Nosy People

Sunday's these days consist of Thomas's football games which we have to be at the field at 2:30pm. The game will start anywhere from 3:00 - 4:00, depending on the game before ours. These games can last for a while (2 hours for today's game...) so it normally takes up the rest of our evening.


My goal for this morning was to go to Kroger for my "haul" with my second attempt at couponing before everyone else in the house had to get up and moving in preparation for the day. When I came out of my room, Thomas was already up. This was great for me because I knew I needed to separate my items into two separate transactions so having someone else tag along to push a cart would be beneficial. By 9:15am, we had left the house.


Thomas and I got to Kroger and managed to get most everything on my lists and went to check out. By that time, Thomas was getting antsy and whenever this happens, I hear my name at least once every two minutes for some kind of question or something that he just HAD to tell me. This went on almost the whole time I was checking out. Towards the end of the second transaction, this following excerpt came from the conversation with the cashier.


Cashier: Is he yours??
Me: Yea, he is. Why?
Cashier: (looking completely perplexed) So why is he calling you "Samantha"???


Now. It took every ounce of restraint to NOT respond with something along the lines of "It's none of your damn business, bitch." If it were around the time when Aunt Flo visits, all restraint would have been gone and that's very likely what would have came out of my mouth. Instead, I decided to give her a very shortened version of the last few years.

Me: Well, he started out as my stepson, but I've adopted him since then.


I thought this would suffice. I had hoped it would suffice. Seeing as it really wasn't any of her business anyway, this should have been more than enough information. It wasn't.


Cashier: Is he the only one you've adopted?


-_- Really?? SERIOUSLY?? Why would you keep going?! I must have had some kind of look on my face that wasn't too pleasant because Thomas decided to pipe up then.


Thomas: Nope. She adopted me and my brother (looks at me) about three weeks ago?
Me: Close. About a month ago.
Cashier: So you've adopted two??


Did you really not catch that from the conversation so far??


Thomas: Yep. She adopted me and my brother and she had Trevor.
Cashier: Who's Trevor?


!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Thomas: Our little brother. He just turned one yesterday.
Cashier: So you have three kids?
Me: Yes, I have three kids.
Cashier: You must like those kids a lot to adopt them.
Me: I love them all very much.
Cashier: They must be good kids.
Me: They're great kids.


I think the lady that was bagging the groceries got the hint at that point and interjected.


Bagger: Would you like some help pushing these carts out?
Me: Sure! Thanks!
Cashier: Have a nice day!
Me: You too...


Granted... we had three full carts when we left so yes, I really did need someone else to push one of them out. But the offer came at the perfect time.


People that know me know that I'm pretty much an open book. I don't mind telling people things. But... just because something that happens around you is a bit out of the ordinary (like Thomas calling me Samantha when random people see us in a mother/son situation) doesn't mean that it's ok to keep asking.


What if I was just a foster parent and he had been bounced around from home to home? Don't you think asking a million questions about it blatantly in front of him would bring up a bunch of bad memories? What if I was a relative taking care of him because his parents had passed? Do you want a kid to have a complete meltdown because you keep interrogating??


Yes, to see a kid calling their (you assume) parent by their given name instead of Mom/Dad, it's different. But there's a ton of reasons why that could be happening. Go ahead and pick up on things like that, but discuss them with yourself IN YOUR HEAD. It is none of your business why people do things the way they do. They have their reasons, like we do. I have not once told them they have to call me Mom. It would be nice and it would make situations like this not happen and it would postpone confusion from Trevor when he gets a little older, but I'm not going to force it.


Point being... don't be nosey. Don't be rude. Mind your own business.

15 Things I Never Thought I'd Have To Say

I had to say something to Trevor last night, which afterwards, left me thinking "Did you REALLY just say that?!" But the next thought was about how every little thing has to be taught to him. As many of you know, I met Timothy and Thomas when they were 5 and 3 years old, respectively. They were old enough to where even the most basic things had already been explained. Somehow, I have still managed to come up with come off the wall things that I've had to say to all three of them. We'll start with the one from last night.






1. Don't eat that sticker!
(To the nearly year old.)


2. No one wants to see your pile of poop in the toilet!
(To Timothy.... more than once. Somehow, sometimes his poop impresses him.)


3. Why did you trap the cat inside your drawer??
(Thomas. Definitely Thomas. I looked forever for the cat until I heard meowing coming from the drawer under his old bed.)


4. It shouldn't be that hard to aim that thing!
(Timothy and Thomas... I've lost count. It's coming with Trevor too...)


5. Quit trying to play with IT while you're in the outfield!
(Timothy and Thomas. Although, Timothy did it a lot more than Thomas.)


6. You have to actually use the soap to get clean!
(Timothy and Thomas. More Thomas than Timothy. For whatever reason, he thinks standing in the shower and singing gets him clean.)


7. Your hair smells like wet dog!
(Again, both older boys. Thomas very frequently does #6, so there's an involuntary reaction to sniff his hair when he comes for hugs and kisses.)


8. Yay! There's poopoo!!
(Trevor. Lord help me. It's horrible when you get excited over baby poop.)


9. Quit letting the dog take your shoe off your foot!
(Or glove or hat or whatever else the dog can manage to take off of Thomas. Thomas picked on Rico when he was a puppy... a lot. It didn't manage how many times I'd tell him that the dog would get back at him someday. Well, it's happened. Many, many times. Rico has managed to learn how to take Thomas's shoe off of him... while Thomas is RUNNING.)


10. If you're not going to finish changing the poopy diaper, CLOSE IT BACK UP before letting go of him!
(Timothy. That poor kid has such an issue with poopy diapers.)


11. Rocks aren't food!
(Trevor. He has to taste everything. And I mean EVERYTHING. Thank God he hasn't found dog poop outside yet.)


12. Ball wrinkles are the hardest thing to get poop out of!
(To Brian. If you've never had to wipe poop off of baby boy testicles, you won't understand.)


13. No, we are not sliding off into the ditch AGAIN!
(A couple of winters back, Timothy and Thomas were in the car with me going to town. There was snow and ice on the road, so I hit a turn at about 20mph. We hit a patch of ice and slid sideways off the road down into a small ditch next to a field. No one was hurt and we were able to drive down this ditch, up to a driveway, and back on the road. But for the longest time, Thomas would ask if we could do it again.)


14. He got suspended? From KINDERGARTEN?
(Thomas got suspended for a half day in kindergarten for fighting. He told us that the boy was making fun of a girl and he was standing up for her. How do you argue with that?)


15. Don't lick the bathtub!
(Trevor. The dog has managed to teach him a multitude of things including - but not limited to - eating dog food, carrying toys in his mouth while crawling, and licking the water off the edge of the bathtub.)






I'm sure there will be much, MUCH more to come as time goes on, but these have been the most memorable ones to me so far. And in a house full of males, I'm sure it'll get more and more interesting too.

Confessions

Ok guys… this blog is a bit different. Normally, I get on here and I rant and I rave about things that other people do or various things that get me going. Not today. Today’s writing purpose is to get some of my emotions out. I have found at times, if I write things down, it helps me sort through things in my head. So, forgive me if this one is a bit jumbled.

 

 

 

There’s something that I need to realize… ok, let me correct that. Some THINGS that I need to come to realize and ACCEPT.

 

1. I am not now, nor will I ever be, perfect. I try a lot to be, even though it doesn’t seem like it at times. But I do try to be perfect. I try to be exactly what Brian needs, exactly what all three boys need, exactly what my employer needs. But, no matter how hard I try to be the perfect person for every situation, it just doesn’t end up that way. And then, when it smacks me in the face that I’m not perfect, I always end up doing this “self-evaluation” thing in my head where I try to figure out what went wrong. The worst part is when I come to the conclusion that how things turned out was completely and utterly out of my control. That’s normally when I get really upset with myself.

 

2. This whole “mom thing” is hard work. When I met Brian, I was unknowingly getting in way over my head. Of course people tried to tell me that, but I was the stubborn 20 year old that always has to figure things out the hard way. Don’t get me wrong, I love all three boys…but, there are definitely times where I doubt myself and nearly everything I’m doing. This ties in with #1 because I try my hardest to be the perfect mom. But, no matter how hard I try, I’m still going to screw it up at times.

 

3. My husband is not really an asshole. Like all couples, we have our disagreements. But, like anyone who knows me really well can tell you, I’m pretty good at holding grudges. (Yes, I know it’s basically letting someone/ something else control my life… I’ll get to that in a minute.) I have a difficult time letting things go after we’ve argued. In the beginning, it wasn’t so hard to do. Maybe because we disagreed a lot more at that point in our relationship. Maybe I can’t let it go as easily now because we’ve grown together and the arguments that we do have are more disappointing than anything. Regardless of why I have a hard time letting things go, it’s still something that I need to get better at.

 

4. Burnt bridges won’t ever be able to be rebuilt to the exact thing they were before, and that’s assuming they can be rebuilt at all. (Here’s where the holding grudges comes in…) Back to the 20 year old who had to learn everything the hard way who also had a bad attitude a lot of the time. I was one of those people who didn’t want to put the time and/or effort to rebuild any bridges. Once that bridge was gone, it was gone. End of story. I’ve improved on this one, I think, but there’s still more to go on it. Now, I believe these bridges can be worked on but it has to come from BOTH sides. If it gets finished, great. If not, then it’s not meant to be. But, it’s entirely up to ME as to how much effort I want to put into it. And how much effort I put into it will be a reflection on how much I feel the other person is trying. If their effort is minimal, then mine will be too. It’s too much stress to try to worry about pleasing someone who just can’t be pleased.

 

5. Prioritizing sometimes means things get left out. I’m one of those people who has to do EVERYTHING and I flip out if it’s not done. Example: I like to get the house cleaned on the weekends. I normally start on laundry – everyone needs clean clothes. While doing laundry, I try to work on common areas. (By the way, this was SOOO much easier to do before Trevor’s arrival!) Bottom line, my bedroom/ clothes/ bathroom is ALWAYS last. And, truth be told, most of the time, it flat out doesn’t get done. There’s always a million things distracting me from what I need to do. There’s a baby that needs fed, baby needs a diaper change, dinner needs cooked, baby needs to take a nap, tell the kids 961,408,545,671 times to get their stuff done (clean their rooms, put away their clothes, make their beds, etc.). It normally ends up with something like this:

The washer timer for Timothy’s clothes just went off. Have to wait for Thomas’s clothes in the dryer to get done. Timothy – Make your bed. Feed baby. Wash bottles. Thomas – make sure your room is picked up. Dryer timer went off. Need to make baby food first – make baby food. Baby needs out of high chair. Put baby on the floor with toys. Switch laundry. Timothy – did you make your bed correctly? Go look at bed because he always shoves sheet at bottom of bed and pulls blankets over. Walk in bedroom and find dirty clothes shoved under futon and clothes all over closet floor. Look at bed. Yep, sheet is shoved at the bottom. Timothy – correct these things. Go to baby’s room and clean up. Take out trash bag in baby’s room. Washer timer goes off – have to wait on dryer. Baby wants attention. Thomas – did you get everything in your room picked up? Go look in room to make sure. Yep, there’s toys hidden in the cushion in his chair under a pillow and somehow, there’s candy wrappers to candy that he was never given in his trashcan. Thomas – fix these things. Baby wants more attention. Thomas – get your clothes from the dryer and put them away. Timothy – straighten up your bathroom. Put baby stuff from washer into dryer. Baby needs a nap. Change diaper. Baby doesn’t want to take a nap. Rock baby, walk with baby, sing to baby… forever. Put load of our clothes in washer. Cook dinner. Eat dinner. Boys – clean up after dinner (their one thing they’re responsible for daily, other than their rooms.) Baby is awake. Change diaper. Feed baby. Boys – stop dancing around the kitchen and get your stuff done. Baby wants attention. Boys - need to take your showers…. Fast forward to the next morning. CRAP. The stuff is still in the washer. Turn washer back on.

 

Keep in mind, we also normally make a trip into town during all that too. Bottom line… things just don’t get done all the time. It drives me nuts, but I need to be able to deal with that.

 

6. Kids are not going to listen nearly as much as I want them to. This one shouldn’t need too much of an explanation… they’re kids. And my expectations may be a bit high at times. However, it shouldn’t be a daily battle that almost exactly mirrors the battle from the day before.

 

I have things that I need to come to terms with and it’s a work in progress. There’s always things I can do to better myself and these are the things I’ve chosen to work on at this point in my life. All I can do is ask for some understanding while I go through this adjustment and try to minimize stress in my life.

Irresponsible

Ok… another Facebook status got me going. (I’m thinking I should minimize my usage of that social networking site…) Anyway, this woman isn’t someone I would have called a “friend”… more of an acquaintance. We went to high school together and her son wrestled with Thomas at one point, so when I got her request, I didn’t think anything of it when I accepted.

Fast forward 2(ish) years and I’ve seen her divorce posted on there, getting together with someone else, back with the ex-husband, and together again with the other guy. A couple months ago, she ended up pregnant and the “other guy” is the father. Two days ago, I saw a status talking about how her doctor’s appointment didn’t go so well. Of course, being the nosey person I am, I looked at the comments. In those comments, she talked about how the baby’s stomach was measuring smaller than it should be because she hasn’t been hungry, the doctor wants her to stop smoking, and they want her to be off work for two weeks. Various other people were commenting telling her how she needs to eat regardless of if she’s hungry or not and how she definitely needs to stop smoking. And instead of having a reaction of “yea, I need to eat more so I can take care of my baby”, it was “I know, but I’m not hungry.”

(Before I go into my rant, please understand that I know I was not perfect with my pregnancy. I’m not great at remembering things, so I didn’t take my prenatal vitamin every single day. I ate hot dogs every once in a while. I carried things heavier than I should have and I drove the bucket of the tractor through the garage at 7 months along.)

Queue the fumes.

First off, lady, you’re PREGNANT. There is another life INSIDE of you. So, unlike me, your doctor is telling you that you have endangered your baby… who isn’t even born yet! And your response is “but I wasn’t hungry”?!?!?! That would be the same thing as you telling your other two kids that just because you’re not hungry, they’re not going to get their next meal either. Starving a child is ABUSE. I’m not talking about if they are acting up and go to bed early without finishing their dinner… If this baby’s stomach is smaller than it needs to be, then you’ve obviously been doing this for a while. It’s PROLONGED ABUSE. So, in that sense, maybe you shouldn’t be allowed to keep this baby. And honestly, if that’s how you are treating that baby before it’s born, then I have to seriously question how well you take care of your other boys.

Secondly, I understand smoking is an addiction. That being said, what the HELL are you THINKING?! Do you not realize how many chemicals are in cigarettes?! Are you not aware of the possible birth defects associated with smoking while pregnant?! Here… let me enlighten you.

• Babies born to mothers who smoked had roughly 20% to 30% higher odds of having shortened or missing arms and legs, cleft lips and cleft palates, and abnormally shaped heads or faces compared to babies born to nonsmoking mothers.
• Maternal smoking was associated with a 27% excess risk of gastrointestinal abnormalities, including problems with the throat, esophagus, colon, intestine, bile ducts, gall bladder, and liver.
• Infants born to smokers had 50% higher odds of being born with their intestines hanging outside the body and a 20% increased risk of being born with a blocked or closed anus.
• Smoking accounted for a 9% increased risk of heart defects and a 13% higher risk that baby boys would be born with undescended testes.

(http://www.webmd.com/baby/news/20110711/smoking-in-pregnancy-raises-birth-defect-risk)

Now… these things are associated with something that you are CHOOSING to do. Smoking isn’t a necessity… it’s not oxygen, food, or water… it’s an OPTION. So by choosing not to quit – or even ATTEMPT to quit – you are choosing a much greater risk of your baby being born with some kind of abnormality. You’re CHOOSING to potentially need corrective surgery for this baby, if not immediately when born, then sometime in his/her life. It’s not like a surgery to put its intestines back inside is going to be an elective one. So…. You’re OK with this?!

Third. If your doctor is telling you that you need to take 2 weeks off of work – that you do physical labor at – then damnit, there’s a very specific reason and you need to do it. I totally understand not being able to afford being off work. But, there are times when you have to prioritize. Even if you’re not super concerned about the welfare of the baby (reference the two points above if there’s any question to that…) continuing to work when your doctor says not to is potentially putting your life at risk also. It’s not like they can fire you if you have doctor’s orders to be off of work. At that point, your job is protected under FMLA and it is actually ILLEGAL for them to fire you.

So, by this ONE status, I have determined that you, ma’am, are a complete piece of shit.

There’s a saying… “You are the company that you keep.” And judging from what I got from your ONE status, I can whole heartedly say that I do not want to be anywhere remotely associated with you.

Unfriended.

With as much knowledge we have available these days on consequences of choices you make when pregnant, you would think women would be better educated about these things and therefore make better choices. But I'm not completely convinced that it's just lack of knowledge. It's selfishness... plain and simple. These women choose themselves over their kids.

Women who refuse to take care of their children, regardless of if they're born yet or not, in my opinion, should not be allowed to keep their children and some kind of measures need to be taken so they can't have anymore children that will just be put in the system. I'm not talking about women who literally CAN'T take care of their kids... this is women who CHOOSE to abandon their children's needs. It's women who are only fulfill the biological meaning of the word "mother" and not any of the adjective or verb meanings. Please see below for definitions.

moth·er - /ˈmʌðər/ Show Spelled [muhth-er] 

noun

1. a female parent.

2. (often initial capital letter) one's female parent.

3. a mother-in-law, stepmother, or adoptive mother.

4. a term of address for a female parent or a woman having or regarded as having the status, function, or authority of a female parent.

5. a term of familiar address for an old or elderly woman.

adjective

11. being a mother: a mother bird. 

12. of, pertaining to, or characteristic of a mother: mother love. 

13. derived from or as if from one's mother; native: his mother culture. 

14. bearing a relation like that of a mother, as in being the origin, source, or protector: the mother company and its affiliates; the mother computer and its network of terminals.

verb (used with object)

15. to be the mother of; give origin or rise to.

16. to acknowledge oneself the author of; assume as one's own.

17. to care for or protect like a mother; act maternally toward.

verb (used without object)

18. to perform the tasks or duties of a female parent; act maternally: a woman with a need to mother.

(http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/mother?s=t)

Bottom line, you cannot be the definition of "mother" while neglecting your children at the same time.

Responsibilities

Sorry guys... I needed to take a break from the Life Since Then saga to write this...

A status on Facebook (yes, Facebook prompted this blog) from an old friend of mine today got me going.

To the best of my knowledge, this is the back story: Her ex neglected to pay child support for her daughter for the majority of the time that she was under 18 years old. This woman is now getting back support and her daughter isn’t talking to her because this back support is taking a good chunk of her dad’s money and he’s older and sick. The daughter wants her to go to court and have the back support order dropped since she’s now over 18 and not living at home anymore.

I can see both sides. The daughter is concerned for her dad – like any daughter would be – and wants him to be able to afford the things that he wants and needs especially if he’s sick. He is, after all, still her dad. The mom wants the compensation that she deserves for being a single mother for all of these years. She paid for it all… food, clothes, housing, school supplies, extracurricular activities, gas (for when she’s had to be driven somewhere), medical bills… the list goes on and on.

Like any other topic that I write about, I have strong feelings on this one. And, don’t get any kind of ideas that this is a “bashing men” session because there are women out there that neglect their responsibilities too (and that’s becoming more and more frequent).

#1 – Getting Pregnant - Women don’t have the ability to climb on top of themselves and get pregnant. Period. (We’re excluding women who go and get in vitro so they can be pregnant – this was also not the case in the above story.) Reproductive sex takes a man and a woman. DUH. But, it’s incredible how many men seem to forget this tiny bit of information.

#2 – Donation of Genetic Material – By donating genetic materials to the creation of a baby, you have officially signed yourself up for a crazy long list of responsibilities. You are now responsible for supporting this baby throughout their life physically, emotionally, AND financially. Notice how “and” is in all capital letters? Yea, that’s because you cannot substitute that word for “or”. You are responsible for ALL of those… you can’t pick and choose according to what is convenient for you at the time.

#3 – Needs – Kids need (not including their wants) a LOT of things. Everything they need ties together in some way to be in at least two of the three above mentioned categories. Examples are listed below.

Child’s Need	Physically, Emotionally, Financially?
Roof over their head	Physically: Need to be able to sleep out of the elements. Emotionally: A kid sleeping under a bridge is nearly guaranteed to be depressed. Financially: Any house/apartment/condo/trailer/etc. costs money
Clothing	Physically: Does this need explained? Making your child go naked all the time is abuse. Clothes need to be clean to make sure germs that are picked up on a daily basis are gone. Emotionally: A kid that has dirty, torn clothes all the time feels less self-worth than other kids that are clean. (Note: I am not saying that kids need the most expensive, up-to-date fashions. I’m talking about basic clothing NEEDS… no matter how much they want the other.) Financially: Clothing, shoes, and the detergent needed to clean them cost money.
Food	Physically: Um, duh? They need GOOD food too… not just junk. Science has proven that kids (same as adults) function better with healthy food. Emotionally: Kids who are constantly hungry aren’t able to focus on anything else (think about when you’re hungry…). Financially: Food costs money.
Doctor visits/ medicines	Physically: Again… duh? Kids constantly need to go to the doctor whether it be for an injury or an illness. (Most sports require an annual physical also.) Emotionally: Sometimes, kids need to see therapists to deal with various things. Same reasons an adult would need to go. Financially: Doctors and medicine costs money.
Safety	Physically: Do you want to be physically safe? Yea, I’m sure kids do too. I don’t know of any kid that seriously dreams of being kidnapped or murdered. Emotionally: This is a tricky one sometimes. Every now and then, tough decisions have to be made to make sure a child is emotionally safe. Whether this means keeping them from shady people or whatever, a child’s mental safety is incredibly important. Financially: This one doesn’t always take money. But, extra security measures (especially when they live in a not-so-great area) can cost money.

Granted, those are not all the things a child needs… those are just some basics. But the point I’m trying to make is that everything a child needs somehow has a physical, emotional, and financial aspect. If you take out the financial aspect, how are these needs going to be met?

#4 – Child support – I don’t care how many kids you have or how crappy your life has been or any of that. If it’s YOUR child, you should have to pay support regardless. Plain and simple, it’s expensive to have a child and raise it with just basics being met… not including anything extra. One income just isn’t enough anymore. If you can’t afford your support, then get another job! (I know I’ve covered this in another blog of mine, but there’s no way you can say “but there are no jobs out there”. I don’t care if you’re flipping burgers to pay your support… DO IT.)

#5 – Back child support – I put the following as part of my response on the status that prompted all this: “Let me put it this way... If you have an electric bill or whatever that you don't pay, that bill gets bigger and bigger and then that bill gets fines, fees, etc tacked on. Eventually it goes to collections. If it goes too long, it can go to court so then you have to add legal fees in there also. That bill is you're responsibility to pay and won't go away until you deal with it. My point is, if you deal with your responsibilities when you're faced with them, then they won't be such a burden later.” If you deal with child support when you’re supposed to pay it, you won’t owe it past the time when it’s supposed to end. But, if you choose to neglect supporting your child, don’t be upset when the person who DID wants you to pull your weight.

I know it’s just a fact of life… some parents are dead beats. I get it. And, on the flip side, some parents get support and blow it on other things while the kids still go without what they need. But… that’s on them. At least by paying your support, you’re SUPPORTING YOUR KIDS.

Life Since Then, Part 4

Continued from Part 3...

It was pretty uneventful for a long time. For the most part, it was talking, walking, being checked without making much progress, and attempting sleep. Make sure to notice that I used the word “attempt”. I was exhausted and couldn’t get more than a few minutes to a half hour (maximum) of “sleep” at a time. Finally, at midnight, my nurse told me that my IV couldn’t wait anymore and they put it in. That was a good thing because by the time 1am came – after 7 hours of active labor – I decided I wanted some pain meds. The first round of pain meds was pretty nice. It didn’t completely stop my contractions… I could still feel them coming frequently… but they weren’t nearly as bad. I was able to get around 45 minutes to an hour of uninterrupted sleep. Mom and Dad left sometime around 2am. My pain meds had worn off by 3am, like I had been told it would, so I got another dose. This one wasn’t nearly as effective. I was also told at that time that since I had been in labor for so long that the chances of infection were increasing and if there wasn’t promising progression by 6am, they were going to start me on Pitocin to get him here faster. (Pretty sure I was only dilated to a 5 at this point… I hadn’t progressed much at all since we had been there.)

By around 4:30am, I was ready for some more pain medicine. But, the last one hadn’t worked nearly as well and the doctor told me that eventually the IV pain meds wouldn’t do any good at all. I decided that if they were going to speed things up, I would need the epidural. Not just for the pain, but so I could rest. When the anesthesiologist came in to give me the epidural at 5am, I had been awake with minimal sleep for a full 24 hours and in active labor for 11 hours with minimal pain management. By that point, I was mentally, physically, and emotionally drained. I’m not going to lie, that epidural scared me to death. It wasn’t AS painful as I had hyped myself up to thinking it would be, but it still burned very badly while he was back there. Brian stood in front of me so I could lean on him. I honestly don’t know if I could have handled it the way I did if he hadn’t have been there. (Side note: not being able to use your legs is the STRANGEST feeling. I could still feel them there, so it wasn’t like they felt like they had been amputated or anything, but it was like they were asleep. Not just a little tingly asleep, like when you’ve sat the wrong way for entirely too long and your legs feel like they’re full of cement.) Once the epidural was in, my doctor took off the monitoring belts and put in an internal monitor to keep a better watch on Trevor’s vitals. I liked lying on my left side so I could see people that were there.

6am came and still not enough progress so they started me on a Pitocin drip. But, that’s also when the problems started. They wanted to gradually increase the amount of Pitocin but by the time I got to a level 3, one of my monitors went haywire. Almost immediately, my nurse ran into the room followed by another 3-4 nurses. The Pitocin was making Trevor’s heart rate drop. They pushed fluids through my IV line, turned the Pitocin off, and got my doctor. After they explained to her what happened, she decided to leave it off for an hour or so and then start all over.

It’s hard to remember all the times things happened after this… much of it is a blur. My 2^nd Pitocin drip made his heart rate get really low again at the same level it had before so it had to be stopped for a while again. A 3^rd Pitocin drip was started and was left at a level 2 so his heart rate wouldn’t drop anymore which caused me to start dilating more, but not very quickly. My parents came back around 9 that morning and hung out in my room all day.

Sometime in the afternoon, I had FINALLY dilated to a 7 (waiting to dilate was one of the most frustrating things since I wasn’t able to speed it up myself) but it just wasn’t enough. My doctor and nurse came in and talked to me about a c-section and how the time for when one was going to be needed was getting very close. I had been in active labor for too long and the risk for infection was getting too high. Not going to lie, I started crying. I felt defeated… helpless… hopeless. My doctor was incredible. She knew I didn’t want a c-section as long as I could help it so she decided to let me go a bit longer. A short time after, my nurse came back and started to prep me for the surgery by washing my belly with the antibacterial scrub and getting out all of the equipment that would be needed. In the meantime, my nurse rolled me to my right side to give my left side a break and to try to get the right side of my cervix to dilate (the left had dilated all the way, but the right side was the one that wasn’t doing what it needed to), but every time I would be on my right side for any length of time, Trevor’s heart rate would drop again. I was put on my back and given an oxygen mask while more fluids were flushed through my IV line. I honestly lost count of how many times I had to use that mask.

My doctor came back in at about 2pm or so to check me (I think with the intention of taking me down to the operating room) and I was almost completely dilated! There was still a small piece on the right side that hadn’t dilated all the way. The c-section talk went away and my doctor told me that it shouldn’t be much longer. I think this is when Brian’s mom came to visit. She wasn’t able to stay long because she had to get Timothy and Thomas from school. (Brian played an incredibly cruel trick on my mom… he went out and told her that I had regressed and gone from a 10 back to a 7. She, of course, flipped.)

The nurse came in and checked me again at 3:30pm and I was still almost dilated to 10. The right side still had a little piece, but she said it was incredibly soft and wanted the doctor’s opinion. Dr. Delong came in and agreed – saying that it should be soft enough for Trevor to get past it – and wanted me to try a few pushes. After a couple, she said she wanted to try to deliver the baby so Brian went out into the hallway and told Mom and Dad that they needed to go to the waiting room while we were trying to get Trevor out. (My doctor also asked if I wanted a mirror placed at the foot of the bed so I could see him being born. Um, sorry, but… no thanks. Gross.)

Pushing started at 3:44pm. Brian started out counting for me… and did GREAT… at first. He started out doing a pretty good pace. But then he decided that if he counted slower, I would push longer. WRONG. It got to the point where I had to stop pushing by the time he got to number 6 or 7… there was no way I was making it to number 10 at that pace. I distinctly remember saying some “choice words” and then the nurse immediately offering to count for me.  Once the doctor thought Trevor was in a good position, they broke away the bed – which, I have to say, was pretty impressive. That was, however, the most vulnerable I’ve ever felt. (Laughable, but kinda gross moment: While Trevor’s head was still in the birth canal, the doctor asked Brian if he wanted to come see the baby’s full head of hair. I felt bad for Brian because he was looking for a nice way to decline her offer. As he was stuttering, she said “It’s ok… you don’t have to.” He promptly replied with “No. No. Nope, I don’t wanna do that.”)

Pushing alone wasn’t doing it. His face was facing the ceiling instead of the floor so his head was having a hard time getting past my pelvic bone. My doctor told me that he wasn’t going to get out on his own, so she got a vacuum and attached it to his head. From where I was, I couldn’t really see much of anything she was doing. (Brian later described it to me… he compared it to it looking like she had gone fishing and was pulling back the fishing pole, trying to pull a big fish out of the water.) All I know is it helped. She would pull while I would push and then wait for the next contraction to do it all again. Finally, we got his head out (I swear, I thought it would be easier than that). She asked if I wanted to reach down and touch his head… I don’t even remember how I responded… I just know I didn’t do it. Again… gross. Once his head was out, the rest was incredibly easy. All it took was 3 more pushes.

Brian and I welcomed our son, Trevor James Hart into the world on September 13, 2013 at 4:48pm.

But… just because he was here, doesn’t mean everything was fine.






.... To be continued....

Life Since Then, Part 3

Ok, I lied... this isn't the rest of it. I didn't quite realize how many details were involved (that I would remember) with Trevor's birth...

We called my mom and dad first. Of course she flipped out. They wanted to come right away, but I didn’t think everyone needed to be crammed in that little room, so I told them I’d let them know when I was able to get a birthing room. I don’t remember what order everyone else came in, but I made sure to get at least the majority of the family notified. When people offered to let other family members know, I decided that would be best so I could get some rest. I figured I’d have a long night ahead and needed to keep as much energy as possible, especially since already being up so early that morning. While waiting, Brian and I went over the “rules” I wanted to set for while we were in the birthing room. I had already been telling him these (mostly at random) for a few weeks prior.  Little did I know that he had put them in his phone so he wouldn’t forget J

Those rules were:
1. Only he was allowed in the room while I was pushing.
 - I believe that a baby’s birth is an extremely intimate moment and should be shared by the mother and father, without the distraction of other people (besides the hospital staff). I think that gives too much opportunity for people to argue over what everyone’s “jobs” are… who stands next to the woman being the coach, who sits on the couch, etc. Also, the more people in the room, the more things there are to potentially take the doctor’s attention away from what they’re there to do – get the baby out SAFELY. A lot of people that I know have had their mothers in the room and/or various other family members… and… to each, their own… but that’s not how I wanted things to go.

2. Only he was allowed in the room while I was being checked.
- Um… I know a bunch of people that I didn’t know were going to be in there while everything was exposed for everyone to see. BUT… I don’t know those people. The only time I have to see that doctor again is for yearly exams at which time she sees everything anyway. It’s not like I work with these people and every time they see me, they’d get a visual of my exposed vajayjay.

3. When the doctor was talking, everyone else needed to be quiet.
- If this one isn’t obvious enough… I had never birthed a baby before. And no matter how many books you read or pamphlets you look out or picture diagrams you see… it never FULLY prepares you for being in the moment. That and each birth doesn’t progress the same way. I needed to be able to hear each and every thing my doctor or nurses were telling me so I knew what was going on.

4. I didn’t want anyone called until it was confirmed that I was in active labor.
- We had already discussed this on the way to the hospital. If you haven’t, read the end of Part 2 for the reasoning.

5. IV pain meds were preferred – no epidural unless the IV meds weren’t enough and I couldn’t take it anymore.
- I know epidurals are standard now. I know they’re the best form of pain management. But… first off, I HATE needles. I passed out when I was 11 (?) in the middle of Claire’s in the Town Center mall in Charleston after getting my ears pierced. Not from pain, but from getting myself so hyped up over it that my adrenaline crashed. Nearly passed out when I got my navel pierced in my senior year of high school. Needles and I do not get along… period. And second, without mentioning names, a man that I work with lost his daughter after she gave birth to her third child due to complications from an epidural. This scared the hell out of me. I looked up the statistics on it and yes, they were very, very minimal. But it wasn’t able to be completely ruled out. As a result, an epidural was to be used as a last resort.

6. Brian and Dad needed to BEHAVE.
- Brian and my dad are entirely too similar with their sense of humor. Once they get going, they just. Don’t. Quit. And at times, it can get downright obnoxious. I had other things to focus on than getting annoyed.

7. I didn’t want anyone to try to talk me into changing my birthing plan (unless it was my doctor and in a life/death situation)
- It was MY birth plan for (likely) the ONLY baby I would ever have. I made these decisions based on various things: Brian’s input, birthing class, various other moms, etc. Granted, I know that everything could change, but I wanted to at least set parameters for how I wanted it to go. The way I saw it was if you want to try to tell me how my birth plan was incorrect or that I needed to change a million things about it, then you just needed to get pregnant and make your own birth plan.

For the record, I still don’t think any of the above was unreasonable. I cannot begin to express how incredible it was to have a husband that gave his opinion when asked for it but still allowed me to make my own decisions without any negative pressure.

Right at 8pm, we were told that a birthing room was ready… the ONLY birthing room available. (I felt sorry for the other women that didn’t have a room yet.) Before I was able to be moved, the doctor checked on my progress again. (This was pretty amusing seeing as my water hadn’t completely emptied. They made sure to stand to the side when checking me… just in case it would explode in their faces.) After getting in the birthing room, the nurse wanted to do the standard IV drip. But… I knew I wanted to walk around and I really didn’t want to bring that pole along for as long as possible, so she told me she would leave it out as long as possible but would need to be in before I got any pain meds. As soon as we got settled, Mom and Dad walked in.

To be continued....

Life Since Then, Part 2

Continued from Part 1.....

After that, all there was to do was get Trevor’s room together… that and wait on him to get here. I had started my 2 week rotation appointments at my OBGYN’s office… those were fun (please read the previous with as much sarcasm as possible). But no matter how much I disliked the visits, they were informative. I was dilated to 1cm for about 3 weeks before my due date… with no change until the appointment on my due date – September 9^th – where I was dilated to 3cm and fully effaced. At that point, my OB decided it would be best to strip my membranes to try to stimulate labor. She told me if I was going to go into labor on my own, it would be within the next 24 hours. She scheduled me to be induced on September 16^th at 9am… just in case. Brian had me walking every single day trying to get me to go into labor. Sometimes it was just down to the end of the driveway and back and other times he had me walking down the road a bit. He even took me to the mall once and had me walk from Sears to the other end and back.

Then, the evening of September 11, I started having light cramping (hours apart). It had been well over the 24 hour timeframe the doctor had given for going into labor on my own so I figured it was something I had eaten. I told Brian about them and he wanted me to try to time them, but they were too light and too sporadic and I couldn’t tell where they started.

By the following morning, they were more noticeable but they were still about an hour apart. I was still working, so I wasn’t able to focus a lot on when they started… I was only able to tell when they reached their “peak” and it took my attention away from whatever I was doing. Around noon, the ”cramps” were finally  somewhat timeable and were anywhere from 8 minutes to 15 minutes apart and I decided it was time to stop working and focus on whether this was real labor or not. Timothy had a baseball game that night and Brian and I decided that it would be best to have an alternative plan in place for him to get there in case we had to take off to the hospital.

My mother in law, who had been on standby for weeks, came over at 5:30 to pick up Timothy and Thomas and head to the game. I think Trevor must have been waiting on the boys to be taken care of because my water broke at 5:40ish. (DISCLAIMER: Gross descriptive things coming.) It wasn’t the big “gush” that you see in the movies or read about in books so I wasn’t sure it was that. I had used the toilet in the master bathroom and walked to the kitchen when Trevor kicked and it felt like I had peed myself. (This had happened a couple times before so I wasn’t concerned. I did think it was odd because I had JUST emptied my bladder, but I figured I just hadn’t bent over enough to get it all out.) I headed back to the bathroom, cleaned myself up, tried to pee again (nothing came out), put on some new underwear, and headed back to the living room to say bye to the boys. I wasn’t able to make it through the living room before it happened again.  So back to the bathroom I went and repeated the process, only this time I put on a pad in case it happened again… at the rate I was going, I was going to run out of clean underwear and soon!

Brian and I decided it was time to get our hospital bags in the car and head to town. The boys headed to the baseball game with their grandma and we headed in the other direction to the hospital. Calls were made to the doctor’s office and the hospital on the way there but I decided not to call any family at that time in case it was a false alarm. The way I saw it, I already had enough to deal with and didn’t want/ need to add to that by having people other than hospital staff hovering. (I apologize if anyone is offended by that, but that ended up being a really good decision. You’ll see in a minute.)

We got to the hospital at almost 6pm on the dot. It was a good thing we called ahead because there was ONE exam room open. This room was about the size of our master bathroom, closets included. There was enough room in there for Brian and myself, but it got very tight in there once the doctor and nurse came in together. (Speaking of the doctor… Lisa Delong was the one from my doctor’s office that was on call. I had seen her ONCE before… she was the only one there (out of 5) that I hadn’t quite formed an opinion on yet. I had seen the others multiple times.) It was confirmed that I was in labor, but they told me that they were unusually busy that evening and all of the birthing suites were occupied at that time and I would need to wait until someone had their baby and was moved to their mommy/ baby suite. (You stay in the birthing suite for 2 hours after giving birth to let the effects of anesthesia wear off some. The baby normally gets their first feeding in this room also.) Once all of the admission stuff was taken care of, we decided to call family and let them know what was going on.

...... to be continued. The rest of the birth next!