Tag Archives: marriage

Things That Happened When I Got Pregnant

In sort-of chronological order, numbered for my own comfort:

1) I cried. (I was not sad, just a little surprised and overwhelmed. Within one hour of taking the pregnancy test I literally had to walk out of my house and get on a plane for a business trip to effing Las Vegas.)

2) I lost all my mommy-grody-mojo. Remember when I couldn’t handle anything even remotely disgusting? And then I had Boopsie and could handle lots of it? Yeah, that disappeared again. One night she had the stomach flu I couldn’t get within 10 feet of her without retching. It was 3 a.m. and Daddy-o had to do comforting and clean-up while I ran from room to room in our house gagging into the kitchen sink, the upstairs toilet, the downstairs toilet, a trash can, etc. I didn’t even have the flu yet (that came later).

3) On a related note, I started barfing (or at least retching) at the drop of a hat. Generally, I felt better this time around (as compared to Boopsie) but I was barfing a lot more. Go figure. Taking out the diaper pail? Puke. Catching a whiff of a bag of dry cat food? Gag-o-rama. Drink caffeine? Yark-tastic.

4) My dreams got… wow. Intense would be one word. Almost every night I was treated to a feature length movie with plots and subplots. There was the one where Boopsie was 14 and got kidnapped by sweet potato farmers. It was the same way when I was pregnant with Boopsie. Both times, my dreams were my first “tell”… vivid and memorable are both understatements.

5) I was convinced it was a boy and started name-storming. I find boy names much harder than girl names and was stressed about that. I was also worried about getting Boopsie out of the crib, potty trained and off the pacifier in short order.

6) I was sick as a dog, virus-wise. The stomach flu took 4+ days to get over. The doctor said, “You’re pregnant. It takes longer to recover.” Then I got a respiratory flu-like virus. I missed a week of work. I could only take Tylenol and I coughed so much I bruised my ribs, which was intensely painful.

7) I had a miscarriage. (Sorry for the Downton Abbey-like plot twist.) I started spotting and I went to the midwife and he couldn’t find a heartbeat and ultrasounds confirmed the shitty news. After all that barfing and all those dreams and slogging through all that illness and just before the holy grail of the second trimester it was done. Becoming undone. The fetus stopped developing at about 6.5 weeks and I miscarried at home just before 12. And it sucked. It was much more physically draining than I expected, on top of all the other physically draining illnesses that made up January.

In the days surrounding the actual miscarriage I was a hormonal mess. I was insanely nauseated and drained to the point where getting through each day was a physical battle. (Sleep on the floor of an unoccupied office? Why, yes I think I will.) My theory is that my body was finally catching on that things were not going well, and I know (based on multiple blood tests) that my HCG counts were in a total free fall. I had more insane dreams, but they were more ominous than usual. Right after the miscarriage I had one in which I was caring for a bunch of little babies and I was doing a crap job of it. CRAP. There was a little baby boy, and I didn’t know his name. I should have known his name. He was hidden in a crib in a closet, as happy as could be, but when people asked me who he was, I didn’t know. In the dream I was panicked.

I went about my life, letting people know on an as-needed basis and I was shocked at how many women had gone through at least one miscarriage. It’s so common, and yet so few people talk about it. For me, there’s something about it that makes me feel a ever-so-slightly ashamed. Rationally, I know that I couldn’t have done anything differently. And I’m not walking around feeling broken, or scarred, or in emotional pain. I’m living my life as I normally would. But deep in my gut, there’s one tiny, ugly voice that sometimes whispers, “You failed.” And so I tell it to shut the eff up.

This was way back in January. I don’t have any lingering health impacts (and my ribs finally “healed” about six weeks ago). I’m fortunately not overwhelmed by sadness and I thanked my lucky stars every day that I had Boopsie to distract me and Daddy-o to hug me. We haven’t decided what this means for our future family plans, but I do know I need some more time to get my physical act back together and my mental game “on” if we decide to try again. Because if there is another pregnancy, it’s going to be a long 14 weeks of trying to stay calm (while barfing).

Why am I sharing this? Like I said, no one talks about this. I don’t think women should feel like they have to talk about it, but I think they should feel like they can. No shame. No drama. Just be. Godspeed to all you pregnant ladies, and to all the ladies who are mourning/have mourned little ones. Hugs to you.

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Filed under medical, mom guilt

Snuggle Ambush

We took Boops to her first wedding this weekend. One of the funniest things about it was that she kept looking at all the people taking photographs of the happy couple with this look on her face that seemed to say, “Hey! I’m over here! Why are you taking pictures over there?” It was cute… and ever-so-slightly disconcerting.

The wedding was fun, and it was fun to have Boops along for the celebration. It was nice of the couple to invite her, and nice of everyone to help us keep her entertained. The best part for me came a little later. It was about 7:45 p.m. and Boops was beyond tired. We were at a point where we either needed to GO or she needed to fall asleep. Falling asleep when there are other people around and activity happening is not one of Boopsie’s strong suits… hmm.

Daddy-o was deep in conversation with a friend, so I took Boopsie over to watch the “signature” dances. The deejay dimmed the lights to just the disco ball (sweet!) and the bride and groom danced, then the bride and her dad, and then the groom and his mom. The second two songs were “Wildflowers” by Tom Petty (father-bride), and “Forever Young” by Neil Young (mother-groom). I kept making Boopsie lay her head on my chest while we swayed to the music and then she fell asleep… blissfully, sweetly asleep.

I realized (maybe intensified by the sentimental music… I love both of those songs), that I RARELY get to snuggle Boopise anymore. She’s a gal on the move when she’s awake and we generally put her to bed before she’s asleep. So this was a treat. I’m not sure when I’ll get to perform a “snuggle ambush” again, but I’ll be keeping my eyes open for the opportunity.

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Bad Mommy Blogger

I just realized that there are two keys to being a Mommy Blogger. #1 – Be a mommy. #2 – Actually blogging. Whoops. I was visitng another friend’s blog and saw mine her her Blogroll ans realized it’d been two weeks. Oops.

So, without delay, a few observations and one story:

Observation #1: Boopsie has been getting some jarred baby food lately. I keep getting offended because for all my cooking, diligent baby food researching and making, she gets REALLY excited any time a jar of Earth’s Best comes out. I’ve been deducting from the pony fund accordingly.

Observation #2: (Okay several observations): Neighborhood Night Out – We live on the uncool block. All the stay-at home moms know each other and are friendly. Also, apparently green onesie + brown shorts with rainbows on them + bald = Boy Baby. Even when we shared her name, several people still thought Boopsie was a boy (and she has a feminine name). I’m not annoyed, I promise.

Observation #3: Meeting my goals (gaining IABC accreditation, getting in shape, deep cleaning my closets, and eating a better diet) is hard when I’m distracted by Boopsie. I have a bug up my butt to recaulk the bathtub. Don’t know when that will happen… maybe when she goes to kindergarten and/or I stop working?

Observation #4: I’m pretty sure Boopsie and her baby class friends could do better with the national and Minnesota budgets than our lawmakers have been doing. Just sayin’.

And a story….  Daddy-o and I escaped for an out-of-town wedding while my parents (Grammie and Grampie) babysat. It was our first weekend away. We left Friday morning and came home Sunday afternoon and it. was. awesome. There was just one few-hour period where I had to keep myself from calling every five minutes because I missed Boopsie and I blame that on the cute local babies at the wedding. I knew Boopsie was in much more capable hands than mine, so that was good. And we were surrounded by fun friends, so that was also good. We went swimming in Lake Michigan at 2:30 a.m. Yes, we DO still kn0w how to party. What a relief!

 

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Filed under feeding, firsts

Getting Out vs. Coming Home

Baby in purple Bumbo chair looking outsude

I don't think she was waiting with bated breath, or anything

Daddy-o and I hired a babysitter and got out later this afternoon and early evening and it was fan-freaking-tastic. We even managed to talk about something other than Boopsie for a few minutes at a time. (Though we did make a fun trip to Wet Paint in St. Paul, where we purchased some super-non-toxic finger paints for her…)

Anyway, it was fan-damn-tastic to go out and not have to give a large part of our head space to keeping the “monkey” entertained, fed, bathed and generally safe. We got iced tea. We poked around some stores. We had dinner, where I had macaroni and cheese I’ve been thinking about for months. And yes, it was delicious.

But do you know what else was delicious tonight? Coming home. We were back early (by design), and Boopsie had been fed and changed, but was still awake. She was thrilled to see us and we were thrilled to see her. After the sitter left, we spent a little while playing before we got her bundled off to bed. (Boopsie’s new favorite game? Pulling herself up to kneeling and pulling toys out of the open-topped “toy box” in her room. She actually pulls them out and flings them aside. Anyhoo…)

So here’s what I realized about getting out and coming home… the good feelings actually depend on each other. In order to feel good about getting out, we have to be home with Boopsie a lot. And in order to get a rush from seeing her when we return, we have to get the h-e-l-l out. Funny how that works.

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Filed under lessons, relationships

One small victory…

… for mommykind. As someone noted in a comment, there is a “special” dynamic between mommy and her partner that can develop when a baby comes on the scene. As the commenter put it, “I’ve been finding myself wondering (over the last 4 weeks of jr’s existence outside of the womb) how I went from thinking that my husband was a rockstar before baby to now thinking that he’s a lazy empty baby bottlesack of s%*t most days?”

I can’t solve or explain the whole issue, because let’s face it–the tension that develops is about gender, and society, and biology, and new babies that totally f-up (in ways both good and bad) our daily existence. But I can share one small victory: I nominated Daddy-o into the role of “Bottle Captain.” This means HE is in charge of washing bottles and pump parts. HE has to keep an eye on our supply o’bottles and decide when they need to be washed. It’s not a huge job, but it’s ongoing and I’m sure it gets old. (But then again, sometimes being the “Boobie Captain” gets old.)  Anyway, it’s working out well. He owns this task and it’s one thing, no matter how small, that I get to let go of.

One small victory. Sometimes that’s the only margin that keeps you from wanting to poke each others’ eyes out. We’ll take it!

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Filed under breastfeeding, feeding, relationships

Bitter Mommy Emergency Warning System: Code Red, Take Shelter.

This is an emergency. This is not a test. Please take shelter in the nearest underground room away from all windows and doors, and especially hidden from sight and sound of your wife/mother of your child.

This is why people get divorced after they have kids.

This is how I feel today.

It was a long weekend in Boopsie’s Queendom… including a bad cold for her, a bad cold and the stomach flu for me, and a business trip for Daddy-o. Last night Daddy-o was tired, as he’d gotten up at 4:30 a.m. to make his flight home. I decided to take the baby monitor and sleep in the guest room to give him a restful night.

It was a terrible night. After I gave Boopsie a 10:30 p.m. dreamfeed, she proceeded to wake up at 12:10 a.m., 2:45 a.m. and 4:20 a.m. Daddy-o overheard part of the 2:45 a.m. wake-up because I had to make her a bottle of formula. The stomach flu has messed up my milk supply.

Anyway, this was our exchange at 7:00 a.m. this morning:

Daddy-o: How’d she do last night?

Me: She got up at 12, 2, and 4.

Daddy-o (correcting me): Actually, it was more like 3.

WHAT?!? The best response he could muster was to call into question my evaluation of the timing?

I don’t think  “enraged” is an overstatement here.

A few minutes later, when Daddy-o reported that he’d fed the cats I snidely told him I would give him a gold star. Then I warned him that I was so deadly crabby that he probably shouldn’t talk to me (for his own good).

Upon reflection, Daddy-o probably didn’t mean to call into question my record-keeping  or effort, but I’m still irritated. Would I feel better if I wasn’t able to count on one hand the number of times Daddy-o has gotten up with Boopsie in the night? Would I be less crabby if I weren’t still feeling sick and wiped out from the stomach flu?  Yes, on both accounts. But what is it about parenting (other than the exhaustion, stress and financial demands) that makes us want to throttle our partners?

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Filed under feeding, relationships, sleep