Black Friday

Before kids I did the black Friday shopping thing.  I don’t know why really, but chances are that when the kids are older I may do it again (except where I can get free shipping by doing online shopping of course).

Instead, today, I work.  Traffic was nonexistent, the parking garage was eerily empty.  But no one is around to keep me from getting stuff done.  It’s really nice.

I don’t typically mention much on this blog about those topics that are in the ‘air’ currently that are controversial.  But for some reason I wanted to talk about Black Friday turning into Black Thursday.

On one hand I’m like ‘whatever’.  It is my understanding that most retailers are not having a hard time finding people to work.  And a large portion of those that work in retail probably need the extra money that they could make on a holiday, so why not?

On the other hand I think it’s crap.  Why make people work on holidays?  I doubt I’d ever shop on Thanksgiving.

Nursing

February 25, 2012.

The first day that I didn’t nurse bug. I wrote a number of posts about weaning her last year (see some here, here and here), and going back and looking at them again brought new tears to my eyes.

I look at my little girl, who now really looks so much like a little girl, and it breaks my heart just a little that we weaned when we did, for the reasons we did. Infertility and wanting another baby.

Some of my worries back then didn’t come true. I was so worried that we’d wean and then never get pregnant and I’d regret it. I don’t regret weaning – because I look at the beautiful face of my smiling little boy and know that HE wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for weaning when we did. That doesn’t mean that the ache doesn’t come back sometimes.

One of my other worries that I don’t believe I really wrote too much about was that I was afraid that my nursing relationship with a new baby wouldn’t be the same.

And it’s not.

Goose isn’t known to comfort nurse in the same way that Bug did. For Bug, I was her EVERYTHING. If anything bothered her she wanted to nurse. If she couldn’t settle down she wanted to nurse. If she was tired, cranky, happy, hurt, sad, ill, she wanted to nurse. She loved our nursing relationship as much as I did. In the long run weaning that last daily session was easier with her than I expected, but she held on to my boobs (literally and figuratively) for months and months afterwards. Even when she went through her distracted stage she was still all about the nursing relationship. It was filled with sweet sweet moments of just her and I, loving each other as a mama and daughter were meant to in the early years.

Goose isn’t like that. He does some level of comfort nursing, but not like she did. I can’t keep him focused sometimes long enough to get a letdown. In the morning he’s become so accustomed to taking a bottle that he isn’t interested in me if I’m around when he gets up during the week (weekends he will eventually nurse). In the deep pit of my stomach I’m so afraid that he’ll self-wean earlier than I want him to. I want so badly for him to nurse until at least 2 because of the bond it creates. Because of the good that I know it does for him. (and the ease and price of it ain’t half bad either!)

He is rougher than she was. Yeah, she got those claws in my skin sometimes, but not bad (or maybe I’m just remembering the good part?). He is so rough and tumble, he will grip both sides of my boob sometimes and squeeze it in his tiny little fists. I’ll come out red and marked up. Sometimes with scratches. But the other night I was nursing him before bed, and I realized in some ways it’s not so different.

The relationship. In many ways it is similar.

I choose to take that step back and really pay attention, recognizing that he has a lot more going on than she did with a toddler running around to keep his attention.

As I felt the weight of him curled up against me, the rest of his hands on me (yes, he was being gentle) the way he eagerly drinks and the way his sweet little eyes went half closed reminded me of all those sweet moments with her. I took the step back and reclaimed the sweet moments with him right then and there. I watched him break away for a moment and take a deep breath, only to go back to nursing. That same soft deep pull of the nipple as he gets one of the best things that I can give him. The way his warm body stayed so close to mine.

And I realized that I very well may be wrong. That this relationship may have a lot more time in it yet. That our sweet moments are still there, hanging in tight, and it makes me glad (with a little sadness around it) that I weaned Bug when I did, so that I could have this relationship with Goose. And I thought that about 4 more times overnight as he woke up (teething) and wanted nothing but mama to nurse him through.

And, nursing Goose has taught me something about nursing Bug. Turns out she had a HORRIBLE latch and that’s why my nipples were always sore (nipple cream was used up until the last day I nursed!). Goose? He may be rough and tumble, but that boy has an AMAZING latch and the girls only get tender when AF is near. Nipple cream? I’m sure I have some in the medicine cabinet… somewhere :-)

Teething

Goose is teething. He is teething, but is a better teether (is that a word?) then Bug was. At least that’s what I keep thinking to myself in my sleep deprived haze that has been building up for the last 10 1/2 months. I know it’s true, he, in general, sleeps better than Bug did. But the weeks leading up to a tooth being cut are tough, and the week before and after are just brutal. I’m in the throes of that time. He just popped through teeth 3 and 4 and is working on 5 and 6. And I’m scared. The other night when he woke up the first time I dealt with something I don’t ever remember dealing with when it came to Bug, and she definitely was cause for severe sleep deprivation for a very long time. First, I didn’t really wake up to his cries. K did. Well, I guess I kinda did. I heard K ask a question about the cries, I think it was something along the lines of who it was that was crying, although I’m not sure. He said this morning that both kids were making noise, but I still don’t remember hearing Bug at all. K doesn’t typically wake up to it in the middle of the night in part because I'm so quick to wake up to him, so that makes me question how long Goose was fussing, and maybe that was why Bug was too – because she kept hearing Goose. In my sleep deprivation haze I couldn’t even function enough to understand that the noise I was hearing were a babies cries, and my husband asking who. He had to ask the question a couple of times while I tried so hard to dig through the haze to understand what was going on. I was confused. I finally got through and was able to advise that it was Goose. K left and went to care for him. What felt like a minute or 2 later (although K said it was 20 or so), K came back in and let me know he thought Goose wanted to nurse. I could hear Goose crying (again I believe?). I was oriented enough to go nurse him. But while I was nursing him I felt myself weaving in and out of confusion, weaving in and out of this haze. The best way I can explain it is to liken it to the stories I hear of people who have been in a coma, and how they explain of this haze, fog, muck all around them that they have to try to dig, crawl, fight through to get to the surface. I know sleep deprivation isn’t a coma, and please understand that I’m not trying to say my situation is anything like a coma. That is simply what it felt like. There was this haze all around me, and I kept feeling so lost and confused as I tried to dig my way through. I’d get through and recognize that I was holding a suckling Goose to my breast, and I’d close my eyes again and sometime later I’d realize I was deep in the fog again. I have no idea how long I sat there. It seemed like a long time. Finally I realized that he wasn’t nursing any more, and I had no idea when he had stopped. He was quiet and asleep in my arms. So I put him back in the crib, to which he woke up to. I stood there patting his bottom until I thought he was good. Then I went back to bed. Shortly after I heard him fussing again, but I didn’t have the energy to get out of bed, and it didn’t last long before he was back asleep. I know he woke up at least one more time, and I know the fog was there but I don’t think it was quite as bad. But I don’t really remember that wake up and nursing session. Maybe I’m getting them confused and that was the second nursing session and the first I remember even less. I really don’t know. The night was a confused hazy blur that honestly freaks me out a little bit. Here’s to hoping for some sleep tonight.

Pilot's Wife?

Yes, I’m still a Pilot’s wife. It’s true, I am :-) We've been both lucky and unlucky since K lost his job 2 years ago as a Flight Engineer on a 727. He didn’t have the hours to get another job for a carrier of any kind. He got his pilot’s license in his 30’s and got the job as an FE because he already worked for the company as an A&P Mechanic and they LOVED him. So he remained unemployed during our move, and then took a few months to spend at home with his little girl, whom he had been gone from 21 days a month for her entire life (sometimes more; during training). So a year and ½ ago he went back to work, but as a flight instructor. Then a year ago he added in some corporate flying on the side, but then that became his ‘main’ job in August of this year. Last summer he was never home. He committed to being home one weekend day and one evening a week this summer, and did that. He just kept chasing the new hour requirements for his ATP. (for those of you non-aviation followers, it’s something required to fly as a Captain/Co-Captain by commercial carriers) It sucked. He kept saying ‘there’s going to be a shortage of pilots and they’ll have to revise the laws’ for months. Then, they FINALLY DID!! He had just barely the right amount of hours for the Revised ATP (R-ATP), and happens to have a degree in aviation from a university that is in the process of getting their approval to be used towards the R-ATP. That is still in process, but in the interim he got hired on by United Express. They are desperate for pilots, so they hired him knowing that they may have to pay him to sit at home until the University’s approval comes through. So a month ago he started training. The first part of training was local, so he was home every night, but laaate every night, and helped get the kids ready for the day in the morning. So they were seeing him for maybe an hour a day during the week (that is rushed of course) and maybe 2 hours on the weekend. Then on Sunday he had to go out to Seattle for his Sim training at Flight Safety. Goose is doing fine with it (10 1/2 months already!!), but Bug, well, she’s not handling it so well. Daycare has mentioned many times over the past 2 weeks that she is sad or emotional during the day. I know it’s because she misses K. She does good most of the time at home with me, and is typically pretty happy, but I know it’s because I’m around. Luckily he got domiciled here at home. Low man on the totem pole we figure he’ll get a lot of 5 day trips in the beginning (that’s their longest stints). I’m good with that, but I’m worried about Bug. For those of you left out there following me that are Pilot wives, any suggestions on helping a 3 ½ year old handling daddy being gone after he WAS home? I feel so bad for her, it’s heartbreaking. And now she wants me more than him, which is sweet for me, but tough on him. We will Skype for sure when we can, but any other thoughts are appreciated. On an awesome note, United Express has flow through to United, which is K’s carrier of choice. So hopefully a handful of years from now he’ll be working for United! AND just because……. I AM SO EXCITED FOR NON REV BENEFITS!!!! (except the first bunch of times I use it will be Kid Free until I am a semi pro at handling it LOL) Any suggestions on non reving? :-)

time passes

I am sitting here at the hairdresser under the dryer and typing this post from my phone, so please excuse random commas or other strange happenings. Wow, its been 2 months since my last post. I've had a lot to say in that time, but little time to do so. Our renters moved out of our rental house back in T town, and I spent about 7 or so days helping get it move in ready. Our new renters moved in, leaving us only a week of no rent thankfully. We just spent last,week replacing the roof on the garage. I'm so over dumping money into that house. We are starting to look for a house to buy in the CLE, even though we are still both a little buy shy. Add to it our job worries.... But we can't keep renting at these outrageous rent prices. So I think we are going,to buy a duplex and move my parents into the other side. They need to get out of the day to day homeowner activites. But they probably can't sell, so suddenly,there's another rental property that we'll be helping,with. Sigh. I'll do a whole nother post on,our jobs. I'm safe (as the breadwinner), but there's a lot going on and I'm seriously thinking after 14 years it may be time to move on. Goose broke through his first tooth 2 Weeks ago. I kept saying he was teething but no one believed me. He doesn't sleep the best anymore, but I just keep reminding myself that this too shall pass, and it's not as bad as bug was. Aaaand my hairs done so off I go!

Six Months and 3 years

I can't believe how much my babies are growing up.

Goose turned 6 months old 10 days ago.

Bug will be 3 years old in 7 days.

I love watching everything new that they do each day, but each milestone is bittersweet, as I know I'm watching some of these things happen for the last time in my life as there will be no more babies.

I don't tend to do these types of posts, but I want to put it out there, to remind myself of what these guys were doing at these ages.

Goose has been sitting up unsupported for almost 2 months now.  He started rolling over a few weeks before that.  Now he rolls this way and that and just wants to move move move.  I suspect he'll be crawling before we know it.  We started him on solids about 2 weeks ago.  We are going the route of Baby Led Weaning (I wanted to do this with Bug, but it didn't work for her).  So far it seems to be working for Goose.  he's had Avocado, Broccoli, Sweet Potatoes and Green Beans.  He's getting better and better at grabbing the food off his tray and getting it to his mouth.  And he's actually eating food, he's not just making a big old mess (but yes, he is doing that too :-))

He was my good sleeper, but about 6 weeks ago he caught a cold and hasn't slept worth crap since then.  He suddenly can't fall asleep on his own, and wakes up anywhere between 2 and 4 times a night.  It's brutal, which is funny considering Bug was SO MUCH WORSE.  We're working on it, but I am doing my best to recognize that it may also be a mix of that cold as well as all the new stuff that's going on (see paragraph above).

He's a happy little boy, smiling and giggling on a regular basis.  He loves his big sister, especially grabbing her hair ha ha.

As of yesterday he weighed 17 pounds 4 ounces and was 28 inches long.  He is still medicated for his reflux twice a day, and absolutely still spits up massive amounts.  I'm hoping another few weeks or so of solids will help that out more.

Bug, oh bug.  She's awesome, but very much a 3 year old.  So a month or so ago she suddenly decided that she was interested in potty training. She's been doing pretty good, but still has lots of accidents, especially if she's in a pull up.  So I try to keep her mostly in underwear, but that's not always feasible.  She hasn't really pooped in the potty, and public toilets seem to scare the living daylights out of her, and even if she has to pee it ends up turning into meltdown screaming central.  But she's working on it, and we are trying to make a big deal out of it when she does go in the potty, but not make her feel bad when she doesn't (while still trying to explain why it's better to go in the potty).  It's a strange line to walk, that's for sure.

She's been doing good in speech therapy and has a LOT more words.  There's still many that people would never understand that we (usually) do.  But she's getting there.  We continue to teach her some sign language as well, just to help her skills.  Every sign we teach her the word with too, so many of them she will do both (cookie anyone?).  Some she just struggles with the word so much so it's nice to have the sign so that we can figure out what she is trying to talk about.

She's in the terrible 3's for sure, she throws some pretty major fits at times.  But they are actually more tolerable (most times) than the tantrums she threw at 2.  I think that a lot of that is because of her ability to communicate now that wasn't there before.

She loves Octonots on TV, and it's not beyond me to let her watch it just so that I can manage to get both kids ready for bed.  Especially when K is working.  This is something that I swore I'd never do.  But then I got pregnant.  And exhausted pregnant.  And then new baby and new baby pregnant.  Yeah, she gets about an hour of TV a day total.  1 episode in the morning, 1 in the evening.  Sometimes a little more, sometimes a little less.

She has this crazy head of hair that adults would kill for.  It's long, thick, shiny, healthy and has these great natural highlights.  But she HATES to get it brushed.  Above mentioned TV show helps that problem too :-)

She doesn't have her 3 year check up until closer to the end of the month, but we had her in the other week and she weighted just shy of 31 pounds.  She's my peanut.  I swear Goose is going to catch up with her by the time he's 1 1/2!!

That's it for now.  It's getting late (ok, not really, but it sure feels like it).  I'm ready to head to bed, before the first waking of the night!

My Friend H

Some of you may remember H.  She was the friend of mine that had a little baby boy 2 days after my Bug was born.  And had to say goodbye to that precious little boy at a very young 31 days of age.

She then welcomed her first daughter in November 2012.

She then unexpectedly found herself pregnant again.

Well, just a few weeks ago she welcomed her third baby, her second daughter, into this world.  We had lunch just about 2 weeks before she was induced, just days before her due date.  She was ready to have that baby, and her daughter is just adorable.

I continue to pray for her as she comes close to that 31 day mark that I know is the hardest time for her to get through with her babies.

And as Bug nears her birthday (that's another post, later!), I remember H's sweet little boy that will be celebrating his 3rd birthday up in heaven with all the other angels.

And I know that as time goes by H spends her days crazy with 2 little girls under 2, and I know she remembers with both happiness and sadness the little boy that is missing.  She memorializes him in so many ways.  And reaches out and allows God to be her comfort.  I can only hope that I can learn from the strength she has exhibited in the last 3 years.  She really is an amazing woman, and her husband is an amazing man, and together they really do make an amazing couple.

Lots of love being sent their way.

11 years

So I missed the day in terms of blogging, but K and I just celebrated our 11 year wedding anniversary on June 22.

11 years.

I think about all we've been through in that time, and it amazes me.  So I thought I'd do a brief timeline, because unfortunately I've been sick, and my head has been hurting to migraine level.  But I have 5 minutes and want to take advantage of it, so here goes.

January 2000 - We started a 4 hour class on Microsoft Office at our local community college.  A few weeks in was when K got caught by a train and stuck sitting next to me.  The teachers name was Ms. Love.  K and I never looked back.

December 2000 - We moved in together.

March 2001 - Got Engaged.

June 2002 - Got Married.

2003 - We agreed to finish college before we started a family.  So we decided to look for a house.  We purchased a house, closing on my Birthday in April of 2003.

2004 - We continued to work full time and trudge our way through school.  We had fun, drank too much, did some travelling.  It was a pretty uneventful year.

2005 - K graduated from college.  We got cable for him as I had one more year (yep, it's one of those oddities I remember).  We bought a sailboat, learned to sail, had lots of fun and partied a lot.  Got our dog.

2006 - I graduated from college.  Took a 3 week trip to Europe.  Did so much that we wanted to, explored, enjoyed long meals and walks, lots of good wine and tons of culture.  Threw out the birth control and started trying to get pregnant.

2007 - Started seeing doctors for our now diagnosed infertility.  Continued to enjoy making new friends and identifying new hobbies.  Worked on our house a lot.  Did a lot of gardening and canning.

2008 - Did our first 3 rounds of IVF, with our final attempt coming down to a BFN on July 25, 2008.  This is where we had some marital issues.

2009 - Tried to sell our house in T Town.  I moved to Indianapolis, K stayed in T Town.  We worked things out and we spent weekends together.  K went back to school to get his pilots license.  Got pregnant through unconventional methods.

2010 - Welcomed our awesome daughter, Bug, into our lives on July 25. Cleared out the house in T Town and decided to think about renting it instead of selling it.  At the end of the year K got a job with the company he was a 727 Mechanic for as a Flight engineer on a 727 (cargo).

2011 - Got renters into our house.  Started discussing the possibility of having a second child.  Made the decision to give IVF ONE more fresh cycle chance (cancelled cycles not counting) and any frozen transfers if we had any frozen embryos.  Met with a couple of RE's in Indianapolis.  K got furloughed after the company his employer contracted with went under.  Made the move to Cleveland.

2012 - Met with 2 more RE's in Cleveland, picked a doc.  Weaned Bug, started IVF.  CONGRATS!  Success, we were going to get to see what OUR baby looks like!  K started flight instructing.

2013 - Welcomed our son Goose into the world.   Excited that when I do this summary in another 10 years, there won't be years where my summaries mainly center around infertility and treatment.  We are Done building our family, and content!  K got a job as a co-captain flying a mining companies West Wind.  He continues to flight instruct to get to his 1500 hours so he can get his ATP.

It's been an amazing 11 years married, 13 years together.  We've been through heaven and hell, we loved and hated each other.  But we always found our way back to our love, and in the process we really realized what it meant to love another adult (and what it meant to love children more than yourselves!).  We learned how to work through our difficult times.  We learned that we really can weather any storm.  I love K, with all my heart.  I wouldn't trade our lives, our troubles, our happy times, for anything in the world.  We are who we are individually and as a couple because of each and every moment we have lived through together.

Thank you K, for choosing me to spend your life with.  I love you more than you'll ever know.

Thumps and Bumps and Bruises Oh My

So K and I were lying in bed last night, and something made me ask if he got up in the middle of the night to close the window. 

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye and says:

“Did I get up last night?  Well, strange that you ask, but in fact I did.  And I’m surprised I didn’t wake you up.  In fact, I was sure I was going to wake up the kids.”

So I look at him for a minute while he takes a sip of beer.

“I got up to go pee, and on the way tripped over the dog and ran into your dresser.  Then I cracked my hip on the bed so hard that I shook the whole bed.  How you slept through that I’m not sure.  Then I ran into the closet door on the way, which you know, they’re hollow, so it slammed shut and bounced back open.”

By this time I’m laughing, because it’s pretty funny, and in fact I had not woken up to it.  He takes another swig of beer and continues.

“Then I managed to drop the toilet seat, and man was that loud.  I ran into the bathroom door on the way back out.  Then I somehow knocked off the cover to the tall candle holder (which is metal), and it came crashing down on the glass table.  THEN I managed to get into bed.  It’s amazing I didn't manage to wake up the whole neighborhood.”

Needless to say by this time I was laughing so hard that I was wiping the tears away.  Nope, I don’t remember waking up to any of this.  I must have been dead to the world asleep.  But I’m curious if there are any bruises.

The best part?  I’m still not sure if it was last night or not that he got up to close the window.

A Fathers Day Ode; To My Mother

So Sunday we had my parents over for Fathers Day.  We cooked out on the grill, and in general had a good time.  Bug peed on the wall and pooped on the floor, so if that tells you anything about how potty training is going....

First I want to be serious though.  I want to wish K a very happy fathers day.  This is a day that a mere 4 years ago we didn't think he'd ever celebrate with a living child.  But here we are, 4 years later with 2 amazing kiddos.  K is the most caring father I could ever ask for.  He has patience, love and an immeasurable amount of fun in him.  The way he plays with Bug and Goose, the way he holds them, the way he goes running when cries suddenly begin.  It's amazing, and it melts my heart.  I always knew he would be an amazing father, I always knew that you would be able to feel his love.  But he has surpassed all of that, and it never fails to give me pause to enjoy the sweet moments I catch.

So, the ode to my mother.

The guys were out doing, well, whatever guys do that involves the garage, and maybe the boat.  Anyways, my mom and I were talking about Bra's, and how much she hates them.  During the conversation she was telling me about the last bra that she bought.

Mom: So, I went to Lowe's, and I had a 15% off coupon.....

Me: Silence.  I'm staring at her, mouth slightly open, trying to comprehend why in the WORLD she would buy a BRA at LOWE'S.

Mom (seeing my face): What, you and K were back in T Town, and I had a coupon, so I went shopping.  (we are shopping buddies these days).

Me (trying my hardest NOT to laugh): So you bought it where?

Mom: Low..... Oh my.... Kohl's, I meant Kohl's.  They sound similar, you know?  Plus you were just talking about shopping at Lowe's......

Me, laughing uncontrollably.  Dad walks in, looks at us, and walks back out.


So a little bit later we are enjoying our apple pie with whipped cream on it.

Me: This is SO good!!

Mom: Yea, especially with the Jello on top.

Me: The what?

Mom: Jello.  Whipped Cream.  Oh man.  I think I need to go home.

Me: Man mom, that one beer really did you in today.
Yep, I'm laughing through all this too.



So they get ready to leave.  She gives us all hugs and kisses, saving K for last.
Mom: K, Happy Mothers Day.  I mean, Happy Fathers Day.  Gawd, I'm going home.

Terrible Three's

I've heard that there's the terrible two's, and then there's the terrible three's.  Boy were people right.  We had some rough times right around this time last year, as she was heading into her second birthday.  They were rough for many reasons.... I don't think I was ready for my loving little girl to suddenly turn into a temper tantrum throwing toddler.  I was pregnant.  I had never lived through it and was quite unable to tell how much she understood.

It's different now.  For one, while we remain in speech therapy, she is doing much more talking and I KNOW she understands.  I'm not pregnant, and I've now lived through it.

BUT.

This is SO much worse than it was last year.  This is all out screaming, throwing herself around, laying on the floor and kicking her legs and flailing her arms, screaming, head banging, screaming tantrums.  Did I mention screaming?  It's heartbreaking.  I see why some parents give in.  It's so hard sometimes to stand my ground.  But she gets her stubborn from me.

Tonight it started because I gave her some raspberries to snack on (she asked for them).  She has an issue with eating food with a boo boo (that's a whole nother post), so she started throwing some raspberries in the sink on the side with the garbage disposal.  So I told her if they have boo boo's they taste better (sometimes this works), but that didn't stop it.  So then I asked her nicely to stop.  She didn't.  I explained if she didn't I would take them away.  She didn't.  So I took them away.

The tantrum commenced.

So I held her and tried to comfort her, it didn't work.  Then she wanted TV.  Which I told her she had to throw away her yogurt container from this morning, eat dinner, and then she could watch a show.  (yeah, we had to get up EARLY and K is out of town, so the container was still sitting there LOL).  She grabbed the container and made it all the way out to the garbage in the kitchen, then threw them on the floor and wanted MAMA to throw it away.

No go girly.

So she threw another fit, not that the first one had ever really ended.  That lasted until dinner was on the table.  Then she finally calmed down, picked up the yogurt container and threw it away and came and had dinner.  Then she was great for the rest of the night.

Oy Vey.

Take THAT infertility!

***I wrote this post 2 weeks ago, but had other posts scheduled so decided to wait to post this one***

After K and I had been trying to get pregnant for over a year, we finally decided to talk to my Ob/Gyn about testing.  She tested us and while I had slightly low progesterone, I was otherwise fine.  Which was interesting to me as my cycles were insanely irregular and she had to induce it a couple of times in that first year or so we were trying.  K on the other hand was not so good.  In fact, his issues were pretty severe, and not anything that we could fix with environmental changes, vitamins or even surgery.  There was No. Way. to make his numbers better.

 

We went to see a urologist that specialized in male infertility, then we self-referred to an RE.  Out of all 3 docs they all gave us the same basic news… that it was unlikely we’d ever get pregnant on our own.  The urologist basically told us to move on to adoption.  That first RE said he could get us pregnant through IVF, but that if we continued to try on our own our chances were abysmal.  The stats that he gave us were that if I ovulated every single month, and we managed to have sex at the right time every single month, for 10 years, we had a 1% chance of managing to get pregnant in that time frame.

 

Yes, I remember those words like I heard them yesterday.

 

That stat was very frightening at that time.  It was the culmination of almost 2 years of trying at that point, and the beginning of the horrifying journey of infertility treatments.  Our hearts were broken, and we thought the best way to move on was to jump into the treatments. 

 

That fateful first meeting with that RE where we were given that stat was over 5 years ago.  We had no idea what lay ahead of us, or what we would go through to get where we are today.  We still had a lot of hope that we would be parents, it was before we became shattered shells of the individuals that we were in the beginning.  We didn’t know that through all of the hell that we were about to go through we would come out the other side with our marriage intact and two beautiful children.  We didn’t know that our faith would be squashed and then restored.  We just didn’t know.

 

Yesterday I started my period.  And for the first time in over 7 years I’m annoyed that she is here.  I’m not even sure that’s the right way to put it, because every month for that time frame I would wish she wouldn’t come, but then end up hoping she’d show so that we could move on with the next cycle. 

 

But this time is different.  I know that my child bearing years are over.  That’s bittersweet to me, as I love pregnancy and babies and everything that goes along with it.  But we never wanted more than 2 children, and I don’t think that has changed for either of us.  I feel complete, fulfilled with my babies.  I look at them and feel happy, ecstatic, satisfied, amazed, but most of all grateful.  I know that never again will I deal with the shots, the heartache, the hope mixed with fear.  I know that I got those things that I most wanted in life, and every day they remind me of the innocence that I once had and lost. 

 

K and I agreed that we would tempt fate.  We agreed that hormonal birth control doesn’t work for me (I become crazy), I’m not excited at the idea of an IUD or anything like it, and we both hate condoms. 

 

Suddenly, that 1% stat that made us cry all those years ago, that 1% stat that we hated with a depth unknown to most people, that 1% stat that almost killed us, has suddenly become an OK thing.  It’s suddenly become the thing that leaves us comfortable in our decision to not use birth control, but leaves us with little worry that anything would come of it.  That horrible horrible stat is suddenly something we’re OK with, in a strange sense almost thankful for.

 

Because we recognize, that if that 1% stat were to come true, if it were to happen, then it would truly be our miracle that we were meant to have, that God always intended for us.  If one of those few little guys was ever able to make it to his final destination and meet his mate in my egg, then we know that would be one heckuva strong baby that was MEANT for this world.  (and yes, in some ways I hope that happens, and I think that's because of infertility ~ I'd love to get the one thing I was told I couldn't)

 

So take that INFERTILITY.  I still hate you and what you did for us (and continue to do for others), but now I’ve accepted you in a way that I never thought would be possible.  And as I move on with my life and leave those dark clouds of Infertility behind me I put my face up to the sun and soak in the warmth with my husband by my side and my CHILDREN in my arms.

I lost the dog....

In my house.

No, I do not leave in a mansion.  It's actually a very modest house.  And she's a big dog.  Like 80 pounds big.

It was after I put the kids to bed, so both of their bedroom doors were closed.

I was standing at the sink washing bottles and the dog was whining at the door.  I told her to give me a minute.

A minute later I went looking for her to take her out and she was no where.  I mean no where.

I looked in our bedroom.  Not there.

I looked in our bathroom and the spare bathroom.  Not there.

I looked in the living room.  The dining room.  Not there.

I walked around the house about 5 times.  I whistled and called out to her.  She wasn't anywhere.

Last ditch effort I checked the garage (I had taken some mama's milk out to the deep freeze), but I knew I did it before I washed bottles.  She wasn't there.

Then she came sauntering into the kitchen.  From the living room area.

I have no idea where she was hiding.

I'm not sure, but I'm thinking maybe I'm going a little crazy.

Family

Ordinary Girl posted about siblings the other day, and it got me to thinking.  I'm not sure how much I've really said about my family on here.  I know I talked a bit about them in my addiction post, but I think that's about it.

So I'm one of 5.  Well, kind of one of 5.  I mean, I am one of 5, but I am really only one of 3.  Have I thoroughly confused you yet?  I'll start backwards.

I'm the baby.  Then there's my older brother J, who is 4 years older than me (soon to be 37).  He's my full blood brother.  He's probably the hardest one to write about.  I know him the best, and through the years we have both loved and hated each other.  I'll focus on him and our life in this post.

I have an older half brother (we share a dad) S, who is 10 years older than me.  I grew up with him in my life although he lived with his mom.  Then I apparently have another half brother and half sister, both older than S.  I found out about them when I was 17.  We've never met and I know minimal information about them.  I've tried to find them unsuccessfully, although I admittedly don't really know how to go about the search.

Back to J.  When we were kids he liked to torment me because I was the younger sister.  So I would let him go so far, and then I would do what any sane girl would do.

I'd kick him where the sun don't shine.

Then I'd find myself in time out on the couch, every time.  Oops.

He became a drug addict when I was only about 12 and he was 16.  At least this is when I knew about it.  He ended up in and out of rehab for the next year or so.  Inpatient, outpatient, intensive outpatient, court required.  You name it, he did it.  Family counseling happened, but we were all a wreck.  At this point my dad even went to rehab after my brother called him out.  Something along the lines of 'if you think it's so easy why don't you do it' so he did.  Didn't help him any more than it helped my brother.

When J was 17 (I think) was when he started disappearing for days, weeks.  He'd go out on binges and follow around the Grateful Dead (this was shortly before Jerry Garcia died), Phish, and other bands.  He got into horrific car accidents, had my parents bus him home, told lies, stole money and stayed high.  He'd come home now and again.  He dropped out of high school days before his 18 birthday.  He has never gone back.

When I was 16 was when I made the bad decisions related to drugs.  For a while he and I got along real well, and partied together.  This lasted on and off for a couple of years.  Right after I turned 18 I graduated high school.  At that time J and I didn't get along.  At All.  Not even a little.  We couldn't stand to be in the same room as each other.

One day he called me the C word.  I hate that word and I'm sure you all know what word it is.  He said it with so much force, so much anger and resentment.

I told my parents it was him or me.

I left.

I lived out of my car and slept over at my boyfriends.  I couldn't 'move in' with him because it was 3 guys living together and they didn't/couldn't agree to let me and one of the other girlfriends move in.  This lasted for a number of months and then the single guy moved out.  So the two remaining had their girlfriends move in.  We lived in a scary part of town, and the other girl was pregnant.  Before we moved out she had her baby.  It was an interesting set up.

Anyways, during those couple of months that my truck was basically my home, my parents tried to convince me to come home.  I refused.  I finally agreed to meet up with them for dinner one night, but I wouldn't go to their house, so they took me out.  I told them that I couldn't understand how they could allow him to stay with them; drug addicted, couldn't hold down a job, didn't go to school, etc etc.

Yes, at the time I was still an addict myself.  But I worked 3 jobs and was going to college full time.

The problem was that my dad refused to let my mom kick J out.  Dad had been an addict most of his adult life, and his mom took care of him and continued to let him live with them whenever needed.  So he wanted to do the same for his son.

For me, it was horrible.  I didn't see any of them much for a while.  I felt that they were screwing the kid who actually was trying to make something of her life.  It was very rough times.

Throughout the next 15 years a lot happened.  J left town and came back.  Every once in a while he'd settle down in an apartment with a buddy and keep a job.  Then he'd get bored and pack up and leave again.  He ended up spending a couple years homeless out in Washington/Oregon/California.  Then he was back with my parents for a bit.  Now he's in Colorado, and loving it, but not really settled down.

We chatted the other week when he got worried because Dad wasn't answering his phone.  He asked me to promise him something that I couldn't promise, but I couldn't bring myself to let him know that I couldn't promise it.

He wanted me to promise that if one of my kids wanted to live the life that J is living, that I would accept it.  That I would be happy and not take issue with it.

I skated around it by telling him that as long as my kids are happy, then I'll be happy.  Which is partially true.

But I hope to God, I pray to God they don't ever choose his lifestyle.  I see the way it tears my parents up, the way my mom worries and stresses, knowing he's hitch hiking, sleeping God knows where, not sure when he's had his last meal, etc etc.

When he was homeless in CA my mom and I went to see my Uncle, who lives in Long Beach.  My parents have paid for J's cell phone since he took off many many years ago, as a way to keep in touch with him.  They've had to replace his phone too many times to count (theft/mugging mainly) but I understand why they do it.  Anyways, we let him know we'd be there, and we managed to meet up with him.  He'd been sleeping on the beach for months.

It tore my mom and I up.

He seemed happy, don't get me wrong, but neither one of us was ready for it.  To see the dirty, long haired, sun tanned hippy that he was.  He stunk.  He was carrying everything he owned in a hiking bag.  And when we left we knew he was going back out to the streets.

I love my brother.  I love him more than he could ever understand.  I fear for his safety, I fear for his life.  I fear that if something happens to him we'll never know, it will just one day be silence, and we'll never hear from him again.  I know my parents feel this same way, have these same fears.  I don't know how they do it.

I just continue to pray that God will keep him safe until he maybe decides to grow up.

The wheels on the Bus

Is currently one of Bug's favorite songs.  For some reason she has deemed it as a bedtime song, though who knows why it became that.  Now I think it is because that's when we sing it.

The other night I got Goose to bed and was able to join K as he finished putting Bug to bed.  She's so opinionated these days, and insisted on K singing first, and singing the Wheels on the Bus.  It's the most adorable thing I've ever seen, as she does all the hand motions while you sing it.

So K sang it.

The last song of the night (when I'm involved) is typically Amazing Grace.  It's been Bug's favorite song for as long as she's been alive (actually, it even calmed her down in utero), and has always had a calming effect on her.  Hence why I leave it for last at night.  So I started to sing.

She reached up and put her hand on my mouth and said 'no, top' (meaning no, stop).

Then she reached her hands up and started doing the wheels on the bus motion.

So I asked her if she wanted me to sing Wheels on the Bus again, which she did.

So I did.  With a big smile on my face the whole time.

Too freaking adorable.

Today

April 14.

This is an important day in my life.  For one, it’s the day I was born.  Today I turn 33 years old.  I cycle through another year of my life, and realize just how very very happy I am.  I have everything I have ever dreamed of having; a loving husband and two beautiful children.  We even have the dog J 

Last year, on my 32^nd birthday, we took a leap.  Last year on my birthday, sometime around 10:00 in the evening, our last fresh cycle of IVF became a reality as K gave me my trigger shot.  It was our last attempt at having a child that is biologically both of ours.  We were hopeful, scared, excited and nervous. Our prior attempts at IVF had gone over so poorly that neither one of us were really sure that it could work.  We wanted it to so bad, bad enough that we were willing to try one last time even though the hope we had was very cautious hope.   Up until the trigger shot it wasn’t as real, it could have been cancelled as so many times before, it could have been stopped and we could have moved on as if it never was.

But we didn’t.  We took a deep collective breath, and took the leap.

And on my 32^nd birthday, we became parents again. 

I know, nothing was fertilized yet, but it was the big leap in the process that gave us our precious little boy.  We were parents multiple times over at this point, but only to 1 living child.  This was the day that the wild crazy ride really really began of being parents to 2 living children.

K and I struggled with some relationship issues this past year.  They were very difficult, and potentially marriage ending.  But we got counseling and worked through it.  We both made the decision that we WANTED it to work.  That we needed each other, and that we wanted nothing to come to an end.  It was tough times, but we made it through to the other side. 

So I say Goodbye to 32 with happiness as well as sadness.  But I say Hello to 33 with love and excitement as I know that I have the family I have always wanted.  That while IF will always hold a part of my heart and soul in its nasty vice grip, that I will never have to confront it in the same way again; I will never have to fight to overcome it in order to expand my family.  Instead I can (attempt) to gracefully accept that it is and was, and look at the two beautiful children I gained out of it, and remember how much I love them, and how much more I appreciate them because I had to fight so hard to get them.  I had to put on my armor and fight infertility as well as the marriage separation and almost divorce that stemmed from infertility 4 years ago, but we are now long past that. We are renewed, in our hope, in our faith, in ourselves and each other.

I turn 33 where I thought I would be years ago, but that no longer matters.  Because as I turn 33, I am right where I want to be, with everything I could dream of having.

Welcome to the rest of our lives.

Addiction

I know I've mentioned addiction before, I don't remember how detailed I've gotten, but I think I've glossed over it mostly.  But it's been on my mind a lot lately.  I have fears about addiction, not for myself, but for my little miracles.

See, addiction runs in families.  It's actually in the genes and hereditary.  There have been studies on it, although I don't plan on citing them or anything, after all, it's a blog not a research paper :-)

Anyways, I've got it in scores.  Both of my grandfathers were alcoholics.  Both of my brothers are alcoholics and drug addicts.  My father is a drug addict.  I am a recovered drug addict.  And that's just as far back as I know, I have no idea about my great-grandparents or back further.  So you can probably see where my fears come from, a long line of addicts with a gene tucked away in there somewhere.

Sometimes I do wish I had made different decisions. I don't regret the choices I made, or the life I lived during that time of my life.  It made me who I am, and I actually like the person I've become.  But looking back I wonder if I might be living a different dream if I had made some different choices.  But that thought scares me too, I LOVE my life, I wouldn't want anything different in terms of my husband and children.  It would have been interesting to see what career path I would have chosen, but that's the only thing I'd be interested in.

Don't get me wrong, I actually have good memories from those years.  Some good memories.  But I also have bad memories, some scary memories, and entire blanks hidden away in there.  I have a few friends that date back to before those years, and they will tell stories, of me, during that time and I will look at them like they're talking about a complete stranger.  It's not like it strikes a chord and you think to yourself that you kind of remember that happening, it's not there, at all.  You assume she is talking about someone else, or a book she read, but that's not the case.  She remembers it clear as day, but the memories have been erased, dashed out by the drug riddled days.

I had this friend that I met my senior year in HS.  She was a Freshman.  We were in band together, and I was a group lead, and she was in my group.  I was supposed to be someone that she could look up to.  We became fast friends, having some of the same 'issues' and (lack of) feelings of self worth.  I was ocean deep in my addiction by then.  She was fresh and young and naive.  One day I agreed to let her party with me, and she found that she couldn't stand the lack of control.  She freaked out and swore she'd never touch drugs again.  I'm glad that she made the decision.  But it was really hard when by the end of the year she told me that she could no longer watch me waltz my way down the path to self destruction.  That if I continued to partake then she was going to walk away from our friendship.  She felt it was easier and better for her to lose the one person that she felt really understood her, then to watch me continue doing what I was doing.

I watched her walk away, sad that she was doing so, but in my haze wished her good riddance.  I don't know where she is today, nor do I know how she is.

When I think back to the person that I was, it scares me that my children could follow in those footsteps.  I remember the nights of partying so hard that I don't know how I made it home.  That I wouldn't remember the night, that I honestly thought I was dying.  I remember the suicidal thoughts, the 'friends' that would save me when I was having a particularly rough night, simply to take me out and feed the demons with more drugs.

I remember closing myself in a tent because I was so paranoid and scared of the world around me that I honestly could not leave.  It was a crippling fear like I've never felt before.  I remember locking myself in a bathroom and sitting on the rug in the middle because I was so afraid to step on the tiles.  I was locked in there for hours before I was able to be talked down enough to gain the strength to reach across the 2 feet to the door and unlock it.  They had to carry me out and then put me on the phone with the one person that could pull me down from those heights.  That person took on everyone's demons, and never managed to deal with her own.  She committed suicide a couple of years later.

I managed to pull myself out of the depths of this addiction, with help of some very good people in my life, along with the NEED to make something of myself, to be more than what my father and brothers ever became.

These are the memories that haunt me, that make me so afraid for my children.  What if they fall prey to drugs, or alcohol?  What if they don't have it in them to dig their way out of those trenches?  My brother is still there, and has been for around 20 years.  He's a wreck of an adult, living on peoples couches, jumping from state to state.  Everything he owns fitting in a hiking bag that he uses when he's hitching from one town to the next.  He was once a boy with a high IQ, and now only lives through books.

I worry.  I know part of it is the environment.  I was surrounded by it, I remember watching my dad roll joints when I was growing up.  Then my brother started in.  It was all around me, it seemed like the thing to do.  I was lucky, not only that I got out, but that I got out with minimal scars.  Not everyone is that lucky.  And I know that our children will not be around it in a home environment.

But I still worry, with all my heart and soul and being.  I am scared, scared that they will walk down that same path, fight those same demons that almost lost me to the world, the same way they stole other family members.  I do not want that for them, I want better for them.  It's a tough tough road, pitted with holes and snakes and hidden obstacles, and I hope and pray that they never walk down it.

Stuff and things

My poor little goose hasn’t been feeling well.  He got his 2 month shots last Wednesday, and Saturday he started running a fever.  It was more than 24 – 48 hours after the shots, so I think it was something else.  As of yesterday he seemed to be feeling a little bit better, but my poor little guy who isn’t a cuddler, was quite the cuddler Saturday and Sunday (which was nice).  But poor Bug was feeling left out and by Sunday evening just needed some attention.  I even called K to see when he’d be done with work on Sunday because I felt so bad for her.  K said today he was drooling like mad, so I'm wondering if teething is starting, or maybe it's a growth spurt, who knows. 

K’s oldest brother Chris came into town last night for a week for work.  He lives on the other side of the country, so we planned on dinner with him last night and again including their mom later this week.  I had a really important stressful meeting at work today, so we decided that K would go grab a beer with Chris after he helped put the kids to bed, so as not to cause me to be out late, the kids to be up late, etc etc.  So, yesterday towards the end of the day at work I texted K to make sure he talked to Chris, the text went like this:

Me: Did you talk to Christ? And can you call your aunt and see if we can email her the stuff then mail the originals?  (she’s doing our taxes)

K: I did talk to Christ, he said change my ways or I’m going to hell

Me: LOL

K: (obviously noting that I didn’t realize my mistake) Read your text QT

Me: Ahhhhh LOL that’s too funny

On another funny, as I was putting on my underwear after my shower tonight I found a tab from a newborn diaper attached to the tag of my undies.  

Interesting.

Gender Disappointment

So as you all know, we didn't find out what we were having when we were pregnant with Goose.  We didn't with Bug either, and they truly were the greatest surprises of our lives, like the ultimate Christmas Day.  I always said that it didn't matter what we had, that I'd be happy.

With Bug I was convinced we were having a boy, and was actually really excited about the prospect of having a son.  Then we had this amazing daughter, and I found this love that I never knew existed.  I couldn't have imagined the outcome any other way.  She was, and is, the apple of my eye.

Going into our second pregnancy, I felt the same way.  Healthy, that's what I hoped for.  On one hand I hoped for another girl, to give Bug a sister and see a friendship blossom like I'd never known (I had brothers).  Plus, we had everything we needed for a girl, plus some.

On the other hand I really wanted a boy.  To have a son, to raise a little boy, to get that mother son relationship that I've envied when I've seen what an amazing bond it is.  Like the father daughter bond that just isn't quite the same as the mother daughter bond is.  The thought excited me so much.

Then Goose was born.  This beautiful little boy, and he was all mine.

A week or so in, the hormonal tornado, the avalanche of post delivery emotions hit me.  I suddenly found myself mourning the little girl that wasn't.

Now don't get me wrong, the connection and love for Goose was profound, and immediate.  The willingness to throw myself in front of a train if it meant saving him was just as strong as it was, and is, for Bug.  The knowledge that we gave Bug her own little man to watch after her was exciting.

But I still found myself mourning the little girl that wasn't.  I like to think that the second embryo that we put in  that day last April, the one that didn't take, was the little girl I find myself mourning.  She was an angel that God decided the world wasn't ready for, so he let her be in our lives for just those amazing, hope filled few days.  I'm OK with this, as like our other embryo angels I know that she will watch over us all, I will memorialize her in some way as I did our others, and I will move on.

I was so afraid to admit to even myself that I had this mourning, this slight disappointment.  I cried over it.  I felt so horrible, I felt horrible because I couldn't believe that I was sad and crying over the fact that I had a little boy instead of another little girl.  I mean, I begged for this baby, for this perfect little boy, and I loved him with all my heart, so why did I feel like this?

I am sure that Infertility in general played a part in my slow acceptance of my feelings.  It's always that shadow that hovers in the background, and at times makes an attempt to block your sun.  I refuse to let it.  I finally admitted to myself that I was sad that Goose wasn't another little girl, that I was mourning that little girl.  I told K that I realized I had wanted a little girl more than I realized, and as it turned out, so did he.  It's OK to feel this way, and I know that now.  It's not a bad thing, it just is.  The quicker you accept it, the quicker you can move on from it and realize the joy that is there waiting for you.

As what I assume to be the baby blues passed, as I felt my hormones make attempts at righting themselves and sleep got a little better, the worst of it passed.  I still mourn that little girl that could have been, but I couldn't imagine life without my little boy.  The little boy that I have this amazing bond with, that mother son bond that I have envied.  The way he wants me over anyone else, the way he rests his hand on my chest as he nurses, the way he looks at me with those clear bright blue eyes as if he's looking into my soul and soothing it, the way he settles immediately when I wrap him in my arms, it's amazing.  Without him I wouldn't be whole, without Bug I wouldn't be whole.  He is the perfect little man to complete our family.

And everyday when I think it's impossible to love my kids any more, because my heart already wants to burst with a love that I never could have imagined possible, one of them does something that just makes me love them more.  Bug is such a little mama and she adores her little brother.  Yes, we have jealousy, but the way she wants to see him and misses him when he's gone, the way she hugs and kisses on him, the way she gives him her most prized possessions, it just warms my heart.

I am a lucky, lucky mama.

Adulthood

Tonight my maternity leave draws to an end.  

I'm sad.

In a lot of ways I look forward to going back to work, to having adult conversations with all different people, being productive in a work environment.  Yes, I even have to admit that it is nice to know that I won't be holding a screaming baby all day.

But.

I don't want to go back.  I don't want to be an adult again, I want to stay home and play with my babies.  I want to lavish them with love and remember not to get frustrated even if I'm tired (read exhausted).  I want to watch them grow up, watch Bug be a little mama to her brother, and watch all of Goose's firsts.  He started making noises this week, I mean other than crying.  He's really making chattering noises, and it's so cute and sweet.  

I don't want others raising my babies.  Especially not the daycare we are at.  We've been looking for another, but we don't HATE this one, and we can't find one that we like any better (that we can afford).  

Why can't we just be independently wealthy so that we can raise our babies ourselves, only work when we want to, and have an awesome part time nanny/babysitter for just when we need to get out of the house for a few hours?  I know, I'm dreaming, but I'll keep doing so.

K is a little nervous about me going back too.  He hasn't had both the kids by himself for any length of time since Goose has been born, and I know he recognizes it's hard.

Plus, Goose is a mama's boy.  I mean really, a huge mama's boy.  He cries and cries when anyone else is holding him, and tends to calm down when I hold him.  The other day my mom and K were commiserating about how Goose isn't all about them like he is me.  It's sweet and I love it, but I also wish he'd let others comfort him as well, as sometimes I could really really use the break.

So anyways, K is nervous.  He's going to do an amazing job as he's such a good daddy, but I understand his nerves (see paragraph above).  I already felt as though I didn't give Bug as much attention as I wanted to, and I imagine it won't be any easier for him as he learns his own ways to soothe Goose when I'm not around.

This is the end to a wonderful chapter in my life.  Unless God decides on a different type of miracle, we will not be having any more children.  So this is the last of the extended amount of time that I get to spend with my babies at home.  That makes me sad in so many ways.  

The tears haven't come yet, but I know they will.  Just as soon as it really really hits me.  I've been stressing about it, but I think I'm still trying to stay blind to the fact that I'm. Going. Back. To. Work. 

Boo.

Updates

So, we did see the infectious disease doc for Bug. He really made me feel SO much better about things. He agreed with my worry, that it was still part of the initial outbreak. He said that the antiviral will keep anything new from popping up while one is on it, but that when you come off of it you may still experience some symptoms as the illness finishes running it's course. Because she has had no other immune issues, he was in no way worried and advised that he didn't even want to do another round of the anti viral.

He reiterated that a huge percentage of people (like 80 or 90%) have the virus in their system by the time they're in their 20's or so. He spent a lot of time with us, going over Bug's history, checking her out and agreeing that the spots she had were herpes sores (the ped wasn't so sure), and just in general talking with us about herpes. It was interesting as he shared with us that there are some (unproven) schools of thought that when the initial outbreak is severe (as Bug's was), those people rarely exhibit symptoms again in their lifetime. I'm crossing my fingers that this is the case for Bug.

He also said that if a baby catches it at 4 weeks or less they treat very aggressively and immediately admit to the hospital. Goose was just shy of 4 weeks when Bug caught this, and luckily he never exhibited any symptoms. The doc explained that due to the fact that I obviously have the virus (I get cold sores rarely) and that he was still working with my immune system on top of breastfeeding probably saved him from catching it. Thank God. I was so worried, so scared, but it sounds like chances are he won't catch it at this point. Bug also seems to be getting over it for the most part, although I do find the starting of sores here and there but then they disappear in a day or so and never even 'explode' so to speak. So, I think we really are past the worst of it!!

On another note, I took Goose to a pediatric gastroenterologist this week to discuss his reflux issues. She wants him to have an upper GI, which I have to do yet, and she added a second dose of Prilosec in at night. We've been doing that for a couple of days and I think it's helping a bit, as long as I can get him to keep the dose down. His sleep for the last week has been horrible, but that could be a million things, after all, he is just shy of 9 weeks old.

Yep, that's what I said, he's 9 weeks old already! And at his GI appointment he weighed in at a whooping 12 pounds flat. He is my oinker, that's for sure!!!

Yep, I've spent a lot of this maternity leave dealing with medical issues. **sigh** I think it's a bit of a blessing that I was on leave for a lot of this though.

Healing

I'm posting from my phone, so this will be short and sweet. Bug spent 3 nights in the hospital and was discharged almost 2 Weeks ago. It was confirmed to be herpes, so they did an antiviral in her IV and sent us home with a 7 day script. We finished it last Saturday and sometime Sunday she started acting funny again. By yesterday we found some spots so went to her pediatrician, who sent us to an infectious disease doc. We have that appointment today. In the meantime K caught it and is on an antiviral. The doc today wants to see goose as well, so we will see what all she says. Fingers crossed that the spots she has now are a fluke and something else vs a continuation of the outbreak. I have so much more to say, but the time to do so has been eluding me. Hopefully I'll get a chance to write soon!

The heartbreak continues...

Last night we had to take Bug to the ER based on our Pediatricians recommendation. She was dehydrated. They kept her overnight, and as of 3:30 today we don't know if she'll be able to come home or not tonight.

When I left the ER with Goose I bawled my eyes out. K stayed with her at the hospital. Today he came home and spent a few hours with Goose so that I could go visit Bug. They capped her IV and I spent a few hours trying to get her to drink, but she wouldn't. And if she doesn't, it's another night in the hospital.

Let me back up.

 Last Friday Bug felt a little warm, but wasn't running a fever or acting strange, so we thought it was nothing. We also noticed that she had some bumps on her belly and a yeast infection in her diaper area. The bumps looked like she had honestly just gotten bit by a spider or something.

Saturday, I took the kids and my mom to a birthday party (oh yeah, I feel like SHIT about this, it was for a 1 year old!!). She ate lunch fine. Towards the end of the party my mom (who was minding Bug while I tended to Goose) brought Bug over and motioned to her head. I felt it and she was warm. She had been clingy with my mom while at the party, but that's not unusual as there were a lot of people there that she does not know. So we jetted out of there. She fussed part of the way home, slept the rest. When we got home she was running a 102 degree fever. Yikes. She didn't eat any dinner that night.

Sunday she seemed better in the morning, aside from not eating. As the day wore on she got more tired, more lethargic and started running a fever again. She had more bumps. Sunday night was horrible and K spent the majority of the night with her. Sunday night I found myself running a 102 degree fever, complete with body aches and chills. So I figured that we both had the flu. By this time she also had a cold sore on her lip.

Monday morning she was just as bad. No eating, she would only drink Ensure or yogurt, with a little water mixed in by this point. As was I with the continued symptoms and the inability to even keep a sip of water in my body. By Monday late morning we decided Bug needed to go to the doctors. Her ped only works part time, and not on Mondays, so we agreed to see a different one, which just happened to be our least favorite in the office. K took her in the afternoon. By this time I was starting to feel better, thank God, because the call that I got from Kev made me ill. 

He called and said they gave her a prescription for the yeast infection. Then he proceeded to tell me that she also had Herpes.

My world stopped turning, my stomach was suddenly in my throat and I think I stopped breathing. I had a death grip on poor Goose.  K caught me quick 'that sinking feeling you just got?' he said 'I got it too. Let me finish first.' He continued on to tell me that Herpes is not just the bad type that you think of (which I already knew) but can be caught from anywhere/anyone. She probably caught it by touching something that someone who had a weeping cold sore touched, and then putting her hands in her mouth. Probably her 1 day last week at daycare (although they advised me that they were not made aware of any issues).

He went on to tell me that the first outbreak is typically the worse, and that the INSIDE of her mouth, which I hadn't looked at, was COVERED in sores. Oh yeah, and she's HIGHLY contagious, so we have to keep the kids separated, to the extent of different parents, different bathrooms, different towels for drying hands, etc.

The part that made me really break down in the tears that had been threatening to overwhelm me was when the doctor advised that she was handling it like a true champ, that you wouldn't know just how much pain she was in by looking at her, but that she was, most likely in a TERRIBLE amount of pain. She gives us an antibiotic to keep her mouth from getting infected and her gums from rotting (her breath is already like death from these sores).

Queue tears. Heaving shoulders. I had to make a point of not keeping a death grip on goose as he nursed. Oh My God. How did I let this happen to my little girl? My baby? I know we didn't let it happen, I know there was nothing we could do, but it scared me. Queue additional freak out - the yeast infection down below? It's on the vagina, not the butt, and she's been itching and digging at it. Holy Shit, can she pass it down?

The answer is yes. We have not found any sores there yet, thank the Lord.

Monday night, Tuesday, Tuesday night, Wednesday morning... she keeps getting worse. The tylenol we're giving every 3 hours is now impossible to get her to take. She's thirsty but we're lucky to get a couple of drops of yogurt smoothies or pediasure in her.

So I call the doc to talk to her about it on Wednesday. She's hardly having wet diapers (only 1 minimally wet diaper between 2am weds morning and 5:30pm weds evening, when we again got a minimally wet diaper). The doc tells me she's not 100% sure it's Herpes and Bug's obviously heading to dehydration if she's not already there. Go to the hospital. So we do. She tells us to have them swab a sore to verify if it's Herpes or not, so they do. We won't have those results for another day or 2. She's hooked up to IV fluids to hydrate her. Then I have to leave. Because I have a 1 month old to care for, and I can't be at the hospital with him. I am heartbroken and break down again, huge wracking sobs, while a nurse tries to comfort me and remind me that Bug needs to be there, and we need to be at home. But my little girl, my baby girl, is SO sick, wants her mommy and I can't be there for her.

I'm a wreck. I wake up in the middle of the night with Goose and can't go back to sleep. The house is too empty, too quiet. I just want my whole family home.

Today I got to go visit her while K hung with Goose for a few and showered at home. She was still miserable. They capped the IV in hopes that she would start drinking again. As of my leaving an hour ago, she still had not. K is back with her. He is going to keep trying to get her to drink. If she does, she can come home. If not, she stays another night.

They've added in some medicine that helps numb her mouth in hopes it'll help with the pain and fluid intake. The doc that has been doing her care agrees that she's not so sure it's Herpes, so we'll see. Her age is working against us here. If it is Herpes we have to let it run it's course because the antivirals available aren't really OK for a 2 1/2 year old. If it's not then I have no idea yet what it means.

And of course, my biggest fear? That Goose has caught it. That he just hasn't started exhibiting symptoms yet. At a time when his immune system is at it's lowest point. I'm scared, scared to death of what it could do, what it could mean for him. And I just want my little girl to feel better. She's so contagious that she is quarantined at the hospital. Everyone who goes in her room gets all bundled up in these outfits and gloves. She has a sign on her door, and she's not allowed out of her room.

I hate this.

my heart is breaking.......

It's 6am, and after another sleepless night for the whole family my heart is breaking as I listen to my little girl standing outside my bedroom door crying for her mama. But I can't go get her because I'mfeeding baby B and she is very sick. Contagious and we were advised to keep them seperated. So she can't come in and cuddle while I nurse. I hate this. I love you so much baby girl. Please know I'm just making sure your baby brother doesn't get sick. I want so bad to love on you right now.

It's a.......

BOY!!!

We welcomed our newest addition on 1/8/13 at 8:40am, weighing in at a whopping 8 pounds, 9 ounces, and 20 1/4 inches long!  We are SO excited, and a bit sleep deprived :-)

Wanna hear the birth story?

Well, it all started last Monday, when I went in for my 40 week check up.  I hadn't changed from my prior check up, so was hanging out at about 4 cm dilated.  I was exhausted.  She stripped my membranes again, but I went to work afterwords and had no inkling that labor might be coming on it's own.  At the appointment she wanted to schedule my induction, and I oddly gave in and let her.  I'm not even sure why, maybe just from being exhausted, maybe a little gut instinct, I'm not sure.  I didn't let them push me so much with bug, so it surprised me that I did with K20.

Well, we scheduled the induction for the next day, Tuesday the 8th, at 4am.  Yep, 4am.  So after work I went home and we finished getting everything ready to go.  My mom came over and stayed the night to take care of bug.  We got up about 2:45 and ran by dunkin donuts for some breakfast on our way to the hospital.  We got there exactly at 4:00.

They took us back, did all the paperwork, asked the myriad of questions, got my IV going, started fluids.  At 5:00am they started the dreaded pitocin.  I felt it strengthen my contractions pretty quick, but handled them well at that time.

As a side note here, those of you that go epidural free, you are my hero's.  I like to think I have a high tolerance for pain, but I don't know that I could do it.  Of course, both of my labors have been fueled by pitocin, so maybe it would be different if that weren't the case.  (Shan - you're amazing!)

So around 6:00 they had upped the pitocin twice, and the contractions were getting worse.  The nurse asked if I planned on a epidural, and I said yes.  She let me know that since I was already a 4, I could get it at any time, so she'd have anesthesia come in to just go over everything so that I could get it when ready.  They came in maybe just before 6:30, went over everything and told me to let them know when I was ready.  By now, the contractions were just plain evil, so I let them know I was ready.  It took them a WHILE to get the epidural in, and K finally got to come back in the room around 7:15.  The epidural had worked on my left side, but I was still feeling everything on my right side, so we were trying to get it to spread to the right leg.

The OB from my office that does rounds came in around 7:30 to break my water.  She checked me and quickly advised she wasn't going to break my water as I was fully dilated, and if she did, my doc wouldn't make it to deliver the baby.

Huh?  Fully dilated?  Already?  Not sure if any of you remember Bug's birth story, but I labored for around 29 hours.  I've only been at the hospital in labor at this point for 2 1/2, what do you mean I'm full dilated??

I was still at 0 station, so I was good with laboring down while waiting for the doc.  I didn't have the urge to bear down yet, so I was good.  So we wait for the doc, the nurse gets the room all ready, and suddenly I realize that it doesn't feel like the epidural is working much anymore.  Yikes.  OK, deep breathing through the contractions, K is helping me get through.  My doc gets there, they finish everything up, and she breaks my water (it was clear).

I immediately need to bear down.  They didn't even get to clean up the mess from breaking my water and I was trying to crawl myself up the bed because I needed to push.  People were trying to come in my room and my OB was kicking them out saying she was about to deliver a baby.  She was great, she let me follow my body's natural instinct to push.  There was no counting, no 'here's a contraction, time to push' none of that.  I pushed with the natural rythym of my body telling me when.  And I felt every bit of it.  4 pushes, less than 10 minutes, and my sweet baby boy was born.  From the start of the pitocin through delivery, my labor was a mere 3 hours and 40 minutes.

They put him up on my chest and K cut the cord.  I honestly don't remember delivering the placenta, nor the stitches from the second degree tear.  He had the cord wrapped twice, but came out SCREAMING (and boy does he have a set of lungs on him!!!)  They immediately placed him on my chest and we did skin to skin.  He latched on and nursed within 20 minutes of birth, and did an amazing job!!

He came out with some bruising on his face that came from his speedy trip down the birth canal.  It was gone by that night.

Afterwards, K asked if I had known it was only going to take an hour after the epi if I would have tried to make it, I said yes, and I really would have.

We are so in love.  Bug just wants to hold him all the time.  She walks around the house saying 'baby, baby' it is SO adorable.  He continues to nurse like a champ, which is such a different experience than what I had with Bug in the beginning.  It's cute though, as I have an amazing supply again this time, and he sometimes has a hard time keeping up with it.  Especially as he likes to comfort nurse, so he does some spitting up.  I still can't fathom that my 5 ft 106 pound frame carried and delivered an 8 1/2 pound baby.  No wonder I was so uncomfortable at the end!!

We are trying to get into good sleeping habits.  His witching hours tend to start around 1:00am.  Last night we were up until about 5:00.  He's got some seriously explosive gas that doesn't help his awake time as it is usually because of that.  Once he lets out a fart that is fitting for a full grown male he usually calms down and can make it back to sleep.  He doesn't like laying flat though, so right now he's sleeping in his car seat instead of the bassinet.  It is exhausting, but I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Getting Close!

Today I am 39 weeks 3 days pregnant.  Wow, where has the time gone?  I went in for my 39 week check up yesterday, and I was almost 4 cm dilated, and about 70% thinned out.  We did a NST because K20 hasn't moved as much recently, but all was good.  She asked how I felt about induction, and I told her that I didn't really want to be induced.  But, I knew it was an eventuality, so I told her that I was OK with her stripping my membranes to 'help' things along.  I recognize this will only help out if I am ready, so I am OK with that.  Well, I've been having BH contractions for months, and the last month or so they come pretty often, but they don't hurt, just a bit uncomfortable because my tummy gets so tight and the baby pushes on my bladder.  Well, after I got home last night they became a little more regular and a lot more uncomfortable,  even getting to the point of a little painful.

And then the crap hit the fan.  My mom called and said she was sick (she's Bug's babysitter when we go to the hospital).  So K and I discussed calling his mom to see if she'd drive here (about 1 1/2 hours) but decided not to as we knew my mom would be able to handle it, especially since Bug is a bit sick herself.

Then we got a call from his mom that we managed to miss.  Her message?  Simply that she was in the hospital.  So we frantically get a hold of her, and it turns out that she has 2 blood clots in her brain and is Neurological ICU awaiting surgery.  Um, yeah, that's a REALLY big deal.

Luckily the contractions died down.  K is visiting his mom right now, trying to find out everything he can (he's her medical POA) and be her support since none of his siblings live anywhere close.

Today I had some bloody show and lost a ton of my mucus plug - I can't imagine there's any of it left.  Contractions were back to 'normal' though, no real pain, just discomfort.

My mom is feeling better.

His mom is a scary waiting game, but hopefully her prognosis is good.  They think it's from a fall she took while walking her (big) dog.  (Mind you, the dog is good sized and she's only about 4ft10).  So it's been suggested she get rid of the dog (that's not gonna be easy for us to convince her).  But after K finds out all the medical stuff he's going to talk to a cardiac surgeon that he knows, and I'm going to talk to a nurse that I work with whose husband happens to be a neurosurgeon.  Hopefully all is well, even if she has to come stay with us for a little while.

When it rains, it pours, right?

But today still finds me pregnant, which has been a blessing with all else that is going on.  I have another appt on Monday, and if nothing has happened by then, I've agreed to schedule an induction at the end of next week.  I'm hoping I won't have to be induced, but we'll see how it goes.

I miss you all ~ I promise I'll get to be a better blogger and commenter again!!!