MamaBlogga

I think (and I know many of you agree, based on your comments) that motherhood is difficult because it’s worth it. The more hard-won the victory, the more we appreciate it.

Of course, the “victory” doesn’t feel complete while you’re still in the trenches—and even after your children are productive adults, I doubt you sit around (on your laurels) thinking about that.

But there are the little moments along the way that reminds us that it’s worth it now, too:

Okay, three reasons:

What little moments make you feel like it’s worth it?

Rebecca was playing with one of our old cell phones and held it to her ear. “Hey-o?”

I used my “finger phone.” “Hi, Rebecca. How are you?”

“Gud.”

“What are you doing?”

“Nuffing. Watcha TV. Fee Ferm.” [Phineas & Ferb]

Rebecca really looked forward to her birthday this year (probably mostly because Hayden thought it was exciting). I kept having to tell her that it wasn’t her birthday yet. Finally, she got the message—whenever the subject came up, she’d say, “Becca birt-day! Nek week. Mon-ay.” [Next week. Monday.]

After her birthday, we (again, mostly Hayden) taught Rebecca her age. “How old are you?” we’d ask.

“Two!” she’d proclaim for the first week, and hold up her fingers:

After the first week, the answer changed. “How old are you?” we ask.

She’s still just as proud to proclaim her new answer: “Becca!”

Sometimes, Rebecca has rough naps. It takes her over an hour to fall asleep (though she seldom cries, so that’s good). One day, she’d been in bed for 90 minutes and started bawling. I came in to get her.

“Becca ‘wake,” she told me piteously.

“I can hear that.”

“Becca ky.” [cry]

“Did you sleep at all?”

“Uh huh.” She holds up her fingers the same as above. “One minnut.” (She also likes to tell me “one minnut” when she wants me to wait for her.)

Last week, Rebecca got sent to her room for the first time. She and Hayden had been fighting, so they both got sent to their room. Rebecca submitted peacefully, allowing me to lead her to her room, and sitting quietly in the arm chair there. She insisted I close the door. (This was probably because Hayden threw his usual screaming fit at the mere mention of being sent to his room, and as always, I had to physically drag him there. Maturity FTW.)

After Rebecca’s two minutes were up, I opened the door and invited her to come out. (Hayden was still screaming at this point, laying over the threshold to his room.) Rebecca preferred to stay in her room. Can’t say I blame her.

Later that day, something happened to upset her while she was in another room. “I go my woom!” she announced to her father amid her tears.

I found her there, laying on the arm chair, crying, a few minutes later. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I sad.” [Biggest frown in the world]

“Can I hold you to help you feel better?”

“No. Me’cine [medicine] help me feel better.”

Edited to add: whenever she thinks I’m upset, she uses her cutest, most innocent tone: “Sumping wong, Mommy? Needa Pinky?”

What are your favorite kid moments recently? Or what are your favorite toddler moments?

Saturday night I was putting Rebecca in the tub when she announced, “Poopy commy!” [coming]. We still have out little training potty in the bathroom, so I set her on that, confident that poopy was not commy, and went to tell Ryan.

A minute or two later, I could hear Rebecca crying. I headed for the bathroom and met her running down the hall. We went to check the potty.

Rebecca had peed in the potty! (I think it must have scared her and she thought she wasn’t supposed to pee there.)

(Story of the picture: Rebecca picked up a clean onesie on the couch. “Wait-dow [Rachel] jammas!” Next thing I knew, she’d put them on.)

Ryan and I praised her highly (and cleaned her up), and then put Rebecca in the tub. She said she had to go again, so I put her back, and she did.

After her bath, she insisted once again that she needed to use the potty, so I put her on once again. This time, however, she didn’t have as much luck. After a few minutes of waiting, she stood up and stuck her face into the potty chair.

“Poopy, come ON!”

What milestones are you celebrating these days?

I think the more kids you have, the more you realize that “this too shall pass.” The fussy period isn’t fun, but it’s easier to remember that it doesn’t last all that long when you’ve survived it before (multiple times).

On the other hand, you also realize that the good times—the first smiles, the intent study of your hairline, the incredible cuteness of tiny toes and feet and hands—will be gone equally fast. And you look at all the adorable things your older kids are doing, and you can’t begin to capture them all.

Personally, I wish I could get down all the new words Rebecca learns every day—she’s become an amazing mimic and can string together up to 5 words. I wish I could list all the words she knows, but I doubt I could recall more than a quarter of her vocabulary. She’s also learning to count and say the alphabet (and she won’t even be two for two more weeks—the benefits of having an older sibling who gets counting and alphabet books).

I wish I could record all Hayden is learning, too—how he puts things together, physically and mentally. He’s learning new concepts and words every day, too (though he already knows so much that it’s not the exponential growth Rebecca is seeing). He loves to run and play outside, and he likes to read books.

Rachel, of course, doesn’t do a whole lot, but I find myself wanting to hang on to these little moments the most with her. She’s already grown so much that I can just feel the rest of her babyhood slipping through my fingers.

Just thinking about the things I’m “missing” because I don’t have something recording my kids’ every action makes me a little anxious, reminding me that I’m missing out more. But just being aware that today is slipping away makes me pay more attention, even if I can’t leap up and get the video camera and coax a repeat of some spontaneous cute thing.

And it reminds me to keep paying attention—to treasure these little moments as they’re happening—to live in the present.

How do you treasure today?

Photo by Erik Fitzpatrick

After the concerns throughout my pregnancy, I did finally concede and agree to be induced the morning of June 7th—but I still held out hope that my baby would decide to come more than two days early, and save us from having to be hooked up to an IV, stuck in the hospital (and possibly even a hospital bed) for the whole labor.

Contractions woke me up at 4:45 on the morning of June 5. My mother had flown in the night before and thanks to flight delays and road construction, we didn’t get back from the airport until 12:30 AM. But Rachel decided to give me the first night of not-nearly-enough sleep that day. I tried to relax using some of the techniques from my Hypnobabies course.

Finally, I was tired of laying in bed, not sleeping. I woke Ryan up at 6:45 to tell him, “It’s baby’s birthday.” Because my contractions (“pressure waves,” as we say in Hypnobabies) intensified if I moved around a whole lot, Ryan helped to gather the last toiletries for my hospital bag and brought my birthing ball from the other room. I spent the morning in our room, sitting or laying on the birthing ball and reading or listening to HypnoBabies scripts—I even dozed off for a couple naps.

They say that for non-first-time-moms, you should head to the hospital when the contractions are 5-6 minutes apart and about 1 minute long. I hit that benchmark around 10, but didn’t feel like it was time to go to the hospital yet. Plus, I would have a set of 3-4 contractions, then stop for a little while. I worried they’d put me on drugs to try to regulate my contractions at the hospital, the same concern I had with Rebecca’s birth—and the reason why I waited until I was an 8 (90 minutes before delivery) before I was admitted.

In the early afternoon, things started to pick up. I still didn’t have a clockwork “schedule” of contractions, but I started to have clusters of contractions—several in a row, with peaks and valleys, but without letting up, for up to five to ten minutes. Again, just like with Rebecca’s birth.

I started to panic and knew I had to get to the hospital, sure I wouldn’t be able to make it without pain meds this time. Ryan tried to help me calm down, but it was hard not to panic in minute eight of a contraction! The car ride and walking about two million miles to the L&D admitting desk was not fun. As we slowly made our way down the hall, the nurse that met us asked if this was my first.

Thanks a lot. I thought I was doing well here.

They got me into a room and had me change into a gown. And then I proceeded to FREAK. OUT. I insisted that I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t have this baby naturally, I couldn’t keep it up. Ryan got me to lay down and calm down—and I instantly felt much better. I wasn’t comfortable by any stretch, but I wasn’t in the intense pain of just seconds before. It’s what Hypnobabies calls the fear-tension-pain cycle to a T. I was afraid, I tensed up, and it just made the pain worse.

So I laid down and the nurse came to check me: 9cm and my water broke (so there, nurse in the hallway). And I was ready to turn down an epidural, too. We started a script on my MP3 player and I was pretty set.

Good thing—my OB arrived in about 15 minutes and I was at 10cm. He pulled on a gown over his street clothes and said we’d push when I was ready. Which took maybe five minutes. A nurse and my OB commented at different points on how “controlled” I was (what they didn’t know…). About three minutes of pushing later, Rachel was born!

Rachel is one month old today! And tomorrow is our first day three-on-one. I mean all on our own, without any Nanas around for help.

Oh boy.

Blogging will probably continue to be spotty for a while, but one day we’ll find our new normal.

I didn’t realize people would find this interesting, but a few of you requested my pregnancy story for Rachel. So here it is.

I was sick before I realized I was pregnant. It was a convenient form of morning sickness—sweets were repulsive. Veggies and fruits were all I could eat. (Got over that pretty quickly, though.) And if I ate, the morning sickness obeyed and I felt okay.

I found out I was pregnant the week of my mother’s birthday. I decided to save the surprise for that day, Saturday. I called my parents’ house, but no one answered. I called my mom’s cell phone. No answer. I figured my dad was out, so I called my youngest sister, who still lived at home. She didn’t answer, but my next youngest sister texted me back.

Dad’s in the hospital. He passed out this morning. We’re waiting to hear what’s wrong.

It took most of the day to find out what had happened and that my dad was mostly okay (he made a full recovery and is fine now). I finally tracked down a phone number for his room and called him. I was planning to tell my mother first, but she wasn’t there, so I told my dad. I called my mom at home next and told her, then my sisters. We needed the good news that day.

It was just the beginning of hospital visits for this pregnancy.

Since my last OB passed away a year before this, I changed doctors. At my first visit, they performed an ultrasound—the baby wasn’t due in mid-May as I’d calculated: the baby was due June 9. It should be illegal to prolong a pregnancy three weeks, especially in the midst of morning sickness!

My new doctor didn’t have a blood lab on site, so I had to go to the hospital for the routine blood tests, including the quad screen. I visited my parents for Christmas. While I was there, I got a call from my doctor. We played a few rounds of phone tag, and the nurses said the doctor wanted to talk to me himself.

Which, of course, means something is wrong.

And it was and it wasn’t. The baby had an elevated risk of Down syndrome. It was a week before I came home and visited with the doctor. I spent that week trying not to worry (because worrying wouldn’t change anything, right?) It turned out that “elevated risk” meant a 1 in 132 chance. Less than one percent. And this test is notorious for false positives.

But we went to the appointment with the perinatologist (at the hospital. Again.) anyway. They didn’t see any signs of Down syndrome in the baby, but they discovered something else—instead of the normal three blood vessels in the umbilical cord, the baby only had two blood vessels.

Then, of course, they laid out all the risks and had to act as if the worst was happening. A two-vessel cord (single umbilical artery or SUA) is correlated with chromosomal defects. Down syndrome is a chromosomal defect. Therefore, we couldn’t rule out Down syndrome without amniocentisis. (Big needle, big fun.) (We opted not to do the amnio, especially after our research found no correlation between SUA and Down syndrome specifically.)

Additionally, SUA can lead to intrauterine growth restriction (IUGR. Lots of letters!), where the baby can’t grow well in the womb. My doctor said that if the baby went three weeks without growing, we would deliver the baby as early as 33 weeks. Induced labor, c-sections and premature babies are my three biggest fears for pregnancies, so this is exactly what I wanted to hear. Not.

So every three to four weeks, I got to haul two kids to the hospital, through admitting, to the radiology office. Wait. Entertain kids. (Okay, to be fair, helpful neighbors did watch them for three of the visits, so I only had to take them half the time. And Ryan came to every ultrasound, so I wasn’t alone.) We’d decided to let the baby’s gender be a surprise—but monthly ultrasounds make that a little more challenging than normal. And then in the last month of pregnancy, I had weekly nonstress tests and amniotic fluid indices (measuring the fluid in the womb via ultrasound), to make sure the baby was okay. I had up to three doctor/hospital appointments a week at the end. Hooray.

Rachel passed every exam, chose not to be an exhibitionist, and ended up being my largest baby to date. I can’t wait to see the insurance charges. (And neither can the hospital, apparently. After waiting five months to bill us for the quad screen that started all this trouble, they’re now claiming that our insurance isn’t paying on charges made six weeks ago and we have to pay it all. Yeah, right. But in addition to the health concerns, we had so much trouble with a new insurance company that it stresses me out thinking about it still.)

Next time: labor and delivery!