Thursday, September 15, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
10 years ago today...
the terrorist attacks on the Twin Towers and the Pentagon happened. Our country's never been the same since. I read the cover article in People magazine this week. It interviewed 10 boys and girls who lost their dads in the 9/11 attacks. These children never knew their fathers because their mothers were still pregnant with them when their dads were killed. There was a kind of sobriety in these children's eyes that revealed a sorrowful burden they have born for almost 10 years. They interviewed their mothers, too. To not only have to endure the rest of a pregnancy, give birth to a fatherless child, and then be forced to raise that child with all the courage you can muster day in and day out is unthinkable for me. I don't know what I would do without Joe, but these women had to face the horrible truth of life without daddy.
Sometimes, when I tell people about the brain hemorrhage I experienced several years ago (even sparing them many of the painful details), they are incredulous. "Well, I couldn't go through that. I'd be screaming and kicking if I had to spend two weeks in ICU. I'd loose my mind." I think, "Do you think I had a choice? I had to go through it! I had no choice but to patiently endure." It's amazing to learn what we're really made of and that we are so much stronger than we think. These mothers had to summon their courage and face life without a husband and father of their children. What a life! What a testimony! I wonder how many times they wondered how God could be glorified in the midst of such despair and darkness. I learn the heart of God is so deep at these times because when we feel we cannot despair no longer, God is longer still. There is no limit to how many times we can bang our fists on the chest of God. He is always deeper, longer, wider than our minds can fathom.
Psalm 46
1 God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
2 Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
3 though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging.
Sometimes, when I tell people about the brain hemorrhage I experienced several years ago (even sparing them many of the painful details), they are incredulous. "Well, I couldn't go through that. I'd be screaming and kicking if I had to spend two weeks in ICU. I'd loose my mind." I think, "Do you think I had a choice? I had to go through it! I had no choice but to patiently endure." It's amazing to learn what we're really made of and that we are so much stronger than we think. These mothers had to summon their courage and face life without a husband and father of their children. What a life! What a testimony! I wonder how many times they wondered how God could be glorified in the midst of such despair and darkness. I learn the heart of God is so deep at these times because when we feel we cannot despair no longer, God is longer still. There is no limit to how many times we can bang our fists on the chest of God. He is always deeper, longer, wider than our minds can fathom.
Psalm 46
1 God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
2 Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
3 though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging.
4 There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy place where the Most High dwells.
5 God is within her, she will not fall;
God will help her at break of day.
6 Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall;
he lifts his voice, the earth melts.
the holy place where the Most High dwells.
5 God is within her, she will not fall;
God will help her at break of day.
6 Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall;
he lifts his voice, the earth melts.
7 The LORD Almighty is with us;
the God of Jacob is our fortress.
the God of Jacob is our fortress.
8 Come and see what the LORD has done,
the desolations he has brought on the earth.
9 He makes wars cease
to the ends of the earth.
He breaks the bow and shatters the spear;
he burns the shields with fire.
10 He says, “Be still, and know that I am God;
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.”
the desolations he has brought on the earth.
9 He makes wars cease
to the ends of the earth.
He breaks the bow and shatters the spear;
he burns the shields with fire.
10 He says, “Be still, and know that I am God;
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.”
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Morning coffee, baby, and sunshine
That was the nicest title I could think of. I have the most delicious coffee in hand, the most precious baby propped up on the Boppy, and a sunny morning awaiting me outside.
Yesterday was Labor Day and boy, it was the most glorious Labor Day weekend I could remember in 25 years of living in the Pacific NW. So we took advantage of it. On Saturday, we had dinner at our friends Luke and Jessica Thompson's apt. in downtown Tacoma. We went outside on a terrace that offered a view of Mt. Rainier to BBQ some burgers. How wonderful the company and how blessed we are to call them our friends. Their daughter, Claire, is turning one this month and we are going to celebrate with them this Sunday. It is such a blessing to have friends who also have a child and can relate.
On Sunday, we didn't quite make it to church on time, so we decided to forgo it and go for a family walk instead. We walked to the clubhouse at Chambers Bay Golf Course and back. I grew up in the Pacific NW with all its spectacular scenery, but I still find myself taken aback by its beauty. We are fortunate enough to live a few blocks away from the golf course walking trail with its panoramic views of the Puget Sound, Olympic Mountains, and sunsets. I worked the evening shift at ManorCare from 2 to 10pm.
Monday I had a good, but short workout at the Y. (Somebody's diaper needed to be changed halfway through my workout and her mom didn't bother to bring the diaper bag along, so her workout had to be cut short.) Joe went to school during this time to prep for the week. He came home mid-afternoon and we decided the weather was too beautiful to stay home. So I made dinner for us and as soon as it came out of the oven, I put it in a 9 x 13 Pyrex carrying case, and we were off to Kopachuck State Park for a picnic. We got to use our picnic backpack, an engagement present from my parents from way back in 2006. It has little plates, napkins, plastic wine glasses, silverware, a salt-and-pepper shaker, breadboard, and bread knife. Don't tell anybody, but we also brought along a bottle of Semillon which we bought at L'Ecole winery outside of Walla Walla. Our dinner was a kind of zucchini, onion, tomato, Mozzarella cheesy bake with Italian bread chunks over it and it was still warm from the oven. Everybody was perfectly content except for Sonja. Lately, when she's in a new place, she demands to be nursed more often, not necessarily out of hunger as much as comfort. And she only wants to be held by Joe or me. Last night, not even Joe or I could comfort her. We put her in the Infantino baby carrier as we hiked down to the rocky beach and she let all of Kopachuck State Park know how miserable she was. Typically bouncing and moving along soothes her, but not last night. Joe entertained the idea of spreading out the blanket on the beach (albeit rocky) and laying down to relax for a while. Babies change everything. Between nursing and rocking Sonja, there wasn't any lying down on the beach to soak in the rays at sunset to be had. We are attempting to employ a philosophy of childrearing that means we live our lives doing what we need and wish to do, bringing Sonja with us. We don't want to be hindered or prohibited from doing anything because of Sonja. What I mean is, we want what is best for our child, but we do not want to center everything in our life around Sonja. We are sensitive to her needs, but she will grow up being flexible to what we do as a family. It is a fine line to draw, especially for first time parents. Last night, we attempted to do something we wanted to do and our baby did not adapt very well- at first. We tried to make the best of it, polishing off the bottle of wine and snacking on cheese and crackers while bouncing a baby on one knee. She calmed down eventually and were able to enjoy ourselves, although this was a far cry (haha) from our dates back in the day.
Yesterday was Labor Day and boy, it was the most glorious Labor Day weekend I could remember in 25 years of living in the Pacific NW. So we took advantage of it. On Saturday, we had dinner at our friends Luke and Jessica Thompson's apt. in downtown Tacoma. We went outside on a terrace that offered a view of Mt. Rainier to BBQ some burgers. How wonderful the company and how blessed we are to call them our friends. Their daughter, Claire, is turning one this month and we are going to celebrate with them this Sunday. It is such a blessing to have friends who also have a child and can relate.
On Sunday, we didn't quite make it to church on time, so we decided to forgo it and go for a family walk instead. We walked to the clubhouse at Chambers Bay Golf Course and back. I grew up in the Pacific NW with all its spectacular scenery, but I still find myself taken aback by its beauty. We are fortunate enough to live a few blocks away from the golf course walking trail with its panoramic views of the Puget Sound, Olympic Mountains, and sunsets. I worked the evening shift at ManorCare from 2 to 10pm.
Monday I had a good, but short workout at the Y. (Somebody's diaper needed to be changed halfway through my workout and her mom didn't bother to bring the diaper bag along, so her workout had to be cut short.) Joe went to school during this time to prep for the week. He came home mid-afternoon and we decided the weather was too beautiful to stay home. So I made dinner for us and as soon as it came out of the oven, I put it in a 9 x 13 Pyrex carrying case, and we were off to Kopachuck State Park for a picnic. We got to use our picnic backpack, an engagement present from my parents from way back in 2006. It has little plates, napkins, plastic wine glasses, silverware, a salt-and-pepper shaker, breadboard, and bread knife. Don't tell anybody, but we also brought along a bottle of Semillon which we bought at L'Ecole winery outside of Walla Walla. Our dinner was a kind of zucchini, onion, tomato, Mozzarella cheesy bake with Italian bread chunks over it and it was still warm from the oven. Everybody was perfectly content except for Sonja. Lately, when she's in a new place, she demands to be nursed more often, not necessarily out of hunger as much as comfort. And she only wants to be held by Joe or me. Last night, not even Joe or I could comfort her. We put her in the Infantino baby carrier as we hiked down to the rocky beach and she let all of Kopachuck State Park know how miserable she was. Typically bouncing and moving along soothes her, but not last night. Joe entertained the idea of spreading out the blanket on the beach (albeit rocky) and laying down to relax for a while. Babies change everything. Between nursing and rocking Sonja, there wasn't any lying down on the beach to soak in the rays at sunset to be had. We are attempting to employ a philosophy of childrearing that means we live our lives doing what we need and wish to do, bringing Sonja with us. We don't want to be hindered or prohibited from doing anything because of Sonja. What I mean is, we want what is best for our child, but we do not want to center everything in our life around Sonja. We are sensitive to her needs, but she will grow up being flexible to what we do as a family. It is a fine line to draw, especially for first time parents. Last night, we attempted to do something we wanted to do and our baby did not adapt very well- at first. We tried to make the best of it, polishing off the bottle of wine and snacking on cheese and crackers while bouncing a baby on one knee. She calmed down eventually and were able to enjoy ourselves, although this was a far cry (haha) from our dates back in the day.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Post-Partum
Today I am home sick recovering from a kidney infection. Thought I'd take some time to write about my post-partum period.
Actually, just scanned over the previous blog entry and it's amazing to think about how I actually WENT THROUGH a natural delivery of my Sonja. I DID IT. And from what I've been asked about her delivery by other women-mothers or not-I am finding more and more that I am definitely in the very small minority of mothers of not only elect not finding out the sex, but also choosing natural childbirth. Nope, I didn't have an epidural or any other medication...except something to stop the bleeding after Sonja was born. I choose this route for many reasons. If there has to be a single compelling reason why, I think it would be that I really don't like following the crowd. This doesn't mean that I go out of my way to buck the current trend or poke holes in common ways of accomplishing things in life. I like to know what sets me apart from the crowd. I am not saying that women who elect to use medication to ease delivery should not be proud of themselves for their monumental accomplishment. I wanted to find out for myself that child labor is actually possible without the utilization of drugs. (confession: I actually stated on my birth plan that I didn't want meds unless I asked for them as a last resort...and I did ask for them only once right before it was time to push. I was gently reminded by our doula that my goal was to go without any drugs. Despite all the pain I was in, I felt a little sheepish.) I wanted to prepare myself mentally as much as I could prior to labor. I am tenacious. I didn't want myself or my baby to to experience the side effects of drugs; I wanted to be as alert and oriented-albeit exhausted- as possible. I wanted to really discover what I was made of deep down.
I truly am surprised at the number of women who shudder at the concept of natural childbirth, as if pain is something to be greatly feared. They do not see yet that it is pain with a purpose. Actually, the more a woman laboring tenses up, the harder it is to get through the contractions. The easiest (if I can call it that!) way to get through the pain is to give yourself over to it.
After Sonja was born, I was wheeled down to the post-partum floor. My body ached for sleep and a good, hot meal. I was so weak the day I gave birth, it didn't even occur to me to wash my face, brush my teeth, much less to shower. Joe and I made several phone calls to family members and friends announcing the birth of Sonja- and, wouldn't you know it, Sonja's arrival made it on Facebook before we even had a moment to announce it ourselves. I wanted to tell people personally and honestly, finding out people were waiting for Facebook postings rather than our phone call was disheartening. The whole aspect of exactly when after our child's birth was to be posted it on Facebook was something that didn't even occur to us until I was about 39 weeks pregnant. I was so delirious with my pregnancy that I really didn't feel like micromanaging announcements of our baby's birth- can't people just be patient and wait for a phone call like in the olden days? Post-partum is nothing short of a WHIRLWIND. Not only was my threshold for pain tested to the limits of what it can tolerate this side of losing my mind, my voice was horribly raspy because of my crying out during labor. Nevertheless, we dutifully worked our way down our list of people to call.
Lactation specialists, nurses, and midwives visited our room intermittently, dispensing advice for how to nurse, how to take care of myself, how to this, and how to that. And they came on their own time. It didn't matter that I was in the middle of eating, the lactation specialist was going to teach me how to nurse my daughter NOW. It didn't matter that we were in the middle of a phone call, we had to wrap it up so the midwife could tell me about post-partum depression. I remember nurses coming in at all hours of the day and night, giving us various papers to sign. I could've signed my life away for all I know. We tried so hard to pay attention to every bit of professional advice given to us, and I hope between the two of us, we remember most of it. The important parts, at least.
My side of the family came as soon as they could to visit about 12 hours after Sonja's birth. There's a certain wonder about a family welcoming the very first grandchild and great-grandchild. We could hardly believe that she was actually REAL. As I've mentioned before, Sonja was born on Joe's 29th birthday. The brand new Grandma Lindquist (my mother in law) sent a carrot cake with cream cheese frosting, a bunch of peonies (how did she know they were my favorites?), and "It's a girl!" balloons. We now have to figure out how to celebrate both Joe's and Sonja's birthdays from now on.
I remember falling asleep the first night in post-partum and being jarred awake by my daughter's cries to be fed. When we went to sleep that first night, I think both of us had completely forgotten about the fact our daughter would be waking us every couple of hours throughout the night for feedings and diaper changings. I don't know what I would've done with Joe's help. I was in no situation to get out of bed even every few hours to care for her. Joe heard her cries and diligently got up each time because I couldn't.
When it was time to discharge the next day, my family came and had a time getting Sonja's new car seat strapped in...in the rain, no less. I was so happy to bring our daughter home. We were HOME. The three of us.
Actually, just scanned over the previous blog entry and it's amazing to think about how I actually WENT THROUGH a natural delivery of my Sonja. I DID IT. And from what I've been asked about her delivery by other women-mothers or not-I am finding more and more that I am definitely in the very small minority of mothers of not only elect not finding out the sex, but also choosing natural childbirth. Nope, I didn't have an epidural or any other medication...except something to stop the bleeding after Sonja was born. I choose this route for many reasons. If there has to be a single compelling reason why, I think it would be that I really don't like following the crowd. This doesn't mean that I go out of my way to buck the current trend or poke holes in common ways of accomplishing things in life. I like to know what sets me apart from the crowd. I am not saying that women who elect to use medication to ease delivery should not be proud of themselves for their monumental accomplishment. I wanted to find out for myself that child labor is actually possible without the utilization of drugs. (confession: I actually stated on my birth plan that I didn't want meds unless I asked for them as a last resort...and I did ask for them only once right before it was time to push. I was gently reminded by our doula that my goal was to go without any drugs. Despite all the pain I was in, I felt a little sheepish.) I wanted to prepare myself mentally as much as I could prior to labor. I am tenacious. I didn't want myself or my baby to to experience the side effects of drugs; I wanted to be as alert and oriented-albeit exhausted- as possible. I wanted to really discover what I was made of deep down.
I truly am surprised at the number of women who shudder at the concept of natural childbirth, as if pain is something to be greatly feared. They do not see yet that it is pain with a purpose. Actually, the more a woman laboring tenses up, the harder it is to get through the contractions. The easiest (if I can call it that!) way to get through the pain is to give yourself over to it.
After Sonja was born, I was wheeled down to the post-partum floor. My body ached for sleep and a good, hot meal. I was so weak the day I gave birth, it didn't even occur to me to wash my face, brush my teeth, much less to shower. Joe and I made several phone calls to family members and friends announcing the birth of Sonja- and, wouldn't you know it, Sonja's arrival made it on Facebook before we even had a moment to announce it ourselves. I wanted to tell people personally and honestly, finding out people were waiting for Facebook postings rather than our phone call was disheartening. The whole aspect of exactly when after our child's birth was to be posted it on Facebook was something that didn't even occur to us until I was about 39 weeks pregnant. I was so delirious with my pregnancy that I really didn't feel like micromanaging announcements of our baby's birth- can't people just be patient and wait for a phone call like in the olden days? Post-partum is nothing short of a WHIRLWIND. Not only was my threshold for pain tested to the limits of what it can tolerate this side of losing my mind, my voice was horribly raspy because of my crying out during labor. Nevertheless, we dutifully worked our way down our list of people to call.
Lactation specialists, nurses, and midwives visited our room intermittently, dispensing advice for how to nurse, how to take care of myself, how to this, and how to that. And they came on their own time. It didn't matter that I was in the middle of eating, the lactation specialist was going to teach me how to nurse my daughter NOW. It didn't matter that we were in the middle of a phone call, we had to wrap it up so the midwife could tell me about post-partum depression. I remember nurses coming in at all hours of the day and night, giving us various papers to sign. I could've signed my life away for all I know. We tried so hard to pay attention to every bit of professional advice given to us, and I hope between the two of us, we remember most of it. The important parts, at least.
My side of the family came as soon as they could to visit about 12 hours after Sonja's birth. There's a certain wonder about a family welcoming the very first grandchild and great-grandchild. We could hardly believe that she was actually REAL. As I've mentioned before, Sonja was born on Joe's 29th birthday. The brand new Grandma Lindquist (my mother in law) sent a carrot cake with cream cheese frosting, a bunch of peonies (how did she know they were my favorites?), and "It's a girl!" balloons. We now have to figure out how to celebrate both Joe's and Sonja's birthdays from now on.
I remember falling asleep the first night in post-partum and being jarred awake by my daughter's cries to be fed. When we went to sleep that first night, I think both of us had completely forgotten about the fact our daughter would be waking us every couple of hours throughout the night for feedings and diaper changings. I don't know what I would've done with Joe's help. I was in no situation to get out of bed even every few hours to care for her. Joe heard her cries and diligently got up each time because I couldn't.
When it was time to discharge the next day, my family came and had a time getting Sonja's new car seat strapped in...in the rain, no less. I was so happy to bring our daughter home. We were HOME. The three of us.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
They said my life would never be the same
...and I knew they'd be right.
Our daughter, Sonja Mae Lindquist, was born on Tuesday, May 24th, 2011 at 5:05am. She was 7 pounds, 4.6 oz and 18 3/4 inches long and 10 days late. Although she arrived past her due date, she shares her birthday with the other love of my life, my husband. We still cannot believe this happened as there are 364 other days of the year she on which she could have arrived. (This is also her aunt Chelsea's birthday as well; now we will have three type A Geminis in the family wink wink!)
To bring you up to speed, my faithful little bloggies, I will rewind a bit. I have had several requests to blog about my birthing story, much to my delighted surprise.
Above is a picture of me on my due date May 14th, with my round belly, double chin and all. Joe and I decided to purchase a Canon 40D on ebay with which to take pictures of our baby. And I can tell you, this camera was worth every penny. I'd rather have priceless memories than money stored in the bank. (Weird factoid: the guy who sold us the camera's lens at the camera shop was truly a unique breed of geek. While we were grateful he knew everything under the sun about camera lenses, he was so socially awkward that when we told him we were planning on taking pictures of our soon to arrive baby, he claims he didn't even notice I was pregnant! At 39 weeks!!)
As you can tell, nothing happened on my due date. Or the next day. Or the next. Or the day after that. Sigh...
For 9 days past her due date, I wrung my hands in frustration (to say the least). I was ADDICTED to watching A Baby Story, Baby's First Day, Bringing Home Baby, I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant...basically every show on TLC revolving around motherhood and pregnancy. My husband calls TLC the freak show channel because they produce so many shows on the most raw elements of life. (These shows are in addition to my faves on MTV: 16 and Pregnant and Teen Mom. You can guess what Joe thinks of these programs. Yep, it's usually me and the cat on the couch.) I will surmise that you are probably smirking at my candor by now. But it was TRUE. All I could think about was going into labor and believe me, did I ever beseech the Heavenly Father like I never had in my life. I prayed for labor day in and day out. I tried to keep my complaints on my Facebook status to a minimum. It was interesting how so many people, via the Internet, rallied around me at the very end of my pregnancy. I was truly floored and humbled at how many were praying for me to go into labor naturally.
At my midwife office visit at 41 weeks, I was asked when I wanted to be induced. Joe came with me, thank God. I didn't want to make the decision of when our child's birthday was going to be without him. They told me I was to be induced in the morning and, typically, for first time moms it takes about 12 hours for them to dialate to the point of being ready to push. Add on top of that pushing time, and baby typically arrives in the wee morning hours the next day.
Oh, how we were so hoping to bring our little one home and put him or her to bed in their very own room we'd be preparing for them. Nothing was more disheartening to me than seeing an empty room day after day past my due date.
On May 23rd, I just happened to tell one of my facebook friends, Leah, who is a Labor & Delivery nurse about the drug, Cytotec, my midwife intended to use to induce me. She and I talked on the phone that afternoon and she convinced me to explore other induction options that would be safer for me and baby. To this day, I find this conversation ironic. I discussed with her my goal of delivering my child naturally, sans drugs. I truly wanted to experience labor and delivery- every ache and pain, every contraction. I worked on my mental game for months prior. I knew that it would be pain like I've never experienced before in my life. (Many of you know I survived a brain hemorrhage in 2004. Hands down, I would rather experience child labor without drugs than endure a sporadic cavernoma with 2 weeks in ICU again.) I am definitely a risk taker and I love a good challenge. At about 3 o'clock in the afternoon while talking with Leah, I felt my first honest to goodness contraction. It felt like a hot flash and spasm of pain flooding through my body and I threw off the blanket on top of me. At the time, I chalked it up to being so out of it at 41 1/2 weeks pregnant and accustomed to being uncomfortable all the time. I credit finally going into labor from talking to Leah...and many, many prayers sent heavenward. From 5pm to 9pm, the contractions were about 15 to 20 minutes apart. I remember talking to my mom, who called me daily toward the end to check up, and telling her about my contractions. She said, "It's time."
At this time, I knew I was legitimately going into labor and I wish I could tell you I was giddy with excitement. Honestly, I felt relief and an impending sense of closure. Joe and I were so tired- he from end of the school year happenings and me from, well, being overdue. By 10 pm, my contractions were steadily growing closer and closer together and more intense. At this time, because I hadn't done it yet, I decided to finally write in my husband's birthday card. So, between contractions I wrote as fast as I could, pacing back and forth down the hallway as I needed to when I felt the onset of a contration.
By 11pm, we determined it was time to call the consulting nurses line. It's a strange experience calling the consulting nurses line. She asked me how far apart and how long my contractions were (5-7 minutes apart and about 1 or 1 1/2 minutes in duration) and a few other questions. I distinctly remember her telling me, "Congratulations! You're going to have a baby on the 24th." And that was when we realized that our baby- still a mystery as to a him or a her- was going to have the same birthday as daddy.
Joe, our two kitties, and I all curled up on the bed as I rested as much as I could. Sometime around 1am, my water broke and I told Joe that we were headed to the hospital NOW. We either called or texted our parents to let them know and we were off. We also called our doula, Ann, let her know what was happening, and she agreed to meet us at St. Joe's. My contractions were about a minute apart as we arrived at labor and delivery. The midwife determined I was 5cm and 80% effaced. At this point, I will spare my more modest readers some details. (If you really want to know, I'll tell you, Leah. ;) The next two hours were the most painful part of my labor. Contractions, for me, felt like the worst menstrual cramps I've ever felt... times 10. I've learned now that the discomfort I felt from female things is a very small taste of what pregnancy, labor, and postpartum was like for me. Really, every cramp I ever had, every discomfort I experienced from being a woman was only to prepare me for the aforementioned. Pregnancy and labor was really what women were designed to do by God. When I was deep in the trenches of full on labor, I remember my body's natural circadian rhythms fighting against my labor pains. I wanted so desparately to sleep, but my labor pains had the stronger will. My doula and nurses compared it to running a marathon...without any sleep, with very little food beforehand.
With Ann on my left side and Joe on my right, I finally reached the pushing phase. My midwife couldn't believe I dilated as quickly as I did for a first time mom. I was so exhausted while pushing, I literally fell asleep between contractions, believe it or not. I pushed for almost 1 1/2 hours until the midwife determined the baby's heartrate was falling into the 60's and 70's- too low. She told me, "You must push this baby out right now!" I was amazed at how I pushed about 95% of the way and then the wisdom of my body seemed to know how to push the remaining little bit. I pushed with every fiber of my being and I could tell from Ann, Joe, the L & D nurse, and my midwife that she was finally crowning. The knowledge that my baby's heartrate was falling precariously low was the incentive I needed. And then...
My dream of her coming out and being placed on my chest did not happen. When she came out, the midwife was so concerned with suctioning out her mouth and nose as a result of the meconium she ingested, she didn't even notice the sex of our baby. For several tense seconds after she came out as the midwife worked to help our baby breathe, no one said anything. All I heard was the click of the shutter on our camera. My hormones shifted so fast I shook uncontrollably. Ann leaned over and whispered in my ear, "It's a girl". Sonja. She was HERE. In fact, they didn't even let Joe cut the cord before the nurses wisked her away to do post-birth tests and clean her up. I looked over at the window as golden dawn broke over the city. The darkest hour literally was right before dawn. Joe was the first to hold her. I had to wait while the midwife stitched me up from the episiotomy (one of only a handful she's ever done in the 500 births she's been apart of). Then they told me it was time to nurse her. Surrounded by a doula and nurses all giving me instructions at the same time as to how to nurse my child, I finally held Sonja and she vigorously nursed for about half and hour.
(Post-partum coming soon...)
Our daughter, Sonja Mae Lindquist, was born on Tuesday, May 24th, 2011 at 5:05am. She was 7 pounds, 4.6 oz and 18 3/4 inches long and 10 days late. Although she arrived past her due date, she shares her birthday with the other love of my life, my husband. We still cannot believe this happened as there are 364 other days of the year she on which she could have arrived. (This is also her aunt Chelsea's birthday as well; now we will have three type A Geminis in the family wink wink!)
To bring you up to speed, my faithful little bloggies, I will rewind a bit. I have had several requests to blog about my birthing story, much to my delighted surprise.
Above is a picture of me on my due date May 14th, with my round belly, double chin and all. Joe and I decided to purchase a Canon 40D on ebay with which to take pictures of our baby. And I can tell you, this camera was worth every penny. I'd rather have priceless memories than money stored in the bank. (Weird factoid: the guy who sold us the camera's lens at the camera shop was truly a unique breed of geek. While we were grateful he knew everything under the sun about camera lenses, he was so socially awkward that when we told him we were planning on taking pictures of our soon to arrive baby, he claims he didn't even notice I was pregnant! At 39 weeks!!)
As you can tell, nothing happened on my due date. Or the next day. Or the next. Or the day after that. Sigh...
For 9 days past her due date, I wrung my hands in frustration (to say the least). I was ADDICTED to watching A Baby Story, Baby's First Day, Bringing Home Baby, I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant...basically every show on TLC revolving around motherhood and pregnancy. My husband calls TLC the freak show channel because they produce so many shows on the most raw elements of life. (These shows are in addition to my faves on MTV: 16 and Pregnant and Teen Mom. You can guess what Joe thinks of these programs. Yep, it's usually me and the cat on the couch.) I will surmise that you are probably smirking at my candor by now. But it was TRUE. All I could think about was going into labor and believe me, did I ever beseech the Heavenly Father like I never had in my life. I prayed for labor day in and day out. I tried to keep my complaints on my Facebook status to a minimum. It was interesting how so many people, via the Internet, rallied around me at the very end of my pregnancy. I was truly floored and humbled at how many were praying for me to go into labor naturally.At my midwife office visit at 41 weeks, I was asked when I wanted to be induced. Joe came with me, thank God. I didn't want to make the decision of when our child's birthday was going to be without him. They told me I was to be induced in the morning and, typically, for first time moms it takes about 12 hours for them to dialate to the point of being ready to push. Add on top of that pushing time, and baby typically arrives in the wee morning hours the next day.
Oh, how we were so hoping to bring our little one home and put him or her to bed in their very own room we'd be preparing for them. Nothing was more disheartening to me than seeing an empty room day after day past my due date.On May 23rd, I just happened to tell one of my facebook friends, Leah, who is a Labor & Delivery nurse about the drug, Cytotec, my midwife intended to use to induce me. She and I talked on the phone that afternoon and she convinced me to explore other induction options that would be safer for me and baby. To this day, I find this conversation ironic. I discussed with her my goal of delivering my child naturally, sans drugs. I truly wanted to experience labor and delivery- every ache and pain, every contraction. I worked on my mental game for months prior. I knew that it would be pain like I've never experienced before in my life. (Many of you know I survived a brain hemorrhage in 2004. Hands down, I would rather experience child labor without drugs than endure a sporadic cavernoma with 2 weeks in ICU again.) I am definitely a risk taker and I love a good challenge. At about 3 o'clock in the afternoon while talking with Leah, I felt my first honest to goodness contraction. It felt like a hot flash and spasm of pain flooding through my body and I threw off the blanket on top of me. At the time, I chalked it up to being so out of it at 41 1/2 weeks pregnant and accustomed to being uncomfortable all the time. I credit finally going into labor from talking to Leah...and many, many prayers sent heavenward. From 5pm to 9pm, the contractions were about 15 to 20 minutes apart. I remember talking to my mom, who called me daily toward the end to check up, and telling her about my contractions. She said, "It's time."
At this time, I knew I was legitimately going into labor and I wish I could tell you I was giddy with excitement. Honestly, I felt relief and an impending sense of closure. Joe and I were so tired- he from end of the school year happenings and me from, well, being overdue. By 10 pm, my contractions were steadily growing closer and closer together and more intense. At this time, because I hadn't done it yet, I decided to finally write in my husband's birthday card. So, between contractions I wrote as fast as I could, pacing back and forth down the hallway as I needed to when I felt the onset of a contration.
By 11pm, we determined it was time to call the consulting nurses line. It's a strange experience calling the consulting nurses line. She asked me how far apart and how long my contractions were (5-7 minutes apart and about 1 or 1 1/2 minutes in duration) and a few other questions. I distinctly remember her telling me, "Congratulations! You're going to have a baby on the 24th." And that was when we realized that our baby- still a mystery as to a him or a her- was going to have the same birthday as daddy.
Joe, our two kitties, and I all curled up on the bed as I rested as much as I could. Sometime around 1am, my water broke and I told Joe that we were headed to the hospital NOW. We either called or texted our parents to let them know and we were off. We also called our doula, Ann, let her know what was happening, and she agreed to meet us at St. Joe's. My contractions were about a minute apart as we arrived at labor and delivery. The midwife determined I was 5cm and 80% effaced. At this point, I will spare my more modest readers some details. (If you really want to know, I'll tell you, Leah. ;) The next two hours were the most painful part of my labor. Contractions, for me, felt like the worst menstrual cramps I've ever felt... times 10. I've learned now that the discomfort I felt from female things is a very small taste of what pregnancy, labor, and postpartum was like for me. Really, every cramp I ever had, every discomfort I experienced from being a woman was only to prepare me for the aforementioned. Pregnancy and labor was really what women were designed to do by God. When I was deep in the trenches of full on labor, I remember my body's natural circadian rhythms fighting against my labor pains. I wanted so desparately to sleep, but my labor pains had the stronger will. My doula and nurses compared it to running a marathon...without any sleep, with very little food beforehand.
With Ann on my left side and Joe on my right, I finally reached the pushing phase. My midwife couldn't believe I dilated as quickly as I did for a first time mom. I was so exhausted while pushing, I literally fell asleep between contractions, believe it or not. I pushed for almost 1 1/2 hours until the midwife determined the baby's heartrate was falling into the 60's and 70's- too low. She told me, "You must push this baby out right now!" I was amazed at how I pushed about 95% of the way and then the wisdom of my body seemed to know how to push the remaining little bit. I pushed with every fiber of my being and I could tell from Ann, Joe, the L & D nurse, and my midwife that she was finally crowning. The knowledge that my baby's heartrate was falling precariously low was the incentive I needed. And then...
My dream of her coming out and being placed on my chest did not happen. When she came out, the midwife was so concerned with suctioning out her mouth and nose as a result of the meconium she ingested, she didn't even notice the sex of our baby. For several tense seconds after she came out as the midwife worked to help our baby breathe, no one said anything. All I heard was the click of the shutter on our camera. My hormones shifted so fast I shook uncontrollably. Ann leaned over and whispered in my ear, "It's a girl". Sonja. She was HERE. In fact, they didn't even let Joe cut the cord before the nurses wisked her away to do post-birth tests and clean her up. I looked over at the window as golden dawn broke over the city. The darkest hour literally was right before dawn. Joe was the first to hold her. I had to wait while the midwife stitched me up from the episiotomy (one of only a handful she's ever done in the 500 births she's been apart of). Then they told me it was time to nurse her. Surrounded by a doula and nurses all giving me instructions at the same time as to how to nurse my child, I finally held Sonja and she vigorously nursed for about half and hour.
(Post-partum coming soon...)
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Observations
Joe here. Until recently I was unaware that I could contribute to this blog, but I guess the title - the lindquist two - should give it away. Really, it should be "the lindquist three" now. We'll have to get on that.
People keep saying how fast these early years go, how quickly babies grow up. So, I thought I should write down my impressions of Sonja as she grows. Up until Monday, it had been a whirlwind from the hour Katy went into labor. This week, with the friends and relatives come and gone, we have finally gotten to enjoy Sonja at home ourselves. (Mind you, it was wonderful having the family and friends around. We have great people in our lives. They are encouraging, pleasant, humorous, and they brought us delicious food.)
When Sonja was born, she was so tiny! Her nose was flat, her ears were like wads of crumpled paper, and all she could do was suck, cry, pee, poop, and sleep. Now she is moving her head around. Now she knows that she can suck on her hand when she gets hungry or needs soothing. Now she sleeps up to 4 or 5 hours in a row! She hasn't gotten much bigger, but when we put on the outfit she came home from the hospital in, she filled it out more.
The most fun new development is her alert states. She looks around, her eyes are big, and she has all these crazy facial expressions. It's like she hasn't learned how she's supposed to configure her face yet, so she does exactly what she feels like. Her brow furrows, and her eyebrows lift. Or her forehead will be relaxed, but her mouth is shaped in a perfect O. When her diaper is dirty, she starts looking like she just smelled the bastard child of stinky cheese and old, unwashed gym socks.
She still can't hold her head up, crawl, or hold herself up. But I'm in no hurry, and I hope she isn't either. I just want to enjoy every day.
People keep saying how fast these early years go, how quickly babies grow up. So, I thought I should write down my impressions of Sonja as she grows. Up until Monday, it had been a whirlwind from the hour Katy went into labor. This week, with the friends and relatives come and gone, we have finally gotten to enjoy Sonja at home ourselves. (Mind you, it was wonderful having the family and friends around. We have great people in our lives. They are encouraging, pleasant, humorous, and they brought us delicious food.)
When Sonja was born, she was so tiny! Her nose was flat, her ears were like wads of crumpled paper, and all she could do was suck, cry, pee, poop, and sleep. Now she is moving her head around. Now she knows that she can suck on her hand when she gets hungry or needs soothing. Now she sleeps up to 4 or 5 hours in a row! She hasn't gotten much bigger, but when we put on the outfit she came home from the hospital in, she filled it out more.
The most fun new development is her alert states. She looks around, her eyes are big, and she has all these crazy facial expressions. It's like she hasn't learned how she's supposed to configure her face yet, so she does exactly what she feels like. Her brow furrows, and her eyebrows lift. Or her forehead will be relaxed, but her mouth is shaped in a perfect O. When her diaper is dirty, she starts looking like she just smelled the bastard child of stinky cheese and old, unwashed gym socks.
She still can't hold her head up, crawl, or hold herself up. But I'm in no hurry, and I hope she isn't either. I just want to enjoy every day.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
41 weeks
Wow. Did I just type that? 41 weeks. Yep.
We went to have a non-stress test done yesterday and, praise God, everything is going just fine with the baby. The goal with the non-stress tests are to prove that baby is, indeed, not stressed out, and if he/she is, then it would indicate inducing labor may be immanent or a C-section may be necessary. They hooked me up to two monitors strapped around my belly.
The machine the monitors were strapped to printed out this information.
In the lower picture, the squiggly line nearest to you is the baby's heartrate (ideal heartrate is about 120 to 160). The more sporadic black marks are when I felt any type of fetal movement. (I was given a button to press every time I felt the slightest movement.) The graph farthest away (bottom) tracked my uterine contractions. Often times, the baby is sound asleep and the technician has to wake him/her up to get an accurate test. They do this by administering gentle soundwaves to the mommy's tummy or giving mom juice so the glucose can reach the baby to stir him/her. Our baby was wide awake and ready to rumble. We listened to the heartbeat for about 40 minutes before they unhooked me and established that our baby was fine and dandy, getting good oxygen supply, and had a healthy heartrate. The only thing is that he/she is not ready to come out yet. Apparently, it just too snug and warm.
After the NST, we visited the midwife. She examined me and determined I am 2cm dilated and 80% effaced. She determined that my body is ready to be induced. We decided on a Wednesday, May 25th induction date. Now, induction is the last thing I really wanted to consider in regards to bringing our child in the world. (Actually, C-sections are, to be honest.) But as of the afternoon on Friday, May 20st, my body just wasn't going into labor. My midwife wanted to at least schedule an induction for sometime next week, while still giving my body a chance to go into labor. Past 42 weeks, the mother and baby incur risks. The placenta is a temporary organ the body makes to support fetal growth and development. By 42 weeks, it is starting to wear out because it was only made to be utilized for so long; the baby may not even get proper oxygen supply after 42 weeks either. Hence, a favorable time to induce is about 41 1/2 weeks. It feels very strange to almost play God in helping determine when our child will be born. As my mother and my grandmothers all had natural labors, I assumed genetics would be on my side and we would already be parents by now. Alas, if nothing happens by May 25th, I will be induced. I feel ashamed on one hand because my body doesn't do anything more these days than manufacture Braxton Hicks contractions; I really wanted to feel like I was in control of my body or that my body was "doing what God designed women's bodies to do: labor." But on the other hand, we have lived the whole 9th month and now into the 10th month waiting for me to go into labor, and with every day that passes, knowing that control must be relinquished to God's timing, because only He knows what day and time our baby will arrive. It's really their little secret right now. In addition, it is a relief to have a closure date on the horizon. We will call early in the morning on May 25th to see when the best time for us to come in will be. They will give me up to 3 doses of Cytotec to induce me in 9 hours, 1 every 3 hours. At the end of 9 hours, they will break my water depending on how my body takes to the Cytotec or they will send me home for a few days to let me go into labor naturally. If I don't go into labor naturally after a few days, they'll induce me again, this time potentially with Pitocin. If the baby's heartrate drops during that induction, I would have to have a C-section (worst case scenario, but hey, it happened to Joe's mom when he came into the world 17 days overdue.) So, PLEASE pray that I either go into labor on my own by May 25th or that my body takes to the Cytotec on May 25th.
Below is my good luck flower that one of Joe's 6th grade students made for me. Cutest thing ever.
We went to have a non-stress test done yesterday and, praise God, everything is going just fine with the baby. The goal with the non-stress tests are to prove that baby is, indeed, not stressed out, and if he/she is, then it would indicate inducing labor may be immanent or a C-section may be necessary. They hooked me up to two monitors strapped around my belly.
The machine the monitors were strapped to printed out this information.
In the lower picture, the squiggly line nearest to you is the baby's heartrate (ideal heartrate is about 120 to 160). The more sporadic black marks are when I felt any type of fetal movement. (I was given a button to press every time I felt the slightest movement.) The graph farthest away (bottom) tracked my uterine contractions. Often times, the baby is sound asleep and the technician has to wake him/her up to get an accurate test. They do this by administering gentle soundwaves to the mommy's tummy or giving mom juice so the glucose can reach the baby to stir him/her. Our baby was wide awake and ready to rumble. We listened to the heartbeat for about 40 minutes before they unhooked me and established that our baby was fine and dandy, getting good oxygen supply, and had a healthy heartrate. The only thing is that he/she is not ready to come out yet. Apparently, it just too snug and warm.
After the NST, we visited the midwife. She examined me and determined I am 2cm dilated and 80% effaced. She determined that my body is ready to be induced. We decided on a Wednesday, May 25th induction date. Now, induction is the last thing I really wanted to consider in regards to bringing our child in the world. (Actually, C-sections are, to be honest.) But as of the afternoon on Friday, May 20st, my body just wasn't going into labor. My midwife wanted to at least schedule an induction for sometime next week, while still giving my body a chance to go into labor. Past 42 weeks, the mother and baby incur risks. The placenta is a temporary organ the body makes to support fetal growth and development. By 42 weeks, it is starting to wear out because it was only made to be utilized for so long; the baby may not even get proper oxygen supply after 42 weeks either. Hence, a favorable time to induce is about 41 1/2 weeks. It feels very strange to almost play God in helping determine when our child will be born. As my mother and my grandmothers all had natural labors, I assumed genetics would be on my side and we would already be parents by now. Alas, if nothing happens by May 25th, I will be induced. I feel ashamed on one hand because my body doesn't do anything more these days than manufacture Braxton Hicks contractions; I really wanted to feel like I was in control of my body or that my body was "doing what God designed women's bodies to do: labor." But on the other hand, we have lived the whole 9th month and now into the 10th month waiting for me to go into labor, and with every day that passes, knowing that control must be relinquished to God's timing, because only He knows what day and time our baby will arrive. It's really their little secret right now. In addition, it is a relief to have a closure date on the horizon. We will call early in the morning on May 25th to see when the best time for us to come in will be. They will give me up to 3 doses of Cytotec to induce me in 9 hours, 1 every 3 hours. At the end of 9 hours, they will break my water depending on how my body takes to the Cytotec or they will send me home for a few days to let me go into labor naturally. If I don't go into labor naturally after a few days, they'll induce me again, this time potentially with Pitocin. If the baby's heartrate drops during that induction, I would have to have a C-section (worst case scenario, but hey, it happened to Joe's mom when he came into the world 17 days overdue.) So, PLEASE pray that I either go into labor on my own by May 25th or that my body takes to the Cytotec on May 25th.
Below is my good luck flower that one of Joe's 6th grade students made for me. Cutest thing ever.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
40 weeks, 3 days
At this point in my pregnancy, it feels as if we are waiting in line for the most popular ride at Disneyland. In the hot sun. Without any potty breaks. Without lunch. No water.
If we strain ahead to the beginning of the line, we can see people (all of whom have been in our situation at one point or another) getting on the ride after their long wait. We can see people currently on the ride- the wind whipping their face as their bodies try to anticipate and navigate the dangerous curves ahead. Some look terrified and others look exhilarated. Some have peed their pants and others fully submit themselves to the thrilling joy of uncertainty, their hands waving over their head.
If we look to the end of the line, we see people eagerly adding the the back of it. They must be attracted to the excitement of the ride, the fact that many have gone before them and even stepped off the ride to tell about it, albeit their hands are shaking and their knees wobbly, their faces shine. They try to put to the back of their minds the horror stories of getting sick or the unnerving sense of loosing control of bodily functions mid-way through the ride. Instead, they choose to focus on the glory. They are clueless, we think as we gaze back at them, fatigued from from waiting our turn.
Joe and I are still waiting our turn (as of 10:14am on May 17). It's never going to come, I think on a daily basis. The last time anything happened to my body that was somewhat significant was 3 weeks ago. My body really started to shift around 36 weeks and there's been nothing new to report since 37 weeks. (I could get graphic here, but instead I will restrain.) The most I will declare on the internet is that, as of last Friday, I am 1cm dilated and 70% effaced...as I have been since week 37. Every visit since then, the midwife has examined me, only to report that nothing's changed since last week. This Friday, I am going in for a non-stress test. They will monitor the baby's heart rate, etc. and we will discuss the option of inducing me. I will be 40 weeks, 6 days at this point. Joe is taking the afternoon off to come with me to this appointment because I simply can't make any decisions without him by my side.
Below is a picture of me on my due date, May 14th. It came and went. The next day came and went. So did the next. It's just past 10:30 this morning and the day is young and I am feeling optimistic about today...so far.
Baby Lindquist's nursery...finally finished!
Spring has come! And with it are new pansies I planted to welcome our baby. You can see the peony plant Joe gave me for my first Mother's Day too. We still have yet to plant him.
If we strain ahead to the beginning of the line, we can see people (all of whom have been in our situation at one point or another) getting on the ride after their long wait. We can see people currently on the ride- the wind whipping their face as their bodies try to anticipate and navigate the dangerous curves ahead. Some look terrified and others look exhilarated. Some have peed their pants and others fully submit themselves to the thrilling joy of uncertainty, their hands waving over their head.
If we look to the end of the line, we see people eagerly adding the the back of it. They must be attracted to the excitement of the ride, the fact that many have gone before them and even stepped off the ride to tell about it, albeit their hands are shaking and their knees wobbly, their faces shine. They try to put to the back of their minds the horror stories of getting sick or the unnerving sense of loosing control of bodily functions mid-way through the ride. Instead, they choose to focus on the glory. They are clueless, we think as we gaze back at them, fatigued from from waiting our turn.
Joe and I are still waiting our turn (as of 10:14am on May 17). It's never going to come, I think on a daily basis. The last time anything happened to my body that was somewhat significant was 3 weeks ago. My body really started to shift around 36 weeks and there's been nothing new to report since 37 weeks. (I could get graphic here, but instead I will restrain.) The most I will declare on the internet is that, as of last Friday, I am 1cm dilated and 70% effaced...as I have been since week 37. Every visit since then, the midwife has examined me, only to report that nothing's changed since last week. This Friday, I am going in for a non-stress test. They will monitor the baby's heart rate, etc. and we will discuss the option of inducing me. I will be 40 weeks, 6 days at this point. Joe is taking the afternoon off to come with me to this appointment because I simply can't make any decisions without him by my side.
Below is a picture of me on my due date, May 14th. It came and went. The next day came and went. So did the next. It's just past 10:30 this morning and the day is young and I am feeling optimistic about today...so far.
Baby Lindquist's nursery...finally finished!
Spring has come! And with it are new pansies I planted to welcome our baby. You can see the peony plant Joe gave me for my first Mother's Day too. We still have yet to plant him.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
36 weeks...the final stretch
Yet again it has been almost an entire month since I've blogged. There are many days when I feel as though I should blog, but I don't. I tend to be a perfectionist when I blog- I try to find something truly blog-worthy to blog about, but many days I just don't find anything worth mentioning. (At least online.) Which is odd. Because, personally, I find the everyday happenings of people's lives so fascinating. I feel like my friend Hannah and I have practically founded our friendship (the past 11 of our 15 year friendship being long distance) on this concept: that the humdrum everyday comings in and goings out of the average person could be found interesting, if not many times quite amusing. So, without further ado, my little bloggies, here's what I've been up to lately:
Class ended on March 16th after I finished my final for A & P, collected my "good enough" B, and high-tailed it out of the classroom to spend the next 2 months preparing for the arrival of our child. (I left my precious purple water bottle in the lab; I still mourn its absence.) We've had the pleasure of being blessed by 3 showers in our baby's honor since the end of March. We are diligently chipping away at the list of things that need to be done to prepare for baby. This includes deciding what "need" means and what I just "want" to be done. I have this fear, as I assume all first time moms do, that we just won't be prepared well enough for our baby's arrival. I have an arsenal of diapers, thanks to my mother-in-law Kathy's friend Carla Hansen. I have 2 dozen (for starters) cloth diapers. I have many, many onesies. My mom actually took the time to drive up from Oregon on Sunday, ostensibly to finalize the choices in fabrics for the quilt, curtains, and dust ruffle for the crib.
My mom hurt her shoulder about a month ago and, although she wanted to make the aforementioned items for her grandbaby's room herself, she is unable to do so due to her injury. She is in the process of finding a quilter to complete this mission (ideally) before baby arrives.
Honestly, without the help of our parents and people's generous gifts to us, I don't know how we would've paid for everything our baby needs. I haven't worked (please do not get me started on this sour topic) since the end of December. Money is very tight for us. Our Nikon camera was partially run over by Joe's Taurus about a year ago, and although it still took decent pics, it bit the dust last Christmas. We've been relying on our phone cameras every since then to document our lives. (I must say, for only being phone cameras, they do a pretty decent job.) However, I do not want to be satisfied with taking pictures of our newborn with a phone camera. I really wanted a nice camera. Although my in-laws were generous enough to give me a point and shoot Canon for Christmas, I really wanted something a step or two (or four) above the digital cameras I've had in the past. So, we used much of our emergency funds to purchase our Canon 40D from ebay...plus we put the point and shoot Canon up for auction on ebay to be able to afford the purchase of a lens. And as of a couple minutes ago- I just checked it- it's had zero bids...come on now! The purchase of the 40D is worth it because we'll never get back those moments with our baby. However, this also means we are less than 4 weeks away from our baby's arrival with barely enough of what it takes to pay our bills each month. But God's been good to us. Every month, we are watching closely to what we are spending and our bills are within Joe's salary...by the grace of God. In January, we decided to finally get our butts in gear and pay off our credit card debt before May. He made sure we were able to set aside substantial chunks each month to lower our debt and that our tax refund was large enough to finally PAY IT OFF. That's right. We are credit card debt free, folks, as of March. All because of His wisdom and not ours. Every month, we must decide how we are to spend our money for that month. And every month, somehow, we make it.
As you can infer by now, I find myself often worrying about things concerning this baby. I don't really worry all that much about what it's going to take to actually bear a child and raise him/her. Is that weird? I sometimes ponder. But, I assure myself, things that are required to raise a child are all I know how to worry about right now. I am strangely not fearing child labor or all the sleepless nights when I am up with a baby that just won't go to sleep.
Until then, we'll just have to baby our other babies, our furry ones we mean. Below is a shot of Millie after we subjected her royal highness to a bath. Although she temporarily submits to us in the bath, afterwards she is back to her old (usually) pissy self. Mad as a hornet but shivering, she sought out warmth on Joe's lap. He wasn't even allowed to pet her she was so mad. Just provide warmth.
The next several are from our recent trip to Fargo and Minneapolis.
(JL Beers, Fargo. Many wonderful beers on taps. Yours truly had to abstain and settle for a cherry Coke.)
(Downtown Fargo. It's really cute. At least to me.)
(We got to spend the entire afternoon with my father-in-law, who was only to happy to take us for a spin around town. Along with JL Beers, we went to The Plains Art Museum, where we had our Fargo wedding reception in 2007. The current exhibit was of artist's interpretations of songs from the White Album.)
(At the Plains. A nod to the song from the play, Damn Yankees, which Joe was in the summer after he graduated high school.)
(The bell tower at Concordia College, Moorhead, MN, Joe's alma mater. One New Year's Eve, we counted down to midnight underneath it and then kissed at the stroke of 12. Rumor has it that if you walk under the bell tower with your significant other, you'll get married. Must be true. We did.)
(Concordia's Old Main. PLU has an Old Main too. 34 weeks.)
(Soli Deo Gloria means to God alone be the glory. How fitting.)
(The story behind this poster is kind of funny. We kept seeing people around Concordia with no shoes on, just walking around barefoot. We thought that they were doing so because the temperature had gone slightly above 45 degrees and, hey, in MN, that's a heatwave after nearly 6 months of snowfall. We finally asked a couple of students and they said that they were not wearing shoes to recognize the many, many people around the world who do not have any shoes and are in need. This event was sponsored by the art club- which hosted foot painting- and by Toms shoes. Ah, you gotta love the altruism of liberal arts.)
(Storytime at the Wild Rumpus Bookstore, Minneapolis, this crazy little neighborhood bookstore in the same area as my in-laws' condo. I could have spent all day there.)
(They even have chickens there. They also have resident kitties, but they all went into hiding when they saw about 3 dozen kids stampeding in the door for storytime.)
Sunday, March 27, 2011
These times, they are a-changing
Holy Moses, it's been about 5 weeks since I last blogged. And due to the fact that my phone is apparently inept at downloading photos onto my blog, this post will be pictureless. Visit my facebook page to see how big I am and other things in our life I've chosen to document via camera.
Since I last blogged, I have turned 29, endured finals week, passed A & P with the B I need to continue to advance in applying to nursing schools, gone to baby shower number 1, had two midwife appointments, gone to the library for the first time in forever to get some more biographies to read, and contemplated that I will ACTUALLY BE A MOM in a matter of weeks. Joe and I are flying to Minneapolis next Sunday to visit Joe's family for a few days during spring break. In the time that we are there, we'll be attending TWO baby showers. It is so flattering and humbling to have family or friends-actually, anyone- make a big deal out of our baby that is on the way.
In terms of the pregnancy, the third trimester hit with a vengeance. In retrospect, week 29 (the beginning of the third trimester) was only about 3 weeks away from finals week. And for the last 3 weeks of the quarter (weeks 29-31), the closer it got to my final on March 16th, the more wracked with pain my body was, and the more I slept when I should've been studying, and the more foggy my thoughts became. During finals week, the baby was resting on the round ligament (posterior to my belly button) and it HURT. I could barely walk, think, and anything that brushed against my abdomen hurt terribly. I tend to approach pain as a mind over matter opportunity and avoid taking pills, but this proved to be too much. If had vicodin or morphine on hand, I would've taken it, but all we had was measly old Tylenol (which actually did the trick). I've never been so unmotivated to study in my life. I can usually kick my own butt into studying when I need to, but the weeks prior to the final were the worst. I can't even believe I pulled off a B. More than one of my classmates commented on how impressed they were that I was studying A & P considering how pregnant I was. One of my classmates was about 6 weeks ahead of me with her pregnancy and, by the end of the quarter, all of us were crossing our fingers and hoping that she wouldn't go into labor before the final. Each week, the baby dropped a little more, and she had MY respect taking her finals at 38 weeks. I learned my blood pressure zoomed up about 30 points when I went to my midwife appointment on March 2nd, but my March 24th appointment showed that it went back down to 104/68-pretty normal for me. The day after I woke up after my final, my body had completely relaxed. The baby even got off my ligament. I could finally exhale and orient my life in anticipation of my baby. People have asked me since the first trimester if we have the baby's room all set up. Does money grow on trees? Maybe for some it does, but not for us. It surprised me that people were
earnestly asking that (if we'd gotten the baby's room all done, not if money grew on trees for us). This past weekend, we were blessed by our shower gifts. One gift from my parents was a newly refurbished changing table. Once upon a time, it served as the changing table for my siblings and me, and had been sitting in my parents' garage for almost 30 years gathering cobwebs and dust until my dad rescued it, fixed it up, and gave it to us. Our crib is a mahogany tone and so he stained it a similar shade (which turned out a mite darker than the crib), and installed brushed nickel drawer handles. I kid you not, it looks beautiful. I swear it even smells new and I would've thought it was ordered from a Pottery Barn catalog. So now we have TWO pieces of furniture in baby's room. We hope to get a rocking chair, an area rug, and some storage pieces too.
Welcoming a new family member- whether it be through preparing their room, praying for them with Joe, or imaging holding them in my arms- is a strange experience. Especially if we've never met this little person. All we know is that they will arrive sometime around May 14th, will be helpless and vulnerable, and I am hoping that that they'll have curly hair just like their dad's. My mother in law asks about every few weeks whether I think it's going to be a boy or a girl. I have to admit, I have my fleeting thoughts about that subject. One week I think it's going to be a girl and another week it's going to be a boy. But honestly, the answer to this question, just like the answer to most of the questions I am asked, is a resounding "I don't know!" or "We'll see!" I know people want to display an interest in this new adventure in our life together, and I've resigned myself to the fact that I answer the same questions over and over again. And that many of these questions are decidedly of a personal nature.
Inquirer: "Are you going to find out the sex?"
Me: "No, we want it to be a surprise."
Inquirer: "What?!! Well, I couldn't wait to find out. I'm much too type A for it to be a surprise."
Me: "Well, that's nice." (Our society has only been able to find out what sex the baby is prior to birth for about the last generation. And now, because we can find out, we absolutely HAVE to know. What did type A people do before this kind of technology? They had to wait, just like people have for millions of years.)
Inquirer: (incredulous) "How are you going to support yourselves once the baby comes?"
Me: "Well, we're going to do what we have to. Joe will continue to work full-time teaching and I'll have to work a double shift on the weekend sometimes so we can make ends meet." (Do we appear destitute to people? People have made do with babies with alot less than what we have.)
Inquirer: (looking at my food the waiter just served me) "Wow, you gonna finish all that? Pregnant women sure do eat alot."
Me: (embarrassed) "Um, yes. I was thinking about it." (Contrary to popular belief, pregnant women get hungry just like the rest of the population. When you spent vast quantities of energy GROWING ANOTHER HUMAN BEING with a metabolism of their own, you will get very hungry...guaranteed.)
Inquirer: (doing a once over on me) "So how far along are you?"
Me: "I am ________ weeks along."
Inquirer: "I don't know, you still could pass for being chubby rather than pregnant."
Me: (stammering) "Well...I think because it's winter and I am wearing a couple of layers, it makes me look a little thicker around the middle." (ARE YOU SERIOUS? Being told she could pass for chubby instead of pregnant probably goes on the top ten list of things you never say to a pregnant lady.)
So you get the picture. Why is it that once you become pregnant, your life is an open book to people to critique, offer unsolicited advice, and to ask (sometimes) bonehead questions? I never knew what to ask pregnant women before I got pregnant. Looking back, I really hope I never asked these types of questions. One thing I have had good fortune in is miscellaneous people rubbing my belly. So far, it's only been people (family or friends) that have touched my protruding belly without asking. (It's like pregnant women just BELONG to everyone else.)
Since I last blogged, I have turned 29, endured finals week, passed A & P with the B I need to continue to advance in applying to nursing schools, gone to baby shower number 1, had two midwife appointments, gone to the library for the first time in forever to get some more biographies to read, and contemplated that I will ACTUALLY BE A MOM in a matter of weeks. Joe and I are flying to Minneapolis next Sunday to visit Joe's family for a few days during spring break. In the time that we are there, we'll be attending TWO baby showers. It is so flattering and humbling to have family or friends-actually, anyone- make a big deal out of our baby that is on the way.
In terms of the pregnancy, the third trimester hit with a vengeance. In retrospect, week 29 (the beginning of the third trimester) was only about 3 weeks away from finals week. And for the last 3 weeks of the quarter (weeks 29-31), the closer it got to my final on March 16th, the more wracked with pain my body was, and the more I slept when I should've been studying, and the more foggy my thoughts became. During finals week, the baby was resting on the round ligament (posterior to my belly button) and it HURT. I could barely walk, think, and anything that brushed against my abdomen hurt terribly. I tend to approach pain as a mind over matter opportunity and avoid taking pills, but this proved to be too much. If had vicodin or morphine on hand, I would've taken it, but all we had was measly old Tylenol (which actually did the trick). I've never been so unmotivated to study in my life. I can usually kick my own butt into studying when I need to, but the weeks prior to the final were the worst. I can't even believe I pulled off a B. More than one of my classmates commented on how impressed they were that I was studying A & P considering how pregnant I was. One of my classmates was about 6 weeks ahead of me with her pregnancy and, by the end of the quarter, all of us were crossing our fingers and hoping that she wouldn't go into labor before the final. Each week, the baby dropped a little more, and she had MY respect taking her finals at 38 weeks. I learned my blood pressure zoomed up about 30 points when I went to my midwife appointment on March 2nd, but my March 24th appointment showed that it went back down to 104/68-pretty normal for me. The day after I woke up after my final, my body had completely relaxed. The baby even got off my ligament. I could finally exhale and orient my life in anticipation of my baby. People have asked me since the first trimester if we have the baby's room all set up. Does money grow on trees? Maybe for some it does, but not for us. It surprised me that people were
earnestly asking that (if we'd gotten the baby's room all done, not if money grew on trees for us). This past weekend, we were blessed by our shower gifts. One gift from my parents was a newly refurbished changing table. Once upon a time, it served as the changing table for my siblings and me, and had been sitting in my parents' garage for almost 30 years gathering cobwebs and dust until my dad rescued it, fixed it up, and gave it to us. Our crib is a mahogany tone and so he stained it a similar shade (which turned out a mite darker than the crib), and installed brushed nickel drawer handles. I kid you not, it looks beautiful. I swear it even smells new and I would've thought it was ordered from a Pottery Barn catalog. So now we have TWO pieces of furniture in baby's room. We hope to get a rocking chair, an area rug, and some storage pieces too.
Welcoming a new family member- whether it be through preparing their room, praying for them with Joe, or imaging holding them in my arms- is a strange experience. Especially if we've never met this little person. All we know is that they will arrive sometime around May 14th, will be helpless and vulnerable, and I am hoping that that they'll have curly hair just like their dad's. My mother in law asks about every few weeks whether I think it's going to be a boy or a girl. I have to admit, I have my fleeting thoughts about that subject. One week I think it's going to be a girl and another week it's going to be a boy. But honestly, the answer to this question, just like the answer to most of the questions I am asked, is a resounding "I don't know!" or "We'll see!" I know people want to display an interest in this new adventure in our life together, and I've resigned myself to the fact that I answer the same questions over and over again. And that many of these questions are decidedly of a personal nature.
Inquirer: "Are you going to find out the sex?"
Me: "No, we want it to be a surprise."
Inquirer: "What?!! Well, I couldn't wait to find out. I'm much too type A for it to be a surprise."
Me: "Well, that's nice." (Our society has only been able to find out what sex the baby is prior to birth for about the last generation. And now, because we can find out, we absolutely HAVE to know. What did type A people do before this kind of technology? They had to wait, just like people have for millions of years.)
Inquirer: (incredulous) "How are you going to support yourselves once the baby comes?"
Me: "Well, we're going to do what we have to. Joe will continue to work full-time teaching and I'll have to work a double shift on the weekend sometimes so we can make ends meet." (Do we appear destitute to people? People have made do with babies with alot less than what we have.)
Inquirer: (looking at my food the waiter just served me) "Wow, you gonna finish all that? Pregnant women sure do eat alot."
Me: (embarrassed) "Um, yes. I was thinking about it." (Contrary to popular belief, pregnant women get hungry just like the rest of the population. When you spent vast quantities of energy GROWING ANOTHER HUMAN BEING with a metabolism of their own, you will get very hungry...guaranteed.)
Inquirer: (doing a once over on me) "So how far along are you?"
Me: "I am ________ weeks along."
Inquirer: "I don't know, you still could pass for being chubby rather than pregnant."
Me: (stammering) "Well...I think because it's winter and I am wearing a couple of layers, it makes me look a little thicker around the middle." (ARE YOU SERIOUS? Being told she could pass for chubby instead of pregnant probably goes on the top ten list of things you never say to a pregnant lady.)
So you get the picture. Why is it that once you become pregnant, your life is an open book to people to critique, offer unsolicited advice, and to ask (sometimes) bonehead questions? I never knew what to ask pregnant women before I got pregnant. Looking back, I really hope I never asked these types of questions. One thing I have had good fortune in is miscellaneous people rubbing my belly. So far, it's only been people (family or friends) that have touched my protruding belly without asking. (It's like pregnant women just BELONG to everyone else.)
Monday, February 14, 2011
In the spirit of Valentine's Day...
I thought I would pause for a minute to mention how grateful I am for Joe's presence in my life. I love him so much more than I did when we were dating, engaged, or when we were first married. He has earned my whole-hearted respect (something that he says I don't give away very easily to people).
When I was 20, I didn't picture getting married until I was at least 30. Truly. Girls I knew all around me were all abuzz in talking about getting married, dating, having boyfriends, having babies, etc. Looking back, I think I was too scared to entertain those notions with them as I considered it a pipedream and something too lofty for someone like me to think about. I met my husband Joe a few months after I graduated college and, as they say, the rest is history. (Join me for a cup of coffee sometime and I'll tell you our story.) I believe security and trust within a relationship means something very different for a woman that it does for a man. Joe has wondered over the 6 1/2 years we've been together why it is so hard to get through to me and to communicate with me. And I've had a hard time explaining WHY the trust and security he provides for me is so important and why it is so devastating when it is eroded somehow. I really do marvel at the hand of God in our relationship and there were so many times when I have no human explanation but that He carried through those difficult times. He still does, everyday. Some unmarried people I talk to about our marriage wonder about all those milestones that are earmarked throughout the course of a relationship. (The cursory list being the initial attraction, dating, engagement, marriage, and babies...but not always in that order for all couples.) For me it is hard to clearly define those aha! moments or when we clearly defined one chapter from another. My life's path met up with my husband's almost 7 years ago now, and we fell in love, decided to get married along the way, and now have a baby. I don't feel like I've achieved the holy grail of marriage and being pregnant, mainly because I didn't idolize them growing up and before I met my husband. If it happened, great. If it didn't happen, great. (Not that I never had my cynical days of singlehood.)
Please don't misunderstand me. I really do LOVE my husband for dismantling my preconceived ideas about what my life what to be like in my 20's. I believe God gives us who and what we need when He deems most fit. And as I learn more about my husband, I realize God's worked through him to provide me with what I need when I've needed it. (And my prayer is that He'll use me to do the same for Joe.) I tell people who I know long to be married that marriage is not "when your life begins" or a feather in your cap. It's the most selfless commitment I've ever been apart of (we'll see bout parenting- ha!) Nowadays, my husband displays his selflessness by getting up and going to work 5 days a week and spending much time on the weekend planning for his classes (ah, the life of a music teacher). He is tired much of the time and worn out from winter blues. He's had to take on a few more private lessons due to the fact that I am not working right now. He's done a magnificent job with the time, energy, and resources he has and for that I am proud. I love my husband Joe very much and I am proud to be his wife. In my Valentine's card I wrote to him, I indicated that he's the one who has taught me to be a wife, more than my own revelations have.
Happy Valentine's Day, sweetie.
When I was 20, I didn't picture getting married until I was at least 30. Truly. Girls I knew all around me were all abuzz in talking about getting married, dating, having boyfriends, having babies, etc. Looking back, I think I was too scared to entertain those notions with them as I considered it a pipedream and something too lofty for someone like me to think about. I met my husband Joe a few months after I graduated college and, as they say, the rest is history. (Join me for a cup of coffee sometime and I'll tell you our story.) I believe security and trust within a relationship means something very different for a woman that it does for a man. Joe has wondered over the 6 1/2 years we've been together why it is so hard to get through to me and to communicate with me. And I've had a hard time explaining WHY the trust and security he provides for me is so important and why it is so devastating when it is eroded somehow. I really do marvel at the hand of God in our relationship and there were so many times when I have no human explanation but that He carried through those difficult times. He still does, everyday. Some unmarried people I talk to about our marriage wonder about all those milestones that are earmarked throughout the course of a relationship. (The cursory list being the initial attraction, dating, engagement, marriage, and babies...but not always in that order for all couples.) For me it is hard to clearly define those aha! moments or when we clearly defined one chapter from another. My life's path met up with my husband's almost 7 years ago now, and we fell in love, decided to get married along the way, and now have a baby. I don't feel like I've achieved the holy grail of marriage and being pregnant, mainly because I didn't idolize them growing up and before I met my husband. If it happened, great. If it didn't happen, great. (Not that I never had my cynical days of singlehood.)
Please don't misunderstand me. I really do LOVE my husband for dismantling my preconceived ideas about what my life what to be like in my 20's. I believe God gives us who and what we need when He deems most fit. And as I learn more about my husband, I realize God's worked through him to provide me with what I need when I've needed it. (And my prayer is that He'll use me to do the same for Joe.) I tell people who I know long to be married that marriage is not "when your life begins" or a feather in your cap. It's the most selfless commitment I've ever been apart of (we'll see bout parenting- ha!) Nowadays, my husband displays his selflessness by getting up and going to work 5 days a week and spending much time on the weekend planning for his classes (ah, the life of a music teacher). He is tired much of the time and worn out from winter blues. He's had to take on a few more private lessons due to the fact that I am not working right now. He's done a magnificent job with the time, energy, and resources he has and for that I am proud. I love my husband Joe very much and I am proud to be his wife. In my Valentine's card I wrote to him, I indicated that he's the one who has taught me to be a wife, more than my own revelations have.
Happy Valentine's Day, sweetie.
27 weeks
I find that when I talk to people about my pregnancy, they always ask how far along I am. I tell them in weeks how far along I am. If they have had a baby, they will nod understandingly and I can see in their eyes how they flashback to when they were at the same point in their (or their wife's) pregnancy. If they have never been pregnant or had a baby, they tend to only know how to contemplate a pregnancy in terms of months. I have learned my baby grows about 1/2 an inch a week! That is why each is celebrated and why I don't seem to post about anything else on my blog or facebook page. Each DAY is a milemarker. If our baby were to be delivered now, he/she would have a 90% chance of surviving, but would have to stay in NICU for a bit because they wouldn't have enough fat on their body to keep warm and their lungs would be underdeveloped (among other things, I'm sure). This is why I am grateful for everyday that I am able to carry our child to term (knock on wood). At the beginning of my pregnancy, I would honestly forget some days that I was carrying a growing life inside of me (I was barely showing and felt no movement). Now, as I enjoy this last week before entering the 3rd trimester (!), I am able to rest my hands on top of my belly and I frequently have to focus harder in class and lab because our little buddy is turning sommersaults. The next few photos are some of my favorites we have taken of my weekly growth. Joe made me laugh, and as silly as I think I look when laughing, I have to smile when looking at these.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
26 week ultasound
Yesterday I went in for my last ultrasound. When they did my sonogram at 18 weeks, the ultrasound tech was unable to get good views at the low lumbar area of the spine and an anterior view of the face to discern if baby has cleft palette. Once again, we saw the beating heart, and this time, the ultrasound tech said it was a perfect study of a fetal heart. Beating 147 BPM, it was very strong. She zoomed in on the heart and I could see all 4 chambers: right and left atriums and right and left ventricles, complete with the tricuspid and bicuspid valves allowing blood to pump through them between the atriums and ventricles. On my last test for A & P, I had to describe in an essay the heart cycle, complete with knowledge of anatomy of the heart. It was so neat to have my hard work gratified when I saw our baby's heart beating in real time.
This one is the classic ultrasound profile of baby's head.
Save the best for last. This one is a 3/4 perspective of the face, so baby is not quite looking straight at you. In real time, we could see baby stick out its tongue of the mouth a few times. You can see the thoracic area of the spine and the two clavicles. I think baby has daddy's long nose. :)
This one is the classic ultrasound profile of baby's head.
Save the best for last. This one is a 3/4 perspective of the face, so baby is not quite looking straight at you. In real time, we could see baby stick out its tongue of the mouth a few times. You can see the thoracic area of the spine and the two clavicles. I think baby has daddy's long nose. :)
Friday, February 4, 2011
Thursday, February 3, 2011
25 weeks & nesting
So today is February 3rd: my mother-in-law's _th birthday, the day after Groundhog's Day, and the sixth week in a row I have not worked. We called my mother-in-law, Kathy, to wish her well on her birthday, and it looks like Punxsutawney Phil is forecasting an early spring. But the forecast on my work doesn't look good. It took me the better part of January to communicate with my employer, ManorCare (the geriatric facility where I've worked for 2 years as a CNA), about my new work restrictions due to my pregnancy. Technically, I could still do my job as a CNA...only with alot more risk involved. I was given a list of work guidelines from my midwife in regards to bending/stooping and lifting and, according to strict interpretation of these guidelines and what my job requires of me on a daily basis, I am alot more limited in what I can do after 20 weeks- which I reached on Dec. 20th. My midwife and I wrote a letter together to my employer informing them of my new restrictions after 20 weeks. According to my midwife, many women she provides prenatal care for follow the work guideline sheet (the same one I was given) much more loosely, in the interest that they will be able to earn a paycheck longer until maternity leave. The management at ManorCare has really dragged their feet in communicating to me, sending me to talk to this person and that until I finally connected (after leaving a couple of voice messages) with the right people. I am technically an on-call aid, meaning I let ManorCare know my availability and they call me (even when I am not available) to ask me if I can work. Since I went on-call last July while continuing to go to school part time, it's worked out to be about 3 shifts a week. Now that I have more restrictions due to my pregnancy, they haven't called me once in the past several weeks. "We'd prefer a CNA who can do all the regular requirements of the job", they tell me. I'm still available to do light duty, clerical work, or escorts with patients to doctor appts! There's no reason I shouldn't be called! Things tend to wax and wane economically for ManorCare too, it seems. They can only justify a light duty aid or help with clerical work sometimes, and, unfortunately for me, this season looks like it's one of them.
So this means between studying A & P, running errands, cleaning house, exercising at the Y, and intermittent coffee dates with friends, I have been spending plenty of quality time with me, myself, and I for the past several weeks. My days are largely unstructured. I have class Monday and Wednesday nights and make sure I stay on top of my schoolwork (but sometimes I have to muster the discipline to memorize every vein and artery in the body). Joe is teaching school or lessons after school 5 days a week and doesn't get home until about 5:30 each night. On the nights I don't have class, I don't want to study; I want to spend time with my husband because I've been so lonely during the day. At first, it was nice to be able to get more than enough sleep and have ample time to exercise and study. Now, I feel that I need an outside force to implement discipline and structure in my daily life so I actually feel like I am doing something worthwhile each day. It's completely up to me to structure my days. At first, I enjoyed this new challenge. Now, it's driving me crazy at times!
My house has never be cleaner. The laundry has never been finished as quickly on Fridays. And I have definitely started nesting. I have turned our home into Operation Welcome Baby Lindquist. I have gutted the closets in our home and purged them of all superfluous paraphernalia to make room for the onslaught of baby goods I hear new mothers receive as gifts from showers and bring home from repeated pilgrimages to Target and Babies R Us. (I even organized my linen closet within an inch of its life.) We received the crib via UPS from my generous mother-in-law about 2 weeks ago, but due to a manufacturing error, we were unable to complete the task of assembling it. We sold our queen-sized guest bed on craigslist. I am even doing those acrimonious tasks we all avoid, like deleting old emails from my inbox (about 500 in all). I organized several hundred of my photos, many of which date back to high school and early college, into photo albums at night while I watched TV.
Sometimes, on Sunday nights, I get especially sad Joe has to head back to work the next day. Last week I was close to tears because I didn't want to face another week of loneliness. When he comes home, I am so happy that I don't have to be alone anymore that day that I don't always make time to study, even though I really should.
Speaking of A & P, I am one of two pregnant women in my class. Our instructor, Mel, likes to make examples of us from time to time. (Studying embryology at the end of the quarter should be interesting.) Like how we should avoid sleeping on our back because the baby will be pressing against the vena cava, the vein that sends blood to the heart. Depending on how big baby is and how long baby is resting on the vein, the blood flow could be impeded. So it is in the best interest of mom to sleep on her side. The other expectant mom in my class is due at the end of March, two weeks after our final, and I am crossing my fingers she makes it until then without going into labor. My lab partner Trish says she is living vicariously through me because she is not a mom and continually peppers me with questions. Although it's just daily life to me, everything from my growing belly to how I'm feeling during my pregnancy is fascinating to her.
So this means between studying A & P, running errands, cleaning house, exercising at the Y, and intermittent coffee dates with friends, I have been spending plenty of quality time with me, myself, and I for the past several weeks. My days are largely unstructured. I have class Monday and Wednesday nights and make sure I stay on top of my schoolwork (but sometimes I have to muster the discipline to memorize every vein and artery in the body). Joe is teaching school or lessons after school 5 days a week and doesn't get home until about 5:30 each night. On the nights I don't have class, I don't want to study; I want to spend time with my husband because I've been so lonely during the day. At first, it was nice to be able to get more than enough sleep and have ample time to exercise and study. Now, I feel that I need an outside force to implement discipline and structure in my daily life so I actually feel like I am doing something worthwhile each day. It's completely up to me to structure my days. At first, I enjoyed this new challenge. Now, it's driving me crazy at times!
My house has never be cleaner. The laundry has never been finished as quickly on Fridays. And I have definitely started nesting. I have turned our home into Operation Welcome Baby Lindquist. I have gutted the closets in our home and purged them of all superfluous paraphernalia to make room for the onslaught of baby goods I hear new mothers receive as gifts from showers and bring home from repeated pilgrimages to Target and Babies R Us. (I even organized my linen closet within an inch of its life.) We received the crib via UPS from my generous mother-in-law about 2 weeks ago, but due to a manufacturing error, we were unable to complete the task of assembling it. We sold our queen-sized guest bed on craigslist. I am even doing those acrimonious tasks we all avoid, like deleting old emails from my inbox (about 500 in all). I organized several hundred of my photos, many of which date back to high school and early college, into photo albums at night while I watched TV.
Sometimes, on Sunday nights, I get especially sad Joe has to head back to work the next day. Last week I was close to tears because I didn't want to face another week of loneliness. When he comes home, I am so happy that I don't have to be alone anymore that day that I don't always make time to study, even though I really should.
Speaking of A & P, I am one of two pregnant women in my class. Our instructor, Mel, likes to make examples of us from time to time. (Studying embryology at the end of the quarter should be interesting.) Like how we should avoid sleeping on our back because the baby will be pressing against the vena cava, the vein that sends blood to the heart. Depending on how big baby is and how long baby is resting on the vein, the blood flow could be impeded. So it is in the best interest of mom to sleep on her side. The other expectant mom in my class is due at the end of March, two weeks after our final, and I am crossing my fingers she makes it until then without going into labor. My lab partner Trish says she is living vicariously through me because she is not a mom and continually peppers me with questions. Although it's just daily life to me, everything from my growing belly to how I'm feeling during my pregnancy is fascinating to her.
Friday, January 21, 2011
23 weeks
As I write this, I reflect on how I am nearly 24 weeks, and the longer I am pregnant, the more the weeks tend to blur together. Hence, my blogging every 7-10 days has waned and when people ask me "how are you feeling?" I tend to come up with a pat answer of, "I'm feeling fine, thanks."
Which, all things considered, is the truth; it really is. Baby is kicking so often these days that I can hardly sleep at night and it is often distracting while I try to pay attention to lecture or study A & P. I wish I could honestly say that, oh, I just LOVE when baby kicks, but I really find it annoying at times. (I feel guilty even saying that at times.) It's hard getting used to a little somebody inside of me moving around! I was told long before I even was married or pregnant that when babies move in utero, it feels like butterfly wings. I have nothing to compare this pregnancy to, but I certainly do feel like this little one is assertive. Right now baby is sleeping, but- knock on wood- things could change by the end of this blog post.
I continue to have changes in my tastes for food. I'll make the same recipes I enjoyed or a recipe I know I would've enjoyed if I wasn't pregnant, and I just won't taste the same. For example, last night I made a huge recipe of chicken enchiladas- about 24 of them in all...for 2 people. (Sometimes, I get a little gung ho when meal-planning because I try to stretch out the recipes I make as long as possible.) Not only was it a little too spicy (and our spice tolerance is pretty high for white people), it JUST DIDN'T TASTE RIGHT. On Sunday nights when I was in college, PLU's cafeteria would make THE SAME THING. EVERY. SINGLE. SUNDAY NIGHT. Classic Sunday night dinner, they called it: rolls, pork tenderloin, some green vegetable blah blah blah. Gross. No wonder I gained all that weight eating ice cream for dinner. I remember not wanting to eat what they had in the cafeteria, but still being hungry...only I didn't know for what. It was like my senses were so dulled by mediocre food, I didn't know what I wanted to eat. Now my sense of taste has been dulled by pregnancy hormones so that I can't even cook as well as I used to or really want to eat what I cooked. All I know is I wish I would stop craving ice cream. I find myself apologizing to my husband for spending our grocery budget making meals I am really not looking forward to eating. He is a trooper, but I don't know if he can choke down all those spicy enchiladas.
Not only is my husband a champ when it comes eating my poorly prepared meals, he is trying to bear with me as I wrestle my way into a comfortable sleeping position each night. I first realized at about 10 or 11 weeks with all the funny feelings I was having that I couldn't sleep on my tummy (as often) as I used to. Now I really can't sleep on my tummy like I was accustomed to because I am just too big and baby moves too much anyway. According to Joe, I am a "furnace". It's January, and we typically have our down comforter on and the heat turned up. Now, I am not only thrashing around because I can't get comfortable, I also am too hot. I need the heater turned down and forget the down comforter!
(I suppose the next logical thing would be to talk about my raging hormones, but I won't subject you to that. Heaven only knows how Joe has had to lovingly endure this part of pregnancy.)
Which, all things considered, is the truth; it really is. Baby is kicking so often these days that I can hardly sleep at night and it is often distracting while I try to pay attention to lecture or study A & P. I wish I could honestly say that, oh, I just LOVE when baby kicks, but I really find it annoying at times. (I feel guilty even saying that at times.) It's hard getting used to a little somebody inside of me moving around! I was told long before I even was married or pregnant that when babies move in utero, it feels like butterfly wings. I have nothing to compare this pregnancy to, but I certainly do feel like this little one is assertive. Right now baby is sleeping, but- knock on wood- things could change by the end of this blog post.
I continue to have changes in my tastes for food. I'll make the same recipes I enjoyed or a recipe I know I would've enjoyed if I wasn't pregnant, and I just won't taste the same. For example, last night I made a huge recipe of chicken enchiladas- about 24 of them in all...for 2 people. (Sometimes, I get a little gung ho when meal-planning because I try to stretch out the recipes I make as long as possible.) Not only was it a little too spicy (and our spice tolerance is pretty high for white people), it JUST DIDN'T TASTE RIGHT. On Sunday nights when I was in college, PLU's cafeteria would make THE SAME THING. EVERY. SINGLE. SUNDAY NIGHT. Classic Sunday night dinner, they called it: rolls, pork tenderloin, some green vegetable blah blah blah. Gross. No wonder I gained all that weight eating ice cream for dinner. I remember not wanting to eat what they had in the cafeteria, but still being hungry...only I didn't know for what. It was like my senses were so dulled by mediocre food, I didn't know what I wanted to eat. Now my sense of taste has been dulled by pregnancy hormones so that I can't even cook as well as I used to or really want to eat what I cooked. All I know is I wish I would stop craving ice cream. I find myself apologizing to my husband for spending our grocery budget making meals I am really not looking forward to eating. He is a trooper, but I don't know if he can choke down all those spicy enchiladas.
Not only is my husband a champ when it comes eating my poorly prepared meals, he is trying to bear with me as I wrestle my way into a comfortable sleeping position each night. I first realized at about 10 or 11 weeks with all the funny feelings I was having that I couldn't sleep on my tummy (as often) as I used to. Now I really can't sleep on my tummy like I was accustomed to because I am just too big and baby moves too much anyway. According to Joe, I am a "furnace". It's January, and we typically have our down comforter on and the heat turned up. Now, I am not only thrashing around because I can't get comfortable, I also am too hot. I need the heater turned down and forget the down comforter!
(I suppose the next logical thing would be to talk about my raging hormones, but I won't subject you to that. Heaven only knows how Joe has had to lovingly endure this part of pregnancy.)
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Sonogram pics
On December 20th, we went for our sonogram. Where I am receiving my prenatal care is a big HMO and they were running about 1/2 an hour behind. So I was sitting there, waiting for the ultrasound tech to call my name, rocking back and forth because my bladder was near full. The ultrasound tech promised lots of photos to make up for the fact she was so late. I was 19 weeks when this sonogram was done. They were unable to get a good shot of a view of the lower lumbar area and the face which would show whether or not baby has a cleft palate. This means I have to go back when I am about 25 weeks to get another ultrasound. Without further ado, here they are...
Why, hello there. My name is Baby Lindquist and I plan on making my debut around May 14th. In this picture, I am looking straight at you and my hands are touching my cheeks. You can see the ulna and radius in my arms.
You can see the biggest bones in my body, my femurs, in this shot. The first shot I gave everybody was a fairly obvious one if they intended to find out if I was a boy or a girl- my legs were right up over my head. My mom will confess that she tried to look and see which sex I was, but with my lightning-fast moves and her untrained eyes, she wasn't able to tell.
Here is a shot of my 4 chambered heart. My parents could see my heart pulsing at 140 beats per minute.
Here are my cute feet for you to behold.
And just because the ultrasound tech was feeling EXTRA generous, she included another shot of my left foot. You can decide which shot of my foot you like better.
Why, hello there. My name is Baby Lindquist and I plan on making my debut around May 14th. In this picture, I am looking straight at you and my hands are touching my cheeks. You can see the ulna and radius in my arms.
You can see the biggest bones in my body, my femurs, in this shot. The first shot I gave everybody was a fairly obvious one if they intended to find out if I was a boy or a girl- my legs were right up over my head. My mom will confess that she tried to look and see which sex I was, but with my lightning-fast moves and her untrained eyes, she wasn't able to tell.
Here is a shot of my 4 chambered heart. My parents could see my heart pulsing at 140 beats per minute.
Here are my cute feet for you to behold.
And just because the ultrasound tech was feeling EXTRA generous, she included another shot of my left foot. You can decide which shot of my foot you like better.
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