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Oh, The Weight of the Guilt

July 22nd, 2005

The mommy guilt, that is.

I work ten hours a week on a contract that should have been up in November of 2004, but which continues to drag on and on and on. It is hard to complain, when i can work at home, be with my little man, and get paid for it. It usually isn’t too stressful, but when it is, I am completely torn. Today is one of those days. . . .

I woke up yesterday to find that a few errors had been assigned to me for my work. I told the assigner that i would get to them today, as I only work part time, and I had already made plans for Rollie and I to attend playgroup in the boonies. Plus, it involved a POOL. Did I mention that I am knocked up and there is nothing better than knocked up and floating in a pool? (Except maybe knocked up and floating in a pool while the nanny watches the boy. . . .)

So, this morning, i woke up and got started on my work. I have been trying to limit Rollie’s TV intake, but when faced with a choice between Rollie watching Sesame while I work or Rollie hanging on my knee and “helping” me type while i work, guess which won out? Hello, Elmo! (You little red, fuzzy fucker. Teehee. . . “Fuzzy Fucker.” Funny.)

So, now it is 1 PM, and i am still working my errors, Rollie has not only watched Sesame Street, but also an episode of Dora (“d-d-d-d_d-Dora!'”), and three episodes of Thomas.

I am the crappiest mother in the world.

L&D (Laborious and No Delivery)

July 18th, 2005

I had some bleeding the other day. Here is what I wrote about the experience the next day. (yeah, yeah, I’m a little behind.)

Okay, so i called the mw this a.m. and they told me to come in and get checked. They would work me in.

Nurse Jackie puts the monitor thingy on me at about 10 am, then Laura (midwife) came in and looked (no contrax, baby looked fine) and then checked me and did a fetal fibronectin (guessing on the sp of that) and checked my cervix (long and closed). However, there was a lot of old blood and mucous, “more than we like to see.” So, she wanted to admit me to the hospital to keep an eye on me.

She goes off to get the paperwork ready, and I call my mom (who, luckily, is in town and is able to watch Rollie). I call her and the minute she says hello, i can tell something is wrong by the tone of her voice, and then i hear todd’s voice and the dog barking in the background. I say, “Mom, what is wrong? is everything alright?” and she says, “no, everything is not alright, but it will be.” NOT what you want to hear when she is babysitting your son.

Turns out Rollie took a “little spill.” Mom called Todd, because i had my phone off and she was a little shaken up. He had been playing in the back yard, had tripped getting out of the (Goddamn) Little Tykes plastic car, and fell face first on the (very rough concrete) patio.

She said that at first she didn’t even notice the bump on his head, because of the ton of blood around his nose. So, anyway, turns out that he had a HUGE bump on his noggin, and that he scraped his face on the pavement, so he has the knot on his head, the bump is a total raspberry in the very middle of his forehead, the scrape goes down his whole nose, and then there is a big scrape under his nose/on his upper lip. He also has a few minor scrapes on the side of his head. Anyway, i am getting ready to go to the hospital, so I get todd on the phone, and tell him to stay with Rollie long enough to make sure the kid doesn’t need stitches and/or have a concussion. Todd is trying to not freak out that his son might need to go to the ER while wife is 28 wks and being admitted to L&D, but he covers it very well. Kudos to hubby.

So, i went through the whole getting my chart and my papers and stuff, along with carrying my FFN sample with me, then walked over to the hospital. My midwives’ office is at the doctor’s center next to the hospital, so you can walk through the tunnel to get there. I wasn’t freaking too much, because a) the blood wasn’t red and b) if they were really worried, they would have gotten me a damn wheelchair to take me over.

Got to L&D and went to the admissions desk, where i had to deal with this grandma from hell who was working the desk. She was SSSLLLOOOOWWWWLLLLLYYYY doing my paperwork, all the while telling me all about her grandkids, and her kids and their nicknames, etc., while i was on my feet supposedly at risk for preterm labor. What a dumbass. The people behind me looked even happier – they actually WERE in labor and having to listen to this dingbat, chatty bluehair.

So, i went through all of that, and then they send you down this long drawnout labrynth of a hallway system to get to the part of labor and delivery that they use for watching people, rather than for people who are definitely in labor; I call this area “the L&D Slums.”

I get settled in (scrap of gown to cover privates, cup to pee in, jab me in the veins, slather cold gel on me and strap me in for the afternoon.)

Did I mention that i had 2 c. of coffee and a granola bar for breakfast? And they were trying to get a hold of my mw or the admitting ob (part of my same practice) to find out if i could eat lunch. I finally had lunch when todd got there about 2pm. I ripped the bag of MACDonald’s out of his hand, scarfed it down, and then said, “Hi, Honey, how’s Rollie??”

So, Rollie was fine, and it seems that I was fine. But they had to monitor me until 5:30 pm when the Mw and the OB finally showed up to talk to me. They looked at my chart (baby fine, no contrax) and then asked me questions that I had already answered in the office that a.m. (no, didn’t have intercourse recently, did have orgasms, have been on my feet, described the cramps, etc.) and then said they wanted to have a scan ordered (couldn’t we have done this part while we were waiting on YOUR asses?), so i waited on the US lady to come down. She did a vaginal and tummy scan. Cervix looked fine, placenta wasn’t near cervix and otherwise looked fine. Baby looked fine (she was still a she). The tech said her feet were “huge.” Great. Looks like yet another girl with skis for feet. Then that tech had to take the pics to her specialist doctor in charge to look at. Great. meanwhile, the nurse said that the first pee specimen hadn’t been done (did the initial test, but not the culture for infection), so i got to pee in the cup a 3rd time in one day!!! I am so lucky. Then, we had to hunt down my OB guy again to get me released, and they sent me home with instructions to make an apptmt for Friday to be rechecked.

So, we got in our separate cars, and then both sat gazing longingly at each other on the highway while we sat in some fucking concert traffic. I left the hospital at 7pm and got home at 8pm. To see my son, who looked like he had been beaten by Grandma.

So, long story short, I am supposed to “take it easy” (with a toddler, uh-hmmm.) I call tomorrow to make an office apptmt for Friday, and they should also have my culture back by then (I think to check for an infection). AND, my FFN was negative, so there is very little chance that I will go into labor in the next two weeks. Good to know . . . .

Obligatory before and after Rollie pics:

Before

And After

The Ultimate Sacrifice

July 14th, 2005


No, not that ultimate sacrifice. . . . I’m talking about the one where my husband kills the snake. That’s right, my total stud of a husband did not hesitate to defend his home and family from the looming threat of the snake.

For those that don’t me well, i have a small phobia of snakes. By phobia, i mean that i hate them and they should all die, and fuck the food web. No, seriously. When I am confronted with one, be it in nature, at the zoo, or on tv, the tie between mental and physical fear becomes obvious. I have a physical fear of them – i can absolutely feel my heart rate go up, and probably my blood pressure. I feel tense and sick when i see them. Anyway, there was a snake in the yard, I saw it out the window, Todd killed it with a shovel, and for two hours after that the parts were wiggling around in the yard. Meanwhile, i started having some crampiness/braxton hicks contractions – Maybe the two are not related, but it seems as if one caused the other.

Pretty freaky. But the point here is that i don’t believe my husband particularly likes snakes, or killing things, but that he did not hesitate when he realized must be done. That snake had to die, and he did the killin’. My hero.

Major League Debut

July 8th, 2005


Last night, Todd came home with four tix to the Braves/Cubs game. For all of his efforts at avoiding attending the baseball game with his toddler son and 7-months pregnant wife, he could only find one other friend to go with him, so Rollie and I decided to take the two extra tickets. [evil laugh]

Todd had reservations about Rollie’s ability to handle a baseball experience that started at the same time Rollie usually goes to bed, but I just knew he would love it. Sure, he was a zombie at the end of the night, but by God, he was still awake!

Rollie loved the crowds, my Coca Cola, and crunching peanuts underfoot. The new lights that “spin” around the stadium dizzyingly kept him occupied for hours. There were a few homeruns and the Braves won, so he had the chance to see tons of fireworks out of a giant coke bottle, too! Rollie sat next to an old Braves fan and ate bbq in front of the huge bigscreen, and he really enjoyed watching mama and daddy doing the tomahawk chop. (He was way too cool to do the chop himself, but he sure did like the bugle music before everyone yells, “Charge!”)

Interestingly, Rollie’s major league debut coincided with the debut of a young kid named Jeff Francouer. It was his first game and he hit a three-run homer! He’s Rollie’s new favorite player!

Very Scared for This World, Very Scared for Me

July 7th, 2005

This morning, I woke up, came downstairs and got a cup of coffee, then sat down to check my work email. I check it every morning to get it over with, as my contract is wrapping up and there is little work to do at this point. Rather, it is just making sure that no other issues arise. Normally, i would turn on Sesame Street for Rollie, but in light of the tantrums that he is throwing these days when we turn the television off, Todd and I had made an executive decision yesterday to limit Rollie’s television viewing, so we were just playing and drinking coffee.

It was not until I had packed Rollie into the car and headed off to the grocery store that I turned on the radio to hear that there had been bombings in London.

My thoughts go out to those in London, and the UK as a whole. But more so, my thoughts turn to home, to my son and the unborn child I carry. I am reminded of the thoughts that I had in September of 2001. In early September, Todd and I had just begun discussing starting a family. We had decided that we would start trying to conceive in April of 2002, a year after we had been married. And then September 11 came and changed everything forever, at least in my eyes. I started to wonder what kind of world I was bringing my child into, and wavered between fear for these non-existent children and the belief that even having that thought was a win for those who wanted to change my way of life forever. Obviously, I went ahead with my plans to have a family, but these bombings have brought a lot of those thoughts back. What kind of world is this now? What will my son and daughter’s world be like when they are my age?

I know that tomorrow things will go back to normal, but for today, I am shedding tears for those mothers who lost children (young or old) in London this morning. Hearts in America hurt for hearts in Great Britain today.

Haul Out the Deep Fryer!

July 6th, 2005

This morning, I read a New York Times article entitled “Chicken on the Plate, Family on the Side” . The article discusses Emily Saliers’ (of Indigo Girls fame) Decatur, Georgia restaurant, Watershed, but more importantly, it discusses the link between Southern cooking and the Southern family.

I often think about what it means to be “Southern” and about what parts of my heritage I want to pass on to my children. Yes, I want to pass on the understanding of what an authentic fried green tomato should be. (No, I’m not talking about this fancy-shmancy, flour-covered, horseradish mayonaise-on-the-side shitpile they’ve been serving in Atlanta the last few years.) However, I don’t particularly want to pass on to my children a legacy of heart attacks, diabetes, and high blood pressure. The question is how to show the kids that good southern cooking is, historically, an important part of their southern culture, while also exemplifying a healthy view of food.

What I have decided, after a lot of thought, is that day in and day out we will eat the healthy stuff (lean meats, fish, and chicken, with healthy fats, ample fruits and vegetables, and low sugar). But, baby, when we have a holiday or the end-all, be-all southern cooking extravaganza of a DEATH IN THE FAMILY, we will pull out all the stops. Haul out the deep fryer!

Seven Months

July 5th, 2005

Turns out I don’t post that often. I haven’t posted since finding out Iwas expecting! Well, it is month seven of the pregnancy. i am 27 weeks, and I am big as a house.

This baby (it’s a girl!) is quite the kicker. Much more so than Rollie was. I sometimes yell out and scare the shit out of Todd when she kicks a rib, or bladder, or down there. Ouch. Rollie is so laid back, I hope kick frequency and strength isn’t indicative of personality, or we are in trouble.

I haven’t had sciatica as bad as last time. Still have the occasional acid reflux, and I think I feel more tired, but that could be because this time I am chasing around a two-year old (who can now officially outrun me!) Overall, though, I am feeling great. I am not as stressed, and worrying less this time around. I am also a lot more behind in preparing for this baby than I was with Rollie. Funny how having one of these monsters puts it all into perspective.

Rollie is really growing – i can’t believe he will be two in August. It is like as soon as I had him, my whole life went into warp speed. I am happier than I have ever been before, though, and can’t wait to add in another kid to the mix. Should be interesting. . . .

Okay, I am REALLy going to try and post more. I swear.

Speechless

January 29th, 2005

So, I went to my midwife’s apptmt. She is awesome, and agreed totally that i needed to go back on glucophage for the PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome) and wrote me a script for that and the provera to jumpstart AF. Then, she had me do a blood test, just to rule out pg. She said to hold off on taking the provera till they called with the results this morning.

So, I’m fixing The Boy breakfast this a.m. the phone rings, but i let it go to answering machine, because i had my hands full. It is the midwife and she says, “Well, we got your results back and i think it’s good news. Please call me back when you get a chance. do not start the medication.”

So, i called back and she was on the phone with another patient.

She finally called me back an hour later. I’m pregnant.

I am very cautiously happy, very nervous, and a little in shock. I have had no symptoms (which of course is making me worry) and they know I had low progesterone with my first pregnancy and i am not having bloodwork done until Tuesday afternoon, which they seemed to think was fine, but of course seems like an eternity to me. So I am worried until my Tuesday apptmt. (2:45pm). Ack. I will also get an ultrasound that day, too. so of course i will be worried until then.

I have told DH and he is stopping to get milk on the way home for Rollie (we are supposed to have an ice storm here in atlanta tonight), and i told him to buy me a couple pg tests too. I will just feel reassured if I see the lines. I know that is a waste of money. Oh well.

I just can’t believe this happened this way. I don’t even know when i would be due – sometime in late sept, early to mid oct, i guess. . . sooo wish I had temped this time around.

To Poo in Peace

November 8th, 2004

I really miss being able to take a dump in peace.

Nowadays, The Boy is with me EVERY single SECOND of every day. I can’t even poop by myself. Today, i opened the door to the downstairs bath to go in and poop (The Angelic Husband wasn’t there) hoping that The Boy would just play quietly, but nope, he wants to be where mommy is. Sitting on the throne. So, he rolls his little Tykes car (not so little!) into the bathroom as far as he can get it (about halfway in) and then cries because it won’t go in any further and he can’t get in past it. So, i push it back out, knocking him over. He cries. He comes around and grabs the metal trash can from next to the toilet and puts it up on my legs. He takes it back off and sets it on the floor, rummaging through it. He pulls out a used t.p. cardboard roll and tries to put that in the toilet from behind me. I take it from him and put it and the trashcan in the sink where he can’t reach it. He cries. He then stands up and tries to put the lid on the toilet WHILE I AM SITTING THERE. CAN’T YOU SEE MAMA’S TRYING TO TAKE A SHIT?!!!! After he bangs the lid of the toilet against my back about 500 times, he sits down and starts pulling toilet paper off the roll. I take some of it to use (I am, miraculously, finished pooping) and stand up to wipe. He tries to put an extra roll of paper in the toilet. I have one hand with a poopy piece of toilet paper, my pants are down around my ankles and the other arm is trying to keep him from playing in the poopy toilet.

Is it so much to ask for a peaceful poop??

Thank Heaven for Little Boys

October 19th, 2004

The Husband and I watched the movie Thirteen last night. (Yes, we are behind the times. To have a baby is to knock out a complete year of popular culture from your memory.) Neither one of us is particularly naive about some of the more unsavory activities of teenagers – We are not Angels ourselves, despite the cherubic moniker I apply to my husband at times. He may be an Angelic Husband, but both of us were more the spawn of Satan as teenagers and young adults. But when I think of the Wild Children I knew as a teen, I think of them as maybe 16, 17, or 18 – Not as 13 year old sex kittens!

To say the movie made me feel uncomfortable is an understatement. Here in all its ugliness is laid out for all to see what it is to be a 13 year old girl. The yearning to be part of the in crowd and being willing to do things you know you weren’t brought up to do to get there. The shunning of your old, stable friends for racier, way more exciting models. I have been that girl shunned and I have been the one that walked away from my childhood to put on the lip gloss. This movie brought back all the torture of being 13, of being trapped in a 13 year old girl’s skin. It is agony. When the absentee father asks his son to just tell him what is wrong with his daughter, he doesn’t know how. But there is no doubt that being Thirteen is a nameless cry for help.

Yes, I understood the need to belong, the need to feel adult, the desire to cross boundaries I knew I wasn’t supposed to cross. But there was more to this discomfort. I may have seen and partaken in many of the activities portrayed in this film. But NOT AT THIRTEEN. At thirteen, I still wanted to play with my Barbies (although, admittedly, I didn’t want anyone to KNOW I was playing with them) and to play dress up. But the dress up that the girls in this movie play is no game. Sure, I remember the thrill of wearing too-short skirts, and black eye makeup, and red lips. But I sure as hell wasn’t thirteen at the time. I remember the drugs, the huffing in the bedroom, and the drunkenness, and the shoplifting. I remember the violence and just wanting to feel anything that I wasn’t supposed to experience. But I wasn’t thirteen!

The real torture of watching this movie was knowing that the mother really did love her daughter, but that there might not have been any way she could do to control the tailspin her daughter went into. The real torture was knowing that in 12 years, I might be suffering the same disbelief and disillusionment. My only saving grace and hope is that I have a boy. Yes, I know that it sounds archaic to say that I don’t worry about a boy as much as a girl. But I also know that the movie, while it made my husband a little uncomfortable, made me absolutely want to crawl out of my skin. Because I knew what a tenuous grasp on sanity it is to be a teenage girl. I knew the hatred of self and others. I can only guess that a boy must have somewhat more of a grip at that age.

After the movie, my husband and I, who are already considering having another child, discussed the fact that if we had a little girl, we’d have the GPS tracking device installed before leaving the hospital.

And for now, thank heaven for little boys.