Anybody with a four year old, particularly a four year old on the very top of the growth chart knows, growing pains a very real thing. It will take your happy go lucky little guy or gal and turn them into a screamy little thing that Ibuprofen and snuggles can hardly alleviate. Then BAM. It's gone as fast as it started.
According to KidsHealth.org, the average four year old boy is 40 lbs and about 40 inches tall. E2 is 49 lbs and according to the doctor's office, right at 47 inches tall. He has grown two and half inches in five months. If you do the math, he's growing at a rate of an eight of an inch PER WEEK.
Showing posts with label Im A Freaking Mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Im A Freaking Mom. Show all posts
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
A Big Old Handful
I can't make this stuff up.
Today is not trash day. Tomorrow is trash day. I thought that I would be a good little housewife today and clean the trash from the garage to make Husband Dearest happy, then drag all the trash out to the curb tonight, instead of scrambling to get it done in the morning. While I was dragging things out to the curb, I could hear little E3 screeching inside the house. Not a screech of pain, but his very discernible "I'm pissed!" screech. I did not hurry. As I was about to pick up all the little pieces of junk the big dogs had shredded and strewn about the garage, E2 opens the door, "Mama, E3 is stuck." Sigh. E3 has recently learned how to climb unsecured drawers in the kitchen. There's only three or four drawers and they have all of the kid cups in them or are empty. The boys love to play with them and it keeps me from needing to get E2 a cup every. single. time. he's sssssooooo ttttthhiirrssttyyy.
When I reentered the house, leaving all the bits and pieces of trash around the garage, I saw he was definitely stuck. E3 had climbed into the bottom drawer, then pulled the next drawer open over the top of him. He did the same thing the day prior, only he flipped out and smushed his face on the hardwood floor giving him Baby's First Bloody Nose.
After disengaging Baby Climbs A Lot, I tried to go back to my trash pick up duty. "Mama, I have to poop," a deadpanned four year old snuck in front of me, just to make me very aware of his bodily function necessities. He then turned and walked to the bathroom.
I just stood there, shaking my head. My daily conversations have changed a lot since I went to working only part time. E3 shot through the living room, tailing brother. At least I'm not the only person that doesn't get to poop in peace.
FINALLY I could at least replace the trash bag in the kitchen. Just as I'm shaking the bag to put it in the can my sweet, darling little E2 yells from the shitter, "Moooom, he's going to touch the poop!"
WHAT.
HOW can a BABY touch POOP IN the toilet?
I ran. But not fast enough. "Mooom he's holding the poooooop!"
He was holding the poop. E2 stood up to wipe his butt (yay he's wiping his own ass! That's a big hairy deal!) as he hasn't mastered the lean technique yet. In doing so, he left the pot open for the unleashing of ninja moves from our 10 month old angel baby E3.
When I skid into the bathroom, E3 was bringing his hand out of the toilet with a nice, big chunk of poop smashed in his tiny little fist.
Now get on my level. Slow things down a bit. Let's give this image that special effect 3D image of zoom. He's bringing his hand to his face, he's opening his mouth...
NOOOOO!
He stopped just as I smacked his hand down, making him cry and throwing half the turd back into the toilet, half onto the tile. I saved him. I saved me. No poop was consumed.
I scooped little E3 up and immediately thrust his hands under the sink to scrub. I'm flustered, to say the least. As I'm scrubbing his little poop scoops, I hear the door open. Husband's home. "Court, did you miss the trash!? The trash is still out!? And you didn't pick up the garage..."
Sunday, February 1, 2015
Mom Guilt: The Sleeping Baby
 |
| E3 smiles in his jumper while Big Brother rides a purple unicorn. |
Side note: Every single time I see or hear something about the movie Pocahontas I immediately picture the basement of Running with Racheal's parent's house and her singing one of the songs and me wanting to choke her because I couldn't stand it them. We were nine. I love it now. Sorry 'bout that, ShayShay.
We had the kids home and in their own beds at a respectable time, for once. That meant, ooh la la...uh, no, not that. It was shower time! For me! By myself! No one screaming at the shower door! No one needing me to open a cheese stick! No one crapping their pants and it spilling on to the carpet while I try to shave my vagina. I lolligaged and got fully showered (Well, I didn't wash my hair, but come on, it was Friday. That only happens during the week, maybe.) and dressed in comfy PJs. I checked on both boys and my head hit the pillow before 10:45pm.
Flash forward: 6:35am.
Six
Thirty
Five
AM
EIGHT HOURS LATER.
Eight full hours after I fell asleep I woke up to E2 climbing into bed. I immediately reached over and grabbed the monitor. When the screen lit up I saw the sweet sleeping E3.
Wow!
But then it occurred to me: The sound is off. The sound on the monitor is off. That means he didn't really sleep all night... he probably woke up and I didn't hear him through the closed doors. Oh My Gawd. I'm a terrible mother. When Husband Dearest woke up I told him about my dilemma. His response? "Oh he slept all night, you're a great mom."
NOT.
He told me that he heard little baby E3 crying in the night, but he fell back asleep before he woke me up. So, two things: Why didn't he get up, is the most obvious, but secondly, my poor sweet innocent angel probably felt sad and scared and hungry and abandoned.
So, obviously, I am now wrought with mom guilt.
I think I will need him to sleep attached to me via boob all night to fix that. Or, maybe leave the monitor turned off more often.
Monday, January 26, 2015
S#*t Happens
Today I took E3's nine month photos. There's nothing spectacular about that statement, except, for the first time in his life I was late taking the pictures. Then he was grumpy and wouldn't cooperate to show off his newest skills. Ya know, like standing or whatever. I snapped a few pics, pulled off the stick-on monthly tie (WHY didn't I think of that!?) and wiggled him into an outfit.A few hours later at the gym I was desperately needing to go to the bathroom. I was doing the pee-pee dance just like a potty training kid with a Big Gulp. As I was about to pass E3 off to a friend, I felt the spread of warmth on my arm. He had shat himself. And shat himself in a big way. We follow baby-led weaning. A nine month old that mows through some berries, crackers, and an organic baby smoothie in the morning coupled with some nice long drinks off the boob really knows how to blow it out.
Before I messed my own self I hurriedly ran to the back office to change Sir Squirtsalot. You see that nice white onsie in those pictures? He (thankfully) had that on under his cords and button up as a layer of
That's right, ya'll. E3 shit himself so bad I had to use the Jaws of Life to free him. Thankfully, I was able to make it to the bathroom without the same happening to me.
Later this afternoon my dear friend JMoo and her darling Kherbear came to play. I told 'Moo all about how close he was to walking on his own, but he was rather stubborn about it. After they left I realized I had missed my afternoon constitutional.
I have this gorgeous, big master bathroom that I can really enjoy a good poop in. Also, since I poop with an audience on the daily, it's got great space. This time, no exception. E3 came squealing in and ripped open one of the unsecured drawers. He loves to find goodies (pull out all my lady products) and toss them about. Right in the middle of me... well, pooping, I see E3 crawl halfway between the drawer to the toilet room in the master bath suite. He then took a football stance and popped himself up, unassisted. I've seen him do this once before.
Then, as I'm three feet away and ass-glued to the porcelain playground I watch my son take his first step.
Shit really does happen when you're a mom.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
I Never Wanted to Be a Mom
I never wanted to be a mom. At least, not in the typical sense. My husband and I began dating when I was only 15. We joked often that we didn't want kids. Only, I wasn't joking. We actually recently stumbled upon a video of me saying how much I disliked kids. I think the word was HATE kids. Oh sure, there were times when we said we would have one and my darling of a husband, E1, would stay at home. You know, daddy day care while mommy was out with some killer corporate gig.
I didn't plan on things happening like they did, that's for sure. Around six months after E1 and I said our "I-do's" I started getting that itch. At first it was an annoyance, like dry knuckles in late January. Eventually, the itch was flaming on-the-bottom-of-your-foot-but-you're-wearing-boots kind of itch. Luckily, E1 and I soon realized we were on the same trajectory. Just after our first wedding anniversary we went to an early breakfast. He asked the question I had said no to a dozen times over: Do you want to have kids?
I didn't plan on things happening like they did, that's for sure. Around six months after E1 and I said our "I-do's" I started getting that itch. At first it was an annoyance, like dry knuckles in late January. Eventually, the itch was flaming on-the-bottom-of-your-foot-but-you're-wearing-boots kind of itch. Luckily, E1 and I soon realized we were on the same trajectory. Just after our first wedding anniversary we went to an early breakfast. He asked the question I had said no to a dozen times over: Do you want to have kids?
Yes.
Wow. Me too. When?
Now.
I wanted a kid NOW. We settled on trying to start a family with the upcoming new year. Except, about six weeks later, we learned I was already pregnant with our first son, E2. Talk about a Divine Plan.
E2 proved to be a handful and a heartful at the same time. Before his second birthday we were already trying for number dos. I had decided with an even stronger conviction that I was ready for a sibling for our wild man.
Infertility is a bitch. It's so fucking frustrating to be able to get pregnant so easily the first time, and then have such a struggle to get knocked up a second time. The ass kicker was, twice I got pregnant. But I couldn't STAY pregnant outside of late first trimester. I'm not retelling the story now as I do frequently, but you can read about my last miscarriage experience here. I can honestly say, I went into a deep depression more than even I realized. I was a hollowed shell of a wife, mother and friend. I wasn't remotely myself.
Eventually things turned around. We got to start trying again. Each month more rode on the line, but each month had hope. Hope, really, was all we had. We had decided we would try three cycles with the help of hormone fertility aids before moving into the more invasive IUI and IVF treatments. Quickly we found ourselves on our third and final round of "natural" cycles. E2 was now three years old and begging for a Baby Brudder. Each time he said it, my heart cracked a little more.
Then, the day after my 10 year high school reunion (which I drank way too much at), and my birthday I took a test, again. The third one that week. It was surprisingly double stripped. I was pregnant again! I already had my appointment scheduled with my OBGYN for the next day. It was to be the day I was introduced to my fertility specialist. There was no need!
I had a miserable bitch of a pregnancy with E3. I didn't care. I was induced at 41 weeks and wouldn't wish being induced on anyone. It was awful.
E3's heartbeat was all over the place during induction, wouldn't stay on the monitor and Husband Dearest was a jittery mess. After 16 hours of transitional labor I finally dilated from a three to a ten in less than two minutes. The doctor had to run across the hospital parking lot to make the delivery. I pushed once.
E3 was not born breathing and was slightly blue. I remember like in a dream Dr. H saying "don't hold your breath on me" and the look on Husband Dearest's face. Then he cried. A screech and a cry. A quick wipe off, a snip of the cord and immediately at my breast to nurse. Just shy of 10lbs and not as long a big brother, our little Pinecone (E2's nickname for E3) was here.
I never wanted to be a mom. As I sit on the couch not quite 9 months since that day with a big kid resting on my shoulder and a little one dreaming in his crib I can clearly say that I was put on this earth with a purpose from God. The purpose was to be a mom to my sweet boys.
*
Infertility is a bitch. It's so fucking frustrating to be able to get pregnant so easily the first time, and then have such a struggle to get knocked up a second time. The ass kicker was, twice I got pregnant. But I couldn't STAY pregnant outside of late first trimester. I'm not retelling the story now as I do frequently, but you can read about my last miscarriage experience here. I can honestly say, I went into a deep depression more than even I realized. I was a hollowed shell of a wife, mother and friend. I wasn't remotely myself.
Eventually things turned around. We got to start trying again. Each month more rode on the line, but each month had hope. Hope, really, was all we had. We had decided we would try three cycles with the help of hormone fertility aids before moving into the more invasive IUI and IVF treatments. Quickly we found ourselves on our third and final round of "natural" cycles. E2 was now three years old and begging for a Baby Brudder. Each time he said it, my heart cracked a little more.
Then, the day after my 10 year high school reunion (which I drank way too much at), and my birthday I took a test, again. The third one that week. It was surprisingly double stripped. I was pregnant again! I already had my appointment scheduled with my OBGYN for the next day. It was to be the day I was introduced to my fertility specialist. There was no need!
I had a miserable bitch of a pregnancy with E3. I didn't care. I was induced at 41 weeks and wouldn't wish being induced on anyone. It was awful.
E3's heartbeat was all over the place during induction, wouldn't stay on the monitor and Husband Dearest was a jittery mess. After 16 hours of transitional labor I finally dilated from a three to a ten in less than two minutes. The doctor had to run across the hospital parking lot to make the delivery. I pushed once.
E3 was not born breathing and was slightly blue. I remember like in a dream Dr. H saying "don't hold your breath on me" and the look on Husband Dearest's face. Then he cried. A screech and a cry. A quick wipe off, a snip of the cord and immediately at my breast to nurse. Just shy of 10lbs and not as long a big brother, our little Pinecone (E2's nickname for E3) was here.
*
I never wanted to be a mom. As I sit on the couch not quite 9 months since that day with a big kid resting on my shoulder and a little one dreaming in his crib I can clearly say that I was put on this earth with a purpose from God. The purpose was to be a mom to my sweet boys.
Sunday, January 18, 2015
I Took a Break
To say I took a break from blogging is a bit of a modest statement. In fact, I pretty much forgot about it. In 2010 I had my first baby. I blogged here for three years (under The Triathlete Bride moniker) all about triathlons, marathons, our wedding and eventually even pregnancy. I had my hands full with ornery E2 and was also keeping a fitness only blog over at www.fitmommylife.com. By the time my first figure competition was over, I was also over blogging. I tried a few times but failed at making a blog comeback.
I've decided I missed my blogging outlet. I don't have anything exciting to talk about. There's no exotic Ironman triathlon in my future. No marathon PR at stake. So I'm going to talk about what I know. That's being an exhausted, three-part time job mom of an infant and a preschooler and wife to a super dedicated business man and daddy. I work at the gym a couple days a week, behind the keyboard several hours a week, and behind a sewing machine most nights. I get to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner with my kids every single day. I dabble with exercise in various forms. I laugh often, usually over bedtime stories and fart noises. I try not to yell when I scold E2 or the dogs. I have really long hair and I really do care. I change diapers ten times a day and only get poop on myself once or twice. I get to give love and feel love deep in my heart all, day each day.
So that's what I'm going to blog about.
If you're really interested in who the hell I think I am, click on the "introduction" tab up top. Or if you're too lazy to move your cursor, this whole sentence is a link.
I've decided I missed my blogging outlet. I don't have anything exciting to talk about. There's no exotic Ironman triathlon in my future. No marathon PR at stake. So I'm going to talk about what I know. That's being an exhausted, three-part time job mom of an infant and a preschooler and wife to a super dedicated business man and daddy. I work at the gym a couple days a week, behind the keyboard several hours a week, and behind a sewing machine most nights. I get to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner with my kids every single day. I dabble with exercise in various forms. I laugh often, usually over bedtime stories and fart noises. I try not to yell when I scold E2 or the dogs. I have really long hair and I really do care. I change diapers ten times a day and only get poop on myself once or twice. I get to give love and feel love deep in my heart all, day each day.
So that's what I'm going to blog about.
If you're really interested in who the hell I think I am, click on the "introduction" tab up top. Or if you're too lazy to move your cursor, this whole sentence is a link.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Give Thanks
Ten things I'm so very grateful for.
1. My Son. I'm blessed that I was able to get pregnant without really having to "try." Some women try and never can concive, or do and lose the pregnancies. Thank God, we didn't have to endure this. He's the most amazing, wonderful, awesome thing that I will ever do in my life.
2. My Husband. We made TEN YEARS this year. It's gone by quickly. I'm looking forward to many many more.
3. The Rest of My Family and Friends. I have such a huge extended family when you include our friends. We are so blessed to have many people we're close to.
4. My Job. There's so many Americans right now struggling to make ends meet. While we aren't rolling in it (hardly with the new expense of daycare), we're still able to tuck away a little into savings every two weeks. My husband works extremely hard to provide for our family, and we have been able to take that hard work and make it a beautiful home, a new pick up and car, and really want for nothing, within reason. I'm not bragging, I'm counting blessings.
5. My Health. I had an uncomplicated pregnancy. I'm fit and strong and becoming more so with every day. I want to live a long time, and taking care of myself will help me get there.
6. See Number 5 (Cars, House, Plasma Screen TVs). We want for nothing. Praise be to God.
7. My Trainer, Angela. Without her and my new workout buddy (and competition!), Cheryl, I wouldn't have the slightest idea what I'm doing in the figure arena.
8. My Mother Visiting. To say the least, my mother hasn't been in fabulous health over the last couple years. She came in September and her grandson got to meet her, and she was doing great. I pray it's not the only time.
9. My Staff and Coworkers. The structure at my work is changing and a lot of people are leaving or being shut out. I can't say I entirely agree, although I know the direction we're headed in is the right one. I'm Thankful for the people that I work with and those that work for me.
10. Everything. Every night when I go to sleep, I try to thank God for each of the blessings my family has. I never get all the way thru, but in case God reads triathlon blogs,
1. My Son. I'm blessed that I was able to get pregnant without really having to "try." Some women try and never can concive, or do and lose the pregnancies. Thank God, we didn't have to endure this. He's the most amazing, wonderful, awesome thing that I will ever do in my life.
2. My Husband. We made TEN YEARS this year. It's gone by quickly. I'm looking forward to many many more.
3. The Rest of My Family and Friends. I have such a huge extended family when you include our friends. We are so blessed to have many people we're close to.
4. My Job. There's so many Americans right now struggling to make ends meet. While we aren't rolling in it (hardly with the new expense of daycare), we're still able to tuck away a little into savings every two weeks. My husband works extremely hard to provide for our family, and we have been able to take that hard work and make it a beautiful home, a new pick up and car, and really want for nothing, within reason. I'm not bragging, I'm counting blessings.
5. My Health. I had an uncomplicated pregnancy. I'm fit and strong and becoming more so with every day. I want to live a long time, and taking care of myself will help me get there.
6. See Number 5 (Cars, House, Plasma Screen TVs). We want for nothing. Praise be to God.
7. My Trainer, Angela. Without her and my new workout buddy (and competition!), Cheryl, I wouldn't have the slightest idea what I'm doing in the figure arena.
8. My Mother Visiting. To say the least, my mother hasn't been in fabulous health over the last couple years. She came in September and her grandson got to meet her, and she was doing great. I pray it's not the only time.
9. My Staff and Coworkers. The structure at my work is changing and a lot of people are leaving or being shut out. I can't say I entirely agree, although I know the direction we're headed in is the right one. I'm Thankful for the people that I work with and those that work for me.
10. Everything. Every night when I go to sleep, I try to thank God for each of the blessings my family has. I never get all the way thru, but in case God reads triathlon blogs,
Thank You.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Yo Baby, How 'Bout Some Fries With Dat Shake?
I'm dragging this one over from Figure'n It Out because it's too good not to share.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010 Is That Sound Medical Advice?
I've been killing it with my workouts, and for the last week, have stuck very closely to Coach Lady's meal plans... but then I have this happen.
Le Bebe has been acting strange the last couple days, and I had grown concerned. I called the peditritrician, and was directed to one of the nurses. "I don't think I'm producing as much milk as normal, and I know my baby is trying to eat more," I tell the nurse. "Have you started an exercise routine or changed your diet in anyway?" Duh. "Yes, I'm still eating quite a few calories, but it's cleaner food, not any junk, and I have started working out at the same intensity as I was pregant, and before, just different activities." "I see," she begins, "you know, it takes nine months to put on the weight, so give yourself nine months to take it off."
Bitch, please.
Aside from those nagging couple L-B's, I had that 39lbs' ass whopped in a month. Didn't seem to hurt my milk production then!
"Yes, I know. I lost the weight in a few weeks. I'm actually starting to prepare for a fitness competition." (I say fitness, very few people know what fitness/ figure are, let alone there's a difference.) Ooooh. Oh? Oh. Oh! WTF does OH mean? "Well, that's going to be very hard to continue breastfeeding then." I didn't go into when contest prep starts, and that he'll be close to 6 months, my goal for BF'ing, but REALLY? Then she tells me, and this is verbatim:
"Go to McDonald's and get yourself a quarter pounder and a shake."
... chirp ... chirp...
"I'm serious."
So, nurse's diagnosis; I'm not getting enough fat in my diet. But really, McD's? Is that sound medical advise?
I skipped on the shake, sounds like a good cheat for tomorrow! Instead I opted for FOUR ounces of colby jack cheese and a jumbo dog tonight. Sounds fatty to me, yes?
Tuesday, October 12, 2010 Is That Sound Medical Advice?
I've been killing it with my workouts, and for the last week, have stuck very closely to Coach Lady's meal plans... but then I have this happen.
Le Bebe has been acting strange the last couple days, and I had grown concerned. I called the peditritrician, and was directed to one of the nurses. "I don't think I'm producing as much milk as normal, and I know my baby is trying to eat more," I tell the nurse. "Have you started an exercise routine or changed your diet in anyway?" Duh. "Yes, I'm still eating quite a few calories, but it's cleaner food, not any junk, and I have started working out at the same intensity as I was pregant, and before, just different activities." "I see," she begins, "you know, it takes nine months to put on the weight, so give yourself nine months to take it off."
Bitch, please.
Aside from those nagging couple L-B's, I had that 39lbs' ass whopped in a month. Didn't seem to hurt my milk production then!
"Yes, I know. I lost the weight in a few weeks. I'm actually starting to prepare for a fitness competition." (I say fitness, very few people know what fitness/ figure are, let alone there's a difference.) Ooooh. Oh? Oh. Oh! WTF does OH mean? "Well, that's going to be very hard to continue breastfeeding then." I didn't go into when contest prep starts, and that he'll be close to 6 months, my goal for BF'ing, but REALLY? Then she tells me, and this is verbatim:
"Go to McDonald's and get yourself a quarter pounder and a shake."
... chirp ... chirp...
"I'm serious."
So, nurse's diagnosis; I'm not getting enough fat in my diet. But really, McD's? Is that sound medical advise?
I skipped on the shake, sounds like a good cheat for tomorrow! Instead I opted for FOUR ounces of colby jack cheese and a jumbo dog tonight. Sounds fatty to me, yes?
Monday, September 13, 2010
What Now?
Since the Squid is swinging peacefully away, I have two hands and am not covered in spit up, how about a little catching up? We're getting settled in comfortably with a routine, well some semblance of one. Although we do have one thing that's a new addition aside from the Squid, of course. A "for sale" sign. As in: Buy our home. Yeah, I know, good joke, eh? But, we're giving it a try. We've been browsing houses since this early spring. We should have tried to really sell then, but we didn't. Mostly my fault. So we're sitting in our fabulous home, but we have our eyes on two floor plans that will function a little better for our expanded family. If you want to buy a house, look in south Blue Springs, Mo.
Yesterday was a beautiful day. I packed up the Squid, put on the Garmin and went for a jog. Well, I didn't wear the right bra ("sport" Nursing bras are not even close to being sporty) so there was way more walking then I wanted to do. He still doesn't fit in the jogging stroller, so we're making the regular one work for now for our jogs. I didn't bother with the HRM strap, but believe me, the data was more for shits and grins than for recording.
I still have some "issues" so swimming is out for a bit, and cycling will still be uncomfortable for a while. Instead, I'm doing a little research. I'm looking forward to my next athletic challenge of Figure competitions. I'm trying to decide if Bikini might be the better class for me since it requires competitors to be a little softer, but if I am close, I'll sign up for Figure and add Bikini as a crossover class if it's allowed at the particular show I choose. Right now I'm looking through about three local shows between April and June of 2011.
It's a bit intimidating looking at the girls in competitions, but as I dig a little deeper, I am seeing posing practices of women months out from competition looking like, well... NORMAL woman. Definitely firm and fit, but it's nice to know that I'm not as far off base as I am feeling. Also, I've seen so much of the Pro women at comps like the Arnold Classic and Olympia that I thought these goals were really unrealistic. Then I realised I have to start somewhere and found these local ladies looking Uh-Maze-Ing (and attainable) practicing for a show, ya know, pre-spray tan and such:
PS
Number 6 (the Blonde second from right) is local Irongirl Gretchen Duncan!
This is pretty much where we're at right now. I'm enjoying the last month until I have to go back to work. I'm completely dreading it: I do NOT want Squid going to day care. We found a nice place and I'm sure it will be fine, but that's doesn't make me look forward to it.
I've got a LONG way to go to even get ready to get ready for Figure, but I'll get there (Stopping with the amount of ice cream I've enjoyed recently!)
Here we are, off on our journey. Momhood. Figure competitor!
Psst
I'm still doing triathlons, but it will just be sprints or olympics next year!
Yesterday was a beautiful day. I packed up the Squid, put on the Garmin and went for a jog. Well, I didn't wear the right bra ("sport" Nursing bras are not even close to being sporty) so there was way more walking then I wanted to do. He still doesn't fit in the jogging stroller, so we're making the regular one work for now for our jogs. I didn't bother with the HRM strap, but believe me, the data was more for shits and grins than for recording.
I still have some "issues" so swimming is out for a bit, and cycling will still be uncomfortable for a while. Instead, I'm doing a little research. I'm looking forward to my next athletic challenge of Figure competitions. I'm trying to decide if Bikini might be the better class for me since it requires competitors to be a little softer, but if I am close, I'll sign up for Figure and add Bikini as a crossover class if it's allowed at the particular show I choose. Right now I'm looking through about three local shows between April and June of 2011.
It's a bit intimidating looking at the girls in competitions, but as I dig a little deeper, I am seeing posing practices of women months out from competition looking like, well... NORMAL woman. Definitely firm and fit, but it's nice to know that I'm not as far off base as I am feeling. Also, I've seen so much of the Pro women at comps like the Arnold Classic and Olympia that I thought these goals were really unrealistic. Then I realised I have to start somewhere and found these local ladies looking Uh-Maze-Ing (and attainable) practicing for a show, ya know, pre-spray tan and such:
PS
Number 6 (the Blonde second from right) is local Irongirl Gretchen Duncan!
This is pretty much where we're at right now. I'm enjoying the last month until I have to go back to work. I'm completely dreading it: I do NOT want Squid going to day care. We found a nice place and I'm sure it will be fine, but that's doesn't make me look forward to it.
I've got a LONG way to go to even get ready to get ready for Figure, but I'll get there (Stopping with the amount of ice cream I've enjoyed recently!)
Here we are, off on our journey. Momhood. Figure competitor!
Psst
I'm still doing triathlons, but it will just be sprints or olympics next year!
Friday, August 27, 2010
Hi. An Update.
Colic.
Colic effing sucks.
House for sale.
Someone come buy it.
Exhausted.
Need more sleep.
Couldn't be happier.
Colic effing sucks.
House for sale.
Someone come buy it.
Exhausted.
Need more sleep.
Couldn't be happier.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Eli: A Race, er, Birth Report
Cramps. The, I have held my pregnant pee too long cramps. At least, that's what I thought it was.
Saturday, the 24th (Lil' Dude's official due date), I went to my pedicure lady. "Massage me." She agreed. It was time. There's this old wives' tale that having your feet massaged will bring on labor. I need a cut and polish anyway.
Husband and I had a relaxing afternoon. Went to bed at a decent time. At some point, that's when the cramps started.
By 5:30am, I had decided they weren't pee cramps. Still laying in bed, snuggled together, we started timing them. Seven minutes. Six minutes. Five. They were consistent. And getting closer. I said I wanted breakfast. Husband climbed in the shower. I knew a trip to the Big Biscuit would never happen. I made us a breakfast at home. One way or another, this would be our last Sunday breakfast as Eric and Courtney. We knew next Sunday we would be The Staton Family. Bittersweet.
I paged the on-call doctor. I knew it was going to be Dr. Dickhead, the OB I switched from. My own doctor called me back instead. "Well, if there's a bit of bite to them, come on in. We'll check you out. Worse case, you'll come back tonight." My terrific Dr. Lady had switched on-calls with Dr. Dickhead. AWESOME.
We arrived at the hospital just past 9am. Husband walked in holding my hand. I told the nurse, as she hooked me to a monitor, that I wasn't sure if they were real contractions. There wasn't much in my abdomen area, but my back hurt like hell. Her response: "Uh-oh." That's not good. She checked me for dilation and effacement. 2cm. Maybe 60%. Not numbers you want to hear when starting labor. I had made no progress from the previous week's OB appointment. After a quick scan over, she confirmed my back pain. Sunny side up. Straight OP. (differences here) Back Labor. Lil' Dude was kicking and squirming and giving no relief. Like a squid in my stomach.
I was told to walk. So I did. Husband and I walked the hallways. And walked. And walked. The contractions were getting stronger. And stronger. I needed to sit. Then I was hit with the WHAMMY. Pain hard enough to make tears roll from my eyes, and vomit surface in my mouth. This is the real deal. After 90 minutes of waddling, and eventually needing to stop during contractions to focus only on breathing, I was checked again. Almost 4cm, 80%. Progress, but not much. Dr. Lady decision time: Well, you're coming back tonight anyway, so why make two trips? Let's get some active labor started. We were well past inducing, now, we were augmenting. Whatever. I just want my baby!
I was moved to a room where we would remain for our stay. The pain was getting tough. Dr. Lady broke my water. It was painless. I even asked "Would this hurt?" but she was already done. I was hooked to an IV tower, and told to walk some more. I made it about 10 minutes. I was still on the no pain medication train. Barely. I agreed to Stadol. But I wanted to use the birthing ball and whirlpool tub first. I made it through one contraction on the birthing ball. Fuck the tub. Give me the narcotic. It made me itchy. ITCH-EE. I was given Benadryl. The combination of Benadryl and Stadol made me sleepy. During this time, Eric called the fams. My dad and grandma came in. I mostly remember it. I was hurting like hell. My contractions were now double peaking, something that comes with back labor. I was "sleeping" between contractions, and waking right in the peak. So, I was out for about two minutes and yelling in pain for two minutes. Effing A. I remember saying something along the lines of This Fucking Sucks. Sorry grandma.
Get me the epidural. NOW.
Eric held my hand. Well, he held still while I tried not to break his bones. I recall during a Stadol coma contraction him telling me that there are pins in that hand, and he can feel them. Sorry honey. Let me take a second to say what an amazing, huge, terrific help Eric was. He never left my side. He held my hand through every contraction. Stayed right next to me. Perfect. They kept me turned half on my side hoping to get Squid to roll over. It didn't work, but they kept me in that position.
The epidural was painless. Not that I would have felt anything besides the explosion rocking my core. All was right with the world once I had my epidural. I still felt every contraction, but had full control over my legs and could feel the "urge to poop" coming on. I wasn't numbed entirely. Exactly what I hoped for. At 3pm, the time my epidural was administered I was at a 6, and almost 90% effaced. I took a nap.
At 4pm they came in to check me again. My nurse, an angel named Shannon, told me it was time. Dr. Lady agreed. You're at a 10, 100%. Let's have a baby. You're ready to push.
Whoa. Shock waves. Can't believe it. I'm about to have a baby!
The nursery nurses came in. There was a little meconium in the fluid, so they wanted to be sure they were ready in case the Squid needed to be intibated. That was a scary thought, but I figured the best I pushed, the less likely he would be to inhale any goo.
In my birthplan I had expressly said NO to a mirror. But once I was ready to go, I asked for one. I am SO glad I did. The first couple pushes are practice really. The nurse asked if Eric could count for me. He did and did great. I did ask him to count slower. I wanted to push for as long as I could in every contraction. There wouldn't be any pushing for four hours BS here. Squid was ready. Husband did get up the guts to look in the mirror one time. It was maybe a bit much for him.
After 35 min. Shannon said STOP. STOP STOP! I panicked. I could see his head! The Dr. Lady was scurrying into her gear. I had to sit out two contractions. That was awful. I could see his hair (OMG! beautiful dark hair, just like my husband!). I reached down, I touched him. I bawled. I was moments away from mommy-hood. Gathering myself, I readied for the big transition. Here we go. I looked at Eric, he started counting.
One contraction.
Two contraction.
50 minutes of pushing. Here's your baby.
The emptying of your abdominal cavity is the craziest feeling ever. I immediately felt lighter, yet as if I would burst open. The nursery nurses looked him over. He inhaled no meconium. He was wailing. It was amazing.
Eric got to hold his hand while he got cleaned up. Then he was able to hold the Squid while the placenta delivered (no, we didn't keep it to eat it. Google that. No, don't) and my stitches were completed (2nd Degree. Not fun, but not horribly awful.).
I was then given my little bundle. Little is kind of a loose term.
Our Squid weighed in at 9lbs 1oz, and 21.5" long. The measuring tape only went to 21". The nurses had to extend the tape out to get him measured.
Ten perfect fingers (that look like Eric's).
Ten perfect toes.
Saturday, the 24th (Lil' Dude's official due date), I went to my pedicure lady. "Massage me." She agreed. It was time. There's this old wives' tale that having your feet massaged will bring on labor. I need a cut and polish anyway.
Husband and I had a relaxing afternoon. Went to bed at a decent time. At some point, that's when the cramps started.
By 5:30am, I had decided they weren't pee cramps. Still laying in bed, snuggled together, we started timing them. Seven minutes. Six minutes. Five. They were consistent. And getting closer. I said I wanted breakfast. Husband climbed in the shower. I knew a trip to the Big Biscuit would never happen. I made us a breakfast at home. One way or another, this would be our last Sunday breakfast as Eric and Courtney. We knew next Sunday we would be The Staton Family. Bittersweet.
I paged the on-call doctor. I knew it was going to be Dr. Dickhead, the OB I switched from. My own doctor called me back instead. "Well, if there's a bit of bite to them, come on in. We'll check you out. Worse case, you'll come back tonight." My terrific Dr. Lady had switched on-calls with Dr. Dickhead. AWESOME.
We arrived at the hospital just past 9am. Husband walked in holding my hand. I told the nurse, as she hooked me to a monitor, that I wasn't sure if they were real contractions. There wasn't much in my abdomen area, but my back hurt like hell. Her response: "Uh-oh." That's not good. She checked me for dilation and effacement. 2cm. Maybe 60%. Not numbers you want to hear when starting labor. I had made no progress from the previous week's OB appointment. After a quick scan over, she confirmed my back pain. Sunny side up. Straight OP. (differences here) Back Labor. Lil' Dude was kicking and squirming and giving no relief. Like a squid in my stomach.
I was told to walk. So I did. Husband and I walked the hallways. And walked. And walked. The contractions were getting stronger. And stronger. I needed to sit. Then I was hit with the WHAMMY. Pain hard enough to make tears roll from my eyes, and vomit surface in my mouth. This is the real deal. After 90 minutes of waddling, and eventually needing to stop during contractions to focus only on breathing, I was checked again. Almost 4cm, 80%. Progress, but not much. Dr. Lady decision time: Well, you're coming back tonight anyway, so why make two trips? Let's get some active labor started. We were well past inducing, now, we were augmenting. Whatever. I just want my baby!
I was moved to a room where we would remain for our stay. The pain was getting tough. Dr. Lady broke my water. It was painless. I even asked "Would this hurt?" but she was already done. I was hooked to an IV tower, and told to walk some more. I made it about 10 minutes. I was still on the no pain medication train. Barely. I agreed to Stadol. But I wanted to use the birthing ball and whirlpool tub first. I made it through one contraction on the birthing ball. Fuck the tub. Give me the narcotic. It made me itchy. ITCH-EE. I was given Benadryl. The combination of Benadryl and Stadol made me sleepy. During this time, Eric called the fams. My dad and grandma came in. I mostly remember it. I was hurting like hell. My contractions were now double peaking, something that comes with back labor. I was "sleeping" between contractions, and waking right in the peak. So, I was out for about two minutes and yelling in pain for two minutes. Effing A. I remember saying something along the lines of This Fucking Sucks. Sorry grandma.
Get me the epidural. NOW.
Eric held my hand. Well, he held still while I tried not to break his bones. I recall during a Stadol coma contraction him telling me that there are pins in that hand, and he can feel them. Sorry honey. Let me take a second to say what an amazing, huge, terrific help Eric was. He never left my side. He held my hand through every contraction. Stayed right next to me. Perfect. They kept me turned half on my side hoping to get Squid to roll over. It didn't work, but they kept me in that position.
The epidural was painless. Not that I would have felt anything besides the explosion rocking my core. All was right with the world once I had my epidural. I still felt every contraction, but had full control over my legs and could feel the "urge to poop" coming on. I wasn't numbed entirely. Exactly what I hoped for. At 3pm, the time my epidural was administered I was at a 6, and almost 90% effaced. I took a nap.
At 4pm they came in to check me again. My nurse, an angel named Shannon, told me it was time. Dr. Lady agreed. You're at a 10, 100%. Let's have a baby. You're ready to push.
Whoa. Shock waves. Can't believe it. I'm about to have a baby!
The nursery nurses came in. There was a little meconium in the fluid, so they wanted to be sure they were ready in case the Squid needed to be intibated. That was a scary thought, but I figured the best I pushed, the less likely he would be to inhale any goo.
In my birthplan I had expressly said NO to a mirror. But once I was ready to go, I asked for one. I am SO glad I did. The first couple pushes are practice really. The nurse asked if Eric could count for me. He did and did great. I did ask him to count slower. I wanted to push for as long as I could in every contraction. There wouldn't be any pushing for four hours BS here. Squid was ready. Husband did get up the guts to look in the mirror one time. It was maybe a bit much for him.
After 35 min. Shannon said STOP. STOP STOP! I panicked. I could see his head! The Dr. Lady was scurrying into her gear. I had to sit out two contractions. That was awful. I could see his hair (OMG! beautiful dark hair, just like my husband!). I reached down, I touched him. I bawled. I was moments away from mommy-hood. Gathering myself, I readied for the big transition. Here we go. I looked at Eric, he started counting.
One contraction.
Two contraction.
50 minutes of pushing. Here's your baby.
The emptying of your abdominal cavity is the craziest feeling ever. I immediately felt lighter, yet as if I would burst open. The nursery nurses looked him over. He inhaled no meconium. He was wailing. It was amazing.
Eric got to hold his hand while he got cleaned up. Then he was able to hold the Squid while the placenta delivered (no, we didn't keep it to eat it. Google that. No, don't) and my stitches were completed (2nd Degree. Not fun, but not horribly awful.).
I was then given my little bundle. Little is kind of a loose term.
Our Squid weighed in at 9lbs 1oz, and 21.5" long. The measuring tape only went to 21". The nurses had to extend the tape out to get him measured.
Ten perfect fingers (that look like Eric's).
Ten perfect toes.
I am in love.
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