A weekend with Bridezilla

A few months ago, my friend, hereafter known as Bridezilla, came to me and asked me if I would help coordinate her wedding. I've known her for several years, and she has a 20 month old who likes to play with N. I said I would, but she'd need to make absolutely sure that she kept open communication with me about every detail. I did not realize just how much of a micromanager she is. When there's a big wedding involved, that's usually a good thing--but not if it's the bride. So anyway, plans move along very smoothly. She picks out the flowers, she decides to hold the wedding on July 30th, at 7pm, in the gazebo of a beautiful public park. There's a hint of the "It's my day--all others must bow" attitude in various little things, like when she wanted me to call the park to see if we could get permission to block off the entire parking lot (300 spaces) for her guest. I told her they probably weren't going to allow that, since it was a public park. She then proceeded to tirade for 15 minutes about the indecency of some people to stand on the edges of a wedding in a public place, and watch . Somehow, I think there are worse things. She then asked me to see what I could do to keep people (non-guests) away from the site. I told her it was a public park, and that the overwhelming majority of people know how to behave around weddings, and that I doubted we'd find a bum eating the cake halfway through the ceremony. Still, she stresses over it. I totally understand stressing about things going relatively smoothly, but she had this thing about perfect. Not just smoothly, PER-freaking-FECT. So we go through all of these tiny details, and as the wedding gets closer, she gets crabby and starts snapping at everyone, and behaving as though she's sure we're all out to get her. The Monday before the wedding, she takes me to the flower shop, to double check the flowers and make sure they are all exactly right. No problem there, but she wants me to go by the shop again the morning of the wedding to make sure every single stem is in place (they actually forgot my corsage, but I refused to tell her or make a big deal out of it-all of the other flowers were perfect). The parks department had originally told her (she wanted to handle the initial contact with them) that we couldn't set up for the wedding until 6. She told everyone noon. We got there at noon, with the 160 yards of tulle, the Christmas lights, and duct tape, which she wanted intertwined with ivy and hung up around the top of the 25ft tall gazebo. My pregnant self refused to climb the death-trap, er, ladder, and all of the groom's family (who were decorating under the strict instructions of Bridezilla who wanted things EXACTLY where she specified) decided that they'd rather not risk their necks, so it all got wound around the railings and looked beautiful. Anyway, the ivy had been left back at the groom's apartment, so as we were getting ready to go ahead and twist the tulle and the lights (we'd to the ivy when it got there), when she said that under no circumstances were to think of twisting the lights and tulle without the ivy, so we had to sit and wait for 2 hours for the ivy to get there because she said we couldn't leave. So we set up chairs.....Must go now...more when I return.

Why.

Someone in one of my forums, asked me why I don't let N cry it out. I responded, and this was my answer: When I was three, my parents, baby sister, and I visited a friend of theirs and her room mate. I fell asleep on the couch. My sister soon developed breathing problems (we found out she had pneumonia), and my parents and their friend took her to the ER. I woke up sometime later, and it was night. There was a desk lamp on, but no other light. I vaguely remember a radio being on. I was thirsty, and I wanted to know where my parents were. I called for them. No one answered. I kept calling. I wasn't familiar with this house, and I got in trouble if I got out of bed during the night, so I was scared to leave the couch. I started crying and calling for my parents. Still no answer. I called for anyone. No one came. I started screaming. Nothing. I knew someone was there....or were they? Had they gone and left me for good? It felt like hours before they came in the door to find me curled up on the couch, sweating completely through my clothes, still hiccuping and sobbing, calling for them. The room mate had been upstairs the whole time, and hadn't heard me.That was the night I felt the most scared, the most alone, the most deserted, and the most unloved I have ever felt. I know what it feels like to call and cry and have no one answer. Why on earth would I want my child to feel the same way?

Holy freaking cow

Um.  Well.  I guess I get to put my theories on pain into practice again.  My friend J is getting married on Friday.  Her bachelorette party was tonight.  I was in charge of bringing the $4 champagne.  I fully intended to have a glass, when I realized my temperatures are still up.  At 14 days past ovulation, and I'm cranky and tired.  Very cranky and tired.  So, on a whim, I forgo my usual $1.50 test from an online company, and get a drugstore test.  The thing turns positive before I can finish putting it down.  Ho-lee shiznit.  I'm pregnant.                           :::::::thud:::::::

Pain

I went to playgroup this morning.  N's technically aged out, but he's finishing out the month.  The moderators are okay with this.  One of the moderators is a Lamaze teacher.  She doesn't like me very much. LOL  I think it's because I managed to have a natural birth and came out of it saying I'd do it again.  The C-section rate from her Lamaze classes is close to 90%, and today, 3 of her students were laughing over the comment, "Lamaze is to get you until you can get the epidural."  Funny for some, sure, but I don't really care one way or the other.  What does irritate me is this moderators attitude toward my birth.  As if it was no big deal, and not that special because I 'must have a high pain tolerance.'@@  For her information, it's not that high. 7 years of horrible menstrual cramps sort of prepared me for it though.  Labor hurt.  Labor hurt like hell, but you know what?  It was worth it.  I feel that I treasure N all the more (than I would--just me) because of all the work I went through to have him.  My labor story was not a walk in the park, nor was the birth, but I'd go through it all again in a minute for another child.  It really was worth it.  DH says I'm tough. :)  That makes me feel pretty darn good.  I don't like it when someone minimizes what I went through so other people don't feel bad.  Other people are entitled to feel whatever they want.  If they want to feel bad, then so be it, but I did not force them to feel that way.  Giving birth hurt.  I did it anyway.
            Our society looks at pain as a really bad thing.  Not to say that all pain is good, but think about it.  We have antiseptics with lidocaine so disinfecting doesn’t hurt.  My parents poured peroxide on my wounds (boy does that make me sound old) to disinfect them.  I learned to control my pain through things like that.  I would stare at the bubbles that the peroxide made, and (after some information from Dad) would think about those little bubbles destroying the germs in my cut.  While it didn’t serve to lessen the pain, it did help me see some pain as constructive.  Menstrual cramps were a bitch.  They didn’t have a purpose that I could see, and somehow, despite plenty of over the counter painkillers, they hurt anyway.  I think that some pain is constructive.  The pain I felt during labor helped me appreciate my son.  I’m not saying that moms who don’t feel any pain don’t appreciate their children, but I know me, and I know I would not feel such a tremendous sense of accomplishment if I did not work through those long days on my own.  Experiencing the pain was important to me.  Not because I like pain (I don’t), but because I needed to know I could get through it.  I feel that now that I have endured pregnancy, labor, and delivery, there is nothing I can’t do.

We've come to an agreement

B doesn't like me to drink, since I'm still nursing.  Never mind the fact that one drink is not going to intoxicate the kid, especially since he (usually) goes more than 3 hours between feedings.  Anyway, I was communicating my dissatisfaction with him having a lovely pack of Boulevard Wheat in the fridge and me having nothing, when we came to an agreement.  If he gets beer, I get ice cream.  All for me, none for him.  Tonight's choice is Cookies and Cream.  I'm a happy woman.

I think:

I think that cars should be made so safe that we do not have to leave our children rear-facing until they're squished up, sick of 45 degree angles, and hating the car altogether.
 
I think that recalls of child-safety equipment should be so widely publicized that people are thoroughly sick of hearing about them.
 
I think that I should get free ice cream just because I exist.
 
I think that the medical profession needs to get its act together and set some freaking standards.
 
  I called our doctor's office today.  We see a family doc for N's well baby care.  I spoke with the nurse.  N's hemoglobin at his one year check came back at 9.6.  From my research, that's not too low.  Low, yes, but not freakout low.  Since N wasn't given a lead test, I called to ask about getting one.  I also asked what they considered normal hemoglobin levels to be.  They consider them 13-17.  For everyone, adults and children.  I've heard anything from 10.5-17 being normal.  I'm getting frustrated.  I talked to a lab tech friend today, and she told me to go with my gut and get him retested.  So we're retesting him and going to do a lead test within the next couple of days.

Yammering on

B worked all day today.  I did, too.  Just not in the earning a paycheck sort of way.  I spent most of the day on the couch, getting up to retrieve N from the top of an end table, or unsticking his fingers from the TV buttons.  Healthy-Os are okay.  Healthy-Os are sticky as all get out.  Ick.  Spent time cleaning off TV buttons because Healthy-Os apparently feel the need to transfer their organic cane sugar goodness on all they come into contact with.                                                                          
           B found cash on the floor at work.  No one claimed it, we got to keep it, and now I'm happily eating Chili's for dinner.  I loooove Chili's.  You'd think that after working there for 3 years I'd be burned out on it, but no, I'm not.                                                                        I shut the blinds after it started getting dark, and the sun started bouncing off of the obscene yellow house across the street.  The house is interesting.  It was painted a few weeks ago.  The primer was a boring sort of way too creamered coffee color.  Not bad.  Not great, but not bad.  I woke up the next morning to discover that Big Bird had exploded all over the house.  This thing is YELLOW.  Not yellow, or even Yellow, but YELLOW.  Ick, ick, ick.  N's birthday parties were Saturday (family) and Sunday (friends).  I gave directions to our house by way of the nasty yellow house.  Our guests said it was the perfect landmark.  It's actually a townhome duplex, which means that there's a lot more to it than just your standard house.  Gross.  We're thinking of calling the landlord and letting him know in no uncertain terms that the house is, well, disgusting.  Cookouts are no longer an option.  People keep running inside to pee.  Even after twilight, our guests still feel the need to wear sunglasses to protect them from the glare of The Big Bird House.  Our grilling social life is doomed. LOL  Oh well.  It'll make a nice story to tell future kids.  I think I'll make a color book for N.  For YELLOW, I think I'll take a picture of the house.

Teething sucks

I hate teething.  When N's teething, things suck.  He won't nap unless I nap with him.  While this results in a very rested me, it also results in a very messy house.  He fusses and whines, and won't go to sleep at night.  He bites when he nurses, plays, eats, or is lacking something fun to do.  My shoulder has red marks all over it from Baby Fang.  Bleagh.  I wish these stupid molars would just come in already and leave my poor kid alone.  The two on the bottom are what's causing all of the hassle.  I'm sick of this peek-through-and-then-go-back business.  It bites, and I want it over with yesterday.                                                                                           You can tell when N's teething.  His sleep habits go to hell in a handbasket with a first-class ticket on the Concorde (it's no longer running between NY, London and Paris, it's now shuttling my son's sleep habits back and forth from the pits of Hades).  He'll nurse for two seconds, then pop off, squirm frantically, and just try his hardest to keep himself awake.  I don't get enough sleep, because he wakes up as the epitome of the well-rested, adjusted, sunshine-happy kid, while I fumble around for my glasses, wondering where the little monster put them.  After I retrieve my glasses from his tightly clenched fingers, wipe off the drool, teeth marks, and fingerprints, then I can get started for the day, which is really a nice idea in theory, but in practice, turns out to not work out at all, because by the time I've gotten breakfast, eaten, fed N, gotten N and myself in and out of a shower that didn't last nearly long enough because N decided to climb out of his shower chair and attempt to hurl himself into the tile floor outside the tub, and gotten N rediapered (an ordeal in itself--you'd think he was meant to be naked or something), he's ready for a nap.  Of course, the nap doesn't last long enough to go any good, so when it's time to sleep, he's too tired to go down, even if we rush him in at the first sign of tired.  Tonight he'd be almost out, then jerk himself awake again.  I feel bad for him.  I wonder if he had a bad dream or something.  I sincerely hope those stupid teeth come all the way through soon.  I want my happy baby back.
 

Stop the presses!

Holy Rusted Metal, Batman! N tried to put himself to sleep tonight! I'm amazed. This is the child that cannot possibly fall asleep without his boob. No way. And I'd better not try to unlatch him before he's sound asleep, or he'll wake up the neighbors with his yells of indignance. He gets offended so easily. LOL Anyway, I was nursing him, and was reading a book, when he unlatched himself, wiggled about a foot away from me, flopped on his belly, and closed his eyes with a big grin on his face. Then, he peeked through one eye, and turned his head the other way. I patted his back for a bit, and he'd be almost asleep........then he'd start frantically sweeping the sheet with his hand, pop his eyes open, turn his head, and start the whole thing all over again. He finally decided he'd had enough, and decided that he wanted to nurse to sleep after all. 30 seconds later, he was out.
Okay, so he didn't succeed in trying to put himself to sleep, and part of me's not at all sorry, but he tried. First his birthday on Sunday (he's One!), and now this. I think my baby's growing up...

Sheepish

I'm feeling sheepish. I'm really proud of N, but I shouldn't be. Not that he's not a great kid or anything, it's just that there are some behaviors I shouldn't encourage. We were at a LLL meeting yesterday, and N was playing with anything on wheels (he loves cars and trucks). A two year old (and much bigger than N) didn't like the fact that N wanted to get cars out of the toybox, so he started hitting him. Not hard, just enough to irritate him. N looked at him like, "What the heck???" and smacked him back. Once. Also not hard. I do not want my child to hit. But this was self-defense. The other kid had hit him 3 or 4 times before N reacted. But still, hitting is not okay. Anyway, Other Kid looked shocked, and started crying and ran for his mother. I admit to laughing. Not because N hit, or Other Kid cried, but because my sweet tempered little monkey finally stood up for himself. Even though he's the biggest kid in his playgroup, he routinely gets poked, smacked, and kicked, and has his toys taken from him by other little urchins. I am proud of him.

And now I'm off to email Other Kid's mom to apologize for laughing, and make sure she knows I was not laughing directly at her kid.

One year ago....

I was sitting in front of the television, contracting, and feeling disappointed that I had not had a baby yet, and hopeful that it would happen the next day. I still had a ways to go. I remember also wanting to keep my baby inside me just a little bit longer. Here was the place I could protect him or her the best. I had rented the final episode of M*A*S*H because I'd never seen it before. In it, Hawkeye has a breakdown because he saw a woman on a bus smother her baby out of fear for their lives. The way it was revealed happened very quickly, and with no warning, and I jumped and started crying when I saw that. It obviously disturbed my precious little one, too. I worked for a wireless company's customer service center phone line, and N would get agitated when I was on a frustrating call. The kicks and movements I was getting were those of an agitated baby. I remember hugging my belly and telling my baby that I'd always be there for him or her, and I'd do whatever I can to protect them from the cruelty that causes human beings to become so desperate. I pray I can keep that promise to him now that he's out and likely to get into all sorts of things. He's my baby, and I'd "climb to heaven, crawl beneath the lowest hell to stay near" him.
Anyway, yesterday was the year anniversary of my labor starting. Today was the anniversary of the day we walked and relaxed, enjoying the pain, and knowing that the best result ever was in store. I had been 2 cm, and contracting very nicely, and I felt like progress was being made, so when there was no outside baby, I was disappointed. I didn't get much sleep, as I was unable to sleep through the contractions. Oh well....it all worked out in the end. Tomorrow will be spent doing major planning for N's party this weekend. It's looking like fun...

I'm free!

First let me say, my son's first birthday is coming up this weekend. I find it appropriate that this particular chapter of my birth experience comes to a close as a time of celebration begins.
As a refresher, my placenta was small. It fit neatly into my cupped hands. It looked reasonably healthy to me, but small--the midwife, however, declared it friable (it did not come apart--her reasoning for this label was that when pressed with a finger, it did not immediately spring back, but did so slowly). The umbilical cord was no bigger than my first finger's width around. It was long enough, but the small cord concerned me. When my original midwife got back into town (having missed the delivery), she basically told me that the condition of the placenta and cord were all my fault, and I had obviously not paid the least bit of attention to diet or my health and wellbeing, and as a result, I had gotten a healthy son by the skin of my teeth. There was more, but that was it in a nutshell.
Anyway, I wanted to know more. I wanted to know if I actually had put my baby at risk, and if this were something I could expect in future pregnancies. I also wanted to know just how much of it was my fault. I don't like guilt if it's unnecessary, and I thought I had done so well with my diet during the pregnancy. So, I did some research. I found several things. Small, friable placentas and/or small cords were found in connection with these things: Thalassemia, smoking in pregnancy, Type 2 Diabetes, IUGR, and Parvo B19 (Fifth's Disease). The first four on the list I did not have any connection with. But I was originally told by my family doctor, after being exposed at work, that Fifth's Disease, if contracted in the first trimester, will result in either nothing happening to the baby, or a miscarriage, so don't worry about it. I apparently caught Fifth's (I don't usually get sick, and it's common for me not to notice when I do, but I did have a low-grade temp) around 7-8 weeks, and I found out later that it can be a cause of IUGR. So, with my findings, I consulted other CPMs, my family doctor, and the CNM I see for well-woman care. Every single one of them agreed that there was nothing I did to cause the placenta and cord to be the way they were. It was just one of those things, and it should not happen again. It's no one's fault. It just happened. I feel, for the first time in a year, that I'm truly able to let go, welcome future children, and know that I had a healthy son because God created me with a body that works!