A year or so ago, G (4 years old at the time) asked us for the first time if Santa Clause was real. We had not been expecting that question at such a young age. But, honesty won out and we did our best to explain to him the legend of St. Nick and the development of the Santa Clause we now know. We talked about stories and pretending, and how "it's fun to pretend." But we must not have done a very good job explaining, or maybe we equivocated a bit too much. In any case, six(ish) months later, G asked again if Santa Clause was real, and this time I simply said, "What do you think?" He said, "I think he's real." And I just left it at that.
After pondering this question several times in the last year, a lightbulb went off just today. So, this is how I plan on explaining Santa the next time one of my kids asks:
"You know how you like to play pretend that you're a super hero and we all play along and pretend with you? It's a really fun game to play, isn't it? Well, Santa Clause is like a game. A long, long time ago a real person named St. Nick started going around to children's houses on Christmas Eve and leaving presents for them while they were sleeping. He only did it in his own village; but eventually, people in other villages saw what he was doing and they started doing it in their own villages, too. It was so much fun, eventually all the parents started leaving presents for their children on Christmas Eve. But because it was more fun to pretend, and because the parents wanted to remember the original St. Nicholas who first started the game, they would tell their children that "St. Nick" left the presents. Eventually, the name "St. Nick" changed to "Santa Clause," and people started inventing many other stories about him, like how he rides on a sleigh pulled by reindeer, and lives in the North Pole. It's all pretend, but everyone loves the game so much that we all play it together, and we continue to pretend it's real even when we know that it's really not. Dad and I both like the game, so we decided to play it with you and your brothers. What do you think? Do you like the game? Do you want to play, too?"
And there you have it. No need to thank me for saving your bacon when your children ask the same ;)
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
A gift and a trial
I have to write about something that's been eating at me for a while. I hope I can do so succinctly and clearly; I suspect I will probably fail, however. It's a difficult subject for me to write about, being very emotionally charged, and it will probably cause some strong emotions in some of my readers as well. I apologize for any adverse effect my words may have, but I cannot apologize for the feelings behind them, because if I did I would also have to apologize for being human and that would be condemning Someone who-- of all beings-- is and always will be above reproach.
I have three boys-- three beautiful, intelligent, amazing children. They are the joy of my life, as well as-- so it feels at times-- the bane of my existence. But I love my children. I am glad I had them. I would not trade them for anything.
Whenever I think of having any more, however, I can hardly stand the thought. It stresses me out. I've reached my limit, my maximum capacity, and doggone it can I just be done already? Pretty please?
I'm done. Sooooo done. I've had my babies. Now, I'd just like to be able to enjoy raising them and watching them grow up. The idea of being a "new mother" over and over and over again does not appeal to me. At all.
Mother Nature begs to differ with me. Because I-- apparently-- have been blessed with the perfect body for conceiving, bearing, and nurturing babies. Conceiving when I wanted to conceive has never been an issue for me. My pregnancies, while far from pleasant, have also been a relative breeze compared to those experienced by other women of my acquaintance. When breastfeeding, I have always had an abundant supply and strong, eager nurselings. I delivered three big babies vaginally-- two drug-free-- and one weighing over eleven pounds.
Any woman who has struggled with infertility, difficult pregnancies, complicated labor, or a myriad of breastfeeding challenges, would no doubt tell me that I have been blessed with an incredible gift.
So why would I want to throw that gift away?
To be honest, I don't. I just wish there were some way I could share it when I wanted to, with other women who-- quite frankly-- would probably do a better job raising their children than I do but who through no fault of their own have been unable to have children of their own to raise. Why, if I feel unequal to the task myself, can it not be acceptable for me to have babies for someone else instead? I'd do it, too, if only I weren't so worried about the accompanying feelings of guilt and trying to explain to such a baby why I kept three babies and decided to give him (or her) away, even if by doing so he would be given every conceivable advantage versus staying to be raised by me. And while I realize the craziness of ever acting on the thought (especially considering I am not an unwed or teen mom but rather in a committed monogamous relationship with a loving and supportive parental companion) , the fact that I'd even consider it maybe tells you how desperate I am for some relief from constantly bearing and-- more specifically-- caring for one baby after another.
If anyone had asked me, as a youth, to try and guess what my biggest trials might be as an adult, I never ever would have thought to say "having too many children." On the contrary, I thought I wanted at least half a dozen. I had no idea...
As I stated before, when I think about adding more children to our family, I feel so stressed and overwhelmed and utterly incapable. On the flipside, whenever I tell myself it's okay to be done if I need to be, I feel a sense of peace and contentment that is difficult to ignore.
At other times, however, I think about quitting and I just feel so sad and guilty. Mostly because I start thinking about all those women out there-- several of whom I know personally and love deeply-- who would practically die to be in my shoes and would probably be shocked if they heard that I harbored so much angst over having more children when they had struggled or were still struggling to have just one child to call their own. Who might even feel anger at the confession that there have been days where I would seriously consider trading places with them (moving forward, of course; because I would never want to give away the children I already have).
And this is where I begin to question myself. And the biggest question is, WHY? Why do I feel so strongly that I want to be done?
After baby #2, the answer would have been easy. Baby #2 was so hard on me, psychologically speaking. I believe I suffered from post-partum depression and anxiety, which led-- for a time-- to feelings of doubt in my ability as a mother to more than one child, as well as feelings of detachment and resentment towards my second son which-- happily-- eventually went away, but the lingering effects of that psychologically imbalanced period continue to haunt me at times even three years later.
All through my pregnancy with #3, I worried that the same thing might happen again. I did everything I could to prepare myself psychologically for the new addition to our family, and all the new challenges he might bring with him. Well apparently I did a pretty good job (or just got lucky), because at six months post-partum I feel pretty darn good (most of the time). And of all my babies, so far I have enjoyed #3 the most.
As a matter of fact, I have thoroughly enjoyed each of my boys, strictly one-on-one. But it's been the combination of all three that I find to be so difficult. At least this time around I feel more up to the challenge, and I can see a possible "light at the end of the tunnel" which was completely hidden to me before after baby #2. It's not so bad, most of the time. I can handle it, but only thanks to an amazing support system consisting mainly of my husband, my in-laws, and the occasional friend or church member (which are often one-and-the-same). I'm glad my boys will be able to grow up together, close enough in age to be able to relate to each other and enjoy doing things together.
But it has been hard. Hard to be patient. Hard to stay calm. Hard to be loving and nurturing. Hard to be cheerful. Hard to be everywhere at once, attending to more than one need at a time, finding that balance. Many days, amazingly, I do fairly well. But other days are living nightmares and I get to the end of the day (or even just halfway) feeling like a complete and utter failure to my children.
I just never want to go through this again. And if I ever have another baby-- if I get my way-- it will be at least five-seven years from now, and it will be just one (preferably a girl). And if I have another one after that, it will be another five or so years beyond that. You get the idea.
But then, what if God has other plans? And that is why I figure I really have this trial in my life to begin with. Because I still have not fully learned to trust in Him. That He knows what I need most in my life and when I need it. And I am having a very hard time relinquishing what little control I feel I have over the course of my life.
If I finally came to embrace His plan for me, do you think He might let me be done? ;)
I have three boys-- three beautiful, intelligent, amazing children. They are the joy of my life, as well as-- so it feels at times-- the bane of my existence. But I love my children. I am glad I had them. I would not trade them for anything.
Whenever I think of having any more, however, I can hardly stand the thought. It stresses me out. I've reached my limit, my maximum capacity, and doggone it can I just be done already? Pretty please?
I'm done. Sooooo done. I've had my babies. Now, I'd just like to be able to enjoy raising them and watching them grow up. The idea of being a "new mother" over and over and over again does not appeal to me. At all.
Mother Nature begs to differ with me. Because I-- apparently-- have been blessed with the perfect body for conceiving, bearing, and nurturing babies. Conceiving when I wanted to conceive has never been an issue for me. My pregnancies, while far from pleasant, have also been a relative breeze compared to those experienced by other women of my acquaintance. When breastfeeding, I have always had an abundant supply and strong, eager nurselings. I delivered three big babies vaginally-- two drug-free-- and one weighing over eleven pounds.
Any woman who has struggled with infertility, difficult pregnancies, complicated labor, or a myriad of breastfeeding challenges, would no doubt tell me that I have been blessed with an incredible gift.
So why would I want to throw that gift away?
To be honest, I don't. I just wish there were some way I could share it when I wanted to, with other women who-- quite frankly-- would probably do a better job raising their children than I do but who through no fault of their own have been unable to have children of their own to raise. Why, if I feel unequal to the task myself, can it not be acceptable for me to have babies for someone else instead? I'd do it, too, if only I weren't so worried about the accompanying feelings of guilt and trying to explain to such a baby why I kept three babies and decided to give him (or her) away, even if by doing so he would be given every conceivable advantage versus staying to be raised by me. And while I realize the craziness of ever acting on the thought (especially considering I am not an unwed or teen mom but rather in a committed monogamous relationship with a loving and supportive parental companion) , the fact that I'd even consider it maybe tells you how desperate I am for some relief from constantly bearing and-- more specifically-- caring for one baby after another.
If anyone had asked me, as a youth, to try and guess what my biggest trials might be as an adult, I never ever would have thought to say "having too many children." On the contrary, I thought I wanted at least half a dozen. I had no idea...
As I stated before, when I think about adding more children to our family, I feel so stressed and overwhelmed and utterly incapable. On the flipside, whenever I tell myself it's okay to be done if I need to be, I feel a sense of peace and contentment that is difficult to ignore.
At other times, however, I think about quitting and I just feel so sad and guilty. Mostly because I start thinking about all those women out there-- several of whom I know personally and love deeply-- who would practically die to be in my shoes and would probably be shocked if they heard that I harbored so much angst over having more children when they had struggled or were still struggling to have just one child to call their own. Who might even feel anger at the confession that there have been days where I would seriously consider trading places with them (moving forward, of course; because I would never want to give away the children I already have).
And this is where I begin to question myself. And the biggest question is, WHY? Why do I feel so strongly that I want to be done?
After baby #2, the answer would have been easy. Baby #2 was so hard on me, psychologically speaking. I believe I suffered from post-partum depression and anxiety, which led-- for a time-- to feelings of doubt in my ability as a mother to more than one child, as well as feelings of detachment and resentment towards my second son which-- happily-- eventually went away, but the lingering effects of that psychologically imbalanced period continue to haunt me at times even three years later.
All through my pregnancy with #3, I worried that the same thing might happen again. I did everything I could to prepare myself psychologically for the new addition to our family, and all the new challenges he might bring with him. Well apparently I did a pretty good job (or just got lucky), because at six months post-partum I feel pretty darn good (most of the time). And of all my babies, so far I have enjoyed #3 the most.
As a matter of fact, I have thoroughly enjoyed each of my boys, strictly one-on-one. But it's been the combination of all three that I find to be so difficult. At least this time around I feel more up to the challenge, and I can see a possible "light at the end of the tunnel" which was completely hidden to me before after baby #2. It's not so bad, most of the time. I can handle it, but only thanks to an amazing support system consisting mainly of my husband, my in-laws, and the occasional friend or church member (which are often one-and-the-same). I'm glad my boys will be able to grow up together, close enough in age to be able to relate to each other and enjoy doing things together.
But it has been hard. Hard to be patient. Hard to stay calm. Hard to be loving and nurturing. Hard to be cheerful. Hard to be everywhere at once, attending to more than one need at a time, finding that balance. Many days, amazingly, I do fairly well. But other days are living nightmares and I get to the end of the day (or even just halfway) feeling like a complete and utter failure to my children.
I just never want to go through this again. And if I ever have another baby-- if I get my way-- it will be at least five-seven years from now, and it will be just one (preferably a girl). And if I have another one after that, it will be another five or so years beyond that. You get the idea.
But then, what if God has other plans? And that is why I figure I really have this trial in my life to begin with. Because I still have not fully learned to trust in Him. That He knows what I need most in my life and when I need it. And I am having a very hard time relinquishing what little control I feel I have over the course of my life.
If I finally came to embrace His plan for me, do you think He might let me be done? ;)
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Six months! (plus a day)
C is half a year old! Already! Hard to believe...
He is now somewhere between 12-month clothing and 18-month; which means 12 month barely fits and 18 month is just a wee bit big, but he will grow into it quickly. It's crazy, though, because the clothes that C is just now growing into were clothes that G was wearing as a 1-year-old--and I thought he was a big baby!
He's not nearly as chunky as Z was as a baby, but he must be really long for his age. And I just realized I need to make an appointment for his 6-month well-baby visit still...oops...
He is a pretty happy, sociable little boy and loves to smile and laugh. He even tolerates a certain amount of "abuse" from his big brother Z, though I do my best to prevent any real physical harm. The other day, though, Z jumped over the baby as he was laying on the floor and before I could stop him, his shoe scraped across the right side of C's face, near his eye. Ouch. I put C in the playpen quite often to keep him more protected, except Z has almost figured out how to climb in with his baby brother. *sigh*
About halfway through this last month, C started rolling from his tummy to his back. I first noticed it one day when he woke from his nap and started fussing, but I couldn't get to him right away. After a brief time, I realized he wasn't fussing anymore, and I looked in and he had rolled onto his back (he sleeps on his tummy) and was cooing happily at the ceiling. Since then, he's rolled into his back many times. He has yet to figure out how to reverse the process, however.
I've tried a couple times to introduce a little solid food, but he's still thrusting his tongue out when I try, so I'm not pushing it. The first time I tried was a couple weeks ago when he was being trated with an antibiotic and I decided to try mixing a little probiotic powder with applesauce to give to him (ended up having to more-or-less force it down, though, since he kept spitting it back out). Then I tried giving him a little mashed-up banana this morning, but he pushed that out, too.
We've been giving him lots of practice sitting with support the last few weeks. He likes his "bumbo"-type seat, and we also have sometimes propped him up on the couch (with close supervision). But finally today at the library storytime with the boys, I tried sitting C up on the floor, and he sat for a good 2-4 minutes with no support! Yay! Hopefully I will be able to get pictures soon.
He seems much more orally fixated than either of his brothers were. Everything goes straight to the mouth. We've even caught him sucking his thumb several times.
I apologise for the date being wrong on a couple of the above pictures.
He is now somewhere between 12-month clothing and 18-month; which means 12 month barely fits and 18 month is just a wee bit big, but he will grow into it quickly. It's crazy, though, because the clothes that C is just now growing into were clothes that G was wearing as a 1-year-old--and I thought he was a big baby!
He's not nearly as chunky as Z was as a baby, but he must be really long for his age. And I just realized I need to make an appointment for his 6-month well-baby visit still...oops...
He is a pretty happy, sociable little boy and loves to smile and laugh. He even tolerates a certain amount of "abuse" from his big brother Z, though I do my best to prevent any real physical harm. The other day, though, Z jumped over the baby as he was laying on the floor and before I could stop him, his shoe scraped across the right side of C's face, near his eye. Ouch. I put C in the playpen quite often to keep him more protected, except Z has almost figured out how to climb in with his baby brother. *sigh*
About halfway through this last month, C started rolling from his tummy to his back. I first noticed it one day when he woke from his nap and started fussing, but I couldn't get to him right away. After a brief time, I realized he wasn't fussing anymore, and I looked in and he had rolled onto his back (he sleeps on his tummy) and was cooing happily at the ceiling. Since then, he's rolled into his back many times. He has yet to figure out how to reverse the process, however.
I've tried a couple times to introduce a little solid food, but he's still thrusting his tongue out when I try, so I'm not pushing it. The first time I tried was a couple weeks ago when he was being trated with an antibiotic and I decided to try mixing a little probiotic powder with applesauce to give to him (ended up having to more-or-less force it down, though, since he kept spitting it back out). Then I tried giving him a little mashed-up banana this morning, but he pushed that out, too.
We've been giving him lots of practice sitting with support the last few weeks. He likes his "bumbo"-type seat, and we also have sometimes propped him up on the couch (with close supervision). But finally today at the library storytime with the boys, I tried sitting C up on the floor, and he sat for a good 2-4 minutes with no support! Yay! Hopefully I will be able to get pictures soon.
He seems much more orally fixated than either of his brothers were. Everything goes straight to the mouth. We've even caught him sucking his thumb several times.
I apologise for the date being wrong on a couple of the above pictures.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Get an intrathecal, not an epidural
This past Sunday I was visiting with a friend at church who is a midwife. We got talking about natural childbirth, which we are both pretty passionate about. Among other things, I mentioned my recent experience delivering an 11 lb. baby naturally, and how I'd heard that having an epidural actually makes it impossible to deliver big babies vaginally. She confirmed this. I then talked about how I'd requested an intrathecal (instead of an epidural) during my first labor, and now looking back I realize that if I had had an epidural, I would almost definitely have ended up with a C-section (baby was almost 9 lbs.); and I wondered why more doctors don't push intrathecals over epidurals.
Well for one, as this friend told me, epidurals are more expensive and so anesthesiologists get paid more for administering epidurals over intrathecals. According to her, intrathecals are considered "outmoded" by many doctors, and so are not even presented as an option anymore. The only way I personally came across this pain management option was that during my first pregnancy my midwives presented me with a book titled "While Waiting." Even in that book, all it really says about risks of intrathecal over epidural is that "Current research suggests that the incidence of need for forceps or vacuum extraction or Caesarean delivery is about the same for women receiving intrathecal anesthesia compared to those receiving a regular epidural."
So what's the difference? What initially attracted me to the intrathecal over the epidural (though I was planning on a natural delivery, I wanted to have an acceptable pain relief option available should I need it), was that the intrathecal is more likely to allow the woman to move around and aid in pushing. An intrathecal numbs the pain without affecting the muscles. The drawback? An intrathecal typically only lasts for 2-3 hours. For the woman who wants total pain relief during labor, obviously the intrathecal is not going to do it for her. But for the woman who is willing to labor naturally for as long as possible but wants to keep the option open for temporary pain relief through the most difficult part of labor (being transition and pushing), the intrathecal makes a whole lot more sense.
One drawback that epidurals are notable for is that they hinder the laboring woman's ability to feel and listen to her own body's cues to push. I knew this, and I wanted to avoid being tied to my bed during labor. I wanted to be an active participant in the birth of my child.
So why is the epidural, then, the "drug of choice" for pain management during labor? Even if women are aware of the choice to have an intrathecal, they might be dissuaded by their doctor by the fact that an intrathecal begins to wear off after a couple of hours. This fact is viewed as a bad thing by many laboring women, who have been conditioned to believe that all pain is bad and traumatic and should be avoided. I don't like pain; even mild discomfort tends to make me irritable. But I also have come to believe that all pain is not created equal. And in the case of childbirth, the pain which accompanies contracitons and pushing is good pain, productive pain. And with all three of my deliveries, I have strived to use my pain, to embrace it, to make it work for me. And I have been rewarded with three vaginal deliveries, two of which were completely medication free (aside from receiving antibiotics in early labor for Group B Strep). I won't say it was easy, as it was quite the opposite; but the reward-- for me-- was the avoidance of unnccessary C-secitons due to the inability to push out my big babies.
So where did the intrathecal come into play? During my first pregnancy, my baby was overdue. I requested to be induced. To make a long story short, being on-and-off the pitocin for 30+ hours and getting very little sleep in all that time, by the time I got to the transition stage of labor I was exhausted. Up to this point, I'd been managing my labor pain pretty well; but I can tell you after experiencing both, the pain of a natural contraciton versus the pain of an induced contraction are so very different. Chemically, I believe that when contracitons are induced, the body does not have the same embracive response as it would to natural labor contractions. Also, induced contractions follow a different "rhythm" than natural contractions, often occurring one on top of the other rather than being spaced out with natural rest periods in between.
So, I got to the point where I knew I needed to rest before I had to push my baby out. I got out of the tub and into the bed, and before long the anesthesiologist arrived to administer my medication. I shudder to think what might have transpired had I gone into labor with no birth plan and having done none of my own research on my pain management options. As it was, I had written into my birth plan to get the intrathecal, so that was what he was prepared to give me.
The relief was almost immediate. I slept for two blissful hours. I might have slept even longer, but I was suddenly awakened by my pain beginning to return, and I realized that I had an irresistible urge to start pushing. I pushed the call button and alerted the nurse, who in turn alerted my midwife. The nurse helped me through the first few pushes before the midwife got there. I pushed my baby out in about eleven minutes, which is-- statistically speaking-- quite fast for a first-time delivery.
My baby weighed in at 8 lbs. 15 ounces. A weight which-- if most doctors knew I was going to deliver such a big baby before the fact-- would have recommended me for an automatic C-section merely judging by my petite size (5 ft. 2"). It seems really silly to me now that this would be the case, considering I have managed to vaginally deliver a baby weighing over 11 lbs. 9 lbs in comparison seems absolutely tiny.
So what led to this erroneous wide-spread belief that big babies cannot be delivered vaginally? You can come to your own conclusions, but personally, I'll blame it on the epidural.
And what's the take-home message of the whole post? To sum it up: If you're going to use pain management to get through labor, please please please have a heart-to-heart with your doctor or midwife about trying the intrathecal. And refer them to this blog post. Because doctors and women need to become more educated on the subject of appropriate and effective pain management while still facillitating vaginal deliveries and decreasing the number of unneccessary C-sections.
Well for one, as this friend told me, epidurals are more expensive and so anesthesiologists get paid more for administering epidurals over intrathecals. According to her, intrathecals are considered "outmoded" by many doctors, and so are not even presented as an option anymore. The only way I personally came across this pain management option was that during my first pregnancy my midwives presented me with a book titled "While Waiting." Even in that book, all it really says about risks of intrathecal over epidural is that "Current research suggests that the incidence of need for forceps or vacuum extraction or Caesarean delivery is about the same for women receiving intrathecal anesthesia compared to those receiving a regular epidural."
So what's the difference? What initially attracted me to the intrathecal over the epidural (though I was planning on a natural delivery, I wanted to have an acceptable pain relief option available should I need it), was that the intrathecal is more likely to allow the woman to move around and aid in pushing. An intrathecal numbs the pain without affecting the muscles. The drawback? An intrathecal typically only lasts for 2-3 hours. For the woman who wants total pain relief during labor, obviously the intrathecal is not going to do it for her. But for the woman who is willing to labor naturally for as long as possible but wants to keep the option open for temporary pain relief through the most difficult part of labor (being transition and pushing), the intrathecal makes a whole lot more sense.
One drawback that epidurals are notable for is that they hinder the laboring woman's ability to feel and listen to her own body's cues to push. I knew this, and I wanted to avoid being tied to my bed during labor. I wanted to be an active participant in the birth of my child.
So why is the epidural, then, the "drug of choice" for pain management during labor? Even if women are aware of the choice to have an intrathecal, they might be dissuaded by their doctor by the fact that an intrathecal begins to wear off after a couple of hours. This fact is viewed as a bad thing by many laboring women, who have been conditioned to believe that all pain is bad and traumatic and should be avoided. I don't like pain; even mild discomfort tends to make me irritable. But I also have come to believe that all pain is not created equal. And in the case of childbirth, the pain which accompanies contracitons and pushing is good pain, productive pain. And with all three of my deliveries, I have strived to use my pain, to embrace it, to make it work for me. And I have been rewarded with three vaginal deliveries, two of which were completely medication free (aside from receiving antibiotics in early labor for Group B Strep). I won't say it was easy, as it was quite the opposite; but the reward-- for me-- was the avoidance of unnccessary C-secitons due to the inability to push out my big babies.
So where did the intrathecal come into play? During my first pregnancy, my baby was overdue. I requested to be induced. To make a long story short, being on-and-off the pitocin for 30+ hours and getting very little sleep in all that time, by the time I got to the transition stage of labor I was exhausted. Up to this point, I'd been managing my labor pain pretty well; but I can tell you after experiencing both, the pain of a natural contraciton versus the pain of an induced contraction are so very different. Chemically, I believe that when contracitons are induced, the body does not have the same embracive response as it would to natural labor contractions. Also, induced contractions follow a different "rhythm" than natural contractions, often occurring one on top of the other rather than being spaced out with natural rest periods in between.
So, I got to the point where I knew I needed to rest before I had to push my baby out. I got out of the tub and into the bed, and before long the anesthesiologist arrived to administer my medication. I shudder to think what might have transpired had I gone into labor with no birth plan and having done none of my own research on my pain management options. As it was, I had written into my birth plan to get the intrathecal, so that was what he was prepared to give me.
The relief was almost immediate. I slept for two blissful hours. I might have slept even longer, but I was suddenly awakened by my pain beginning to return, and I realized that I had an irresistible urge to start pushing. I pushed the call button and alerted the nurse, who in turn alerted my midwife. The nurse helped me through the first few pushes before the midwife got there. I pushed my baby out in about eleven minutes, which is-- statistically speaking-- quite fast for a first-time delivery.
My baby weighed in at 8 lbs. 15 ounces. A weight which-- if most doctors knew I was going to deliver such a big baby before the fact-- would have recommended me for an automatic C-section merely judging by my petite size (5 ft. 2"). It seems really silly to me now that this would be the case, considering I have managed to vaginally deliver a baby weighing over 11 lbs. 9 lbs in comparison seems absolutely tiny.
So what led to this erroneous wide-spread belief that big babies cannot be delivered vaginally? You can come to your own conclusions, but personally, I'll blame it on the epidural.
And what's the take-home message of the whole post? To sum it up: If you're going to use pain management to get through labor, please please please have a heart-to-heart with your doctor or midwife about trying the intrathecal. And refer them to this blog post. Because doctors and women need to become more educated on the subject of appropriate and effective pain management while still facillitating vaginal deliveries and decreasing the number of unneccessary C-sections.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Aaaaaaahhhhh!!!!!
Okay, I can't sleep. I have managed to thoroughly freak myself out.
A couple weeks ago, I began planning for Z's birthday party this coming weekend. Traditionally, we have had an outdoor party involving water. This year, I also decided to serve roasted hot dogs and homemade snow cones (using my blender to shave the ice).
I am also attempting to make a red velvet cake from scratch, because when I asked Z what kind of cake he wanted for his birthday, he said "red." Red is his favorite color.
Originally we'd planned to just have a few families over to our place; we'd all just hang out on the big lawn in front of our apartment, throw a few water balloons... But then, I thought why not make it more than just a birthday party; here was an opportunity to entertain a number of friends whom we've been intending to have over all summer and here's our last chance! We could put out a slip-n-slide, maybe get a large-ish wading pool, a few squirt guns, and of course the water balloons (because G decided two years ago that it should be a tradition to have water balloons at all of Z's birthday parties).
So I called up my mother-in-law and asked if we could have the party at their place, to which she graciously agreed (she's a generous soul herself).
At this point, I confess I got carried away (and Nick didn't stop me like he usually does-- he got a little carried away, too, though he probably won't admit it). I thought about the few families at church who have invited us to parties at their homes. And there were a couple of new families we wanted to get to know better. And then I tried to think of who the boys were good friends with and wanted to invite them. And then of course there's local family members who must be included. I had people I wanted to invite, and Nick had people he wanted to invite (and there were a few families on both our lists).
I made the invitations this morning and Nick and I handed them out at church today. We had twelve invites; nine were delivered (a few families were not there, and maybe it's just as well).
So, tally the potential guests (including us and familiy):
A=Adult; C=Child; B=Baby (under 2)
AA
AACCB
AACCB
ACB
ACC
AACB
AACB
AACCB
AACCCCB
AA
A
AACCCCB
AACCCCCCB
That's 23 adults, 25 children, and 9 babies. 57 total.
WHAT WAS I THINKING?!
It's the larger families that are doing us in...
Of course, as I told Nick, it's likely not everyone will actually come, and I'm estimating the actual number of guests to be more like 30 (which is still a lot). But then Nick pointed out that it's also possible that everyone will come.
So now I don't know which to fear more: the thought that no one will come and that all my effort will be wasted; or that everyone will come, chaos will ensue, my cake will come out disastrous, some kid will light his clothes on fire, and the motor on my blender will die halfway through blending the ice for the snow cones leaving some very sad children snow-cone-less (heaven forbid).
Also, when I told my mother-in-law over the phone how many people we'd invited, I think I might have given her a near-heart-attack. I really should not be doing this to her (and I wouldn't blame her if she never let me throw a party at her house again).
Perhaps this whole thing was not too well thought through...
But, the ball's rolling now, so better roll with it!
A couple weeks ago, I began planning for Z's birthday party this coming weekend. Traditionally, we have had an outdoor party involving water. This year, I also decided to serve roasted hot dogs and homemade snow cones (using my blender to shave the ice).
I am also attempting to make a red velvet cake from scratch, because when I asked Z what kind of cake he wanted for his birthday, he said "red." Red is his favorite color.
Originally we'd planned to just have a few families over to our place; we'd all just hang out on the big lawn in front of our apartment, throw a few water balloons... But then, I thought why not make it more than just a birthday party; here was an opportunity to entertain a number of friends whom we've been intending to have over all summer and here's our last chance! We could put out a slip-n-slide, maybe get a large-ish wading pool, a few squirt guns, and of course the water balloons (because G decided two years ago that it should be a tradition to have water balloons at all of Z's birthday parties).
So I called up my mother-in-law and asked if we could have the party at their place, to which she graciously agreed (she's a generous soul herself).
At this point, I confess I got carried away (and Nick didn't stop me like he usually does-- he got a little carried away, too, though he probably won't admit it). I thought about the few families at church who have invited us to parties at their homes. And there were a couple of new families we wanted to get to know better. And then I tried to think of who the boys were good friends with and wanted to invite them. And then of course there's local family members who must be included. I had people I wanted to invite, and Nick had people he wanted to invite (and there were a few families on both our lists).
I made the invitations this morning and Nick and I handed them out at church today. We had twelve invites; nine were delivered (a few families were not there, and maybe it's just as well).
So, tally the potential guests (including us and familiy):
A=Adult; C=Child; B=Baby (under 2)
AA
AACCB
AACCB
ACB
ACC
AACB
AACB
AACCB
AACCCCB
AA
A
AACCCCB
AACCCCCCB
That's 23 adults, 25 children, and 9 babies. 57 total.
WHAT WAS I THINKING?!
It's the larger families that are doing us in...
Of course, as I told Nick, it's likely not everyone will actually come, and I'm estimating the actual number of guests to be more like 30 (which is still a lot). But then Nick pointed out that it's also possible that everyone will come.
So now I don't know which to fear more: the thought that no one will come and that all my effort will be wasted; or that everyone will come, chaos will ensue, my cake will come out disastrous, some kid will light his clothes on fire, and the motor on my blender will die halfway through blending the ice for the snow cones leaving some very sad children snow-cone-less (heaven forbid).
Also, when I told my mother-in-law over the phone how many people we'd invited, I think I might have given her a near-heart-attack. I really should not be doing this to her (and I wouldn't blame her if she never let me throw a party at her house again).
Perhaps this whole thing was not too well thought through...
But, the ball's rolling now, so better roll with it!
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Five months
C is five months today (we'll see if I actually get this posted on the same day I start to write it).
He's pretty close to rolling over, but hasn't quite worked it out yet. He's getting to be quite "talkative," and his smiles are contagious. He likes to play with and suck on his hands, his shirt, his feet, the burp rag, or anything else he can get into his mouth. He seems to be much more orally stimulated than either of my other boys.
He spends a lot of time in the pack-n-play when he's awake, because it's too dangerous to leave him on the floor alone with Z around. Z is constantly trying to "wrestle" with him, and has even laid on him a few times *gasp* But he has somehow survived, despite my apprehensions.
He loves to be outside. He's pretty content to let just about anyone hold him right now, though I expect that will change at some point in the next few months.
I've eliminated most dairy from my diet now (yes, I miss it), and it really seems to be helping. C hasn't had a bad rash in almost a month, and he no longer screams in pain when he has a poopy diaper (a blessing and a curse, since it's not so easy to tell anymore when he needs a diaper change). He also is spitting up less than he was before, and is generally easier to get settled in at night (when the teething isn't bothering him too much). Makes me wish I had thought to try eliminating dairy when I was nursing Z; maybe he wouldn't have been so fussy and colicy all the time if I had (maybe he'd even be happier now).
So, a word of advice to any of you mothers out there dealing with colicy breastfed babies: try cutting the dairy. It might just save your sanity-- and your little one a lot of unneccessary pain. (wish I could go back in time to when I was a baby and tell this to my mom, haha)
He's pretty close to rolling over, but hasn't quite worked it out yet. He's getting to be quite "talkative," and his smiles are contagious. He likes to play with and suck on his hands, his shirt, his feet, the burp rag, or anything else he can get into his mouth. He seems to be much more orally stimulated than either of my other boys.
He spends a lot of time in the pack-n-play when he's awake, because it's too dangerous to leave him on the floor alone with Z around. Z is constantly trying to "wrestle" with him, and has even laid on him a few times *gasp* But he has somehow survived, despite my apprehensions.
He loves to be outside. He's pretty content to let just about anyone hold him right now, though I expect that will change at some point in the next few months.
I've eliminated most dairy from my diet now (yes, I miss it), and it really seems to be helping. C hasn't had a bad rash in almost a month, and he no longer screams in pain when he has a poopy diaper (a blessing and a curse, since it's not so easy to tell anymore when he needs a diaper change). He also is spitting up less than he was before, and is generally easier to get settled in at night (when the teething isn't bothering him too much). Makes me wish I had thought to try eliminating dairy when I was nursing Z; maybe he wouldn't have been so fussy and colicy all the time if I had (maybe he'd even be happier now).
So, a word of advice to any of you mothers out there dealing with colicy breastfed babies: try cutting the dairy. It might just save your sanity-- and your little one a lot of unneccessary pain. (wish I could go back in time to when I was a baby and tell this to my mom, haha)
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Good Ol' Macaroni and Cheese
Most times growing up (once we were old enough to be left alone), whenever my parents went out together at dinner time, my mom would leave a couple boxes macaroni and cheese on the kitchen counter for an easy meal that I or one of my siblings (she usually called on one of us before she left) could fix for the rest of the bunch. I took my share of turns at this task.
Macaroni and cheese should be foolproof, right? And for the most part it was; but my siblings will probably remember as well as I, there were a couple times I got it wrong-- really wrong.
Once, I forgot to drain the water before adding the cheese powder. I'll leave the rest of that story up to your imagination.
Another most memorable time was when I decided to add salt to the pot, per the box's suggestion ("1 tsp. salt optional"). Only I somehow read "1 Tbsp." instead. So, since I was fixing a double recipe, I added 2 Tablespoons salt and happily stirred away.
At the table, I dished out my siblings' plates first (as a good big sister should) and one of my brothers took the first bite and immediately complained that it was too salty. "Oh come on," I said (perhaps not verbatim, this was a long long time ago). "I just added a little salt, it's not that bad." Eventually, I settled in to eat myself and took a bite. "Okay," I confessed. "You're right. Guess I'll have to heat up some cans of chilli for dinner instead."
As I've grown into adulthood, first going to college and then settling into married life and raising my children, macaroni and cheese is still my go-to quick and easy meal at the end of a stressful, busy day. I know, it's really not that good for me, or for my family. But I figure, as I generally feed my family healthy foods, I can afford to "splurge" once in a while. Someday, too, I'll try my hand at mac-n-cheese from scratch; but the boxed stuff is so much cheaper and we keep buying it in bulk at caselot sales, so I feel obliged to keep making it the easy way.
But I don't just fix the same-old recipe over and over again. I like to experiment when I cook, and the macaroni and cheese dinner has not escaped my efforts to continually "shake it up" and make it new and more interesting again (though I have never again tried adding salt after that first failed experiment).
I've added hot dogs (learned that one from my mother). I've added tuna. I've added mushrooms. Peas. Carrots. Ground beef. Just this afternoon, I threw in a can of diced tomatoes. I've made it without milk. I've made it without butter. I've baked it in a casserole dish with bread crumbs and parmesan cheese sprinkled on top.
And it's probably one of the first things my kids will learn to cook on their own, for those times when Nick and I leave them for the evening to fend for themselves.
Macaroni and cheese should be foolproof, right? And for the most part it was; but my siblings will probably remember as well as I, there were a couple times I got it wrong-- really wrong.
Once, I forgot to drain the water before adding the cheese powder. I'll leave the rest of that story up to your imagination.
Another most memorable time was when I decided to add salt to the pot, per the box's suggestion ("1 tsp. salt optional"). Only I somehow read "1 Tbsp." instead. So, since I was fixing a double recipe, I added 2 Tablespoons salt and happily stirred away.
At the table, I dished out my siblings' plates first (as a good big sister should) and one of my brothers took the first bite and immediately complained that it was too salty. "Oh come on," I said (perhaps not verbatim, this was a long long time ago). "I just added a little salt, it's not that bad." Eventually, I settled in to eat myself and took a bite. "Okay," I confessed. "You're right. Guess I'll have to heat up some cans of chilli for dinner instead."
As I've grown into adulthood, first going to college and then settling into married life and raising my children, macaroni and cheese is still my go-to quick and easy meal at the end of a stressful, busy day. I know, it's really not that good for me, or for my family. But I figure, as I generally feed my family healthy foods, I can afford to "splurge" once in a while. Someday, too, I'll try my hand at mac-n-cheese from scratch; but the boxed stuff is so much cheaper and we keep buying it in bulk at caselot sales, so I feel obliged to keep making it the easy way.
But I don't just fix the same-old recipe over and over again. I like to experiment when I cook, and the macaroni and cheese dinner has not escaped my efforts to continually "shake it up" and make it new and more interesting again (though I have never again tried adding salt after that first failed experiment).
I've added hot dogs (learned that one from my mother). I've added tuna. I've added mushrooms. Peas. Carrots. Ground beef. Just this afternoon, I threw in a can of diced tomatoes. I've made it without milk. I've made it without butter. I've baked it in a casserole dish with bread crumbs and parmesan cheese sprinkled on top.
And it's probably one of the first things my kids will learn to cook on their own, for those times when Nick and I leave them for the evening to fend for themselves.
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