Sometimes art is a sanity saving device...
Thursday, April 29, 2004
Slightly More Babyproof
Our TV is now secured to the wall with furniture mounting brackets from OneStepAhead.com. I love that catalog. They have some really cool stuff, like the Strollex Sit & Stroll carseat/stroller, which really helps for people who take cabs or public transportation, as we sill do. So fartI've backed the car in &out of the driveway a few times, but that's all...
Mikro Update
He got up on the coffee table and sat there crosslegged watching TV, looking like a mini me.
Then he stood up and knocked all the video casettes off the top of the TV.
Methinks it's time to bolt the TV to the wall.
Pondering: Why do the people I rely on for support have no problem taking anyone else's side but mine? I get attacked on a board. I defend myself. I tell a friend, who tells me I am acting like a troll for defending myself. That makes me feel lower than dog shit. I do back and delete every one of my carefully considered posts, because who the hell cares what I think. I just feel walked on, and hurt, and emotionally fragile, and like it would be a really good thing if I could just disappear and not have to deal with another living soul (except possibly Mikro, although a break even from him would be good for awhile...)
Song in my head at the moment:
Somedays the diamond, somedays the stone
Sometimes the hard times won't leave me alone
Sometimes the cold rain puts a chill in my bones....
Then he stood up and knocked all the video casettes off the top of the TV.
Methinks it's time to bolt the TV to the wall.
Pondering: Why do the people I rely on for support have no problem taking anyone else's side but mine? I get attacked on a board. I defend myself. I tell a friend, who tells me I am acting like a troll for defending myself. That makes me feel lower than dog shit. I do back and delete every one of my carefully considered posts, because who the hell cares what I think. I just feel walked on, and hurt, and emotionally fragile, and like it would be a really good thing if I could just disappear and not have to deal with another living soul (except possibly Mikro, although a break even from him would be good for awhile...)
Song in my head at the moment:
Somedays the diamond, somedays the stone
Sometimes the hard times won't leave me alone
Sometimes the cold rain puts a chill in my bones....
Judgmental People and AP
Judgmental people really piss me off. And I really have to wonder why so many people who purport to be AP (Attachment Parenting) are so horribly inflexible and judgmental of other adults. How compassionate are they really with their children when they can feel free to verbally abuse and belittle other people? Or is cruelty OK as long as the victim is over 18?
Man, if being a narrow minded holier than thou snot is a prerequisite for the AP credential, please accept my letter of resignation.
I have actually had a panic attack and am sitting here in tears, feeling like I have been utterly demeaned and devalued. It's my fault for posting, I guess. I just never expected the venom I encountered. And it hurts. It hurts to reveal something personal and have it used as a weapon against you.
I have to say, I would rather be hit any day than subjected to emotional abuse that cuts my soul.
Words can hurt worse than fists.
Man, if being a narrow minded holier than thou snot is a prerequisite for the AP credential, please accept my letter of resignation.
I have actually had a panic attack and am sitting here in tears, feeling like I have been utterly demeaned and devalued. It's my fault for posting, I guess. I just never expected the venom I encountered. And it hurts. It hurts to reveal something personal and have it used as a weapon against you.
I have to say, I would rather be hit any day than subjected to emotional abuse that cuts my soul.
Words can hurt worse than fists.
Saturday, April 24, 2004
Mikro's Extended Birthday Festivities
The party goes on and on...
Today two of my oldest, dearest friends (the sort that I consider Family) came up to celebrate Mikro's first year on the planet. We had a great time, and the Boy charmed everyone.
I'm not going to post photos without their permission, but here are a few from his actual birthday, April 18th, and of him today...
His birthday cake, which I did the writing on...
His grandparents & us...
He LOVES balloons!
At the park
At the park again
What a difference a year makes! Here's a before and after shot to compare... please scroll past the blogroll if there aren't two pictures-- Blogger is driving me nuts tonight, and refusing to do what I tell it.
with the after:
Today two of my oldest, dearest friends (the sort that I consider Family) came up to celebrate Mikro's first year on the planet. We had a great time, and the Boy charmed everyone.
I'm not going to post photos without their permission, but here are a few from his actual birthday, April 18th, and of him today...
His birthday cake, which I did the writing on...
His grandparents & us...
He LOVES balloons!
At the park
At the park again
What a difference a year makes! Here's a before and after shot to compare... please scroll past the blogroll if there aren't two pictures-- Blogger is driving me nuts tonight, and refusing to do what I tell it.
with the after:
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
Baby Has A Fever
Crap. My mom must have given him her bronchitis cooties, because little guy has a fever, and he's utterly miserable. Crap crap crappity crap... At least he's already set to see the pediatrician tomorrow.
He was shrieking and flailing before (and now he's conked out on the couch asleep, thank goodness!), and managed to headbutt me in the face. Hard. I have a fat lip, and my teeth hurt. He doesn't have a mark on him. Why does my son think his head is a battering ram?
He was shrieking and flailing before (and now he's conked out on the couch asleep, thank goodness!), and managed to headbutt me in the face. Hard. I have a fat lip, and my teeth hurt. He doesn't have a mark on him. Why does my son think his head is a battering ram?
Gramma has Bronchitis
Yipes. My mom has bronchitis. Mikro spent all day Sunday smooching on her. I really hope he doesn't get sick...
Tomorrow is his one year doctor's appointment. I can't wait to find out how much bigger he's grown. The poor kid is having blood drawn, as well as shots, so it promises to be a stressful visit. Kev is taking the day off to go with us...
Tomorrow is his one year doctor's appointment. I can't wait to find out how much bigger he's grown. The poor kid is having blood drawn, as well as shots, so it promises to be a stressful visit. Kev is taking the day off to go with us...
Monday, April 19, 2004
First Birthday Party
Mikro's birthday was fun. My parents came up. MIL was sick and couldn't make it. My brother didn't come, but sent tons of presents for the little guy.
We had helium balloons, which were quite the hit with the Boy, and a big banner and a cake and good company. My Dad and Kev played on the floor with the Boy and his toys. Nutty Gramma was in heaven with lots of big smoochie kisses from her grandson. He walked and babbled and giggled and generally charmed the grandparents.
He was really good until after lunch, when he started teething with a vengence. He screamed through the singing and the birthday cake. He wouldn't mush the cake, or try even a mouthful. Totally uninterested, and focused on his nasty painful teeth. Poor baboo. He was slightly distracted by the party favors-- what do you call the things that you blow into and they uncurl? I used mine to bat around a balloon, which he thought was hysterically funny.
We put him in the stroller to walk gramma & grampa to the train, and he conked out. Later, he played with balloons most of the evening, and had a pretty big meltdown before bed. Way overstimulated baby.
He also bit my arm so hard there is a big purple welt, and I think if I hadn't yanked itaway, he might have broken the skin. Ouch.
He's napping now, so I'm going to try and get the laundry done. Will post photos later.
We had helium balloons, which were quite the hit with the Boy, and a big banner and a cake and good company. My Dad and Kev played on the floor with the Boy and his toys. Nutty Gramma was in heaven with lots of big smoochie kisses from her grandson. He walked and babbled and giggled and generally charmed the grandparents.
He was really good until after lunch, when he started teething with a vengence. He screamed through the singing and the birthday cake. He wouldn't mush the cake, or try even a mouthful. Totally uninterested, and focused on his nasty painful teeth. Poor baboo. He was slightly distracted by the party favors-- what do you call the things that you blow into and they uncurl? I used mine to bat around a balloon, which he thought was hysterically funny.
We put him in the stroller to walk gramma & grampa to the train, and he conked out. Later, he played with balloons most of the evening, and had a pretty big meltdown before bed. Way overstimulated baby.
He also bit my arm so hard there is a big purple welt, and I think if I hadn't yanked itaway, he might have broken the skin. Ouch.
He's napping now, so I'm going to try and get the laundry done. Will post photos later.
Sunday, April 18, 2004
A Year Ago Today: Mikro's Birth Story
April 16th was my "due date", which came and went. I have an ultrasound on April 17th, and they say my amniotic fluid is low. I get a 7/8 on the Biophysical Profile, the only deduction being the low fluid. The previous day, it was 80 degrees here after a week in the 40s, and I sweated like a horse all night, so it would not surprise me in the least to find that I was dehydrated. That said, my OB's partner wants to induce me immediately, using cervidil and pitocin, and basically strap me to a bed for the duration. With my severe claustrophobia and PTSD, I am losing my mind just thinking about it.
I am counting on being able to move around for as long as possible through labor. Now they want to imobilize me. I don't think I could take it.
No one says the words emergency, or fetal distress. The baby's heart rate is perfectly normal, his movement is good, everything else is going fine. I can't believe for one day past due they want to subject me to this ordeal. I am frantically trying to get ahold of my doctor, whose service had supposedly paged her.
I feel like her partner is far more concerned with CYA than any problem with me or the baby. She wants me to go in immediately, but I refuse (she cannot believe I dare) and say I will go in the morning, hoping to buy time and speak to my regular OB doc.
Shortly after that, I get a call back from my own doctor, who is on vacation, because of the school holidays, but not actually out of town. She tells me her partner called her and said I was freaking out, which I admit I am, and we have a long conversation.
Her partner's first language is not English, and there was big time miscommunication going on, besides the fact that pushing me the way she did is a recipe for disaster.
My doc gives me an entirely different description of how it would work -- only on the external belt monitors, free to move around after they run a baseline tape on the baby to be sure the cervidil isn't harming him, free to labor in the tub, walk around, do it my way.
They had followed me for the low fluid, which was an on-again, off-again thing with me the last month or so of the pregnancy. Personally, I think I was just plain dehydrated from stress (lawsuit stuff) and the very unseasonably warm weather, but my doc didn't really want me to take a chance, because apparently the level was very low... and the baby was full term.
I say to her, it sounds to me like what happens to me will depend on who is in the room, you or your partner, and tell her that I don't want her partner.
My doc offers to come in and deliver him herself if I will go in and do it. Since there is a good chance I am going to have him in the next five days when her partner is the only one available, I figure my best bet is to take her up on it and have someone I trust there instead. She also tells me she had checked with the hospital, and no one else is in labor that night, so the likelihood I will be able to have the tub room for my labor is really good. Since I don't want drugs, that's important to me.
So I go in. They stick the cervidil in at 10 pm, and by 1130 I am off the monitors and walking around. That lasts till around 2 am, when I get in the tub because the pain is getting pretty bad. Just before I get in the tub, I am puking my guts out, which is nothing new, since I puked the entire nine months...
Oh-- forgot to mention-- the monitor isn't working real well in the tub room. They have a good readout on Mikey's heartbeat, but they can't track my contractions...
That tub makes a HUGE difference-- I actually fall asleep floating in the warm water. But around 4 am, even with the Lamaze breathing, the contractions are really bad, so I decide to get out and that I will probably let them put in an IV and take the stadol "to take the edge off" but still avoid the epidural.
Now life gets interesting, because I have always had lousy veins. They can't get an IV started. Every time they get in a vein, it collapses. So an hour, six or eight tries and a call to the IV team later, I still have no IV, no drugs, not even a Tylenol, and I am now yelling in pain. (You should have seen my arms and hands-- I looked like a boxer who lost the bout... huge purple bruises everywhere from the IV sticks.)
Of course, it is Good Friday, and it seems like only the youngest, least experienced people are on duty... While the IV follies are going on, the nurses decide that, no way has the cervidil worked yet since it hasn't been 12 hours, so I must be overly sensitive to it and reacting badly, because I should not be in so much pain so soon. The implication is, I am a wimp. They think I am 2 cm's dialated. So they decide to pull out the cervidil. They start fishing around for it. Neither can find it. That is agony. They still haven't called my doctor!
Around now, the IV team nurse finally hits a good vein. And the on call obstetrician stops in to check on me. She takes a look, asks the nurses how far they think I am (still 2 cms) and tells them, no, closer to 7, and the kid's head is RIGHT there, slamming away at my cervix, and he is just about ready to come out. No wonder you are in so much pain! says she.
Now she decides to fish for the cervidil, and I am yelling my head off in pain and snark: Uh, could I get the pain relief before you stick your hand any further up there?!?
It's 630 am. They call my doc. They push the stadol. Of course, it doesn't even begin to work for about 15 minutes, half an hour. (Not a big surprise. Pain meds don't seem to work normally on me. My dentist makes me come in an hour early and get multiple shots so there's a chance novocaine will work before he starts to work on me... Anyway...)
All the stadol does is make it feel like my legs weigh a ton each. Does nothing for pain...They tell me I am not allowed to push until my doc gets there. I am just explaining to them that they better sew my legs shut because there's no way in the world I can keep from pushing when my doc arrives. In half a second, with no pain at all, she snags the cervidil and removes it. I hear her ask the others how they tried to get it as she demonstrates the proper technique. Argh.
Fifteen minutes later, with me yelling loud enough that my husband thinks I damaged his hearing, out pops Michael at 7:05 am. I get a small tear (no episiotomy), which gets stitched up (and I felt every stitch, yuck). I have a surreally bad moment when, immediately after he's out, my doctor announces the time. The only context in which I have ever heard them do that is for time of death. I start to freak out until I hear what at the moment is the most wonderful sound in the world, my sweet son yelling his head off. So the end result is a gorgeous, 8 pound one ounce, 19.5 inch baby boy, who I am immediately in danger of spoiling rotten. Both of us are fine.
After the stitches, he tries to nurse, but falls asleep on my chest instead. They whisk him to the nursery to clean him up, and move me out of the labor and delivery room and into a regular room, where, for the first time in months, I am able to eat and enjoy it. No complaints about hospital food from me! As soon as I am done eating, Mikro is brought to our room, where he and Kev and I spend the next two days together learning the ropes. We go home on Easter Sunday.
One year later, we're still breastfeeding, and he's a happy, healthy beautiful boy who is the brightest and best thing in the universe as far as his mama is concerned.
I am counting on being able to move around for as long as possible through labor. Now they want to imobilize me. I don't think I could take it.
No one says the words emergency, or fetal distress. The baby's heart rate is perfectly normal, his movement is good, everything else is going fine. I can't believe for one day past due they want to subject me to this ordeal. I am frantically trying to get ahold of my doctor, whose service had supposedly paged her.
I feel like her partner is far more concerned with CYA than any problem with me or the baby. She wants me to go in immediately, but I refuse (she cannot believe I dare) and say I will go in the morning, hoping to buy time and speak to my regular OB doc.
Shortly after that, I get a call back from my own doctor, who is on vacation, because of the school holidays, but not actually out of town. She tells me her partner called her and said I was freaking out, which I admit I am, and we have a long conversation.
Her partner's first language is not English, and there was big time miscommunication going on, besides the fact that pushing me the way she did is a recipe for disaster.
My doc gives me an entirely different description of how it would work -- only on the external belt monitors, free to move around after they run a baseline tape on the baby to be sure the cervidil isn't harming him, free to labor in the tub, walk around, do it my way.
They had followed me for the low fluid, which was an on-again, off-again thing with me the last month or so of the pregnancy. Personally, I think I was just plain dehydrated from stress (lawsuit stuff) and the very unseasonably warm weather, but my doc didn't really want me to take a chance, because apparently the level was very low... and the baby was full term.
I say to her, it sounds to me like what happens to me will depend on who is in the room, you or your partner, and tell her that I don't want her partner.
My doc offers to come in and deliver him herself if I will go in and do it. Since there is a good chance I am going to have him in the next five days when her partner is the only one available, I figure my best bet is to take her up on it and have someone I trust there instead. She also tells me she had checked with the hospital, and no one else is in labor that night, so the likelihood I will be able to have the tub room for my labor is really good. Since I don't want drugs, that's important to me.
So I go in. They stick the cervidil in at 10 pm, and by 1130 I am off the monitors and walking around. That lasts till around 2 am, when I get in the tub because the pain is getting pretty bad. Just before I get in the tub, I am puking my guts out, which is nothing new, since I puked the entire nine months...
Oh-- forgot to mention-- the monitor isn't working real well in the tub room. They have a good readout on Mikey's heartbeat, but they can't track my contractions...
That tub makes a HUGE difference-- I actually fall asleep floating in the warm water. But around 4 am, even with the Lamaze breathing, the contractions are really bad, so I decide to get out and that I will probably let them put in an IV and take the stadol "to take the edge off" but still avoid the epidural.
Now life gets interesting, because I have always had lousy veins. They can't get an IV started. Every time they get in a vein, it collapses. So an hour, six or eight tries and a call to the IV team later, I still have no IV, no drugs, not even a Tylenol, and I am now yelling in pain. (You should have seen my arms and hands-- I looked like a boxer who lost the bout... huge purple bruises everywhere from the IV sticks.)
Of course, it is Good Friday, and it seems like only the youngest, least experienced people are on duty... While the IV follies are going on, the nurses decide that, no way has the cervidil worked yet since it hasn't been 12 hours, so I must be overly sensitive to it and reacting badly, because I should not be in so much pain so soon. The implication is, I am a wimp. They think I am 2 cm's dialated. So they decide to pull out the cervidil. They start fishing around for it. Neither can find it. That is agony. They still haven't called my doctor!
Around now, the IV team nurse finally hits a good vein. And the on call obstetrician stops in to check on me. She takes a look, asks the nurses how far they think I am (still 2 cms) and tells them, no, closer to 7, and the kid's head is RIGHT there, slamming away at my cervix, and he is just about ready to come out. No wonder you are in so much pain! says she.
Now she decides to fish for the cervidil, and I am yelling my head off in pain and snark: Uh, could I get the pain relief before you stick your hand any further up there?!?
It's 630 am. They call my doc. They push the stadol. Of course, it doesn't even begin to work for about 15 minutes, half an hour. (Not a big surprise. Pain meds don't seem to work normally on me. My dentist makes me come in an hour early and get multiple shots so there's a chance novocaine will work before he starts to work on me... Anyway...)
All the stadol does is make it feel like my legs weigh a ton each. Does nothing for pain...They tell me I am not allowed to push until my doc gets there. I am just explaining to them that they better sew my legs shut because there's no way in the world I can keep from pushing when my doc arrives. In half a second, with no pain at all, she snags the cervidil and removes it. I hear her ask the others how they tried to get it as she demonstrates the proper technique. Argh.
Fifteen minutes later, with me yelling loud enough that my husband thinks I damaged his hearing, out pops Michael at 7:05 am. I get a small tear (no episiotomy), which gets stitched up (and I felt every stitch, yuck). I have a surreally bad moment when, immediately after he's out, my doctor announces the time. The only context in which I have ever heard them do that is for time of death. I start to freak out until I hear what at the moment is the most wonderful sound in the world, my sweet son yelling his head off. So the end result is a gorgeous, 8 pound one ounce, 19.5 inch baby boy, who I am immediately in danger of spoiling rotten. Both of us are fine.
After the stitches, he tries to nurse, but falls asleep on my chest instead. They whisk him to the nursery to clean him up, and move me out of the labor and delivery room and into a regular room, where, for the first time in months, I am able to eat and enjoy it. No complaints about hospital food from me! As soon as I am done eating, Mikro is brought to our room, where he and Kev and I spend the next two days together learning the ropes. We go home on Easter Sunday.
One year later, we're still breastfeeding, and he's a happy, healthy beautiful boy who is the brightest and best thing in the universe as far as his mama is concerned.
Saturday, April 17, 2004
Messy Stressy
Tomorrow is Mikro's big day. The grandparents are coming to celebrate his first Birthday.
The house is a mess. It attracts clutter, cat hair and dust like a black hole...
We have to clean.
Which will almost certainly mean we wind up arguing and generally miserable.
It's going to be a loooooong day...
Luckily I get to escape briefly to go have lunch with the Crazy ARtists Club to celebrate A's birthday (today) and Mikro's (tomorrow). He is an honorary member of our little club since he likes to finger paint with food. His new favorite toys of the moment are some mini canvases I just got. They were supposed to be for me to paint on, but the Boy has appropriated them as makeshift cymbals. He grabs two and smacks them together...
Well, he likes art supplies, so maybe he'll be interested in mama's obsession/calling/therapy someday...
The house is a mess. It attracts clutter, cat hair and dust like a black hole...
We have to clean.
Which will almost certainly mean we wind up arguing and generally miserable.
It's going to be a loooooong day...
Luckily I get to escape briefly to go have lunch with the Crazy ARtists Club to celebrate A's birthday (today) and Mikro's (tomorrow). He is an honorary member of our little club since he likes to finger paint with food. His new favorite toys of the moment are some mini canvases I just got. They were supposed to be for me to paint on, but the Boy has appropriated them as makeshift cymbals. He grabs two and smacks them together...
Well, he likes art supplies, so maybe he'll be interested in mama's obsession/calling/therapy someday...
Monday, April 12, 2004
Walking Boy
It started with a couple steps here and there, before the Road Trip. Then he was wobbling between the couch and the TV stand. Now he's tottering from one end of the room to the other, moving in circles, and getting more steady on his feet each day.
On Saturday, we put sandals on him for the first time and took him outside. He would not walk. He just looked at his feet as if they were alien beings and sat down. Once we took off the sandals, he was up and moving. And I got my first taste of chasing the Boy away from oncoming traffic.
His birthday is Sunday. I can't believe it has been an entire year. My tiny baby is such a big boy already. He is the sweetest, brightest thing I've ever known.
I am not ready for him to stop being a baby!
On Saturday, we put sandals on him for the first time and took him outside. He would not walk. He just looked at his feet as if they were alien beings and sat down. Once we took off the sandals, he was up and moving. And I got my first taste of chasing the Boy away from oncoming traffic.
His birthday is Sunday. I can't believe it has been an entire year. My tiny baby is such a big boy already. He is the sweetest, brightest thing I've ever known.
I am not ready for him to stop being a baby!
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