Friday, July 31, 2009

Dog Days II

The dog went in for TPLO surgery again today, this time on the opposite leg. It breaks my heart that my pups has to go through this again. Sick, alone and afraid and surrounded by other distressed animals in a miserable vet's office, not sure where her family is. Okay, maybe she's fine and I'm just a little emotional these days. Still, my poor little girl.

Trust me, if there were a way to heal a torn cruciate ligament naturally, we would have achieved it. Lord knows we tried. After the lessons of the first TPLO, we took the opportunity to experiment with as many preventative measures as possible. After all, we had one healthy leg left, we just had to try to prevent a tear, right? So we changed the diet to raw, added all the supplements like high quality liquid glucosamine and flax butter, tried homeopathics, gave her meaty bones for all of that marrow goodness, and restricted her activity, using swimming as a primary way to rehab the injured leg and preserve the 'good' leg. It just didn't work.

It was heart breaking to watch her limp get more and more pronounced over the past couple of months. Apparently this happens in 80% of TPLO cases; the other joint does eventually go. Of course, I strive to beat statistics. But when you think about it, the surgery is essentially cutting a bone in half, leveling the joint and stabilizing it all with plates and screws. So how could the other leg be as strong or even remain a good match? Everything is off kilter.

It's an expensive surgery. We hate that we had to do it twice. But of course we love this dog, God willing she still has a lot of years left and we want them to be full of running, jumping and swimming. Because watching her live like that makes us so happy.

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Thursday, July 30, 2009

Dear Mack: Two Weeks Old

It's been a helluva ride so far. You are the single biggest challenge I've ever had in my whole life. I'm completely sleep deprived, sore all over, and once or twice a day I take a trip to the 'dark side', the place where I freak out over my choices and my very existence. It's loads of fun.

Look, I don't blame any of this on you. This is all my baggage. I just wasn't prepared. You're latching better, the thrush might actually be on its way out. And when you sleep, you sleep just fine. It's me who lies there, brain racing, panicking that I'm wasting yet another opportunity to catch some rest.

Meanwhile, you grow. Trev says you look bigger than you did this morning, even. You are more alert than ever, staring into my eyes, following them when I move my head. You like to stare at the pattern the blinds make, and the light beside your change table. You make the funniest faces, especially when you're just falling asleep. You sigh, coo and grunt and you make a sound that I swear is like a exclamation of surprise, too. All in your sleep. I wonder what you're dreaming?

Your dad is rocking you to sleep as I try to type this up as quickly as possible. You just grabbed a handful of his chest hair through his shirt and gave a good yank. He yelped and I laughed because you did the same to my poor boob this morning. You are so strong and extremely precise. It's like you know.

If he can get you to sleep, soon you and I will be curling up in bed again. I'm going to try to sleep this time. I'm going to try not to worry about school starting in less than a month, or the dog going in for surgery tomorrow.

All will be well. I swear it.

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Tuesday, July 28, 2009

GiST: Purple Boob Edition

1. Dr. GP, who actually read the research I brought in and prescribed the Dr. Jack Newman concoction I wanted.
2. A healthy baby in the 90th percentile for height and weight.
3. Gentian Violet. It's deliciously purple. Every night I paint up like I'm going to a tribal nipple worshiping ceremony and Mack wakes up with five o'clock shadow.
4. Trev, who changes all the night diapers, makes me coffee (one part coffee to three parts hot water and shut up, it's good) and whatever I want for breakfast before he runs off to work.
5. The fact that Trev has work right now. Keep it coming, Universe!

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Monday, July 27, 2009


This is a really cute video. Unfortunately, the song is one I had on my Labor Playlist. Over the 50+ hours, I heard it a lot as I tried to dance my baby down.

I'm sure the makers couldn't possibly anticipate that their fun little wedding video would reduce this newly c-sectioned mother to a snotty, wailing mess. Sigh. Hormones, y'think?

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Quick Post Between Feedings

  • Mac's gotten fussy during feedings, meaning he probably has The Thrush in his poor little mouth. Meanwhile, my boobs continue to scream in protest. They just want to curl up in bed for a week. But that isn't going to happen.
  • So we went back to the walk-in yesterday. By the way, the walk-in on a sunny Sunday afternoon is actually the walk-right-in. It really is the best.
  • I got pills, Mac got drops. Even though he doesn't have health coverage yet, his drops cost $10. My pills cost $100. $14 a dose. They better freakin' work.
  • Mac continues to thrive, processing my pained contributions into rolls of body fat. Fat little cheeks, fat little arms, fat little thighs.
  • Meanwhile, one of his favourite things to do is hang out in the Tummy Tub. As ridiculously priced as it is, the thing actually lives up to the hype. I'm grateful for the gift certificates that made this moment of baby bliss possible:

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Friday, July 24, 2009

GiST: ZZZzzzzZZZzzz

Holy cow. The last solid sleep I had was a nap on Monday, July 13th. It wasn't even such a great nap, but I'm sure thinking fondly of it now.

This thrush thing threw me for a loop. I have a good baby; he sleeps, eats and poops on a pretty standard schedule and I know I could adjust. But the breastfeeding experience has completely ruined everything. When I'm not bawling my eyes out from the pain of the actual feeding (and punching the headboard, kicking the wall and biting holes into my lips), I'm trying desperately to ignore the searing, shooting pain that dominates between feedings. My boobs virtually pulsate and there's nothing anyone can do to fix it.

So I'm miserable. But there are a few bright spots:

1. My mother-in-law has been an invaluable help. There is clean laundry and I've only had to change 1 out of every 2 diapers, maybe even less.
2. People have dropped off food, which is by far the best gift ever. From now on, when I have friends who give birth, I'm going to cook them something or order them take out. Staying well fed is so important when you're this defeated, but when you are this defeated, meals are just one more thing you don't have the energy to think about, never mind grocery shopping.
3. My boobs. I have nothing good to say about them right now. But I'll take this time to wish them luck, offer support (heh) and to pray that they heal quickly and thoroughly. Come on, ladies, we can do this.
4. I slept two hours in a row last night and it was just deep enough to have dream images. You know, no narrative, just images.
5. Despite the hell of his birth and of this breastfeeding experience, Mac continues to thrive. He dipped to 8lbs 14oz at his lowest. Yesterday the nurse weighed him at 9lbs 11 oz, meaning he gained an entire pound and surpassed his birth weight in less than four days.

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Thursday, July 23, 2009

La Boob Part II

Hell hath another name: "cluster feeding day."

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Wednesday, July 22, 2009

La Boob

So there's a breastfeeding guru in town. Risa and Naomi refer to her in the comments of my last post, and she also comes highly recommended by my Doula.

Today I found myself on the brink of giving up. Desperate and crying, I called Lactation Linda. It turns out she lives two blocks away from my house and she was here in 20 minutes. The bad news is I have thrush. The good news is that I survived our first mommy-baby outing to the doctor's (accompanied by my mother-in-law cuz I'm not THAT crazy) and now have some powerful creams that should help. That, and I now have a new approach to The Boob.

It remains to be seen if Linda is the miracle worker they all say she is, but let's just say that I just had a feeding that did not result in me kicking over the coffee table. I'll keep you posted.

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And the Number One Way I Am NOT Like A Cow...

A cow knows how to breastfeed.

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Monday, July 20, 2009

So What the Hell Did Happen?

Sorry, this is so long. Read only if you're remotely interested in labour and birth stories.

I started out telling this story through the Grace in Small Things lists because it was very, very important to me to remember the good in what happened, the best thing being Mack, of course. It would have been so easy to sink in a deep depression after. I needed to maintain some perspective. But now it's time to talk about the other side.

Except, I'm not sure I really understand exactly what happened. Even my doulas and my doctor seem confused. I wanted a natural birth. I expected a natural birth. I planned and prepared for a natural birth. I would have even considered a home birth if it were allowed and if it weren't my first pregnancy. Let's just say I was almost religious about making this as natural as possible.

I wanted to do most of my labouring at home and accordingly, I worked mostly in the comfort of my own living room. See The Birth: Hours 1-12. I didn't even call the doulas over until perhaps about 20 hours in, around 8PM Tuesday night. That's when things started to get promisingly intense. With their help, I got to a point where contractions were three minutes apart. Sonya-the-Doula (who is also a fully qualified midwife) says she was confident in her assessment that it was a good time to get to the hospital. In other words, none of us feel like we jumped the gun.

So it came as a complete shock when in Triage we were told I wasn't quite three centimeters. I decided I wanted to stay because I was convinced things would change quickly and I didn't want to move. It was too disruptive. I guess the staff saw enough of a change - I was quite effaced - that they let me stay. I got to work in Triage as a parade of women beside me were administered induction drugs and sent home.

Finally they moved us into the labour and delivery room. Sonya knew to ask for Room 4 - it's the best - and they ran a bath for me. I laboured for a few more hours, seemingly effectively. But around 5 AM they checked me again and I was still only 3 1/2 - 4 centimeters. Dr. Baby Doctor suggested an epidural. I was so against it I even cried. Wasn't this the first step on that roller coaster of interventions I'd been warned about? I announced that under no circumstances did I want to end up in a c-section. But everyone made good counter arguments. Even the doulas seemed to agree that since I had been labouring for over 24 hours, the epidural might help me rest and actually speed things up. It was worth a try.

Unfortunately, for the next few hours I had to suffer the ministrations of a 4th year Nursing student. I am going to be a Nursing student so I want to be sympathetic. But I was really tired by this point and she was iffy at best in her technique and her knowledge. The blood pressure machine was clearly not working but she insisted on fiddling with it hour after hour. She checked my vitals every 15 minutes, but it took her 10 minutes to do it, which left five minutes for both contractions and recuperation, the former still coming about every three minutes. In other words, the situation really sucked to labour in.

Still, I tried to ignore everything, opting for warrior like focus and energy. I felt I could do it if I simply believed I could. I worked and worked, breathed and breathed, meditating the baby down. Trevor says that at one point, around Hour 29, we could hear another woman pushing, screaming, then a whole bunch of cheering as a baby screamed out its arrival. He says my head dropped to my chest and I just started to cry softly.

The epidural took two hours to administer, thanks to various blood work that had to be ordered and Student Nurse's mangling of my IV. But when it was finally in, Trev went home to rest, leaving me in the care of the doulas. Again, I didn't sleep much because of all of the checks and of course the contractions. But at least they were more manageable with the epidural and they seemed to stay consistent.

Except, when they checked me again around Hour 36, I was still only four centimeters. I can't tell you how disheartening this was. When the nurse shift switched, the new nurse suggested Pitosin. I declined. No way. They let me work for a couple more hours but when it was clear that no progress was being made, the nurse decided to make her argument again. She seemed to resent that I wanted to talk to Dr. Baby Doctor about it. Then she actually kicked my doulas out of the room and cornered Trevor and me in the bathroom, demanding to know why I was so scared of Pitosin. She thought she was helping, I know she did. But she was completely wrong about the situation. I wasn't being unfairly influenced; in fact, I was the hard-headed holdout. It was actually my level-headed doula, Sonya, who successfully convinced me that Pitosin might be a reasonable next step. It was clear I was quickly losing the marathon and we needed to change one of the factors.

So they administered the Pitosin and yes, things definitely got intense. Ooh, Pitosin contractions suck. But I still managed to maintain my breathing. Trevor says I seemed invigorated, even, because I really believed this would start happening. I mean, I had gone further down the intervention road than I ever thought I would, so why wouldn't it? The nurse also seemed to have had a change of heart and become a little gentler. She said she was very confident that I'd made progress - maybe 6 to 7 centimeters - and while I wouldn't have the baby on her shift, I'd definitely be having it soon. She wished us luck before she left.

I laboured for several hours and the sun set on another day. Trevor says he was napping in the lounge when the other doula, Erin, came to get him because Dr. Baby Doctor had said the "C" word to me, and I appeared to be losing it. He came into the room and found me hyperventilating. Dr. Baby Doctor was trying to explain that the previous nurse had been mistaken, I was still maybe only achieving a tight five centimeters and I clearly wasn't progressing. "Let's put it this way," Dr. Baby Doctor said, "I've delivered three babies tonight. Every one of those women came in after you."

To say I became hysterical is to understate it. This was the lowest point of the entire labour and it happened around Hour 46.

But Dr. Baby Doctor agreed to give me two more hours. He said the baby hadn't dropped at all, but it also seemed to be transverse and if I tried a few different things, maybe we could turn it. So for the next two hours, Sonya, Erin and I tried different techniques, like labouring in a front-facing deep squat. What we didn't know at the time was that Mac was actually occipital posterior and that the squat never would have worked. In fact, it simply made labouring more torturous, adding pressure to what was now back labour intensified by induction drugs. When Dr. Baby Doctor returned in two plus hours later, there was still no progress. The baby wasn't moving down and worse, my cervix had started to swell with the pressure. Essentially I was going backwards.

Completely defeated, I remember looking at Sonya and saying, "I just can't do this anymore. It's time." She nodded and Dr. Baby Doctor and the new, incredibly competent Nurse Rose put things into motion. And the c-section, birth and recovery basically went as described below in GiST. While certainly not ideal, it also wasn't that traumatic. In fact, I hate to admit that the c-section actually came as a total relief by this point. I felt guilty about that.

So what went wrong? Well, Sonya describes there being three elements to a successful labour environment:
1. Power. This describes the contractions and how powerful and effective they are.
2. Passenger. Is the baby in the right place, facing the right way, dropping effectively, holding up under the stress?
3. Passage. Is the cervix responding?

She said I had strikes against me in all three categories. In retrospect, it doesn't seem like we could have made it happen any other way. She even suggested that had I tried for a home birth, there's no saying it wouldn't have ended up the exact same way. But I'm so grateful that my doctor let me try for as long as he did. I'm so glad that Sonya and Erin gave me such considerate and measured advice the whole time. I'm so glad that Trevor was there. He kept me from falling off a precipice.

And I’m so glad that I have let go of religion just long enough to forgive myself and move on. Otherwise I would have ruined this beautiful first week with my new baby. I'm not off the natural birth bandwagon, but let's just say I've made some adjustments to my opinions.

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GiST: Recovery

1. My first real drink of water. I didn't drink enough over the three days of labour, then nothing but ice chips leading up to my 'section'. I was so thirsty. But she made me beg for it. "You're going to puke."
"No I won't."
"You can start with this." It was only a small Styrofoam cup full, but it was heaven in a mouthful.
Suddenly, I remembered my sister had packed a bottle of pink grapefruit juice in a bag of goodies. It was warm, but I downed the entire thing and didn't so much as burp.
2. The sound of Mac's bassinet being wheeled to my bed, finally. I'd been asking for him for over an hour. She said it probably wasn't my kid screaming in the nursery all that time, but Mac came to me purple and blotchy and miserable. I never let him leave my side again.
3. Moving to a private room with a bed I could put up and down all by myself, even though it shorted and called the front desk every time. And with the nice big room, now more than one person could visit me at a time.
4. Seeing all our family hold and rock Mac, gushing over his obvious adorability and cuteness. Sharing my birth story with Tina.
5. Surprising the staff with how quickly I was up and walking. Yay burpees!
6. My sister teaching us her trick for cuddling an infant to sleep. It works on cats, too.
7. Listening to This American Life on my laptop while nursing in the middle of the night.
8. My first shower.
9. The best nurse ever. I wish I could remember her name. She's training to be a lactation consultant. I wish she was here with me now.
10. Dr. Lady OB who agreed to give me an early discharge even though my own OB was off duty.

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Sunday, July 19, 2009

GiST: Delivery

1. The 'nice nurse' from 30 hours earlier bending over me in full gown, "do you remember me?"
"I recognized your earrings," I said.
2. The nurses teasing the doctors and laughing at the chaos of the new OR. Dr. Baby Doctor and Dr. OB chit chatting happily over my belly.
3. Trevor stroking my hair, then off to the side watching our baby being suctioned. "DON'T LEAVE HIM," I said, but from the look on his face, I could tell I didn't even have to say it.
4. Holding Mac for the first time in Recovery. The feeling of his naked little body against me, the voracity with which he latched on to me (and, by the way, never looked back).
5. Later, in the Mother Baby Unit, the Guinness that Trevor snuck to me in a McDonald's cup. Best. Beer. Ever.

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GiST: Labour

Obviously the story didn't end there. I have so much to write of it. Some of it bad, some of it good, but with an important end result:

Macklin Bradley Peter Working. He's named for all four families. After 50 hours, he was born by c-section weighing 9 lbs 9 ounces. He emerged very healthy and screaming bloody murder. And I am so, so grateful for the following:

1. Labouring in my living room, grooving to my ipod, getting into the breathing zone. It felt exactly how I pictured labour would feel.
2. Sonya and Erin, the doulas who were there at the beginning and then stayed all 50 hours after things went sour. They massaged me, breathed with me, fed me water and then helped us make some very difficult decisions.
3. Dr. Baby Doctor, who supported my labour wishes for so long and who let me try, try, try again.
4. Trevor, who shone the most when I was at my absolute worst. And I mean, the worst. I'll never forget his face at that moment.
5. Dr. OB, a very likable Eastern European guy who actually said while I was on the operating table, "let's see if you've dilated any more. I'm not cutting if there's even a little chance you can do this on your own."
6. Our families. Even though I didn't need them to be in the immediate vicinity, I could feel that they were waiting and hoping and praying.
7. Bathtubs.
8. Ice chips.
9. Drugs.
10. Baby Mac. His heart rate never dipped dangerously, he was never in distress despite the hell I put him through. My tough little guy makes it all so worth it.

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Tuesday, July 14, 2009

The Birth: Hours 1 - 12

CAUTION: Birth details may not be suitable for all readers. Reader discression is advised.

I'm in labour. I'm also bored, so I might as well blog. I may pause for contractions but you won't notice anyway.

1 AM. Contractions start, fairly mild but rhythmic so I know it's not just Braxton Hicks. I decide to watch TV instead of waking up Trevor. I mean, what's he going to do? Sit there and watch? It would annoy the hell out of me.

1 to 3 AM. Time contractions using Contraction Master, which is proving very useful. Also, glad to be awake to put bucket under leak in kitchen ceiling.

3:30 AM. Kiwi-the-cat wakes up and annoys me by relentlessly attacking our fern. I kick him outside.

4:30 AM. Nice hot bath. Tired. Climb back into bed.

5:35 AM. Holy crap, now that's a contraction!! Wakes me right up.

6:02 AM Held off this long but decide it's time to call the Doula just to see what's what. She assures me everything is on track and to continue.

6:04 AM. Hello mucus plug. Ew. It lives up to its name.

6:28 AM. A bleary-eyed Trevor returns from walking the dog. "I'm glad I asked you to charge the camera," I say. "This show might be on the road."
He shakes his head. "I'm just annoyed with myself that I'm not more ready. I didn't pack a bag or anything. It's like I'm all, what?! You're pregnant??"

7:00 AM. I try to convince family not to stop by. Buddy KJ described it as wanting to be 'a closet cat', a beast who finds a dark place to give birth alone. This is how I feel.

7:31 AM. TREVOR: Good job. You owned that contraction. You were all up in its face.
WORKING: Oh shut up.
TREVOR: (grins)

8:06 AM. WORKING: Can you undo my bra before you rub my back?
TREVOR: My pleasure.
WORKING: Don't you dare flirt with me.
TREVOR: Trust me. Never again.

10:00 AM. Went for walk. Spoke to neighbour. He asked why I wasn't in the hospital, yet. Actually, a lot of people asked me this. Even the most standard birth classes tell you not to bother going until contractions are closer together. Unfortunately, walk seems to slow labour.

11:00 AM. Call Doula. Tell her about slowing numbers. She says it's normal. Suggests making out or having sex. Decide no.

11:30 AM. Lunch. Hotdogs and chicken noodle soup, cuz why not?

11:49 AM. We break out the Trivial Pursuit.

11:59 AM. WORKING: Who was the orginal host of Wheel of Fortune?
TREVOR: I don't know.
WORKING: Take a guess.
TREVOR: Chuck Woolery.
WORKING: You ass- oh wait, contraction....

12:08 PM. WORKING: You'll never get this one. Name this trio-
TREVOR: Dixie Chicks.
WORKING: You know, I am in labour. You could try losing.
TREVOR: Dixie Chicks.

1:00 PM. Dr. Baby Doctor calls to offer me drugs. I decline. It's not that bad yet.

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Um, Yeah, Ouch.

Oh. So that's what a real contraction feels like. Holy hell. Anyway, wish me luck! See you on the other side.

p.s. My psychic reflexologist was bang on when he said the 14th. We just had the wrong month.

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Saturday, July 11, 2009


TO: Baby Girl or Baby Boy Working From Home Today

Address: Working From Home Today’s Womb

Pursuant to the provisions of Conception October 2008 (hereon referred to as CO2008), you are hereby given an eviction notice and notice to vacate, on or before 14 July, 2009, the premises and appurtenances owned by Working From Home today, which premises are now occupied by you.

The reason for this eviction notice is:

(a). A notice to evict was served upon you on July 8th, 2009, as per an ultrasound performed November 13th, 2008, and as confirmed by Dr. Baby Doctor. You have refused and neglected to pay rent due for any period extending beyond July 8th, 2009.

(b). Substantial damage done to the premises pursuant to CO2008 as follows:
- Groin (hurts)
- Sciatic nerve (hurts)
- Heartburn (hurts)
- Bladder (flattened)
- Bowels (seriously slowed)
- Stretch marks (many)

Refusal to vacate the property in a timely manner will result in an escalation of measures that are not desirable to the property owner due to potential effects on the property.

Your cooperation in this matter is greatly appreciated. Please be assured that every measure has been taken to ensure your comfort in your new residence. We even put the Pack ‘n Play up in the living room.

Dated: July 11, 2009

Working From Home Today

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Grace in Small Things: Due Date + 3

1. Well, at least I've had time to clean the house.
2. And shop. My uncle hinted that he wants his appliances back so the year-long free ride is over. We actually found a good deal on a washer / dryer combo.
3. The baseboards are going on! The baseboards are going on! We are ONE DAY AWAY from returning our furniture to the front third of our house. And it's beee-utiful.
4. Overhearing my aunt's boyfriend, himself a home builder, say, "that's a really good tile job," in regards to our front entrance. My dad wasn't in ear shot, so it wasn't an empty compliment, either. My dad really is top notch at this kind of stuff and I get so proud.
5. Freshly mopped floors.

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Friday, July 10, 2009

Due Date + 2

REFLEXOLOGIST: Hey, Working. Just calling to see how you're doing.
REFLEXOLOGIST: I have you down for a treatment tomorrow?
WORKING: Looks like I'll make it. In fact, maybe you could work that spot that makes babies be born?
REFLEXOLOGIST: We could.... When is your due date again?
WORKING: It was two days ago.
REFLEXOLOGIST: Oh sure, then. We could make that baby come on Sunday.
WORKING: That's actually the day Trev and I picked. It works for us. Saturday's kind of busy.
REFLEXOLOGIST: Perfect. You know, I have an opening today....
WORKING: Let's see. Treatment today, go into labour late Saturday, birth on Sunday... yeah, that works. Plus, my sciatic was screaming all night. I could use it.
RREFLEXOLOGIST: See you in a couple hours, then.

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Marital Conversations

WORKING: I'm so excited we might get a new couch.
TREV: (laughing and shaking head)
TREV: We're about to have a baby. And you're excited about a couch?
WORKING: It matches our living room.

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Thursday, July 09, 2009

Due Date + 1

My friend KJ suggests telling people you're due two weeks after your due date. Note to self for next time, because the constant stream of well meaning inquiries make it really hard to forget about The Due Date and how many hours over it I am.

I am grateful that the people in my life are excited. Imagine if they weren't. But I just gotta stop thinking about The Birth for awhile or I'm going to go bloody crazy. It could be another two weeks.

Working out has provided a nice distraction. Baby, here's what your parents were doing the week of your birth. Or the week before the week of your birth. Or in the weeks before... oh, never mind. We've been working out:

Photo via Crossfit

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Wednesday, July 08, 2009

Grace in Small Things: Due Date

Well, this is it. And by that I mean today is my 'due date'. But little else is happening. There are no signs that labour is imminent and even the Baby Doctor is guessing another week at least. Thankfully, he also doesn't believe in the 40-week due date myth.

Though he did brighten up when offering to strip my membranes, which I politely declined. Even if it's completely innocuous, frankly, I just don't like the way it sounds. There will be no stripping of anything around here.

Meanwhile, here are some things to be thankful for:

1. Special labour music mixes from my loved ones. I asked them to surprise me, hoping that new music will provide a distraction.

And in the house:
2. In place of nicotine-stained carpet in the living room, we now have straight, smooth, shiny 'summer oak' (the original restored).
3. In place of a cramped, useless, mouldy front entrance, we now have an open, tiled space.
4. In place of nicotine-stained pink walls, we have soft cream offset with one light avocado wall.
5. In place of a crumbling fence, our yard is now bordered with beautiful smelling cedar.

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Tuesday, July 07, 2009

Marital Conversations

WORKING: My pants won't stay up.
TREVOR: Can you really even call them pants anymore?


TREVOR: I'm getting a T-shirt made that says "Anything you say can and will be blogged against you."

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Saturday, July 04, 2009

Grace in Small Things: Crossfit

1. Rowing 2100 meters, plus 75 ring rows and 75 bell swings in under 28 minutes today.
2. Feeling strong and in control the whole time.
3. Using Crossfit to understand both my body's strengths and limitations throughout this pregnancy.
4. Fantastic owners and instructors, who have always willingly adapted the workouts for me.
5. Sitting in front of the fan afterwords, sharing a hit of endorphins with the baby.

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Friday, July 03, 2009

Week 39

Week 39 is about being pulled downwards to the earth. Everything in my body stoops and drags with gravity. My back valiantly arches to offset the load in front, but it's got about 15 minutes of patience left in it.

Week 39 is also about eyes widening when my reply to, "when are you due?" is "in about 5 days". Lots of people glance down quickly as though my water might break on the spot.

It's also the point when you get a certain look from other women, even old ladies, as they watch me waddle and struggle and sweat. I can tell I'm sparking memories for them.

Child, the lease is almost up. Start making arrangements.

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Thursday, July 02, 2009

Grace in Small Things

1. Sitting with my sisters outside of a tiny hamlet's tiny church at magic hour.
2. The next day, helping my dad put the finishing touches on a eulogy.
3. My dad reading it in front of a large congregation.
4. Getting to be there for my friends.
5. The beautiful spot where Uncle Paul rests, the grasses bowing with the relief of cool prairie winds.

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