Tag Archives: Pregnancy

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Now We Just Wait For The Plane To Land

A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting across from my midwife. She said “this is the time of the pregnancy where it’s like an airplane circling around, waiting for the right moment to land. Now we wait”. Two weeks ago I was ok with the wait, all things happen when they’re meant to. I’m a patient person, I was a patient person. Then you realize how hard it is to be patient when you can barely move without wincing in pain. I’m not patient when I’m feeling miserably uncomfortable.

Last week, I had an appointment and I was dilated. That was exciting, and she proceeded to “start some contractions”. She succeeded, if her goal was to make me feel more physically miserable than I had previously. Now with my due date slowly crawling nearer, the discomfort is worsening to where if I could squeeze him out myself, I definitely would. I’m not sure if my impatience is worsening due to my being miserable feeling or that everyone else seems to be more impatient than I am. I don’t want him out now, I need him out now.

What they really don’t mention often enough in pregnancy books is you are incredibly drained at the end of the term. By 37 weeks, you’ve got a 6 pound or so baby with all its weight making everything impossible. You want to do all these things, but you can’t because you have this large stomach in your way. Soon you feel not just miserable because of how uncomfortable you are, but you feel miserable because of how you look at yourself with every weigh in or glimpse in the mirror. Finally, the toll it takes on your emotional state. That’s when the worst of it hits, because you’re torn between excitement of meeting this person you’ve been sharing your body with and the guilt of wanting the pregnancy to be done so you can get yourself back.

The misery is worth it though when you watch them grow up into incredible children. Then you forget about this emotional roller coaster they refer to as “the joys of pregnancy” when you decide to go for another one. The sadness and discomfort are as forgotten as the labor pains. I’m thankful I have it better than most, with a doting and fantastic partner that supports me and makes me feel a little less repulsive. I just hope that tonight I can go to sleep, and wake up in the hospital with my 3 boys.

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Reading Books About Nursing: Part 2

On Monday, I discussed a book from the La Leche International about breastfeeding. The book emphasized things I hate about even watching the news: not enough information but a ton of biased propaganda. I don’t mind people having a point of view different from mine; I mind them judging that I don’t agree. This book scared me about the other book I bought at the same time, entitled The Essential Guide to Breastfeeding by Marianne Neifert, MD. I looked at it, flipped through the pages, hoping to work up the mental strength to read it. Finally I decided to dive in.

And I was pleasantly surprised. My favorite part about this book is that it has a ton of information with no filler stories or commentary. The book gives you all the information you could need, and encourages you that if you try and aren’t successful no matter how hard you try, that you’re not a failure as a mother. After the first few chapters, I was encouraged to try this out without any guilt of failure. It doesn’t just give a ton of information on feeding, but it also gives a ton of information on newborns and infants in general. This book was everything I wanted when I went to the store that day.

Most importantly to me, this book seemed to speak to certain things that I’m practiced in from my first time around that the other book seemed to find “more harmful than good for your child”. If swaddling with a pacifier works to help your child be content, shouldn’t we do it and not feel guilty about it? While the La Leche League book mentioned how every time the baby cries, offer a boob and don’t swaddle. Just sit around topless with a baby on your chest with a blanket over him and that’s all he needs. Neifert tells says that comfort comes in many forms and to try what works for both the parent and child. In general, my ideals closely match the ones she presents in her book.

Another plus from this book is it’s easy to navigate through because of the set-up. Because this book lacks the story telling from La Leche League’s book, you get to the information quicker and can go back to it easier to help you along. The way the book is arranged, both the chapters and the information within the chapters, you can easily skip over a section that doesn’t really apply to you. I wanted a book that not only was informative at the first read, but easy to go back to and reread the information I need at a specific time.  Added bonus? A ton of web resources in the back of the book. I like the idea if I can’t find help in her book, I have 7 pages of resources that might be able to help me.

I recommend Marianne Neifert’s The Essential Guide to Breastfeeding to mothers that are attempting to nurse for the first time. The information in there seems to be beyond useful. It’s not enough that she gives us “how to” information, but she gives a detailed “why”. Every bit of information she gives has a purpose, no filling to make the book longer. Her pictures give a nice subtle detail on positionings for feedings and why each position works. Another great part of the book was how she didn’t just write about breastfeeding, she gave great information about other newborn issues like sleeping routines, colic, solid foods, and how to get yourself emotionally and physically back to your normal. I’m very happy with this book, and I would recommend it highly to anyone who asked. Luckily, you guys didn’t need to ask.

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Reading Books About Nursing: Part 1

Maybe my nesting instinct has gone into overdrive, but I realized that after all my deciding on breastfeeding I hadn’t bought any books to teach me the basics of nursing. I saw a video on my pregnancy app, and I admit I was completely repulsed and ready to stock up on formula saying “no effing way I’m doing that”. After weeks of nightmares of watching this woman “hand express” her milk, I shook it off like any other nightmare and reasserted myself back into the idea of breastfeeding. I bought some bras and pads, a pump, and I was ready for this. Then I realized I needed to buy books to read up about it, hoping to feel more knowledgeable and ready for this.

Normally, I’d just go on my Kindle and download whatever I wanted. But I was at the mall anyways, and I decided why not just stop in at Barnes and Noble. There, I stood with a few options on which book to pick. My phone’s internet wasn’t working and I was lost staring at titles. Instinctively, the first one I grabbed was the La Leche League International’s book, The Womanly Art of Breast Feeding. This is the book today’s post will be about. The other book I eventually picked, because I like second opinions, was entitled The Essential Guide to Breastfeeding. Obviously the title gives away the fact this is part of a 2 part series about books on breastfeeding. I might be inspired to get another book or 2 and if I do, I’ll share my thoughts on them as well. I might not though, because after only reading one, I might not want to read about female anatomy anymore.

I picked the La Leche League book to read first, because in every app or online site they mention this organization with breastfeeding. I figured if there was ever an informative book, those lovely women would’ve written it. However, I realized shortly after starting the book that this book wasn’t what I was hoping for. For every bit of useful information I read, I read a bunch of propaganda and patronization. For the good majority of the first part of the book, I read about how breastfeeding is the way to go and if you fail at it it’s because you didn’t try hard enough. I felt guilty after reading parts of it as if I was doing something completely wrong for questioning if I really wanted to do this or not. After the guilt, which I’ll admit passed quickly, I couldn’t help but to read the rest of the book as judgmentally as it read me.

As if that wasn’t enough, I ended up raising my eyebrows at this book. It seemed to romanticize the ideal of nursing your child. When I’m thinking about my kids, I’m not thinking of a romantic situation. The way some of the parts were written made me question if I was reading an informative how-to or pedo porn. They made it seem like the only reason someone should nurse, (and nurse for what seems like until you put your child on a bus to grade school) was to create a bond only you and your child can have. It seemed more like a sick power trip than being actually useful to your child. I’m choosing to do it because it’s the financially smartest approach and the healthiest one, not because I want a biting toddler chewing at my boobs forever. I even read parts of the story they tell in the book about a woman breastfeeding her son aloud to my husband, as if I were reciting lines from a cheesy romance novel. He thought I had exaggerated what the book said until he read it himself. Another problem I had involved the fact I was considering exclusively pumping, as the idea of a baby actually suckling from my chest and the idea my husband couldn’t bond with our child. This book gave useful information about pumping exclusively and storage, but I felt like they attacked that idea. They constantly enforced that breastfeeding is about mother/child bonding and pumping ruins this attachment and you’re an awful person for denying your child that magical love boob juice.

For every bit of good this book did informing me about different positions to feed or pumping, I felt awful after reading the book. It was like visiting an ever critical relative that made you feel like dirt afterwards because you aren’t good enough. I doubt I’m the only one who’s opting for this method of feeding for logical and financial reasons, and I doubt I’m the only one who would love to share the responsibility of feeding and would be annoyed for being made to feel like an awful mother for that. I hope the next book is less judgmental or preachy, or I may end up stock piling formula now.

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And How Was I To Know?

First item of business is about Fridays. The past few Fridays I haven’t written my normal posts, and this week will probably be no exception. I haven’t been feeling in great shape and decided that I would take Fridays off. Next Friday, as long as I’m not in the hospital I will be up with another post about single parenting and teen pregnancy. Now today’s post.

I’m 37 weeks pregnant now (well tomorrow), and I’m already coaxing the little boy to come out. I told him not too soon though, he needed to wait until his grandparents and big brother returned from the beach. I told him Saturday morning would be perfect, so let’s see if I can convince him to get out. As excited as I am to meet him, I’m more excited to just not have him in me anymore. I’ve been over this pregnancy a few months ago, I don’t think any woman really enjoys the last trimester.

Today at my appointment, the normal dip test came back positive for something I didn’t understand. The important part is the doctor comes in and he asks me, “are you having cramping and peeing more?” My response? “I’m 9 months pregnant, of course I’m having cramping and peeing more. Isn’t that what happens?” He chuckled at me, acknowledging that I was right but that he thought I may have an infection. So I end up at the lab to again pee in a cup, which bothers me on so many levels especially since I’m absolutely terrible at this. (I don’t care if I hit a TMI moment, just saying.) Now I still wait to see the results, jumping every time my email alert pops up on my phone.

This moment brings me back to when I had my 3 hour glucose test done. I looked up the symptoms of gestational diabetes, and wondered “how am I supposed to know I need to worry about this, the symptoms are the same ones of just being pregnant.” In fact, most problems that are mostly minor have the same symptoms. Are you feeling tired, sore, increased appetite? Maybe you’re pregnant… but maybe you have ____. No wonder there are a lot of hypochondriac people out there, they read something about their symptoms and think they have cancer when they have the flu.

That makes me wonder though, if that’s what makes people who under react more susceptible to not treating infections soon enough or why they make you pee in a cup every prenatal appointment. I wouldn’t have thought there was anything wrong with me, I just assumed I was an uncomfortable pregnant woman with a bowling ball sitting on my bladder. This is why we keep up with our scheduled appointments and get checked out regularly. We’re not supposed to know, that’s what we overpay doctors for.

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You Can Hit Rock Bottom…

Tomorrow marks 36 weeks of the pregnancy. The time flies no matter how much we like to think it moves so slowly. It only physically feels like it moves so slowly. Everything starts getting more complicated now. A few months ago the ability of sitting at a computer to play games became very difficult, recently putting shoes became difficult. Now even sitting here typing out a blog is becoming difficult, but we can move on anyways.

Sitting down isn’t easy anymore. You can’t get into a comfortable position, and if you can it’s impossible to stand up on your own from that position. Laying down to sleep or nap is awful because you can’t sleep and it’s difficult to get up or even something as simple as tossing and turning to get comfortable. I should be thankful I can still see over my growing stomach. Then you try to stand up and walk around because sitting is so miserable feeling, but you waddle for a minute before your legs and feet swell up beyond recognition. Then it becomes to uncomfortable to stay standing. There’s really no winning.

The biggest downside is now the obsessively hungry. More hungry than I have ever been in my life. I think if I really sat down to it, instead of the one jar of pickles, I could probably devour 2 or 3 jars. As if last night wasn’t bad enough that I devoured half a watermelon that my husband cut up for me, I notice the other uncut half is on my lap and I’ve resorted to eating it like a bowl of cereal. It’s an attractively hilarious sight. Just a pregnant woman with her half of a watermelon and a spoon. I think this is my rock bottom moment of pregnancy. It could be worse.

At this point in the pregnancy, I’m sure I’m not alone in any of these thoughts. Though I’m definitely hoping that I’m the only one who has resorted to eating a whole watermelon half uncut with a spoon, so glad I’m home alone so no one could see it. Somehow the visualization of it seems worse than making readers have the image of it. We have a bowling ball sized stomach that barely fits in anything and makes you look like someone who isn’t you. When we’re at this point, I think that we realize that we don’t care anymore. Nothing is going to make us feel less huge or more comfortable or more appealing to look at. So we should make the best of it and make ourselves happy by eating all the watermelon and pickles we want.

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When You Count Down The Days

Soon enough we’ll meet the ever active little boy that’s been cozily growing for about 9 months now. Well, maybe not soon enough because soon enough seemed like a little while ago when the major discomforts of carrying a child started. The idea that he’ll come when he wants to occurs to me more on days where I feel the most miserable. He’ll be here when he wants, which I hope is soon. Physically I’m beyond ready for him. Now we have everything we could need for him, so we’re definitely ready for when he wants. Which I’ll repeat, I hope is soon.

It didn’t occur to me sooner, that I wasn’t the only one who was anxious. My parents since leaving for vacation calls daily, sometimes twice daily. Each call is started with a “how are you feeling? Trip to the hospital yet?” Part of me wonders if they are anxious for him to be born or anxious that he would be born before their vacation ended. My son, who’s also with them since we didn’t think it was fair he missed our usual trip because I couldn’t go, also is excited and anxious to meet him. So anxious that he admits that he doesn’t want to be gone when it happens. He assures me that his brother will wait though, because he’s too awesome of a big brother.

Then there is my sweet and overly excited husband. This is the same person that the day after the baby shower had to go out and buy everything else we needed because “you never know when he’ll come”. Then proceeded to spend the rest of the night assembling everything even though he had to wake up early in the morning to drive across state for a class for his job. It seems every hour I get a call or texts of “just wondering how you’re feeling”. I don’t translate that as a concern for how I’m actually feeling; it’s a way to ask “are you in labor yet?”.

As the time comes closer, you realize that everyone is just as anxious as you. All your family and friends want to meet your newborn almost as much as you and your partner do. He’ll arrive when he’s ready however he’s ready. For me, I’m convinced after my first one that all my children are going to make an exciting entrance into this world. I hope I’m wrong, and the only exciting entrance he makes is the excitement of meeting him and not that I give birth on the side of the street while out for a walk.

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Deep Breathing Isn’t Just For Labor

Eventually growing up you hear “the first reaction is generally the best one”. I’ve basically applied that principle every time I face something and wonder “did I overreact?” Though I think I usually under-react, at least I walk away feeling like I handled it appropriately. At least in my adult life, I wouldn’t think half my teenage years I handled anything as appropriately as I could have but really what teenager does? The excuse of out of control teenage hormones are generally used at the excuse for that.

Hormones are the answer then. Or the excuse. Or the excuse to not take someone seriously. I suppose when it comes down to it, hormones are offered up as a blame, the scapegoat. You thought it was bad as a teenager, it apparently gets worse as an adult female. Then it gets worse when you’re pregnant. How many times do we have to listen to “must be that time of the month” when we get mad? Can’t we just be pissed because someone was an idiot without having to be accused of it just being biology. I admit though, I’ve definitely told a female or two… dozen… to “take a Midol and go away”. Mostly because when they were annoying me, I knew exactly what to say to get them angry enough to not argue with me and leave. The worst part is when you’re pregnant. You can’t cry at anything without someone comforting you and saying “don’t worry, it’s just the hormones”. Maybe I’ve just been upset and needed to vent, not working off whatever hormonal trick you think the hormones are playing on you this time.

The main point of this isn’t to say “stop accusing us of acting out because we can’t control ourselves”, I can control myself just fine pregnant and normally. My problem isn’t I think hormones are taking over my life, my problem is worrying that every emotion I may or may not feel could be passed off as nothing important just because I’m pregnant. It’s annoying when you don’t have to second guess whether you’re being rational, you have to second guess if people will act like you are irrational because they just assume being pregnant means you’re not actually feeling that way. You just think you are. I think the way people patronize you for being upset is far worse than actually being upset because you realize they aren’t being supportive, they are placating you until they think your next mood will come. I don’t like that I should feel bad because something bothered me, but luckily I’m good at keeping things quiet in my head so I can just shrug it off until it passes. Unhealthy? Yes, but I suppose I’ll take unhealthy over ending up punching someone square in the face. Which I’ll assure you has nothing to do with hormones, I’d end up punching them in the face over it either way.

Think of that next time you pretend there are eggshells on the ground when you walk around your pregnant relative or friend. If you keep pretending it’s a passing moment, beware for the glass you might have to walk on afterwards. Sure, hormones can make people a little crazy, but the idea that you treat every emotion someone has as merely a hormonal imagination makes us a little crazier. It’s more healthy to let us say what we want without judgement than make us feel like we have to keep our mouths shut so we don’t feel like a china doll about to break when we’re really stronger than that. Take a deep breath and don’t stress, it really does help. You’ll have enough to stress about soon.

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Then You’re Showered With Gifts

At some point in the pregnancy, you might get lucky and have someone throw a shower. Then you start putting on clothes to attend and criticize everything you put on because each thing makes you look fatter than the others. At least at the hair salon before hand, people said I looked small for how far along I was. I took comfort in their obvious lie for the sake of my self-esteem. Eventually you just realize that you’re almost 9 months pregnant and nothing will make you look skinny for the next year unless you’re blessed with Jessica Alba genes. I’m not; I’d be more ok with it if I were.

It’s hard to express gratitude at times like that. There are so many people and so many gifts. It’s very overwhelming when you realize the love and support you have from your family, all your family. The idea that they have to show up to an event to show their love is false, the thought is the most important. With this love and support, the day becomes overwhelming. To me, it was probably the most overwhelming point so far in the pregnancy. Luckily I didn’t have to be center of attention, that would make the situation much more anxious than it would’ve been. And I made away with only one person touching my stomach, which I’ll let slide because she’s her.

Even more overwhelming than the ritualized event, is when you see the car packed full when you leave. It then becomes, “oh crap, where am I going to put all this stuff”. You think about all the clothes you’re going to need to wash. (Take comfort, baby clothes are small and you can generally fit most of them all in one load.) Then you think of all the stuff your husband is going to have to put together, and avoid reading instructions, because that’s what men do. It was a long but rewarding and productive weekend, and now we can sit back and just wait for this little person to grace us with his presence. Hopefully soon, I’m done being pregnant. I feel like I’ve run out of room in my body for him, or I’m just really uncomfortable and hopeful. At this point, I’m sure everyone feels that way.

In the end, it’s worth it. More important than the gifts you received at the event, you realize that you have an incredible support system of people that are going to love their new family member. The more love that surrounds your little bundle, the healthier and happier he’ll grow up to be. Plus, imagine all the advice he’ll have to sift through the rest of his life. He’ll be an individual that grows into various generations and cultures, and that with love is priceless for your child.

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At Least The Bruises Made Me Symmetrical

I hate needles. Hate is even putting it nicely. I’ve even refused Novocaine for minor things at the dentist for the sake of avoiding watching that needle get near my mouth. When I see people getting needles in person, I cringe and refuse to look and often get a look of passing out. I’m not ashamed… ok maybe a little ashamed to admit that I even get queasy seeing needles on TV. I suppose there are upsides to this, like being an IV drug user is completely out of the question and cheaper medical visits. I would rather pain and misery of not getting one than go through the 2 seconds it takes to have the needle go into any part of my body I can see. I got away with the tattoo merely because I couldn’t see it getting done, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

So a month or 2 ago when I went to do my 1 hour glucose screening, or otherwise known as “one more thing to make a pregnant person feel uncomfortable”, I was concerned with getting in and drinking that miserable stuff that is responsible for me never eating orange popsicles or drinking orange soda and getting my needle and being done with it. My doctor’s office is fantastic, and when test results get posted, I get it in my email and I don’t have to worry about a thing. Results came back and I hit 2 points over the max. I freaked out until it was pointed out that if there was a problem that someone would’ve called. Sure enough, no one called and nothing was mentioned of it after a few visits with my midwife. That was until last week when she realized that she sent lab orders for the 3 hour test and forgot to tell me.

My first thought jumped to “but I did everything right. I did everything wrong the first time and I was fine.. but this time I did everything right.” You can’t help but to stop and analyze every little thing you did or didn’t do or didn’t do enough. “Oh it was that glass of soda I had because I just really wanted it and figured it was ok since I haven’t really had soda.” Then you look at those meticulously picked out 5 potato chips next to your egg salad sandwich and think that you messed this up. Hopefully I’m not the only neurotic person who did this, but by looks of forums I’m not. I vowed to walk more, drink nothing but water and stick to egg whites and dried toast. Then I thought of my beloved fruit salad, and how much sugars were really in that. I went crazy, I really did.

Per my normal self though, I sucked it up and resolved that Saturday I would get it done. When it came down to fasting, I ate my last helpings of diet popcorn and started my fast 12 hours before like I was told. An hour later I realized that this 3 hour test was now “the most miserable test you can make a pregnant person go through.” Soon after I slowly realized that in support of my fasting, my husband had decided to fast too. I didn’t say anything and smiled to myself going to bed. The next morning at 8 a.m., he was up and ready to go with me. First of all, my husband being up before 11 a.m. is a miracle so this was historic. Then, he sat down in the office with me for 3 hours encouraging me that time was only up. I drank my nasty orange syrup and closed my eyes while they stabbed me with their needles. My arms bruised, like usual, but at least they matched. And I waited.

I wasn’t a patient waiter. I logged onto the website every hour to see if the results came back that day. My husband was just as happy as I was to not be fasting anymore and spent the day catching up on our eating. It felt good. Finally the results came back and I was cleared as being completely perfect. Apparently most people flunk the hour one, and have to do the 3 hours. I found it a waste of time, but you can’t be too careful when you’re responsible for another life. I would’ve rather taken the test and passed than not and have complications with my child. Unfortunately that means I just have a fat baby or the due date is wrong, which I hope is the latter. Don’t sweat these tests, they’re there for a reason.

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The Breast Thing To Do?

Admittedly, I giggled writing the title. Some days I think I’ve never matured from high school. Back to the topic at hand: breasts, well in this case breast-feeding. With my first son I didn’t breast feed. The idea of having someone attached to my nipple several times a day actually disturbed me, plus I worked way to many hours to even consider breast-feeding as an option. This time around I’ve decided to give it a try, despite the idea of it still disturbing me. Before I get an applause from those fanatics of lactation, the sole reason for this decision comes down to the fact that I’m cheap and this is the cheapest way to feed a child. It just so happens it’s incredibly healthy for them.

I have problems with breast-feeding more than just the idea of it making me cringe. The idea that my husband can’t be hands on in the most bonding experience of a newborn upsets me. It doesn’t upset me enough to want to become a cow that solely attaches to a machine to make milk, but enough that I consider it. There was two of us that created a child, why shouldn’t both of us be able to adequately bond with it. Plus, that means I’m the only one crawling out of bed every two hours to make sure he’s fed. I like the shared duty idea.. because I’ve grown fond of sleep lately and would like to be able to enjoy at least four hours of it.

I also don’t think that there’s anything wrong with formula feeding your child. My first-born was formula fed and outside of bad genetics, grew up just fine. I don’t think that there’s really much of a difference nutritionally between the two. I understand how breast-feeding provides for immunities and such, but when you get down to the real vitamin and mineral content is there really a difference? Obviously not really, as like I said my first-born grew up just fine and I know more people who formula fed than breast-fed and their kids are perfectly fine too.

In my lovely state of Massachusetts, they have recently banned the formula give-aways you would get in the hospital after giving birth to your child. Sorry, they didn’t legally ban it. It just so happens that all the hospitals mutually agreed to voluntarily stop providing this to patients to force.. sorry, encourage breast-feeding to new mothers. They say these freebies encourage mothers to skip breast-feeding and formula feed their children. I’d hate to break it to the world, but news flash: if a mother doesn’t want to breast feed, she’s not going to do it. In fact, forcing her into something that’s uncomfortable for her is probably worse for them and pushes them more towards formula feeding. We also can’t forget that, and I know that this might be a complete shock, that some women actually can’t physically breast feed. There are some mothers that adopt their kids, use surrogates or just have various other medical complications with breast feeding. So let’s have the great idea of making them feel less like a real mother. Because only real women breast feed right?

I don’t like being pressured into anything. Ever. It doesn’t work for me. I don’t want to fail at breast-feeding and have swarms of lactation crazy women saying “I didn’t try hard enough.” Yeah, that’s going to do wonders for my self-esteem. This idea that a group of people can come together and tell me, “yeah, I know if you work this might be hard for you. And there are places online where you can buy other people’s breast milk if you can’t offer your own.” Thanks guys! I love the idea that my only options are my breast milk or some stranger I don’t even know’s breast milk. This idea actually disgusts the tiny bit of feminist in me. Next all women will be forced out of work because them being home is the best thing for their child. I heard the 50’s were such a great time for women. I like advice on how to raise a healthy child. Advise me to breast feed all you want, but my boobs are my business.