Months have gone by...

I would be lying if I said it was in the blink of an eye. Because you know what? I wasn't it. The days were long. The nights were longer. Tears have been shed (by all members of the T household).. But here we are. 6.5 months in as a family of four and dare I say that I see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Are you ready for the biggest, backtrack, catch up post ever?

Because, I think I'm ready to type it.

I think some distance will allow me to write about the past few months with some reclaimed sanity, humor and touching sentiment.  I think.

I left off with the scariest initials a mother of an infant who was born in the winter can hear. RSV. Man, that was bad. Tiny was so sick and he was just so tiny. There were all these things that we were trying to get a handle on. Acid Reflux, ear infections, RSV, explosive blow outs, crying. lots and lots of crying. I just kept saying to anyone that would listen that something wasn't right. Babies should not nap for 30 min at a time. Babies should not be jerking the knees up to their chins while they sleep. Babies should not cry for such extended periods of time. 

We were at the doctor's office every week, sometimes twice a week. The Nutramigen formula cost a fortune (or so I thought). We tried to get coverage from the insurance company and we were denied. Tiny T was put on several medications to try and get his 'reflux' under control. Some days were so long and I was so overwhelmed. I am not going to use the phrase Post Partum depression, I'm going to use the word, reality. My reality was that I had a baby that was uncomfortable for large periods of the day, who did not sleep much and an active preschooler who needed my attention. Most of my mommy friends are done having children, so I felt isolated at times. It's impossible to go the bouncy castle place with a 2 month old during flu season.  As a result, life was harder in a way that I wasn't expecting. There were days I felt ill-prepared to take on the task of two children and keep up with the house, and stay awake past 10pm to try an enjoy Dateline or The Voice with Mr. T.  It was also FREEZING and bundling everyone up was just not fun!

So what happened...Time, Support, A Diagnosis, Time....

Time.

We all just needed a little more time to settle in. Tiny T needed some time to have his GI system mature.  Toddler T needed some time to see that his routines may get bumped around a bit, but mostly life was the same around here. I needed some time to realize that I couldn't be as 'on the go' as I was with Toddler T. I needed some time to figure out what I could do, what I could not do and to learn to let go of any guilt in saying no. 

Support

As always, I have my support system. First and Foremost is Mr. T. I am quite sure that there were (are??) days where he pulls into the driveway and says a quick Hail Mary that he is not walking into a tornado. I am sure that on the days that he walked into said Tornado he had the fleeting thought to quietly ease out the door and take another lap around the block. But he hasn't, not that I wouldn't blame him. He is a hands on, down in the trenches, lets solve the problem dad. I may not always like that he rushes in with a solution... But sometimes they work out. Case in point - hiring a cleaning lady. Mr. T and I can do lots of things and usually work really well getting stuff done. Since the day we brought Toddler T home,  we just never got on the same page with cleaning. Add in a crying baby, sleep deprived mom and a baby that did.not.sleep and the situation became embarrassing. The smell of fabuloso is the most heavenly scent I have ever smelled. And in time, when things stay calmer more consistently- Ms. Rosa and her girls will go. But for right now, I get giddy when I see her car pull in the driveway.

We also, had tons of support from our families and friends that took Toddler T on play dates and just helped how they could. 

I also talked about it. Hopefully, not too much... But I tried not to just smile and say that things were going swimmingly when they weren't. 

I am grateful everyday for my family and friends. Every.single.day

A Diagnosis

When Tiny was 6 weeks old, I told my mom that he had been diagnosed with Acid Reflux. She was not impressed. Furthermore, after 3 different medications to target reflux and little improvement and worsening symptoms, she became less impressed. It took me awhile to see where she was coming from. Acid Reflux is a very 'current' diagnosis. I am in no way trying to say that it doesn't exist and that it isn't awful. Because I do think that Tiny does, in fact, suffer with reflux. But, if a 'current' diagnosis is applied, then a physician can stop looking at alternate reasons for the discomfort. As in, sure he's still crying.. it's reflux. In our case, that line of thinking cost us two more months of increasing pain and discomfort for Tiny. After being on Nutramigen for almost 2 months, our pediatrician decided to do a repeat test on his stool to see if it still contained blood. It did. At this point, Tiny's weight was not great and he continued to have an allergic reaction to the trace amounts of milk/soy proteins in the the Nutramigen. 

Well, if I had complained about the cost of that formula.. We were in for some serious sticker shock.

Tiny T was put on an elemental formula. An elemental formula has all of the milk and soy proteins broken down. If a child is reacting to the trace amounts, their symptoms should improve if their bodies do not have to process those irritating proteins. I knew it was expensive. I had been researching milk/soy protein intolerance and saw that a fair amount of kids wind up on it. 

It is $48 for an 11 ounce can. Let me put that in perspective. A 20oz can of generic/ regular old baby formula is around $15.

But, before I go off on my insurance company crusade (that will be another post)... Let me go back to the point. We needed a correct diagnosis to get to Tiny T well. All of the reflux medications in the world would not have done one darn thing for the fact that his lower GI tract was recoiling with the milk/soy proteins and he was not able to take in the proper nutrition. Hence, the poor weight gain.

Today, he is six months old. He weighs 18.5 pounds and has gained four pounds in two months. His skin coloring is rosier, his eczema patches are clearing up. His stomach is not gurgling like percolating coffee pot at all times. 

TIME

I said it before and I'll say it again. We just needed some time to find our footing and I think we are headed into sunnier days. 

I have so much more to write and will try to do so shortly.. As I am typing, my FOUR year old is deep into serious Lego play with Mr. T. Tiny is upstairs sleeping and things are good.

Appreciating humor when life isn't too fun

Sometimes a humorous situation happens just when you need it.

Just when I was getting my feet under me, we hit another few rough days with Tiny T.  We noticed that he had a cough on Sunday. I wasn't too worried because he had his two month well check on Monday. He survived his shots but we needed to schedule a follow up weight check as his weight had a significant drop off in the percentiles. His doctor thought he had a little cold but was not overly concerned about the sniffles nor the weight.

Mr. T and I decided to try an keep a closer eye on the actual amount of ounces and continue waking him up at 11pm to feed him.  Then Tuesday hit and he didn't nap at all. Then Wednesday came and he didn't nap again and spent most of the morning crying. Crying in the swing. Crying in the bouncer. Crying in his crib with his glow worm playing. Crying while I held him.  It was a challenging morning and I started to get concerned. I started second guessing EVERYTHING I was doing as his mom. Was he overtired, under stimulated. Was it really acid reflux or did I just have a fussy baby.

Then I heard the cough. It was more like a cough, followed by a gag then a frantic attempt for him to catch his breath. I paused, and thought that that cough was not too normal. Then I turned into a doctor (terrible, terrible idea) and came up with the hypothesis that his cough was related to his acid reflux. I went further with this hypothesis and talked myself out of calling the nurse line because he was JUST there two days ago and examined by his doctor. I asked my mom and my mother in law for their opinions. They both suggested that I call the nurse line. But again, I didn't. I was fearful that I was becoming that crazy mom with one too many calls into the office. I began to feel like I couldn't read Tiny T.. when it was apparent that something was going on.

I woke up this morning determined to get out of the house. I still wasn't sure about what was going on with Tiny.. But I knew that Toddler T really needed a morning out. So, it was the MOMs club to the rescue. We had a monthly meeting and as God was my witness, I was going. I was going to chat with my friends, Toddler T was going to play with his and life would be good. 

There were some new members and I overheard one mention that her son was born on January 1st at the Town Hospital. I looked over and recognized her. I said, "Wow, we were at the Town Hospital at the same time. My son was born on New Years Eve!"  Her response stunned and mortified me in the same moment.  She said, "Were you the one that couldn't get an epidural."  Me, "Pardon me? I mean it took awhile for the epidural to come but I did get it."  New Mom, "Right, you had a c-section and had to wait. My husband and I could hear you screaming."  Me, "Um, I'm not really sure how to take that."

I was known to this family as the screaming girl in labor. Only in Mommyland such a scenario occur and then both she and I exchanged phone numbers to hang out during the day.

But seriously, she heard me screaming.........

It was perfect timing that such an embarrassingly funny story would come my way. I came home, got over myself and called the nurse line. Turns out a wet cough has nothing to do with acid reflux and the doctor wanted to see Tiny.  One nasal swab later and we were told that he has RSV and an ear infection. We were sent home with a nebulizer and an antibiotic.  

I needed a laugh today because RSV is serious (treatable but serious). I also needed to be reminded that my instincts as a mother are valid even if that means moving into the pediatrician's office.

Catching my breath and regaining order.

The last few weeks have been rough.  

But this week, things seem to returning to normal. I took both boys out to run some errands and to the book store. Toddler T got a new book and Tiny T got a chance to have lunch at Barnes and Noble.  We started making plans for play dates and I have made dinner 3 nights in a row.

Yesterday, I got up.. showered and dressed in real clothes, took Tiny T to Target and treated myself to a Vanilla Latte... not decaf but without whipped cream!  I have begun to make beds, sort, fold and put a way laundry. I am vacuuming and doing arts and crafts with Toddler T.  I am starting to figure out ways to order our day.  

One of my biggest challenges has been Toddler T and the nap situation. He naps and then cannot fall asleep until 9:30/10pm.  He doesn't nap and life is a challenge from about 4pm until bedtime. Also, I'm trying to figure out what works best for Tiny's napping needs. So, I'm trying something out. Every afternoon, I am trying to get Tiny T to take a longer nap in his crib. This has been a little time consuming and I felt bad having Toddler T sit in front of the TV this entire time. What I am doing is bringing the whole gang upstairs and encouraging Toddler T to read or play in his room.. even 'rest' on his bed. Once I've gotten Tiny down, I then go in and read a few more stories. I have no idea if it will work long term, but it's worked twice so far this week!

It is amazing how these little/big events can help a girl get her confidence and footing back.  It has also helped me to realize that switching to formula continues to be the absolute right decision for us. Regardless of where I stand in the breast feeding/formula feeding debate, my son is happier. He is smiling. He is content. This in turn has made me happier and content and trickled down to Toddler T and Mr. T. 

I would say life is bliss, but we all know that that would be a lie! I'm still sleeping in fragments and I did have a 7 week old spit up half his bottle all over me at 5:15 this morning. So we haven't hit the stage where life looks like a Johnson and Johnson commercial, but we are happier.

An Ironic Follow Up

As I sit to type this post, a smile comes to my face.

Not because, I'm feeling exceptionally witty or have fantastic Tiny T stories.

But because of how ironic it is, following my last post.

I have stopped breastfeeding.

While it was 100% my decision, the factors that lead to this decision were a matter of Tiny T's health.

I still believe that a mother should be free to chose the method in which she feeds her baby, free of judgment and commentary. I still believe that had I been able to continue nursing, I would never have been 100% comfortable in public. I still believe that it is a tremendous undertaking, physically and emotionally.

With all of this, I am still sad.

Let me backtrack.

In my last post, I detailed Over Active Letdown and Foremilk/Hindmilk imbalance. Shortly after I typed that post, it became clear that things were still not moving in the right direction. The extreme block nursing led to a sharp decrease in my supply, right as Tiny T hit a growth spurt. But there was more and something wasn't sitting well with me. Tiny T continued to arch his back, scream, have explosive blow outs in his diaper, and he was not sleeping.

At his one month checkup, his doctor suspected reflux and we started Zantac. I continued to power through breastfeeding, got my supply back up and then developed a yeast infection. This was getting CRAZY. But, like The Little Engine That Could, I just kept repeating.. "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can."  I mean, all of the adds tell you "Breast milk is best", so surely my effort was the BEST thing for Tiny T, right?

Wrong.

One week after starting the Zantac, things were getting worse. We are talking all day crying, short naps, diaper rash and an inability to get the Zantac into Tiny's little body. First off, the stuff is flavored mint. Think peppermint schnapps. My little boy smelled like he closed down a bar after ever dose. He would drool, throw up and his clothes would reek of the minty awfulness called Zantac. The doctor wanted to see us with one request. I needed to dumpster dive for a dirty diaper so that it could be cultured in the office. Blood in the stool and a positive result for Milk Protein Intolerance. 

I could feel the tears welling up. I had read about this online and knew immediately that I would have two options. Go dairy free and wait up to a month to have the dairy fully leave my system or switch to formula.  I left the appointment with a new prescription for Prilosec, a sample can of Nutramigen and instructions to call the office with my decision within the next day or so.

Mr. T and I had a long conversation that night. We weighed all of the options. And for us and our entire family, dairy free was not going to be conducive to a happy home. So that was it. I stopped nursing that night. I'll be detailing my tips for beating engorgement in another post!

I wish I could say that it was smooth sailing. Quite the contrary. The next 48 hours were incredibly trying. Tiny T cried and cried and cried.  I anticipated a trip to the emergency room, because I have never seen crying of that intensity last for so long. I was also panicked that he had only had 9 ounces of formula in 15 hours.  I can only thank God that this 48 hours coincided with a trip to my parents' house. I am honestly not sure what life would have been like without support. Even with the support of two other adults, I was still short tempered with Toddler T. I felt as though my heart was being twisted in a knot, while my spine was being crushed in a vice. I was exhausted and nervous. I second guessed my decision to go right to formula without giving dairy free a shot. I felt guilty and selfish.  I was overwhelmed. I wanted to hide under the covers. It was exhausting and I'm sure I was no peach to be around.

The good news is, Friday morning ushered in a new day. We went back to the doctor to rule out a reaction to the formula or something more serious. I left that appointment feeling hopeful that in just a few more days, we'd really be headed down the right track.  This seems to be the case. Tiny T has been   doing much better every day and I truly believe that the Prilosec and Nutramigen are working. I also know, in my heart, that I would not have been able to live a dairy free lifestyle without feeling some resentment. I would constantly be hyper vigilant about what I ate. Any time Tiny T seemed fussy, I'm sure I'd agonize about what I ate in the week before. In truth, I knew it was beyond what I could reasonably do. 

In another way, I wanted my body back. It is almost two years to the day of my first ectopic. In this two years, I have had surgeries, countless shots, blood draws, diet changes, 9 months of a pregnancy, a cesarian section and every challenge of breast feeding. I was feeling spent.  I had the energy to keep breastfeeding but not to add in a dairy free life.

I had to remind myself what the nurse told me three and a half years ago. "Take the emotion out. Babies need to eat, and they don't care how they get fed."

So ironic, don't you think? I was never going to be a lactivist but am now feeling sad that after 6 weeks, I am no longer nursing.

Why no one will ever mistake me for a Lactivist.

I read this little article on MSNBC the other day.  The term cracked me up, Lactivist. I guess its the new slang for a Lactating Activist.  I have so many thoughts and opinions on breastfeeding I thought I'd share a few.

Before I start, here is the best advice I have ever gotten regarding feeding a baby. It was from a nurse from the pediatrician's office.  We were there for a weight check with Toddler T. It was the summer, he wasn't gaining weight. I was hot, sweating, frustrated and overwhelmed. I may have been crying. The nurse looked at me and said, "Your baby needs to eat. He actually doesn't care how he gets fed and it doesn't matter how he gets fed. He needs to eat. Formula, breast, or breast milk in a bottle. It doesn't matter."

She was so calm and supportive of whatever we chose, she just wanted me to take the emotion out of feeding.

This is my stock answer when people ask about feeding babies. Take the emotion out of it. Easier said than done as I am right at a crossroads with where we are going with Tiny T.

With Toddler T, I used a combination of breast, breast milk in the bottle and formula until he was 6 months old. When he hit six months, I made the jump to formula only.  I was proud of myself and thought that if I had another baby, maybe I'd stick it out a little longer.  I thought that maybe I'd get over my fear of nursing in public. I thought a lot of things.

Then Tiny T arrived and as I've written in the last post, I was completely engorged by the time I left the hospital. I mean engorged so that there was no way this child could latch on appropriately.  I was so desperate for relief, that I even ignored his incorrect latch JUST so he would be able to nurse. For the record, that was a HUGE mistake which resulted in bleeding and cracked nipples. Terrible. Simply terrible to look down and see your child with a bloody mouth and know this little bundle of joy was the culprit of your pain.

I continued to pump once a day so that Mr. T could help out with a night time feeding.  I had a visit with a home care nurse and she helped with latch. Things started to get better and for about 4 days, I thought we were on the up and up.

Then all hell broke lose. I got sick. Toddler T got sick. I was doing feedings with a surgical mask on to spare Tiny T whatever bug we had caught. And then the tell-tale signs of oversupply and forceful letdown reared their ugly heads.

Oversupply means that your body produces too much milk. I know, I know.. cry me a river.. better to have too much than not enough, right. Wrong. Oversupply is awful. The ratio of foremilk to hindmilk is off, and your baby gets too much of the foremilk. The foremilk is lactose heavy and the hindmilk has the higher fat content. So what you end up with is a fussy/gassy baby, who is starving and pooping green.  It is awesome. Next, is the forceful letdown. With this large volume of milk looking for an outlet and only having one way out - things get ugly. Imagine your sweet baby latches on and instead of a blissful slow pace of milk - he looks like he has just latched on to an open fire hydrant. He gulps, he spits, he chokes, he latches, unlatches and cries. A LOT.

Having been through this before, with Toddler T, I knew a few tricks, pump a little first, try and let some of the excess milk spray into a burp cloth and eventually it should self-correct. Well, this go around it didn't self correct. After a call to the lactation consultant, I decided to block nurse. Basically, this means feed the baby off one side only for 2-3 feedings to send a signal to your body to simmer down on the milk production. Right, well the problem is, the side that you aren't feeding on, gets engorged and then we are back to latch problems. Tiny T cries, I cry and I swear to anyone who will listen that I will give it one more week. If in a weeks' time things aren't better, I'm going to straight pumping and bottle feeding.

I wanted to get past my fear of nursing in public. I even bought a cute nursing cover and thought, I can do this. But as the days dragged on...my faith weakened. I mean, how in God's name is a girl supposed to nurse and angry, choking baby with milk spraying everywhere, while trying to remain both discreet and keep an eye on a busy 3 1/2 year old. Simply put, I was not nursing anywhere other than my couch until this situation was rectified.

So, its for all these reasons, that you will never catch me picketing a store with my baby nursing in public.  Breast feeding is hard. It has many benefits but many challenges as well. I think that the only thing we should do is support a mom in whatever choice she makes, for whatever reasons she makes it. Because breastfeeding isn't always the beautiful, bonding experience shown in the videos. It hurts, it can be emotionally and physically draining and there can be a whole host of reasons why it isn't always the best.

Here I am, four weeks into it and I'm not sure where I'm going. I know that Tiny T will be fed and he will grow. I also know this this whole process is 2 steps forward, 1 step back until we settle into our groove. I'm just hoping we settle sooner rather than later.

Splash!

Having a newborn after getting used to a semi-independent little boy is similar to jumping into a freezing cold pool on a hot summer's day. It is a shock to one's system.

Seriously....

Here we are in week three and we are all still standing. How am I doing it? Well, it is very similar to how I got through the last two years; with a lot of help from our family and friends. I'm somewhat ashamed to admit it, but I have had help almost every.single.day from returning home from the hospital with Tiny T.  I know so many moms who dive on in and are total superhero moms. I'm not one of them... I've learned to ask for and then accept help. It's so much better for everyone and generally people want to help.  My mom also reminded me that there is no need to be a martyr. If someone wants to unload your dishwasher or throw in a load of laundry, smile and say thank you.

This is exactly what I've done. I knew on some level that going from one to two children would be taxing, overwhelming, challenging and tiring. What I didn't count on was the emotional side of it. Splitting my time between a helpless newborn who is relying on me for everything and the an active 3 1/2 year old who has grown accustomed to a busy day with Mommy has been hard. I find myself hoping that Toddler T is doing ok with the transition. I worry that he feels I am passing him by for this baby but then when he skips off to spend the afternoon with grandparents, I'm sad that he seems so grown up.  

There are enough practical challenges to adjusting to a new baby - must we add hormones to the mix?

In all seriousness, we've had a few challenges.  

The hospital had run out of pump attachments, so I started off my breastfeeding journey totally engorged and about 2 hours away from developing mastitis.  Latching was a challenge and Tiny was losing weight and turning a lovely shade of pumpkin. Luckily (or unluckily) for me, I had become engorged when Toddler T was born, so I was able to get back on track in a few days. The things that helped; a marathon pumping session to drain all of the milk (think ONE HOUR and 8 OZ of milk), percocet to help with the pain, moist heat to help the milk let down, massage and a brief check in with the lactation consultant from my pediatrician's office.

Once I got passed all that, Tiny T made great progress with his weight gain and started to lose his pumpkin hue.  I continued to feel better every day but was SHOCKED at how swollen my feet were. When your UGGS are too tight across your ankles- you are in a SORRY state.  Mr. T and I started to eek out a routine for the nights and we were doing ok... Until, Toddler T started sniffling. Then he woke up in the middle of the night complaining of being 'chilly'. Then we got an automated call from his nursery school alerting us that a respiratory strain of the flu was making its rounds. Toddler T began to cough more, sneeze more and was generally miserable. Around this time, I noticed that I was feeling the same as Toddler T. So, out came the Lysol spray, Clorox wipes and masks for me and Toddler T.

The good thing was, my mom had been staying us for the past week- so we had a ton of help.  If it wasn't for her, I'm not sure we would have come out all smiles after a week of being sick.

But here we are, getting through each day. Some days have been better than others. Some have been worse. Today has been a good day. Toddler T is feeling better after starting antibiotics yesterday. Tiny T, gave us 2 nights with a 4 hour stretch in between feedings and I got out for a pedicure!

The two things I keep in mind are that - Tiny T has completed our family and the newborn phase is temporary.  

The door shuts and its Game On

Well, no sooner had the security door shut behind me and I realized this was IT. I would not be discharged later that evening with instructions to drink lots of water and to take it easy. One look at the triage room told the story. The compression socks worn during a c-section were laid out on the bed and a gown was right next to it.  I guess this would be my New Year's Eve outfit of 2012.

I was told to get changed and that the doctor would be in to give me one exam and then we'd be headed to the OR.  What?? WHAT?? My bag was still in the car. Would we be those parents taking pictures with their cell phone cameras?  Did my parents know? What about Mr. T's parents?  We should call them. I must admit, I was having these thoughts in 2-3 minute breaks as that was how fast the contractions were coming. Which lead me to something else I was planning on with a scheduled C-section....

AVOIDING BACK LABOR - AGAIN!

But no, there was no denying it. The pain was centered in my tailbone, problematic as I was laying on my back. Poor Mr. T was trying so hard to keep me calm. As this point, I had teetered right over into crazytown. At one point, he told me I was doing a great job. To which I responded, "Let's be serious here. I'm not. I'm not cut out for this. Where is the anesthesiologist????" The nurse tried to calm me down and made reference to the fact that he was on his way. I may have begged her to just be honest with me and tell me how long it was going to be. Teasing me "he's right next door" or "on his way", just wasn't cutting it.

Next in, was the Dr. who I'd never met before. She was nice enough and efficient. She informed me that I was 5 cm dilated.  Holy Crap, how'd that happen? And offered me one last change to change my mind and try for a V-Back. I told her that there had been enough changes and switches and I'd like to stay on track and go ahead with the C-Section and removal of the remaining tube. 

As my hysteria grew, my bag showed up with the camera. Mr. T put on scrubs and I was wheeled back to the OR.  Saint Anesthesiologist showed up and put an end to my pain in seconds. Then I started to cry- everything was happening so fast. We had been on this roller coaster for almost two years and now in a matter or minutes it was going to end. Luckily, Mr. T showed up at this point and was able to wipe away my mascara stained cheeks. (As emotional as I was, I didn't want raccoon eyes in those first pictures).  Everything progressed as a c-section should and at 7:15 pm on New Years Eve, our second son was held up over the curtain, Simba-Style (from the Lion King) and as I heard him scream and scream and scream, I exhaled fully in the first time for two years.

Man Plan, God Laughs

If I ever were to get a tattoo.. I'm pretty sure I'd get this stamped across my forehead.

Why, because its true. As a total planner, a girl who works out every last detail her head. I always forget it. No matter how well we plan, organize and stare at a calendar.. when God has another idea in mind, your plans go right out the window.

Since my last post there were so many changes with the delivery plan of this baby. My due date was changed from January 5th to January 8th or 10th. Not sure why, but it was. This made a December 31st  C-section outside of the 39 week window that most insurance companies will provide authorization for.  Then I realized that there was a mix up with the scheduling and I was scheduled with a doctor I had never met before. Then I cried and panicked. Then I got over it.

Then I met with Dr. MissesTheMark.. (We have since moved passed our earlier issues and I do find him pretty likable these days.) Anyway, he moved my C-section date to January 8th.

Amazingly, I was OK with this. All I did was change my hair appointment, manicure/pedicure appointment and arrange for someone to watch Toddler T while I took care of my pre-baby, beauty needs.  I scheduled everything for Friday, January 4th. I was ready. I filled my freezer with post-delivery dinners. I went to Target to stock up on last minute things.. I mean who wants to run out of paper towels or toilet paper in those first days home??  I called our parents to work out babysitting arrangements for Toddler T.  I checked things off my to-do list left and right.

And then I woke up on December 31st, New Years Eve Day. I had the strangest pain in my lower abdomen. I started noticing some Braxton Hicks contractions.  I wouldn't learn until days later that BH contractions usually happen in the evening only and if you are feeling them in the morning.. Its probably the real deal.  I called my parents to tell them we would be coming to their house for New Years, that I wasn't feeling great. My mom asked if I was in labor.  I smartly informed her that I was simply 39 weeks pregnant and wasn't feeling great.

I said that I couldn't possibly be in labor, because;

•  My doctors all felt that I would go past my due date. 
• I was SCHEDULED for a c-section the following week.
• I couldn't possibly be in labor.. I really, really wanted to get a pedicure and my highlights. (now, I know that sounds awful... but isn't that the beauty of scheduled c-section? And after looking like I was hit by a bus following the birth of Toddler T, I wanted to take a few extra steps to look more human post delivery.
• This wasn't my plan.

I called the nurseline. She gave me the standard, contractions 5 minutes apart, 1 minute in duration and lasting for an hour. Still in disbelief, I downloaded a contraction app for my phone to track the contractions. I figured, it would just prove that nothing was happening. Then I started doubling over when my stomach tightened. Then I found I couldn't talk when it was happening. Then I called Mr. T's aunt (The very level headed OB/GYN).  I told her that I was afraid of calling the on-call number, because I didn't want to be sent home for false labor. She advised me that I was probably a good idea to get checked out.

So, I called my parents and gave them a heads up. Asked them to make the drive to come hang out with Toddler T.  Next, we started to get all the last minute things ready for my 'quick evaluation to the L&D department.  I soon realized that waiting for my parents to arrive so that they could watch Toddler T was not going to happen. I had to admit it. I was having full fledged contractions. They hurt and they were coming fast. It was a bit of a balancing act trying to stay out of Toddler T's sight while I was doubled over in pain. I accomplished this by hanging out upstairs in our room, while Mr. T entertained him downstairs.

Finally we were ready to head to the hospital or hostable and Toddler T calls it. One day, when he is older, I'll share with him the challenges I faced as I fought through contractions while he sat in the backseat and we chatted about nursery school.  I was relieved to walk through the Emergency Department doors. Nervous when the nurse said, "Well, please don't have that baby here. Let's get you upstairs." And laughed when Toddler T offered to push me in the wheelchair.

We made it upstairs, just as my parents arrived and after a nano-second to say goodbye to Toddler T, I was pushed through the secure doors of the Labor and Delivery Department. 

At that moment, I'm pretty sure God was laughing as my plan went right out the window.

Kindergarten

Do you remember your time in Kindergarten?

I do.

I remember my teacher, Mrs. D'Maio. She was blond and young. When I close my eyes and think about her now, I remember her as warm and with a big smile.

Did I feel safe, I'm sure I did. Or maybe it wasn't that I didn't feel safe but rather I wasn't scared.  I'm not sure I would have been able to verbalize the idea of safety as a 5 year old.

I remember two bad things that happened that year.

1. I didn't get to be Snow White in the school play. I was cast as the Mirror on the Wall. My mom and I always joked that it was because the little girl who was cast as snow white had a mother who could sew and I did not.

2. I once convinced the staff that I was allowed to walk home alone and didn't need to wait in the car line. I was so happy that the crossing guard picked me to push the button to change the light to green, I never noticed my mom racing to the intersection. You see, I wasn't allowed to walk home alone. I was supposed to be in the car line. My mom pulled up to school and I wasn't there, where I was supposed to be. 

This is what every child should take away from kindergarten. One or two blips on the radar or maybe a little separation anxiety in the beginning, perhaps an unfortunate bathroom miss after too much juice, even learning that in kindergarten, not everyone wins.

What no child should ever take away is fear. Fear of huddling in a closet or being led out of your safe haven with your eyes closed and your hands on your best friend's shoulders. No child should ever hear gun shot in their own school hallways or their parking lots end up like a staging area of a war zone.  

But that is exactly what happened to those children at Sandy Hook. As a parent, I can hardly look at the images without crying. I am struck by how young they are. Most still have a baby-ish face. Although, I'm sure if you told any one of them that, they'd promptly correct you and inform you that they are big kids, not babies. When I first read the story online, I was stunned. I continued to read the news on my computer while Toddler T watched The Cat in the Hat. I tried to fight back my tears as I didn't want to alarm him.  I wanted to hold him and hug him and promise out loud that I would never let him be hurt. Unfortunatly, he would have been annoyed to be interrupted from watching his show and the reality is, Is that a promise that I can make as a parent?

My brain was trying to take it all in while my heart was breaking right there. I could not imagine any worse thing for a parent to be forced to endure. I have found that these images invade my sleep and make my thoughts bounce around my head like a ping pong ball.

That is my reaction as a parent. 

My reaction as a social worker is much, much darker. I know the statistics, there will be an increase in divorce, substance abuse, nightmares, clear cases of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. There will be families that move away and those that stay. There will be siblings who, for the rest of their lives will feel guilty that they couldn't save their younger brother or sister. There will be parents who raced off to work with a quick kiss and will beg God for the chance for one more hug. 

This ripple effect will be so far reaching and so intense. 

The debates on gun control and reform to the mental health system are getting revved up again.  I have my own opinions on both, but am reluctant to put them out there. I'll wait until some more information becomes available about what the nature of the gunman's mental illness was or was not. 

In the meantime, my heart and prayers will be with the parents, siblings and families of those beautiful children, teachers and staff members as they walk through this unbelievable tragedy. 

Making a list and checking it twice

Santa is coming and this little elf has been very organized this season. I'm proud to  say that I can check all but two items off my list. I have even wrapped sent presents home with my nieces at Thanksgiving. I'm almost done with the stocking stuffers and I even picked up a gift for Toddler T 'from' the baby. Our tree is decorated, stockings hung, Christmas cards have been sent and tomorrow we will go to get a picture with Santa.

I like a plan. I like to be organized. I had some panic that I would have this baby early and there would be no Christmas for Toddler T. It makes me feel much more relieved to know that regardless of what happens, he will wake up on Christmas morning with a plethora of presents from the hospital gift shop.

This is an example of when being an organized planner works for me.

The following is when being an organized planner blows up in my face.

36 week appointment and the signing of consent forms for my repeat c-section.

Toddler T and I went to my appointment and I went back to the scheduling office to sign off on my consent forms. It seems that there has been a big miscommunication for the past 18 weeks and I'm scheduled to have the c-section done by a doctor that up until 2:15pm today, didn't even know existed.  I'm meeting with Dr. MissesTheMark next week to try and figure out what we are doing. It seems that I'm having a change of heart in that I'd rather have a doctor that I know (regardless of the fact that we might not always mesh personality wise) than a total stranger.

The distress was written all over my face and the poor scheduler asked me if I was going to cry. To be honest, I thought I might. I have had this planned in my head for a loooong time. 12/31/12 - 6:30am with Dr. MissesTheMark. Done and Done.  I pulled it together and told the scheduler that it is what it is and I'm not going to become unglued over this... I just needed to rework this in my head.

Sometimes I wonder why I can't be more easy going. Its just so not in my nature.  At all.

35 weeks and not quite 35 days

35/35 - a big milestone in pregnancy. In plain English, it means that you are 35 weeks along in your pregnancy with only 35 days left to go. I realized this week, that I am 35 weeks, but due to my scheduled c-section... I have less than 35 days to go.

WOW.

This time is flying by and, as with anything related to the infertility world, comes with mixed emotions. I struggle with even putting this out there, lest I seem ungrateful. But from my heart, this is what I am feeling. I am feeling a mix of emotions that range from excited to nervous to scared to happy to sad. The closer I get to meet my sweet boy, the more I mourn the idea of this being our last pregnancy. I had a conversation with my mom the other morning and talked to her about this.  I know that in life, we get no guarantees and that no one is 'owed' anything. But the very idea of adding to your family in a non-medical and intimate way just feels right.  Its what we were taught would happen (especially in a Catholic School) Procreating by way of a team of specialists is hard and it takes a toll on one's overall outlook on pregnancy and fertility. Ok, at least it took a toll on mine.

Where am I going with this.... It is so hard to articulate. I am blessed and grateful beyond all belief that our Hail Mary attempt at IVF worked. But as this pregnancy is coming to a close, I find myself thinking about my two ectopic pregnancies and 2 embryos that never made it.  I wonder when I will feel closure with this chapter of my life. Will it be with the birth of Tiny T? Or will I always have a heavy heart when I think about our journey through the world of secondary infertility. I often think about what will help me gain this elusive closure? Is it fair to put the pressure of my needs on the birth of a baby? Will I one day gain acceptance about the idea of completing our family with two children. And as I even type out those words, I realize how greedy that makes me sound. The goal of fertility treatments is to end treatment with the birth of a healthy baby. I'm so close to the finish line but still struggle with all that we have been through.

I do believe that time heals all wounds, to a degree. I do believe this will be the case for me. I only have to look back at entries I made this time last year to see how different of a place I am in.  I am no longer in that dark place of uncertainty and anger. I am embracing idea of the arrival of my second child  and working through the other emotions. 

As I sit here, I can feel the baby kick. And I know, that I will never lose sight of the fact that this tiny movement is nothing short of a miracle. 

So much to say....

Ok, I've been away. The days are flying by and I have all of these little stories collected in my head. But then, when Toddler T falls asleep, the thought of typing them out, exhausts me. Simply, exhausts me. But, do you know what? Too much has happened in these past few weeks. So, here goes, my very random update.

Hurricane Sandy:

She destroyed my precious shoreline and kept many of my friends and family without power and heat for more than a week. Through quick phone calls and text messages, you could hear the strain that is life without power. I am thankful that while it was a long two weeks for many that I love, the damage was minimal. It was surreal to watch so many people just lose everything on account of a storm surge. Here in Pennsylvania, we made a few storm preparations and waited to lose our power. We filled up the bathtub with water, bought lots of non-perishable snacks and went to about 5 stores to locate batteries. Luckily, the most we had was some flickering lights and a lot of sticks in our yard.  Very lucky, indeed.

The boy who did not cry wolf, AKA Toddler T:

Toddler T had a cough. It was pretty bad. It was also accompanied by a cold. Also, pretty bad and not quite going away. But, he is in nursery school and almost every other child was coughing and being sent home with tissues in their jacket pockets. We tried his humidifier, Benadryl, lots of tissues, OJ and very lengthy naps. We had hit about 3 weeks without much change and I just assumed that this was the case of one cold on top of another and nothing to be too concerned about. (For the record, I am currently writing my Mother of the Year speech). In the days leading up to Hurricane Sandy, Toddler T started waking up from his nap crying about his ear. Finally, with the weathermen talking non-stop about Frankenstorm, I made an appointment. I told the doctor that I was pretty convinced that this was nothing more than a cold, but was getting a little freaked out by the hurricane talk, so I just wanted him checked. For the record, over the last two winters, Toddler T has sounded exactly like this and we have had numerous checks at the doctor only to be told that he has a COLD.  Not this time, bronchitis and a double ear infection. I felt horrible. HORRIBLE. Two rounds of antibiotics later, he no longer sounds like he belongs on a TB ward.

Speaking of a TB-like cough:

I picked up the same cough as Toddler T. I kept telling myself it was a cold and it would go away. Even after Toddler T saw his doctor and was given antibiotics, I just assumed I'd get better on my own. But then I started getting short of breath. And couldn't really do anything without feeling like a 77 year old, 2 pack a day smoker for 50 years, carrying around an oxygen tank and clutching her chest due to heart palpitations. It was getting bad, but I attributed this all to a cold and being pregnant. I remembered feeling short of breath when I was pregnant with Toddler T and didn't want to make a fool of myself with an unnecessary visit to my primary care doctor. So, I mentioned it at my 31 week check up. OB's do what they do best, and all other medical needs are sent out (or so my OB told me).  So, I reluctantly made an appointment with my primary care doctor and hoped he didn't laugh at me for being nothing more than a short of breath pregnant lady.

Was I wrong.

Here is what's normal. Asthma getting worse during pregnancy. Feeling short of breath when pregnant and having an upper respiratory infection making everything worse. Here's what's not. Fighting to take a breath.  (Which is what I was doing by that point.)  My doctor explained that the reality was I having such a tough time breathing due to a combination of the first three normal things. But,  he was also concerned that I could be experiencing peri-natal congestive heart failure and or a pulmonary embolism.  He found the latter to be extremely unlikely, but felt it need to be explored. So, I got a nebulizer treatment, a prescription for an antibiotic, a new inhaler, and EKG and a referral for an echocardiogram to happen 'sooner rather than later'. I was also told to go straight to the ER if my breathing worsened at all and he then called me at home to check on me that night. His initial reaction was correct in that it was a combo or being pregnant, having asthma and bronchitis. I was not in peri-natal congestive heart failure. 

A day of remembrance and Two Birthdays:

October 28th would have been the day we would have celebrated a 1st birthday had I not had the first ectopic pregnancy. I only paused on this for a moment or two throughout the week. I could not imagine  my life with a 3 1/2 year old and a 1 year old. I think it would be crazy, but I did wonder what that little collection of cells might have grown to become. In the end, I decided that more than anything, I am happy and grateful to be where I am. I also had a birthday coming up and rang in the big 35 with Mr. T, dinner and a movie and two new camera lenses that I have been wanting for a long. long time.  We then kept up the celebrations as my nephew celebrated his 1st birthday. I ate a lot of cake in a 48 hour period.

And so we meet again:

I was minding my own business. I was running into Target to pick up Toddler T's vitamins and get a few birthday presents before we meeting friends for lunch at Chick Fil A. I was focused and I had a list. I did not plan on running into my old OB/GYN. The one who patted my hand after ectopic #1 and remarked that it should not have ruptured. The one who I trusted to hear my symptoms and point me in the right direction. The one who told me that I did not have a viable pregnancy with ectopic # 2.  Yes, her. She was leaving Target and I noticed that she had since had a 3rd baby since I last saw her. And I was struck by how mad I instantly got. Did she know? Did she have any idea what I went through to get to where I am today? Did she care? I knew that I did not want to be crazy pregnant lady in the parking lot, so I just kept on walking.  But, did she have to be at Chick Fil A thirty minutes later, sitting caddy-corner to my friend and I?  Did we all have to occupy the same damn place space? I wanted to say something. I wanted to let her know just what I've been up to. But then I realized, that day, she was a mom out with her kids. She wasn't in her scrubs and she was no longer my doctor. I moved on and drank the rest of Toddler T's oreo milkshake.

What' Next:

Well hopefully, a more timely post. Thanksgiving dinner here at the T household with my dad's side of the family (18 adults and 5 kids). We are frying two turkeys and I cannot wait to have the house full with my family. I'll see the doctor this week for my 33 week check up. I will again play dumb and say that I forgot the cup. I will also attempt to get some Christmas pictures of Toddler T and order our Christmas Cards.  

Wow, that was a lot to say... Oh, and Tiny T is great too!

One more thing...

So, In my haste to get out the last post about my appointment with Dr. MissesTheMark, I forgot one detail. 

This new OB group asks that you REUSE the specimen cup that is used to check for protein in urine.

Yes, you have read that correctly. At my last appointment, I was handed a new sterile cup and told to come in with a sample for the next check-up. I knew there was no way in hell I was driving around town with sample sloshing around. It just wasn't going to happen. So, I checked into the appointment and asked to use the restroom there. I thought it was win-win.

UNTIL, the tech met up with me later. She informed me that there was no trace of protein and then handed me back the SAME cup. She had simply emptied it out and told me to reuse it. I actually laughed out loud and made some crack about how much we spend on health care and I need to reuse a specimen cup. 

Let's think about this. I'm a mom to a three year old. Do you know what's in my purse? Snacks, sippy cups, the occasional pacifier (don't judge), chap stick and a whole host of things that I would NOT want coming in contact with a URINE COLLECTION CUP.

I kept my mouth shut, took the damn cup back and as soon as she was out of sight, I threw it away. I will play dumb at every appointment and say I forgot it.

Gross, right?

Am I a germaphobe? Is this normal? Am I not 'green' enough?

When the left hand has no idea what the right hand is doing.

And neither one of those hands belongs to you, the patient. 

It sucks.

Let me explain.

I had my 28 week appointment yesterday and it started off less than stellar. My group has three offices and I went to a satellite office for the appointment. The one that was written down on my appointment card. I, for the life of me, could not figure out why the receptionist was staring at me like I had dog in a carrier and asking to see the vet. She then told me that I was in the wrong office and all of the OB's were in the other two offices that day.  OK, clearly there had been a mistake... but I could have done without the attitude that it was my fault because I'm pregnant and can't remember things. In any event, I asked if I could reschedule at the correct office and was told to just head over now. 

Thirty minutes later and coasting into the parking lot on fumes in my gas tank, I was sitting in the correct office waiting to see one of the group doctors. This doctor will be known as Dr. MissesTheMark from now on.  He is the doctor that was fantastically calm when I was in the ER after the ectopic rupture and was about to get a blood transfusion. He then confused me, when, 24 hours later, told me that I was fine to go back to work on Monday (48 hours post transfusion, 72 hours post emergency surgery).  But, I always remembered that he was to the point and someone I'd want around if things were to head south again. Remember, I'm not looking for best friends, just competent doctors.  OK, back to the appointment. Right now, Tiny T is set to arrive on 12/31 and for a myriad of reasons, I'd prefer 12/28. This is 1 day shy of the recommendation of scheduling repeat c-sections at 39 weeks. Dr. MissesTheMark, is the one on call that week. SO - my hope of some rule bending rests squarely with him.

The appointment started off surprisingly well. He said that I was looking great, the heart beat was fantastic and things looked good. He did not measure my stomach, which I thought odd.. but ignored. Then he asked about movement and for accuracy, I'm just going to quote the next few minutes of conversation. I'll admit, I will be sharing Tiny T's gender in a less than climatic way... but I just can't leave that part out.

Dr. MissesTheMark "So, strong kicks. Do you know if this is a boy or a girl."

Me, "Yes, we are having another little boy"

Dr. MTM, "Oh, really. Another boy. That's OK, your third will be a girl."

Me (almost fell off the table with a fiery red face), "Well, unless there is going to be sweeping reform to health insurance that guarantees IVF coverage for all. This will be our last child."

Dr. MTM, "Oh, don't say that. So many women think that they are done and then find themselves pregnant years later."

Me (furious and about to cry at the same moment), "Um, I'm not sure if you've had a chance to look at my chart. But, my remaining tube is to be removed at the time of delivery. So, I'm pretty sure we won't be having any unplanned, miracle babies."

Dr. MTM, "Oh, so you are having a tubal ligation."

Me, "No, removal of the tube. It is already scared over from the previous ectopic."

Dr. MTM, "Well, why would you do that."

OK, I'll spare you the rest of this interchange. I tried to summarize why the other doctor in the practice had suggested this and then just gave up. Our conversation finished with him saying that we had plenty of time to make decisions and nothing needed to be firmed up at that appointment.

I.almost.died. For many reasons. I've been pretty vocal about the idea that I am still adjusting to the idea that I would like more children and feel sad that this is the situation I find myself in. In the last few months, I have worked really hard to make my peace with this and had gotten to a really good place. I am grateful to even be having a second child. REGARDLESS of gender. I am excited to have my two boys and love that Toddler T will have a brother. I have been fielding 'sympathic' congratulations over the past 2 months regarding the idea that I'm having two boys. It stings, because most people have no idea what we went through to get to this point and again, people can be dumb. BUT, this was from my doctor and he had seen me at a time when I was very.very low.

Bedside manner aside, it was so frustrating to have one doctor suggest the removal of the tube (for my well being) and another doctor look at me like I had begun to speak in Yiddish.  

I go back in three weeks to see the doctor I like best. She'll be Dr. Sunshine. She is the one recommending the removal of the tube and I have no problems telling her my thoughts on Dr. MissesTheMark.

In other news. Hello Third Trimester... Thank you for causing an extreme amount of muscle pain in my lower left abdomen. Welcome Braxton Hicks Contractions, thanks for coming to the party and Feet, how nice of you to begin swelling. I am not joking, all of these things started to happen over night. I am out of breath and am truly realizing that I need to slow down (some). 

Mr. T and I are still miles apart on names, although Mr. T and my mom seem to agree on several.  I've started picking up baby gear as I'm out and about. Mr. T also painted the baby's room and assembled all of the nursery furniture last weekend. I bought some new pacifiers and Toddler T wanted to put them in the crib so that his baby brother would be able to find them. It was really sweet. 

I'm getting really excited that Mr. Tiny T is going to be here soon and I really can't wait to see Toddler T as a big brother.

Alligator wrestling, control and an eye opening email.

Four years ago, when I was a married girl, working full time who had lots of free time in my life, I often thought of all the ways I would handle conflict and tantrums with my yet unborn children. I assumed that because I had a Masters Degree in Social Work and had spent years working with children and families, I'd be able to 'handle' or 'redirect' a tantrum without becoming a crazy lady. I would never raise my voice. I would offer options to foster self independence. I would crouch down to remain at eye level and I would never ever make a 'threat' that I couldn't enforce.

Monday morning, reality crashed all over those obnoxious, child-free notions. It hit me in the form of a too-small, orange and white striped polo shirt.

Mr. T was out of town for a work function and it was Toddler T and I to face the Monday morning. We'd had a pretty busy weekend that involved a trip to Baltimore (for Mr. T and I) a sleepover at Mana and Grandaddy's (for Toddler T) and three days without a nap.  Toddler T woke up in a great mood and announced that he was "getting ready for the day" at 7am. He set about getting pants, underwear, socks and his shirt (the aforementioned orange and white, almost a half shirt, summer polo.) I thought I could outsmart him and didn't say a word. I was going to let history be my guide. Ninety-nine percent of all shirts that he wears during breakfast end up with syrup, yogurt, orange juice, cream cheese, whatever all over the front of his shirt. This is why we usually eat breakfast in our jammies. So, my thought was go ahead... eat breakfast in the seasonally and fashionable inappropriate shirt. Something will spill on it, I'll get you a new shirt and off to nursery school we go. 

I could not have been any more wrong if I planned it. 

Yes, syrup was down the front of the shirt. But, the idea of replacing this shirt sent my child into a dark, tantrum filled place. I offered him two replacement shirts. Turns out that on Monday morning, Toddler T HATED 'soft' shirts as they were for babies. He did not like football shirts, either. He was so beside himself that he didn't know which one to pick because he ONLY liked orange and white striped shirts. He would not put on his Clemson shirt that was orange because it had a white tiger paw on it and NOT stripes. I attempted to wrangle him into his Eagles shirt and reminded him that it was just like Daddy's.  But no, not having one.single.bit.of.it. 

It got ugly. Reasoning wasn't working. My tone was getting a little louder. I was losing patience. He was hitting the point of no return. I walked out of his room and asked him to please pick any other shirt and come out. I informed him that he would need to call his teacher and tell her that he wasn't coming to Nursery School because he wouldn't pick out a shirt (empty threats anyone?). I may have pointed my finger. I may have said that the situation was ridiculous. He may have begun to scream and cry that much louder.

I then realized the situation was going to get uglier before it got better. 

Time to wrestle the alligator.

Clemson shirt on. Toddler T in tears. I noticed the my heart was racing. I carried him to the car. Buckled him and off we went. I know many of you will read this and have your thoughts about what could have been done better. Or that a parent's job is to always keep their cool. Or a million other things. Four years ago, I had my own laundry list of how I would be perfect. But.. life isn't. 

Two miles into our drive to school, I noticed that he was no longer crying and the lump in my throat was subsiding. I then took the opportunity to move forward. I told him that we got off to a bad start, but we were going to have a better day. I reminded him that I loved him very much, but was very disappointed in how he behaved. I then apologized for raising my voice and reminded him that we both need to remember that yelling isn't the way to go.

I carried him into school (20 minutes late) and explained to his teacher that we had a rough start to the morning but we were going to move past it and have a great day. She crouched down to Toddler T's level and said that she was sure he was going to have a great day.

I then left to run my errands, found myself in tears and called Mr. T.

This was all about control. I know that three year olds thrive on control and so does this mom. So many things were running through my mind.  Like:

• Just let him wear the damn shirt. 
• No, we don't wear t-shirts when its 47 degrees out. 
• No, we don't wear dirty shirts out. 
• I am the mother, I need to be listened too. 
• Have him go to school without any shirt on.
• We are not going to school and he can cry it out in his room.
• and finally, Wow.. three days without a nap can do some awful things to this poor child.

Feeling so overwhelmed from this 25 minute tantrum, I decided it was time to implement a new routine here. I will select two shirts and two pants every night. Toddler T will get to pick from the selection and we will put the outfit on the other twin bed in his room. This is the second night doing it and I'm hopeful that we will have a better morning tomorrow. I will also admit it... I'm not sure I can do the whole "Yes, my child is wearing green pants, a too small t-shirt and snow boots. But its so great that he dressed himself and is expressing creativity."  I'm not saying that's right or wrong. I'm just saying I can't do it, totally.

Let's just hope that our outfit selection process becomes a win-win situation for us all. Let's just hope that we don't have three straight days without a nap along with a traveling Mr. T anytime soon. And please let's just hope that I didn't have any other outlandish parenting ideologies prior to actually becoming a parent.

As caught my breath from Monday morning's antics, I opened up an email that reminded me that I am currently in my 3rd Trimester.  Time for a whole new checklist.

• Baby's room needs to be painted
• Crib needs to be assembled
• Changing table needs to be assembled
• Nursery bedding needs to be purchased. (After a particularly rough patch last year, I examined Toddler T's set and declared that it was not clean enough - it was dingy, and I probably would not have use for a nursery bedding set again and promptly carted it off to Goodwill.)
• WE NEED A NAME

Third trimester... wow.

A Little Piece of Heaven

Was found in my coffee cup at Wegmans this afternoon.

Pumpkin Spice Latte

DECAF

Since the first day of Fall, I have been looking high and low for the decaf variety. I love pumpkin spice coffee but choose not to drink a lot of caffeine when I'm pregnant. I know its safe in a recommended amount. But for me, I have limited it to medicinal purposes only.  It seems that a small can of Coke and 2 Tylenol are the only things that work to get rid of my headaches this go around.

After 2 weeks of serious Internet research, I figured hope was lost. And then today, I went grocery shopping, alone. I stopped by the coffee counter, giddy with the thought of strolling through the aisles of  the grocery store without having to entertain Toddler T. And there it was. Pumpkin Spice Coffee, Decaf.

Fall Festivities may now commence in the T household.

Mums are planted, Halloween and Fall decorations are out. And pumpkin spice decaf will be brewed most mornings.

Who's ready to carve pumpkins??

Picking a BIRTHday

It's a very weird concept. 

Especially when you are asked for the date you've selected only to be told that that date is not an option.. based on 24 hours and a guideline.

Let me explain.

I went in for my 24 week checkup. Things are looking good. I passed the dreaded glucose tolerance test!! My weight gain remains -ok. Much better than with Toddler T, but probably not at at the pace my doctors would like. I've decided that as long as I know that I'm eating better and not gaining at the same rate, that's all I can worry about. My stomach is measuring 26 weeks, not too problematic as my 24 week appointment was actual at 25 weeks 3 days. 

I was so happy to be meeting with my favorite doctor of the group and she patiently answered my list of questions. In case you were wondering, the questions included topics on the flu shot, pertussis vaccine, lifting restrictions, checking in on my lower abdominal pain, what the new hospital's policy is regarding premature deliveries and transferring out and when we can think about a c-section date. The answers included the following. Everyone needs a flu shot. Mr. T and I will get them soon. Immediate family should be vaccinated for Pertussis, prior to the birth. I will get mine post-partum as the vaccine is a 'live' vaccine. I can carry Toddler T or anything else for that matter, but to stop if I feel pain. The doctor was pleased that I started physical therapy to deal with my lower back pain but said it was time to stop doing the abdominal strengthening exercises.  I was happy to hear that the hospital will keep babies as young as 32 weeks even 30 if they are doing well. The reality is, I am not too concerned about a premature delivery. Toddler T arrived 6 days past his due date. BUT, I was not so lucky. I was born at 28 weeks and my older brother at 30. I just needed to have an idea of a plan in terms of worst case scenario.

Finally, we discussed the big C-Section Date.  Once again, the doctor checked in on my plan for having my remaining fallopian tube removed. I've had about two months to process her recommendations and some long conversations with Mr. T. I've also had a chance to try and make peace with the idea that for all intents and purposes our family will be completed with with the baby. (Grateful beyond words, but, it took some time.) So, I confirmed that at the time of delivery, I will consent to remove the damaged tube. Again, she was compassionate but directly too the point. Keeping it in causes the potential for serious harm with a 3rd ectopic and that risk will be too high for a wife and a mother of two.  

Then she asked about my idea for a date. My due date is officially January 5, 2013. In my head, I have always thought about December 28, 2012. There are a few reasons... 

1. I wanted the date to be in the middle of the two big holidays. 

2. C- sections are usually scheduled no earlier than 39 weeks. 

3. 39 weeks exactly would be a Saturday, so I was hoping to just bump up one day and schedule at 38 weeks, 6 days.

4. Toddler T was big. I had some some difficulties following his delivery. 

5. Toddler T developed Congential Plagiocephaly and by 4 months was doing physical therapy 3 times a week to avoid wearing a helmet.  

4. I did not want this baby to be born in 2013 (since, people were asking my opinion!)

The American Congress of Obstetricians and Gynecologists has recommended that a scheduled inductions or cesarean section deliveries not occur prior to 39 weeks. There is a host of data as to why this has come to be. The most notable leans toward fetal lung development. This is nothing to shrug off and nothing to sail right over. 

I spoke at length with the doctor about my thoughts on the due date including Toddler T's size and my recovery. She was totally on board with the idea of a scheduled date of 38 weeks 6 days. BUT - she will not be on the schedule that week and ultimately the decision would fall to the doctor who is on.  I then met with the scheduler who told me that the date will be December 31, 2012. New Years Eve.  

This isn't sitting well with me.

I will bring my case to the doctor who is on the schedule for that week when I see him at my next appointment. I can't guarantee this will work. But it's my last attempt. In the end, there are worse things than having a baby on New Years Eve.. but since my opinion was asked, I formed one.

Now- I should really encourage Mr. T to get serious about a name. Tiny T only works well on the blog!!

Big things are happening in the T household.

Tomorrow, I will hit 24 weeks.

What has this done for me?

Caused me to kick everything into high gear.

Let me quickly recap some big changes that have occurred in the past week.

Toddler T started nursery school again. This year he will be going Monday, Wednesday and Friday for the mornings. Last year, he cried every single time I dropped him off until about APRIL.  His teacher always assured me that he was fine within 5 minutes. Regardless, drop offs were always tough on me. I had a fair amount of trepidation when the first day of school came this year. But my big boy, surprised me. During the mommy and me orientation hour, he asked me when I was leaving. I almost fell out of my three year old sized chair. I then figured that his initial excitement will be fleeting and geared up for an emotional drop off on his first solo day. Wrong. Again. He ran into the classroom and I actually had to call him back for my hug and kiss.   I'm guessing his excitement has to do with a few things. He's that much older. He's already got some friends in the class. Playing with friends is probably a little more excited than spending every waking moment with a Mommy dealing with a growing stomach and subsequent lower back pain. And let's be honest, he's a little boy and he now has access to a urinal.

Whatever is making him love it, I'm good with it. It truly is a win-win situation. I'm getting a few hours to myself every week and he is in a great environment to grow and learn.

Toddler T just moved into his new big boy room.  I started to get a little OCD with figuring out his bedroom situation. The options were dizzying. Bunk beds, two twin beds, full bed. Real furniture vs. something cheap that I'd be OK with it getting destroyed in a few years. Theme or no theme. I spent far too much time in stores and on the Internet. It was getting to the point that I was embarrassed at the amount of time the room switch was taking. I mean, let's be honest, there are more important things to worry about in the world than where your three year old sleeps. But, what can I say. I love things  to be all pulled together and organized.

The solution, I popped into a local furniture store on a whim last week. I saw a perfect bunk bed set with a dresser and nightstand. The bunk bed converted into two twins (perfect). AND it was cheaper than anything else I saw. AND, I could buy the floor model. Fantastic. I then raced home and told Mr. T.  He, of course was happy with the price but felt he could go back to the store and be the bottom line, bargain seeking husband to compliment my, "Oh, I love the color. It's so nice. Let's just buy it." wife. H is tactics paid off and we ended up with an even bigger discount.

So, a huge thanks to my father in law, who helped us with the furniture pick up and then my dad who helped assemble everything today. As a result, Toddler T's room is about 90% done. His toddler bed is getting dismantled and put up later today... No need to have him debating two options at bedtime. And right now, he is fast asleep in his new room.

This was a huge item on my "Preparing for Tiny T checklist" and I am sooooo relieved to have it checked off.

Redemption in the Dentist's Chair.

Dental Hygienist.. I won.

I survived your well meaning but disastrous attempts at checking in my fertility status at our last meeting. Asking if I was pregnant within weeks of a failed IVF attempt was a special sort of hurt that I wasn't prepared for.

I'm a whole new girl this checkup. Go ahead, stare at my stomach. Yep, its rounder.  I'm more than halfway through my pregnancy, if you must know.

I checked into my appointment and realized that I had my purse across my stomach. I sat down and wondered what should I do. Should I be a little catty and watch as Dental Hygienist really tried to figure out if I was pregnant and whether or not she should mention it. Part of me wanted to be somewhat rude.  But, deep down, that's just not my nature. I did however, wait until I got all the way back to the chair to spill the beans. Dental Hygienist was warm and gave me a heartfelt congratulations.

It was a big victory.

I scheduled my next check-up for March. I asked if I could bring company. The girls all said that they hoped I'd bring Tiny T.

On the other side of the curve.

This morning, I had my 20 week checkup. I also brought with me a special guest. He's about 37 inches tall and was fascinated with the buttons on the exam table and wanted to get his blood pressure checked.  Yes, Toddler T made his first appearance at a doctor's appointment. He walked right up to the front desk and loudly announced, "My mommy has a baby in her tummy and my baby is coming at Christmas-time." This made both myself and the receptionist laugh.  He then accompanied me to get weighed.. (ugh) and was very curious about the orange 'juice' that I got.  He didn't quite get that it was medicine, so when we returned from the appointment, I promptly put it on a high shelf. Little did he know, that that 'juice' was the key component of my glucose tolerance test. This time, the nurse told me NOT to skip breakfast and that the drink is best cold. I honestly don't remember it being too bad from the first time so I'm not too worried about it. 

The visit itself was FAST. Like in and out in about 7.5 minutes. Was this because the doctor was efficient or because Toddler T was rolling around the office on the doctor's stool? I'll never know. It was sort of an odd appointment for several reasons. First, the doctor was the one that was paged down to the ER when I was readmitted for blood loss. He was the doctor that I had my post-surgery follow up with and he was the one that assured me that A. my ectopic was a fluke and B. I would go on to have as many children as I wanted.  Our personalities don't exactly mesh, but I know he's a smart guy. He seemed to remember me or he quickly scanned my chart. He gave me a big congratulations and said he was happy to see me after coming through the ectopic. I almost wanted to ask him to scan a little further, because after he last saw me things got a little nutty. But, I didn't because he was being nice. He commented that Tiny T had a great heartbeat, strong and steady. He told me to take Tylenol for my back, visit a chiropractor if the pain was too unbearable and reviewed my recent blood work as perfect. 

Then we discussed delivery. The doctor commented that Toddler T was delivered via C-section because he was a big baby for my smaller frame and that we would monitor the size of this baby to determine whether or not I'd have a repeat c-section or VBAC.  I almost laughed right then and there and really wanted to ask him to keep flipping through my chart. Not only am I not on board with a VBAC, BUT the previous doctor suggested removing my remaining fallopian tube at the TIME OF MY REPEAT C-SECTION. It was a little annoying, but I feel confidant that I will not get talked into a  VBAC. 

You might wonder why I am adamant about having a second C-section.  Well, I will tell you. First, I am aware that it is major surgery and that recovery time can be longer. I am also aware of the fact that this country has a very high rate of C-sections. I also realize that it is very realistic that many women may choose and be successful at having a vaginal birth after Cesarean.  BUT, I have had a lot of surprises come my way this past year. I'm sort of over them. We have had to make quick decisions on where Toddler T was going to stay and who was going to watch him during the past two hospitalizations. Things did not go smoothly for a very long time and I'm too anxious for the unknown. I fear going into labor only to wind up with an unplanned c-section, which was exactly what happened with Toddler T. I just.need.to.have.a.plan. This is why I needed to know if Tiny T was a Mr. or a Miss.  This is why I want to walk into a hospital and into an operating room instead of how I've gone in the last 4 times. Scared, weak, sick and sad. 

Hopefully, no one challenges me too much on this.