The O.R.

This could take a while to get through.  I guess I’ll just have to do it in installations.

Our O.R. nurse what a blast.  While I was in triage she cracked jokes with us, was hyper and silly as hell.  She kept telling us how much fun we were, and how most people were no fun at that hour.  I would have told her that I’m usually no fun when I’m woken up early, but since I never went to sleep it didn’t seem to be a problem.  I wasn’t even getting hungry, thanks to Dad’s nifty little super seed.

(BTW, they were chia seeds.  Yes, chia as in chia pets.  The seeds are apparently really good at helping you release sugars slowly, and are even better for you than flax seeds.)

When the labor and delivery nurse came in to talk to our OR nurse, our nurse made faces behind her back and rolled her eyes.  She was apparently not a fan of hers, and didn’t make any attempt to hide it from us, which made me like her even more.  The anesthesiologist came in to let me know what was going on, and exactly what he was going to do when we got into the OR.  He was so much nicer and calmer than the doctor I had when I had Ashton (and considerably younger, and a bit cuter).  Then they wheeled me into the room.

My sunny and bubbly disposition vanished.  I instantly began shaking violently.  They kept telling me it was cold in there, which I could feel was the case, but I knew I was terrified.  They got me on the table, numbed me from the waist down, and laid me down on the table to prepare for surgery.  Aaron could see through the window the needle that they put in my back.  Thankfully, I could not.  From the way he described it, I would have had an instant panic attack.

The music was an interesting mix of country from every decade, 80’s pop, and some more recent top 40 hits.  When Madonna’s Vogue came on, one of the nurses commented that she was unfamiliar with the song.  The others in the room where shocked to hear this, and talked about going out dancing to this song.  Jokes were made about my OB being a dancer and he declared that he was a disco king.  Everyone started laughing and I commented that I didn’t want to know what was happening on the other side of the sheet (they had the sheet up at this point, but had not actually started surgery yet).  For my benefit, my doctor came over to where I could see him, and struck his disco pose once more.

They let Aaron in the room, and got started working on me.  Most of it becomes a blur at this point.  I remember smelling burning flesh (I had a tubal while they did the cesarian section) and I remember feeling lots of pressure as they pushed her down (she was still sitting pretty high).  The only moment during the surgery that I remember was hearing the words “the gay-dar really worked on that one.”  Thinking this was an odd statement I asked what they were talking about.  (Actually I asked if I had actually just heard the word gay-dar).  They all laughed and told me that they were talking about American Idol, while they were cutting me open.  Seriously, I’m not sure how I’ll ever take my OB-GYN seriously ever again.

The nurse standing next to me smiled and told me she was out.  All I could think (and apparently say) was “Cry, cry, cry, come on cry, please cry.”  I needed to hear her voice and know she was ok.  Finally, once they got her airway cleared, she let out a very loud and healthy cry.  And I cried, and then I threw up.  I’m pretty sure those things weren’t related, just happened close to each-other.  My anesthesiologist tried desperately to give me anti-nausea meds, but nothing worked.  I was going to be sick whether they liked it or not.

They quickly finished up, I felt lots more pressure, and they wheeled both me and our new little bundle of angry to my recovery room.  As soon as she was out of the womb she was rooting (between screams) so I was able to nurse her right away.

Long Overdue

So…

Yeah I’m still here.  I’m still alive.  Life with a newborn and a toddler is really exciting.  And by exciting I mean exhausting.  And miserable.  And totally sleep deprived.  Basically, I’m begging you to forgive me for totally blowing you all off when you were patiently waiting for me to tell you all about having our baby.  Please?

So the basics… Anwyn Renea was born August 31, at 8:03 am.  She weighed 5 lbs. 5 ozs. and was 19 inches long.

We had to go in for pre-op on Friday.  They basically got all my paperwork done, and drew all of the blood that they needed.  This would apparently take two people, three needles, three needle holes, and a whole lot of arguing with my veins to cooperate to get done.  For some reason my body refused to bleed for them.  I usually bleed really easily, so this was strange.

There was a couple in there when we arrived.  A young girl (late teens, I think?  Maybe 20) who was not yet 30 weeks, and was a first timer.  She was told that what she was feeling was normal, but not labor.  I remember being that far along with Ashton and reading everything possible about any discomfort I felt.  Every little thing meant a trip to the computer or the considerable amount of reading material my Dr gave me when I first came in.  I always knew the answer to every feeling I had.

Later when we were filling out paper work another couple came in (yet again, expecting their first).  It turns out her water had broken.  She made certain to tell the nurses that this was her first pregnancy so she wasn’t sure if she was going into labor or not.   It was kind of cute seeing her there, trying to remain calm and collected.  She answered all of their questions clearly, and had the feeling of someone who was on top of everything.  Her husband (I’m guessing) had the most terrified stare on his face.  He looked completly lost.  When we got back into the car Aaron and I talked about them, and how the roller coaster was just starting for them.  We talked about the first time we went through this, and how much like that couple we were (only I wasn’t at all collected.  I completely checked out when they talked about inducing).  This time was so different, so calm, so organized.  It promised to be a very different experience from the first time.

Sunday night I ate like a freaking queen.  Mom spoiled me with nice cuts of meat, and an awesome meal.  Dad went and got me a special seed that would help me keep my energy up the next day since I couldn’t eat anything.  Aaron made me biscuits (which I finished all of) around 11:00 pm.  Then I went to bed and didn’t sleep a wink.  The next morning we had to be at the hospital before 6:00 am.  Those of you who know me well or have ever seen me in the morning can imagine how well that went.  But it wasn’t too bad, the seeds Dad had fed me did the trick, and I was bubbly and energetic up until they wheeled me into the O.R.

And Now We Know

Ok, I already have a boy.  I know what to do with a boy.  I’ve got the boy thing mostly figured out.  I don’t understand him… but I can mostly handel him.  Boys should not present any problem.  On that note…

What the hell am I suposed to do with a girl?

Yes, I know, it wouldn’t have mattered what the gender was.  They would have been completly different anyway.  The problem with kids is none of them follow the blinkin rules.  The “experts” come out and say all this stuff, and I’ve never met a kid that followed any of it.

Maybe it’s because kids can’t read yet.

So… there you have it.  Ladies and Gentelmen, I would like to introduce everyone to Anwyn Renea Thomas.  I will try to scan the sono photos soon so I can get them onto flickr.

Blog Fail

So things keep happening around me and I keep thinking, “I should totally blog about this,” and then I totally forget about it because I suck.  So, you would have more blogs if it weren’t for the fact that I am an absolute failure at all of this nonsense.  I’ll go back a few weeks and try to remember stuff:

First Scarby started.  For those of you not in the know, Scarborough Renaissance Festival started a few weeks ago.  We went opening day and saw lots of familiar faces.  Some of them were welcome, and some were very much not, but they were seen none the less.  My bestest friend saw her ex, and it triggered a huge turning point for her.  This is a good step.  He seems to have a profound and unhealthy effect on the women he dates, but that’s really not the point.  Anyway, the point is a good time was had by all.

The next day I spent with my in laws while Aaron spent the entire day out at Scarby again (this time to work).  I got some crafty stuff done and such.  The rest of the week was not very eventful.  Friday came around and Lissa and I went to the Fort Worth Zoo in search of donkeys.  They didn’t have any, but we got some fun footage of animals and us being silly.  Ashton tried to run us both ragged while we were there.  My parents got to the house an hour or so after we did, and we all went out to dinner.  The night ended with Lissa and I desperately trying to finish editing footage from the previous week in a timely manner.  Not sure we were all that successful.  Aaron and Dad did other geeky stuff.

Next night was dinner with the whole family for my sister Tasha’s belated birthday.  I think that the restaurant was trying to immobilize us with all the food they gave us, but we managed to waddle out of the restaurant on our own.  We made mead that night.  And we stayed up LATE again.

Easter Sunday happened.  My parents left that morning, I spent the day with Aaron’s family (without him) and the kids ran around and wore themselves out.  I got Ashton a really cool Easter basket, which I failed to take pictures of because I suck like that.  It had some candy and a Cat in the Hat plush and the book.  He overlooked the stuffed animal at first, but now he’s sleeping with it and dragging it around.  Too cute.

I’ll do a whole other post about the pregnancy in a few days.  Just don’t have it in me right now.

We’ve Done it Again

So my bestest friend Lissa and I have started a video blog.  The very first episode will go up tomorrow, at some point.  If I can find out what time she wants to put it up I’ll start a count down on twitter or something.

Basically it’s the two of us acting like we’re being tacky and catty bitches.  So a standard Friday night for us.  We’re hoping that other people think it’s as funny as we do, but who knows.  So far it seems to be the main segment (whatever main thing we’re doing that week), some footage of Aaron doing whatever he wants, and Twitter Time.  Twitter time is where we answer questions or take requests from Twitter.  This started because of someone named Josh Cagan* asking us about donkey punching.  Really, watch the episode tomorrow and you’ll understand.

So you can find this amazing train wreck over at Oh My God Friday.**

I will be adding it to my blog roll list so it will be easy for everyone to find.  Check us out.  Give us your support.  Tell us when we’re being stupid.  Give us ideas to talk about.  And for the love of God feed our desperate need for attention!!! (We’re a little silly)

*Look!  Bold print!  That means you should click on it!

** Bold means click.  And you should check us out.  Really.  We’re funny.  We laugh all the time.

St. Patrick’s Day Story

We went to Austin this weekend and had a wonderful and exhausting time with my folks, and I will be happy to give you a play by play… later.  For now I have a story to share.

A few years ago Dallas stopped doing their St. Patrick’s Day parade.  Isis and her dancers would dance in it every year, and the last time they did it was my first and last St. Patrick’s Day parade to be in.  I was sad that they didn’t continue it, because it was a lot of fun.  The parade was filled with some fantastic acts, dancers and musicians alike, and I think everyone really enjoyed it.   The next year we heard that Fort Worth would be putting on a parade for the day of green, so we decided to check it out.

It was probably one of the more offensive parades that I’ve ever seen.  Admittedly, there wasn’t much that was Irish about it.  Mostly it was a parade of people riding horses through the street wearing green.  Now, I understand that this was in the Stock Yards, but some other representation would have been nice.  While this was all rather boring after a while, it wasn’t that insulting.  That was right at the very beginning.  The entire parade opened with a gentleman wearing a red kilt.  With a bagpipe.  Playing Scotland the Brave.

If you don’t know why this would or could offend someone, then I’m not going to explain it to you.  I would suggest you go read up on Irish history.  Pay special attention to the bit about their loving relationships with the Scottish.

Edit:  There used to be a family friendly parade that went through part of downtown Dallas.  This is not to be confused with the “parade” that happens at night on Greenville Ave.  This is more of a block party and for adults only.

Pushing Numbers

I turned 29 last year and a phrase has started to work it’s way into my head.  No one (thankfully) has actually used this phrase in reference to me, yet, but it still bothers me.  The phrase is “Pushing Thirty.”

Now I’ve gotten my fair share of old jokes already.  There’s always the best friend pointing and laughing and saying, “Ha ha, you’re old because some high school student didn’t know that song/movie/pop culture reference you just made.”  This is not a sign of my age so much as it is a sign of these kids ignorance.  They must be educated! Sorry, that’s not really the point, just wanted to get that out there.

We never worry about a birthday up until the big Three Zero.  29 is not a scary number.  Nor were any of the numbers before that.  This is really no different, it’s just a marker of how many years you’ve been on the planet.  So why does it worry so many people?  I have never heard of anyone “pushing 25″ or any other age.  No one gets freaked out over their 20th birthday* and that represents a whole 2 decades of life.  So why is it that 3 decades on the planet suddenly makes you old?

We never push any birthdays that don’t end in a 0.  Have you noticed this?  We’re always pushing 30, or 40, and onwards until we die.  And where exactly are we pushing these years to?  Are we pushing them away in general?  Are we pushing them over a cliff?  The days are going to go by at the same rate they always have, so why do we think metaphorically pushing a specific date is going to keep it from arriving on time?

I refuse to push!  I’m simply going to allow the days to come and wash over me.  I have no issues with my birthdays, no matter what number they bring with them.  So this year, in the beautiful month of November, I will proudly be turning… 28.

* Except my mother.  On her 20th birthday she cried and when asked what was wrong she blurted out, “I’m not a teeny-bopper any more.”  I’ve never made any claims that my mother is exactly stable.

Fun With Hormones

Don’t worry.  This is not going to be a post in which I gush for several paragraphs about my first born.  I’m not going to go into detail about how charming, brilliant, exhausting, evil my two year old is.  You already know all of this.  What I am going to do, for once, is talk about what’s going on with me.

Sadly, by me I mean what’s happening inside of me, which is quite a lot of discomfort and stupidness.  A few notes…

I can’t seem to eat much meat.  Hamburgers don’t pose a problem (at least Wendy’s don’t) but the very thought of eating chicken the last couple of days has sent me running to the bathroom.  I made a simple baked chicken with salt and Italian seasoning sprinkled on top the other night and couldn’t get a single bite down.  I had corn and buttered bread for dinner that night.  I was able to eat my slow cooked chicken and dumplings, but that mostly tastes like butter, so that was good.

I can, however, seem to eat things like palak paneer just fine.  This is a curried spinach and cheese dish, and is heavenly (granted it doesn’t feel that awesome afterward. The heartburn is not nice).  I could happily eat a bowl of that with some flat bread all night.  So why is this spice fine, but seasoning that I’ve used since I learned to cook* is making me sick?

My mood swings are actually getting kind of bad.  Poor Ashton is having to get the worst of it.  I’ll go from wanting to bite his head off, to wanting to hug him and love on him and tell him everything is ok, that mommy is just crazy.  Trying to keep from picking him up (not supposed to lift anything heavy for a while) is not helping the situation.  When he doesn’t want to do something, he just collapses into a heap and sits there.  But I said I wasn’t going to go on about him, so I’ll stop.

The mood swings are getting irritating lately, though.  Earlier today I found myself getting all weepy teary eyed over a Gerber commercial.  I remember getting like this with the last pregnancy, but not until I was well into my second trimester.

When I go to the doctor the scale says I’ve lost weight.  I feel like a cow, I’m already showing a little bit, and I’m only 10 weeks along.  This is irritating.  The most painful thing seems to be the scar from my previous c-section.  It feels like it’s stretching (which it probably is) and it’s not the most enjoyable feeling in the world.  It is, however, one I’m familiar with.  I have a sizable scar on my chest that has been there most of my life and it tends to stretch at times (especially when my breasts swell) so the scar pulling is being felt all over.

I’m still having “issues” so I’ve put my self on  semi-bed rest.  I’m moving around as little as possible, and trying not to do anything strenuous.  So since all I do is sit on the couch and watch Ashton play, this is all I have going on and all I have to talk about at the moment.

*To be fair I only learned to cook a few years ago.

Body Works

On December 29 I was feeling a little bit odd.  I was two days away from my period and something just didn’t feel right.  I honestly have no idea why, or what this feeling was, but something in the back of my mind told me that all was not normal.  We had a rather large night coming up (January 31) and I wanted to make sure I didn’t do anything that I would later regret, so out of curiosity I went to the bathroom, dug out a pregnancy test that had been there a few months (from the last time I thought I was pregnant, probably around August) and proceeded to… well… if you don’t know how they work then I’m not about to explain it to you.

Because I’m insanely impatient I watched the moisture creep along the test and watched as the lines appeared.  This was the kind that shows a blue plus sign, but it was extremely faint.  I genuinely had no idea whether this was a positive result or not.  So, after fretting for a while, I went to the drug store and got another two pack.  I considered getting the digital one, but it’s expensive and I’d only want to spend that kind of money if I was 90% sure I was pregnant (which seems kind of silly).  Because I was only about 75% (and even that might have been a bit high) I got a simpler brand.  This was the kind that showed two pink lines, and to me seemed like it would be easier to read.  I did my thing, waited, and again saw one strong line and one faint one.  This time it was slightly easier to read, but not by much.

I bounced for the rest of the day, and when Aaron came home I told him that I probably wouldn’t be able to drink at the party later that week.  And then I fell into a fit of giggles.  And cried a little.  I told him I still wasn’t 100% sure since I hadn’t gotten a dark line from any test.  He told me to wait two days and use the last one.  I waited one (see? impatient) and still got a much darker line.  I now had three test that all said the same thing, and a period that didn’t look like it was going to start anytime soon.

I made an appointment that week to see the Doctor, and a week later I had an appointment.  On Wednesday I saw the nurse and got all my blood work done.  I made plans to see the Doctor on Friday.  Thursday is when things went bad.  My body seized up and made it impossible to move.  Everything hurt, and I was terrified that things were going wrong.  Aaron came home for a few hours, because I couldn’t move, and I called the Doctor’s office to get advice.  There was no blood, so they weren’t worried (they were going to see me the next day anyway).  If I started to bleed heavily I needed to go to the hospital, but otherwise I should just take it easy.  The pain passed and I never got anything other than brown spotting, and I went in the next day.  They did a sono and couldn’t find a heart beat, but it was still too early to tell.

Over the next four weeks I bled off and on, panicked a few times because I was certain that I would lose the baby, and finally after one particularly bad night had my visit moved up a week.  They did a sono, found a perfectly strong heart beat, and the cause of all my bleeding.  Not far from the baby is a… mass.  The Doctor had a few theories about what it was, and none of them are life threatening or dangerous to me or the baby, but whatever it is it was hemorrhaging.  So I have to take it extra easy for the next few weeks and try to not lift anything heavy or do any really strenuous activity with, um, that part of my body.  Which puts belly dance right out the window.

So if anyone wants to come over during the week and help me out with the toddler that I’m not supposed to pick up, that would be wonderful!

In The Event of My Death

I’m dying. I can’t breath, and seem to be oxygen deprived. I’m dizzy ALL THE TIME and it doesn’t seem to matter if I take drugs. I can’t sleep. Sleep tends to include breathing, and as we’ve already covered…
This sucks. I’ve sneezed so hard over the last couple of days that my throat actually hurts. My abs hurt from sneezing so hard, and from a bad case of… well… abdomen pain that I suffered through on Wednesday. I was actually immobile for a couple of hours. This was not my favorite experience ever.
I went to the doctor on Thursday. This had nothing to do with being sick or my tummy hurting, and everything to do with our attempts to continue spawning. They checked a bunch of hormones, talked to me about how to remain healthy (as I sat there clearly DYING from not being able to breath) and general stuff like that. As it turns out the results from the test they did a few months ago have changed, and I am now suffering from hypothyroidism. This is a bad thing, especially for people trying to get pregnant. So it’s getting treated. They want me to be super healthy, so they MADE ME take a flu shot. I have not had one in years, and let me tell you just how pleasant they are. I forgot how much those fuckers hurt.
The reason my Doctor is going through all of this is because of Ashton. When I had him he was very sick at birth, and if it had not been for my own intuition, he might not have survived. When I went to the hospital with him, everyone (husband and nurses alike) told me that all of my discomforts and fears were perfectly normal at that stage. I went in anyway and they were all like, “See? We told you this was normal. Silly overreacting pregnant lady. Oh wait, shit, um… the baby’s not happy and we have to take him out RIGHT NOW or he might die. So… good for you for coming in even when we told you that you didn’t need to.” So there is a lot of preliminary prep for the next baby that will possibly eventually happen. Lets all keep our fingers crossed that when and if it does that everything goes well.
So… hypothyroidism, flu shots, plague and not breathing. I smell like mentholated rub, and I am so ok with that. As bad as I feel (and Aaron has the same ick) menthol is the sexiest smell in the world.