Birthdays

I am eagerly planning Anna's birthday party.  Yes, I know it's still months and months away.  I don't care!  I want it to be a special day for me her!  I've already rented a pavilion at a park where the playground looks like a castle.  I'm going for a princess themed party, and I'm super excited!

I love birthdays!  I love celebrating them, making people feel special, presents, cake, all of it!  I always try to do something special for family birthdays.  The day you were born is special, and I think I realize that more after dealing with IF and having my baby girl.

That being said, I forgot about my birthday.  Yep.  Forgot.  Until my Mom told me she was making my birthday dinner last night.  Ham and funeral potatoes.  OMG good!

But now I sit here, two days before my actual birthday, and I'm in a funk.  I'm going to be 30 this year.  30!  How did this happen?  I'm trying to not be in to bad of a mood, but I am honestly a little depressed about saying goodbye to my 20's.

I know, deal with it.  I have a great husband, an adorable daughter, and a fabulous group of family and friends. And I will deal with it.  Thursday.

Until then, I'm going to sulk a little.

Baby Weight

Ok, please don't hate me.  Pretty please!

I don't have any baby weight to lose.  In fact, I weigh less now then when I got married four years ago.  I'm working on getting to my high school weight.  

Nevermind, go ahead and hate me.  I hate me.

But you know who I really hate at this moment?  My SIL J.  Who said to me on Monday "So, when are you going to work on losing the baby weight?"

I blinked a few times, and gathered myself.  "Actually, I went into the hospital weighing less then when I got pregnant, and since delivery I've dropped 45 pounds"

She, of course, says nothing until about an hour later.  "Oh wait, now that you're standing I can tell.  Your face is thinner."

Grrr. . . . 

Six Month Catch Up

Ok, I'm a bad blogger!  Leaving the blog alone after airing Family Drama should never be done!  I apologize!

Can you believe Baby Girl is now 6 months old?  I can't!  There have been times in this six months where time has seemed to stand still, or even go backwards.  And then there are times when I feel like time is running through my fingers to fast and I can't catch any of it to hold onto.

We had a rough start.  Anna had reflux.  She screamed, a lot.  I was trying to breastfeed, but Anna had a super strong latch and ruined my nipples.  So I started pumping.  I was determined to give her the best food nature had!  The doctor put Anna on baby zant.ac.  It seemed to relieve some of her pain but not all of it.  So I started limiting my diet.  No dairy, no caffeine, no acidic fruits, no gassy vegetables. . .the list goes on and on.  Eventually they only thing I was eating was toast.  Dry toast.  After yet another visit to her pediatrician for the reflux, he suggested I try formula.  I was super hesitant, but I was also not a happy mom anymore (seriously, would you be happy eating dry toast all day?)  He gave me a sample, I took it home and fed Anna a bottle, and she didn't scream.  I was still pumping at this point just in case.  But with every bottle of formula Anna took, she became a happier baby.  I sucked up my wounded pride and Anna has been on formula ever since.  I still feel so guilty that I couldn't give her what she needed.

We started Anna on baby cereal around 4 months old, and that really helped her reflux as well.  Around 5 months we started her on fruits and veggies, and for the most part she loves them.  She will not eat bananas or peas (even we you try to hide them with other things).  I attempted to make my own baby food, but Anna is a gerber snot and won't eat my homemade food.  I'm hoping that will change.  We have a constant battle when I feed her solids for who gets control of the spoon.  Meal time usually requires three spoons now, one for each of her hands, and one for me to feed her with.  Which honestly isn't unlike bedtime when she has three binkies: one for her mouth, and one for each hand!

Anna has become such a happy little socialite.  She loves people, and, at this point anyway, will let anyone hold her.  I don't know what age stranger anxiety sets in, but I'm not looking forward to it.  When Anna is in a particularly bad mood I load her into the car and take her to Wal-Mart.  Seeing all the people, and the different colors of the products always makes her smile.  One of the employees at our Wal-Mart suggested that Anna grow up to be a greeter, but I'm hoping that she has higher career plans than that!

Let's see. . . Anna is rolling over from her tummy to back, and sitting on her own.  She can roll from her back to tummy, but refuses to do so.  Crawling isn't happening as she will not stay on her tummy long enough to even try.  She has been pulling herself up when I offer her my hands.  She loves standing, and will take a few steps if you hold her upright.

I am equal parts amazed and saddened as a mom.  I am amazed by how much she has learned.  I am saddened that she is growing up so quickly.   I want to hold on to her and make her stop growing, but I so want to see her grow and watch what she becomes.

I'll leave you with a photo catch up of Anna.  I can't help it, I think she is beautiful!

Anna at 9 weeks old

First smile caught on camera!  She was 11 weeks old.

Halloween 2011

My Little Angel

Christmas 2011

January 2012

February 2012

Has everyone missed me?

I've missed posting on here.  But I've had some interesting/crazy things going on in my life that I didn't feel I could write about.  And not writing about them, and only writing about the other things felt wrong.  It felt like I was cheating myself, or burying my head in the sand.

And I have been playing ostrich.  But really, what else can a girl do when she hears the words "I feel like I've been in the wrong sex all my life" come from her father's lips.

Intellectually, I understand.  Heck, I watch tv, I've seen the documentaries, and I've silently cheered on the people who are going through all of that.  But it's a whole different can of worms when it's your father.  The one man who showed me what a good man was.  The one that all of my boyfriends, and even my husband could never live up to.  He is my Dad.

So now what is he?  He's still my Dad.  He always will be.  The parts of him that I loved are still there.  The parts of him that I hated are still there.  He hasn't changed, but everything has changed.

It has made for some stressful family dynamics.  My Mom doesn't have anyone to talk to about it; she won't confide in any of her friends.  I'm now her outlet.  And I can understand her pain and her frustration.  They've been married for 32 years for hell sake.  But it's so hard for me to be the one she talks to.  Because I understand her side, and I am trying to understand my Dad's side.  I love both of them, and I don't want to take sides.

On the other hand, it has made for some funny moments.  Like when I told The Husband.  He didn't even flinch.  Just said "Make sure he doesn't wear a dress to the family Thanksgiving dinner."  And that was that.

Or the weekend I spent at my parents house and slept in my Dad's bedroom.  I woke up in the middle of the night and just about wet myself because there was someone staring at me from the closet.  Turns out it was the wig stand with a wig on it.  Cracked me right up.

Anywho, now that I've got that out there, I'm sure I'll be back blogging away.  I only ask for understanding from those of you who read this blog.  You may not agree with what my father is going through, but please do not bring hate to my space.  Also, if you happen to know me outside this blog, please don't mention anything.  It is up to my father to talk about this to others when he is ready.

6 weeks old

Baby Girl is six weeks old.  There are days when I feel like the time has flown by, and other days where I feel like it's been the longest six weeks of my life.  Being a parent is hard.  Parenting a newborn is hard.  Doing both while struggling with depression is worse then hard.  It fucking sucks.

Two weeks after Baby Girl was born, I was put on a bigger dose of my anti-depressants.  I've been struggling with depression for years (since 8th grade).  I saw the signs in myself that things were deteriorating, and I took steps to correct it as soon as I could.  The medicine has helped, but so has reaching out to friends and family.  Depression should not be dealt with quietly.  In order to brighten up the dark spots in my life, I need to open them up to people.  Family and friends have become a light to me the past six weeks, helping me see that the dark spots aren't hugely scary.  At the very least, they aren't hugely scary when you have someone there holding your hand.

Several of my friends have dealt with PPD, and it's been a great help to me to talk to them.  They understand how I feel, and can talk me down from the verge of a panic attack.  They've helped me realize that Baby Girl is going to grow and thrive, and that just because I get frustrated when she cries doesn't mean I'm a bad parent.  

I've also started getting out the house with Baby Girl.  We go visit family and friends, go shopping, or just go for a walk.  And when I need a Baby Girl free moment, The Husband takes her and I escape to Target.

And in spite of all of the crap that is my depression, Baby Girl is happy.  She smiles more and more each day.  The smiles help.  She is getting bigger and no longer fits in most of her newborn clothes.  She adores tummy time.  She is growing up so fast, and I don't want to miss a single moment.  

We're still alive!

It's just hard to write blog posts with one hand!  So here's some bullets to update you!

• Baby Girl is doing great.  Our new saying around the house "She's thriving in spite of us"
• Things are starting to settle into a routine at our house.  Our world was a bit crazy for the first two weeks of Baby Girl's life.  I came home from the hospital with a stomach bug, then when I finally started feeling better, The Husband got food poisoning and we had to take him to the hospital!  It would have been a rough two weeks even if I hadn't had a newborn and a c-section to recover from.  But we survived, and I think it upped our confidence level.  If we can keep Baby Girl alive through that, we should be ok through regular stuff!
• In the midst of me and The Husband getting sick, Moo ate a bag of M&Ms.  Guess he was feeling left out of the we-cant-keep-anything-down group that me and The Husband had.  Carpets to be cleaned, eventually.
• Baby Girl did give us quite the scare when she was a week old though.  About 4 hours after a feeding, she started spitting up exorcist style.  I was seriously waiting to see her little head turn around.  And the spit up? Had brown chunks in it.  I ran up stairs and woke my husband, who called the pediatrician.  Turns out I should have named my baby Renesme.  My nipple had a crack in it, and she had been drinking blood along with the milk.  (Maybe I've been watching to many episodes of Vampire Diaries?)  It took her awhile to get all the blood out of her tummy, but once it was gone, she was back to her normal, happy, non exorcist self.
• Baby blues suck.  Hard.
• This has been our first week on our own, and I think we're doing ok.  I still haven't ventured out of the house with Baby Girl.  I'm to afraid of everything that's out there that could get her sick.
• Honestly, I'm afraid of a lot of things that have to do with Baby Girl.  I'm working on getting over them, but it's hard.  I think the anxiety ties back into the baby blues.  But this is where our saying comes into play.  I may not have a clue in hell what I'm doing, but Baby Girl is thriving, so I must not be screwing it all up!  And so long as she's alive, we can pay for therapy for all the damage I do to her psyche.

Birth Story - Updated with Picture

Sunday was an anxious day for me as I waited to find out whether or not I'd be going in to the hospital for an induction. Finally, I received word that there was room for me that night, and we headed off for the hospital.  When we got there, the whole main entrance was under construction, which really stressed me out.  The hospital had told us that if we didn't arrive on time, they might not start the induction, and I was hugely sick of being pregnant.  After finally finding our way to labor and delivery we were about a half hour late, only to find out we were the only ones in labor and delivery.  The ONLY people.

After we finished all the paperwork and were admitted we were taking to our room.  The nurse placed my IV, and put me on the monitors to watch Baby Girl and to watch for contractions.  As soon as she plugged the contraction monitor in we saw a pretty strong one go across the screen.  I didn't feel a thing.  I took this as a good sign.  Maybe I was already dilating?! It took another hour for the doctor to arrive to administer the cervidril himself.  Holy Hell.  I almost came up and out of the bed while he was placing the drug.  Add to that that there was no change to my cervix; still high and closed.  I was hoping that would be the worst of it.  But I was wrong.  About a half hour later the contractions started to get painful.

My doctor wouldn't let me have an epidural until I had dilated to a 4.  That became my goal.  All I had to do was make it through the night, he'd check me in the morning and then I'd get the good drugs.  Meanwhile, I was getting shots of something that took the pain away for about 45 minutes, but I was only allowed the shots every three hours.  So, 45 minutes of peace, then agony until the next shot.

During the night, my stomach decided to rebel against me.  I got horrid diarrhea as a reaction to the cervidril.  I got another shot of something to make the diarrhea stop, and a shot of zofran to ease up the nausea.  More cramps, more nausea, more diarrhea, more pain.

Soon, it's morning, and my doctor is there to take out the drug, and check my progress.  And after all that pain, there has to be progress, right?  Nope.  NONE.  Cervix still high and closed.  It was at this point that I burst into tears.  Thirteen hours of labor, thirteen hours of hell, and my body hadn't done anything right.  I was given three options: Go home and continue to labor on my own (Um, hell no); Start the pitocin and see if we can make the cervix respond (Dr. said it would more then likely fail and that he still wouldn't give me any good drugs until I was dilated to a four); Or do a c-section.  I think I debated for all of five minutes.  The pain needed to end, so a c-section it was!

Things after that are kind of a blur.  The anesthesiologist came in and started spouting off his stuff, my doctor started going through his stuff, and I was signing papers.  I remember telling everyone I didn't feel well, and throwing up (which up until the birth I hadn't done since 2003).  I remember someone coming in and shaving me, and someone coming in from the NuMom2B study and talking to me, but I don't remember about what.  I was focusing on making it through the contractions, and they were doozys!

They asked me to walk to the OR.  I laughed at them and they got me a wheelchair.  All I could think about at this point was that I would soon be getting a spinal and the pain would end.  I wish I could say that I was excited to meet my Anna, but that thought wasn't there.  When we got to the OR, they had me climb onto the table, and then the anesthesiologist started to work on my spinal.  It took him several tries, for which he kept apologizing, but honestly the pain was less than contractions, so it didn't faze me.  When he got it right, and the pain started melting away I was in heaven.

The rest of the birth is only in bits and pieces of memories.

I remember them setting up the curtain, hearing my doctor explaining the surgery to a resident, someone asking my husband if he wanted to see her born (his response, "no thanks") and then hearing the most beautiful cry in the world.  I started crying, and thinking of how much I'd been through to get here.  All of it was worth it (cliche, I know).  The Husband even teared up, although he denies it now.

They took her out, The Husband went with.  He came back with a picture of her and she was beautiful.  They brought her out to us, and all I could see were her eyes, but they were beautiful eyes.  Wheeled back to my room, and there was my mom, and I started crying all over again.  When I got back to the room I had my mom and The Husband unwrap her so I could count her fingers and toes.  Cue more tears.

It was quite the journey to get her here, but we are so happy!