was dead serious about the 'NOW' part of her opinion. The hubby barely had time to get to the hospital before they were wheeling me into the operating room. He was literally met at the door with the little paper booties and hat. Exceptional timing!
I'll spare you the details of the delivery, but it could have been worse. We went c-section. Considering that rolling onto my right side spiked my BP by 20 points, we were pretty sure that a 24 hour bout with intense induced pain would probably have had a negative impact on my readings, to the tune of 'not enough drugs in the world'. So a quick slice n' dice and boom! Baby.
She was born at 3 something on march 7th (hey, I was drugged - cut me some slack!) and weighed 5lbs 9ozs. And after 10 days in the NICU, she was allowed to go home. I had to stay in the hospital myself another 4 days. The first of those 4 days, I was drugged to the gills on magnesium, to prevent seizures triggered by my ridiculously intransigent blood pressure. I refer to that period as my Keith Richards days. I was borderline incoherent and feeling zippy pain. This was especially welcome since shortly post birth the epidural wore off/broke (trust me you don't want the details) and I had been feeling EVERY bit-o-pain that comes along with being gutted like a codfish. Yay for magnesium, I say! And percocet and tylenol 3...
Next few posts I'll get y'all up to speed on the transition from human podcreature to mommyhood - its been quite a ride. But details will need to wait - the infant is paging me (read: there is an air raid siren going off in my home).... Happy Early Mother's Day!
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