Judgement and Consequence

I wanted to write this for a while but I don’t think I have enough hours in the day. With three active children under the age of 5, I am like a feather caught in a whirlwind torpedo of activities: potty training, teething, tantrums, tucking in, tickling, travelling and tumultuous transformations.  But I am still holding it together… I think.

I am sure oKasketaldi_haurra_001ther parents can see the wild look in my eyes because I haven’t slept in 6 years or the suspicious glances flicked at me because each of my children including the baby have a bump or scratch (all self-inflicted, I assure you). I am positive that other moms are looking at the way my 5-year-old crosses her arms and stomps and yells “NO! Mommy- I don’t want that!” and thinking that she is spoiled and lacking in discipline. Or shaking their heads when my almost 3-year-old decides to pick her nose and eat it (gross, right?) because we don’t correct her (which we do every time) and that she will forever be a perpetual proboscis picker.

Here is the thing… I don’t really care about what others are thinking or feeling or perceiving or believing. My world is centred on my children whom I know intimately since the moment of their first wail into the world.

I was at the mall the other day and in the little play area and I saw a mother struggling with her toddler while trying to jiggle her baby on her shoulder. She was getting so frustrated and her cheeks were flushed and her baby was getting quite stirred (literally and figuratively) because she was over-jiggling. The two moms next to me were talking about this particular poor soul and saying the following:

Lady 1: “Oh my, that little girl is NOT happy!”

Lady 2: “Mom needs to get a handle on her before X (her own toddler) sees that behaviour and starts to copy it!”

Lady 1: “Some people just don’t know how to control their kids! It’s because she decided to have a baby, the little girl is probably needing attention”

Lady 2: “Exactly! This is why I am spacing mine apart. Exactly for that reason”

At this point, I had enough. I huffed really audibly as I stood up and I spared them one sneer and a quick “You are far from perfect yourselves ladies!” and then I confidently and quickly approached the mom of the melting down toddler and shaken baby and softly said:

“It’s ok, mine do the same thing. My 2-year-old is in there playing happily, for now, can I offer you a hand? I have a baby too but he is sound asleep, would you like me to carry your little angel while you deal with your baby girl?”

The relief that washed over the mother was indescribable. She hesitated for about one second then she gave me her baby. I stood there making googly eyes at the baby and she calmed down and started to give me the sweetest smiles. I was singing her silly songs and dancing with her while her mom was dealing with her sister. The lady told her 2-year-old that she will get some Skittles if she just calms down and tells her what is wrong using her big girl words (we do the same). The toddler stood up and in between bouts of tears and noisy, wet sobs proclaimed, “I pooh”. Profound declaration but adequate explanation of her crappy disposition (pun intended).

Mom told her that it will be ok and that she will change her. Toddler hugged her and looked up and me. I smiled and I handed the baby back to mommy informing her that she will have to change two poopy diapers and that I know exactly what that is like too. She took the baby and the toddler and went to the family washroom. I walked back to the main benches where judgy lady 1 & 2 are sitting and I wedge myself right next to them. My daughter is standing aside as one of their sons shoves another child off the climbing thingy. Lady 2 who was afraid of the toddler’s behaviour affecting her angelic son turns to her friends and says “He is so assertive- isn’t that cute?”

Wow. Perceptions.

I turn to her and gently respond:

“That is not being assertive, that is called being aggressive. Assertive is standing up for yourself and giving your opinion but what he is doing is pushing and shoving other children out of his way. That is being aggressive. So is judging a mom who is in the middle of a toddler meltdown. You should really stop and look at your house made of glass before you start throwing rocks!”

Yup. That happened. True story. I did say all that.

I expected a fight. I expected cursing. I even expected her to punch me in the face.

Instead, I got a teary and ashamed lady who quietly said “You are right. He is a little terror and I don’t know what to do with him? What should I do? He is our only child and I am having a terrible time bearing another child. I am scared that he will be the only child and that he will become a bully. I was bullied in school by a boy. I don’t want my son to be that way.”

Ah, what? What just happened? This, I did not expect.

I proceeded to spend the next hour with this lady and her friend who felt equally ashamed and mom of toddler and baby at the special play place at the mall. After the apologies and the brief discussion about how we should be kind to one another and stop the judging because we ALL need help, we started discussing strategies and parenting tricks that worked for each of us.

My toddler and the baby got tired and hungry and wanted to leave but I certainly did not. We agreed to meet again soon and we even exchanged contact information. We went from being four strangers waiting on their kids to play to four friends who joined the same Mommy Facebook Group.

It was super cool and I even got to hold the little ray of sunshine baby girl again while the lady I helped held my baby boy. All around awesomeness.

Moral of the story:

STOP judging other moms. Get off your butt and help. You are not perfect. Your children are far from perfect as well. The only perfection is founded in our humanity. So like Ellen DeGeneres says “Be kind to one another”.

Love,

SMartignani

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Number Three!

TimbitSo our number three arrived last Thursday, November 5th and I couldn’t be more thrilled that HE IS OUT OF MY BODY. I am also thrilled that HE is a HE! We have two precious, beautiful girls and we really wanted a boy and so here we are.

This pregnancy, similar to my other two, was very high-risk. I am not sure why my body fights gestational activities but truthfully, I don’t think anything gorgeous comes easy. I am sure everyone experiences their pregnancies differently and I admire and envy mommies who can just go to the hospital and slip one of these babies out… me- not so much!

So I was being followed by Mount Sinai’s Special Pregnancy program for 6 or 7 different conditions including Blood Pressure and Gestational Diabetes. I was also very anxious and ended up on bed rest because of my sciatic pain which rendered me immobile. I wasn’t able to drive to work or to many places actually. Some days, I couldn’t even get out of bed. Apparently the fetus decided to grow behind my placenta (anterior placenta) and his head was right on my backbones!

Anyway, 9 months of pain and immeasurable misery at various stages and TA DA- Little Timothy was finally birthed. I was booked for a third C-section on the 13th but I started experiencing contractions on November 4th so they moved my surgery to the 5th. After being bumped 4 times because there were other cases more urgent than mine, I went in for the surgery that would surely lead me to meet the little angel who was rehearsing his circus  act inside my poor, tiny uterus.

We knew it was a boy and so we were anticipating his arrival in many ways. His sisters were also very involved and his eldest, 4-year-old, would often kiss my belly and tell the baby she loved him. So sweet- right??

A few observations before I continue on the third time around for women with C-Sections- it hurts. I was really anxious because I precisely knew the pain of recovery and everything that would happen. I sweated over the procedure every step of the way and anticipated the motions and process. What I did not anticipate was how difficult or intense the pain will be the third time they cut into the scars. Was it worth it- OF COURSE but would I do it again, I think not.

I was warned by the doctor that if I have another pregnancy, things may not be so easy. *Choking on sarcastic laughter* EASY? When did I ever have an easy pregnancy really?

My third child also terrified me. I had two other babies who were whisked away to the NICU for varying reasons (per my old posts) and I was shaking with the knowledge that this one surely will be taken away too…

My fears were realized soon after Timmy was born with fluid in his lungs. As sure as the sun rises, they whisked him off to the NICU in order to put on the ugly elephant-like machine called C-PAPP to help him regulate his breathing. Once again, I had to be wheeled into the recovery room alone as I watched all the other mommas coming out of their sections with their healthy, little, blanket-wrapped bundles of joy.

I was heart-stricken and heartbroken. I felt so inadequate and started blaming myself for my inability to create perfect babies like everyone else. Postpartum depression starts right then for me…

I was recovering in one of the postpartum rooms and at 3 am, I called the nurse, woke up the husband and had them wheel me to my precious little boy. Sure enough, he had more wires attached to him than a complex robotic machine. He was breathing erratically and poked on his little newborn feet. The IV was attached to his right foot and his left foot had cotton with band aids where they prick him to take blood samples. Even after two other births of babies in NICU, I still wasn’t prepared to see him like that.

I knew that this hospital had a very high level of care. I understood that they needed to intervene as soon as possible to resolve this. I heard them tell my that this is common and will go away. I listened intently and asked informed and educated questions because the same happened with his middle sister. I was wheeled back to my room and that night all I can think about was one thing… I still have not held him yet.

I kept hearing babies on the floor crying and saw daddies walking around to calm their newborns. I stole a glance at my sleeping husband next to me and started to question what he must be thinking. I was wondering if he was starting to feel like me… numb.

Day 2 was no different. Hearing varying stories from varying experts on his recovery time. He needed to be observed for at least another 24 hours but that afternoon, I was able to finally hold him and try to nurse him. I was so excited to feel him next to my skin and see his tiny cherub face with squinting eyes directed towards me. I had forgotten how fragile newborns are and at the moment, I found peace. He opened one eye and looked at me then trustingly sighed and nuzzled closer to my breast.

I was whole then. Complete.

Next day in the afternoon, our little Tim was released to our care in my room. I couldn’t put him down in his cot. I had him sleeping on me and feeding and I just held him tight and kissed him over and over again. I couldn’t get enough of his smell or his warmth.

It is day 7 now and I am still the same way. As I type this, he is sleeping soundly in his playpen. Angelic and peaceful. I can’t thank God enough for his blessed gift to us in the form of our son. The girls adore him. They kiss him and try to hold him. I observe their interaction with him and tears instantly appear in my eyes. I feel so blessed and so much love.

The story closes here… for now. Despite it all, I am so happy now. Exhausted and in pain but overjoyed at our little family unit. I wish all moms out there and those inspired to become moms all the best in their journey towards parenting.

We will surely be going through a similar experience soon since we already discussed the eventual adoption of more little ones to our family. I am doing some research now which I will report on in my blog if my readers wanted to adopt as well. I can learn and you can learn with me!

Ok, I have to go now and feed my little one. I will be writing an entire blog next time on the miseries of breastfeeding since this is my first time successfully nursing.

Until next time,

Smartignani

Jelly Bean’s Journey

Elise

It is time for me to narrate the journey we took as we welcomed Jelly Bean a.k.a Elise to our world and our family. This is no light reading and you may need to grab a cup of tea or coffee before you continue reading this lengthy and detailed blog entry. Be forewarned, this may incite some strong emotions in you.

I started blogging so other moms can relate, react, and generally learn from my experiences. I read other mommy blogs as well so I can learn from them too.

A Brief History:

In my first experience of becoming a mommy, I was disappointed and sad that my FIRST infant was swiftly snatched away from me to the NICU where she had to remain for 5 days in order to gain weight and be released back to us. I had severe preeclampsia in my last pregnancy and I gained an incredible amount of weight. I was induced for two days before being c-sectioned and after all the pain and misery, I was distraught with post-partum depression and the void that my newborn left in my room as she was rushed to the ICU. I was unable to announce her birth to our family or nurse her for two days. I was unable to hold her or have my husband join the other fathers that were walking the hallways to put their babies to sleep. 5 days later she came home and all the pain and agony was washed away by the joy and the hope she exudes everyday until now… as a gorgeous toddler.

Elise’s Journey:

There is much I want to cover in this piece but I will spare you the minute details for fear that you will think me incomprehensibly traumatized. I recall every second and every emotion as a mother but I will try to narrate as an observer so that you can get a clean view from the outside.

On September 19th, we dropped our little toddler to daycare early and checked in at the hospital. After the nurses pierced my veins with the IV and prepped me (which means asked me to undress and wear the lovely, couture blue hospital gown that is incessantly opens in the back). I was on stand-by for a 10 o’clock C-section but they got me in early. The anticipation was mounting because once again we decided to not know the gender and I knew that this pregnancy I did not have high-blood pressure and that the baby was at least 6 lbs. Which boded really well for my hope and dream to have the baby carried out  by my husband back to our room so that everything can be ‘normal’ and I can be given a better opportunity to try and breast feed my newborn.

After a nervous and somewhat brief pain in the back from the spinal, I was laying on the table when my husband came in wearing the blue scrubs given to him by the nurses. He was sterilized and amped to meet our new baby too. I said a prayer in my heart that all goes well and just lay there asking my husband questions and conversing casually while 6 or 7 people got to work at opening me up and extracting my organs and the small, wild child that was rocking my insides for the past 9 months. I cannot describe the deep sense of pride that I felt giving my husband our second child or the amount of joy at being able to withstand all the pain and agony of pregnancy leading up to that pivotal point in our life.

I was convinced that this time, this baby and this pregnancy were different. Everything will turn out perfect and yet deep in my heart, in the black depths of my soul, I hoarded a secret dread that something was going to go extremely wrong. This feeling of foreboding was a constant thorn in my side and it manifested itself in my dreams and waking hours. I experienced several small anxiety attacks which I brushed off as normal hormonal imbalances and standard pre-delivery jitters.

Elise was announced at 10:17 am and scored a 9 on the Apgar scale. She was feisty and the nurses even called her a drama queen which made me laugh. Everyone commented on her extremely long fingers and toes. She was 6 lbs. 5 oz. at birth and I couldn’t even wish for anything more. I insisted that my husband go get her but they were busy cleaning her and readying her. I was feeling the same sense of anxiety as before but this time it was overwhelming. I was nauseated by it which led me to be occupied with my constant need to be sick that I didn’t hear the first time one of the nurses said “She is grunting”. It didn’t register. My husband was given our daughter who equally mesmerized him as our firstborn and I was able to see the grouchy little wrinkled face of my darling little angel. My C-section was just about to wrap up and we were minutes away from the scene I played over and over in my mind… I will be wheeled out to the recovery room with my husband holding my baby at my side as he takes her to show the grandparents waiting anxiously in the room.

Then it happened again… she grunted.

My husband called the nurse over to confirm the noise being expelled from my daughter’s chest to which she immediately reacted by carrying Elise to the NICU where, I was told, she will be kept under observation for one hour to assess her breathing.

Not again.

But one hour, I can deal with that. Fine.

I was in the recovery room where I was willing myself not to give into the powerful urge to sleep. I awaited my husband’s sporadic visits that would relay to me any tidbit or update about our new baby. He kept saying that they are just observing her breathing. One hour later, I was moved to my room and he came in and told me that it can take up to 6 hours.

5 more hours until I can smell her, hold her to my breast or whisper to her how amazed I am at her gift to me- making me her mommy.

I was unable to get up to visit her so I relied heavily on my husband to share every detail. I fell asleep tormented that I was unable to hold her and awoke to the news… she will not be leaving the NICU for at least 24 hours. Elise had fluid in her lungs that was prohibiting her from taking deep breaths and she needed the oxygen they were providing her. I was crushed, Patience and prayers were all I had left and the first was exhausted by the mistakes made while the latter was weakened by my debilitating recognition of my fears being actualized.

Please read the next part with an understanding that I am a mother who needs to vent and warn other moms of what can be. I write this free from malice. I simply state what I experienced,

A Tough Journey:

I visited my baby as soon as I regained some form of feeling in my legs. It was the only highlight to the searing pain I felt in my abdomen as a result of the foot long cut made on me hours earlier. I asked my husband to haul me into a wheel chair and take me to my baby. I needed to be with her and see her. It was all a recurring theme from my first delivery and I was not taking no for an answer. He complied and I was wheeled to her little cot situated in the back of the dark, sterile and sombre Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. She had many tubes attached to her with two different monitors and several other ‘leads’ that measure her heart beat and her breathing. She was taking very shallow, quick breaths and seemed unable to catch her breath even with the CPAP (Oxygen tube) that was attached to her face. The mask on her nose seemed too small and did not sit right on her tiny little nose. It often crept down to suck in the top lip and at times I wondered what this machine was designed to do at all, it seemed quite ineffective. I was informed that she may have swallowed Meconium which is the yukky stuff in my belly. The doctor in charge put her on antibiotics because he thinks it is an infection. I was told that sometimes it takes up to 72 hours for the breathing issues to resolve on their own (which was incorrect because I learned later that something should have been done after 8 hours). I was repeatedly told that they are waiting on her, a day old baby, to resolve her own breathing issues. Levity was attempted through the joke that boys usually take longer to resolve this particular issue and that she was behaving like a boy. I kept hearing the nurses joke with her that she needs to stop “misbehaving” and start “breathing properly”. I was insulted and incredibly enraged by these words and uttered whispers to my newborn.

I patiently waited to see if my baby will “resolve” her own breathing issues but deep in my heart I knew that she would not. Something needed to be done but what? I am not a doctor nor do I have any information at all about what these things mean.

That was Thursday. Friday was more of the same bad news. She was still not breathing or “behaving”. She was still on the CPAP and she was being given glucose through her IV to nourish her. I was asked to pump so that they can dip a Q-tip into the colostrum that I pumped and wet her lips with it. I was still unable to hold her. Friday night I was at her bedside pumping with my mother-in-law when Elise stopped breathing for the first time. The nurse said it was because she was pushing hard to have a bowel movement. She notified the pediatrician on duty and alerted us that if this happens again, the doctor will come see her. They were trying to take her blood. I left at midnight and demanded that the nurse awaken me if ANYTHING happens. I wanted to be there if she decides to stop breathing again.

At 2 am, I opened my eyes and found Elise’s nurse in my room. She told me that she “desatted” again and that the doctor came in to see her. I took my pain killers and anxiously waited until their effect can somewhat dull the extreme pain in my abdomen. I rolled out of my bed and painfully walked over to my wheel-chair. They had placed me in the furthest room away from the NICU so I was to half roll myself and half walk towards my goal while heavily leaning on the chair. No one offered to help me, no one thought to move my room so I can be closer to my baby who just stopped breathing TWICE and needed me by her bedside.

I finally arrived at my destination and asked, politely, to see the doctor. I was talking to my daughter’s attending nurse but the nurse sitting behind her playing Soduko at the computer quickly replied without looking at me and said “She is busy in the Emerg”. Apparently my daughter’s inability to continue breathing was not an emergency and I had to wait. I informed them that I would wait but the nurse clearly told me that she will only page her if anything else happens. I WAS SUPPOSED TO WAIT FOR MY DAUGHTER TO STOP BREATHING AGAIN TO SEE THE DOCTOR!

What?!

I stayed by her bedside until 5 am. She was fine. Labouring to breathe but all vitals were ok and still she was taking shallow breaths. I was completely and utterly exhausted and finally gave up on seeing the doctor. So I informed the nurse that I will make the trek back to my room but if anything happens yet again, I want to be there BEFORE anything is done.

Funny enough, I was speaking to my husband the night Elise was born and he was not happy with the progress or lack thereof that was taking place with her in that NICU. He even told me that he is giving this specific hospital until Sunday then he will be requesting that Elise gets moved to a different facility. This was really frustrating him and it struck a deep fear within me. I was unable to shake the feeling of pure and utter mistrust in their care for the remainder of that fateful night. This goes to show you that you MUST FOLLOW YOUR PATERNAL/MATERNAL GUT INSTINCTS because he was right!!

At 5:45 am, my daughter stopped breathing for the third time. I rushed to the NICU and waited for 45 minutes while the doctor finished consulting with Sick Kids on the phone. She finally came to speak with me and inform me that my baby girl was simply tired of breathing. What a profound notion… and I say that sarcastically.

I was incensed and I told her that I knew this would happen and I don’t even hold a medical degree. I asked her what the next steps were and she informed that they would have to intubate her. I had already did some research on Google (it was all I can do at that time of night prior to this conversation) and attempted to ask some informed questions like “Will you intubate her nasally or orally?”, “What are the risks?”, “Will you sedate her?”, “Have you done this before?”.

I felt no confidence in their ability to intubate her successfully but what choice did I have. I pulled a chair and sat about 12 feet away from my baby’s tiny sized cot that was now surrounded with the head nurse of the NICU who was cracking some jokes, the Respiratory Therapist (who was chewing gum, open-mouthed which I think is not sterile nor code compliant), the doctor who was too busy in Emerg to see me the first two times and the attending nurse who informed that swallowing meconium was a fact of life and everything will be fine.

15 minutes into the procedure I was politely asked to wait outside until they were done. I called my husband and asked him to make arrangements for our toddler and come to the hospital right away. I make this next statement with all the firm belief I possessed at the time… I actually thought that our daughter was going to die.

He arrived and joined me in waiting for the nurses to come out and tell us what is happening with the baby. I saw them changing shifts and finally saw the attending nurse leaving to go home. She came over and asked if anyone came to get us and talk to us yet (she was supposed to do that right after the procedure) and we replied “No”. So she told us that the procedure was complete and to go in.

We did. Our daughter was in a deep sedated sleep. I asked how it went and they said it was done. Sick Kids were on the way and they were going to decide what to do next. A respiratory therapist and a nurse practitioner show up with an elaborate 300 lbs. piece of equipment attached to an Isolette that is clearly designed for transporting sick babies. I am told that she needs a higher level of care and that the Sick Kids coordinator is deciding on the hospital that she will be transferred to. Sick Kids and Mount Sinai are too busy and they don’t have beds. She may be sent out of region. Maybe even Kingston. Ottawa or London, Ontario. I go back to my room because they will need at least 45 minutes to find out.

I only slept one hour that night so I break down. I cry like the world is coming to an end. I was experiencing the most gut wrenching moments ever which will haunt me for a long time. My husband tells me to try and relax but I am devastated.

I recall the my first experience in the NICU and the mom who had gestational diabetes and had to have her baby transferred to Sick Kids. I recalled the empathy I felt for her. I cried just as hard as she did even though it was not my baby. Now I was that mom.

We are informed that she is being transferred by ambulance to McMaster Children’s hospital where she will be receiving level 3 care. I get discharged early and head home to repack my bag and quickly rest before we head down to Hamilton, Ontario for as long as needed until we can bring our baby girl home.

We arrive at 6 pm on Friday night and we are informed that many tests have already been done on Elise. The NICU is leagues above and beyond the first one. The level of care, professionalism and atmosphere spoke to me instantly. I felt like the nurses were proficient and competent. Every half hour, a nurse, respiratory therapist or doctor would approach us and give us updates. They kept us informed and helped us secure a room in the Ronald MacDonald House across the street for $12 a night (my next blog will illustrate how amazing THAT experience was- they need their own shout out for being awesome to us).

We return to the hospital and they ask me to pump because they have attached a feeding tube to my baby girl and she needs my milk. They give me the entire Medela pumping kit and a sterilization bag (at no cost, where as the previous hospital charged us). They were consistently positive and confident that Elise will be fine very soon. THEY FINALLY LET ME HOLD HER after 5 days, I was smelling her hair and feeling her against my skin. I was in awe of her little body next to mine as her breath fanned my neck and I felt her little tiny heart beat moving her chest up and down. It is indescribable how the wait crystallized that moment and made it a million times more special.

I can’t describe the tumultuous roller-coaster of emotions I have experienced up to that moment when I finally felt the sudden release of worry that I harboured in the depths of my heart. I just knew that all will be well. And from that moment on… everything changed.

Within mere days, Elise was improving. Her breathing was even. They extubated her on Sunday morning. She was breathing with very little help from the CPAP machine. I was informed, indirectly, that it took them 4 times to intubate her and after all this, they used the wrong size tube which the RT referred to as “trying to breathe through a straw”.

I decided at the time that I need to focus on the incredible journey that my child was making. I was going to keep my mind on the amazing health care that Elise was getting and her obvious fighting spirit.

I was blessed with calls, texts and visits from priests, friends, family and co-workers. Many people needed constant updates which kept me busy and increased my cell phone bill considerably. I was starting to feel a tentative dependency on the NICU and the positive nurses who lived up to their job descriptions and “nursed” my baby girl back to health. I was told on Tuesday night that we need to check out of the Ronald Macdonald house because they would put us in a courtesy room for parents and release Elise to us for the night so we can call on them if anything happens.

It was a fantastic night. I held her all night. I let her sleep the entire night on my chest. Matching my breathing to hers. I was too elated to sleep and I was never happier to lose so much sleep at night. Every time she woke up, I was awake with her. I would smile at the little noises she would make and I found every little movement she made impossibly sweet. I missed my toddler so much and I was so anxious to bring Elise home and be with both my girls.

We were discharged with Elise on Wednesday, September 25th and we rushed home to pick up our firstborn from daycare.

We were home.

We were thankful.

We were finally a complete family all in the same space, together.

Hold your loved ones closer. Tell them you love them. Hug them and let them know that they alter your life. I can’t tell you how much more I appreciate my girls and husband since this bitter-sweet experience.

I will cover how my toddler reacted to her baby sister in another blog. For now I leave you with one final thought…

You are never given any experience you cannot handle. Raise your chin up from the misery and look around you. You are surrounded with people who love you and care for you and only through the hard times will you see true friendships shine. I am so grateful for those people in my life who asked, who cared and who were in constant contact offering words of wisdom, comfort and reassurances. Thank you for your prayers and for your love. We felt it from Hamilton and we are ever grateful.

SMartignani

I am just about ready to POP!

pregnant-cartoon-image 3.5 more weeks and counting. To be honest, I am so heavy and so uncomfortable, I am just about ready to let loose and push with or without contractions. There are nights where I think I am going into early labour then there are times when I know I am just wishfully thinking.

The last month is the most painful. It feels like forever ago that I shared my secret joy of another human being harvested in my belly with my spouse and wondered days and nights if my daughter who is only two will accept the fact that a sibling will share the spotlight. It feels like an eon ago when I anticipated the arrival of my first-born and now two years later, I am anticipating the arrival of my second.

We didn’t find out the gender. We just pray that it is healthy. I pray that it comes out. Soon.

Anyway, I think that much of the anticipation this time is centred on how will the baby look because quite honestly the first one looked just like my husband. I am hoping this one takes some of my dark hair and features but you know what – who cares…. as long as it comes OUT soon, I don’t care what it looks like really.

The other day I pushed myself off the bed to get up and go to the washroom and actually felt the baby shifting in my belly as if it is swimming from one side of the belly to the other. Just like people on the Titanic when the boat was sinking and they were clinging to dear life on one side of the ship. It was a comical visual until the baby kicked me so hard I had to do a super wobble to the washroom in order to avoid making a mess. Yes, I feel like the Titanic in size and stature.

I feel slow. I forget things. I am not really focussed. I fall asleep sporadically and at random times. I lost my toes. I think my nose is inflating to the point that I can’t see past it when I look down at my enormous tatas. I am uncomfortable sitting. I am uncomfortable standing. I am uncomfortable lying down. I am moody and sad. What did you just say? I am fine. I am happy, see? I am heartburning-stomachurning-forwardleaning-backpaining ALL THE TIME and worst of all, as aforementioned, I STILL HAVE 3.5 WEEKS LEFT….

I am also getting some wicked cravings. Root Beer floats, pistachios, Feta cheese, watermelon and that was just last night. Today it was Pizza Hut, garlic shrimp and Skittles (preferably together). Last week, no word of a lie, I was craving Cream Soda, blue cheese and red velvet cake. I am sick…help me!

I wake up in the morning thinking about food. I drive to work and think about going home and napping. I nap thinking about eating and eat thinking about napping – how am I supposed to have time to DO ANYTHING ELSE??

My poor husband must think I am nuts sometimes. He is so patient and kind but even I, looking from the outside in, think to myself “Who is this witch and why is she so mean all the time? What is her issue?”

I will tell me what my issue is… I am ripe.

Cooked.

Done.

I am ready for this baby to be picked, plucked, groomed and passed into my loving arms.

I want this wait and unnecessary painful stage to end. In a good way. I am praying that soon my body will catch up with my brain and say enough is enough, I am just too little to handle all this weight and all this action.

My fetus is practicing black belt karate in there. I swear there are nights where I think there is some sort of soccer game going on in the depths of my belly. Whatever it is, I know that it better be an athlete or dancer after all that action!

I think this is enough complaining for now but I do have one thing to say- if you approach me to tell me that you think I am adorable because I am huge- save the comment to yourself and “No” you cannot touch my belly and yes I am almost there and no we don’t know the gender and yes this is my second and of course we are excited and no- YOU ARE NOT JEALOUS because you have a sleek glass of wine in your right elegant hand which I would gladly guzzle down if I wasn’t carrying precious cargo. Got it?

I hope I will be able to blog again before Jellybean is born but if I don’t because it decides to come early then… HAPPY HAPPY JOY JOY…

Keep me in your thoughts.

SMartignani

Week 37- Still Waiting

So I am now in my ninth month gestating away as I say good-bye to my fellow workers and head home for a year long respite- or is it?
I was just thinking, I don’t think I ever stayed home for an entire year since I was a child. I was always in school or work. This is different! I am not completely clueless and I know that staying home with a newborn is no small feat but then again, I used to hold down two jobs, go to university and have time to style my hair- and that my friends is called multi-tasking. Have you even seen my hair?

So I am now at the stage where I see my doctor every week and there is always something new and exciting to learn. Like how I need to monitor the movements of the baby because it NEEDS to move 6 times every two hours. That alone is becoming a full-time gig for me. I have a spreadsheet and I check off movements because if there are none, I need to head to the emergency immidiately. I cannot pass GO or collect $200.
I was also instructed to monitor my sugar intake, increase my excercise routine to a 45 minute walk and to be wary that at any moment I can potentially leak which is a common sign that labour might begin. And here is the funny part, there are a lot of maybe’s at this stage. If your water breaks, you MAY go into labour right away but it MAY also take hours. If you feel contractions, you MAY be in active labour, you MAY not be. If you start feeling pressure on your pelvis, you MAY be experiencing the baby pushing its head into the birth canal or MAY be experiencing the normal effect of the baby turning (they call it lightening, I laugh at that term).

So after all the MAY be’s, there is one sure thing- I am still nervous about the whole labour thing. Truth is, I am afraid because I don’t know what the pain is like. I read on forums that it is “nothing like you have ever experienced before”- thanks. How the heck am I supposed to relate to that? Tell me something useful like “It will feel like a million papercuts” or “The pain will be like a migraine in your pelvis”… something… anything! Don’t people know that half the fear is not knowing?? For once, I just want one person to tell me the honest truth… only to prepare my poor and terrified pelvis!
I realize that this blog is about a mother-to-be but I think I will continue logging in after the baby is born and call it “A mother has been…” Only to share the stark reality of a newborn regimen and routine and ready moms who are taking the plunge into maternal heaven. I would like to be the one true voice in the wilderness that states it like it is… raw and unmodified from the facts of reality.

I am leaving work and everyone says, “You will be really busy with the little one, enjoy every minute”. I want to define what “busy” means. So keep reading…
But first, I will continue ranting about the rest of this gestational waiting game to either prepare moms to be or just to get a laugh. I just have to remember that there is no “undo” here and there is really no “refunds, exchanges or upgrades”. Nowhere to go but forward and onwards. So forward I march into the dark realm of labour and impending motherhood and I pray that as light is being shed on what it all feels like, that I will adjust quickly and with agility. I am ready and set, now all I need is the “Go”.

Smartignani

B. Ed and B.A Psychology

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