Better Late Than Never

 

I think we have Pinterest to thank for these little stat cards, and I'm glad! This one isn't the best, but gosh darn it, it does the job! I'll get more creative when I sleep more than 90 minutes at a time. ;)

PS - She's really going to love that poop one in about 13 years. Hopefully she'll have outgrown that by then.

 

And on sort-of related note. My 5 week old child wore a 6 month outfit yesterday. What?!

Second Timer

I'll be honest with you. I'm not one of those people that loves having a tiny baby in the house. I'm not my best self when I'm tired, I get very frustrated very easily and then I start to yell at whomever happens to be the nearest poor soul. I'm probably more patient this time than I was last time, it doesn't bother me so much to get up 6x a night, but there is definitely a reason why sleep deprivation is used as a torture technique. I'd have called "uncle" a dozen times by this point in my mothering career if it were possible. But I can say with (perhaps shameful) pride that I haven't been reduced to tears (yet) like I definitely had been by the time G was a month old, so I'm going to go ahead and call that one a W.

The logistics though... The logistics of being a second time mom are a little more complicated than they were with one - if only I'd have known how good I had it when I just clicked out G's car seat and strolled into whatever store, restaurant or event with my adorable baby.

For example:

The other day I had a phone date with a friend in Japan. First, we both had to figure out what the hell time we were supposed to be ready because neither of us, though we are both reasonably intelligent, can manage to keep straight what the dang time difference actually is. Then, on the day of the date, I had to get dinner prepped early so I could actually talk during our 4PM phone date. I had to get both kids up from naps and fed their snacks, diapers changed and then make my own trip to the bathroom. And then, oh hell, where's my phone? I can't seem to keep track of it now that I have a baby and a traveling basket of cloth diapering supplies to carry with me. And then, forget about having an actual conversation. The call itself ended up being cancelled, to boot. And I was a little relieved. I don't have anything to discuss right now besides newborn poop. That and the fact that G has started lying but that's probably a post for another time.

Another example:
Our dogs are being boarded in 2 weeks and needed vaccinations to be admitted into the pet hotel, so Friday morning at 11 I had to take both dogs and both kids into the vets office. I aimed to be out of the house at 10:30, even though no where in this town takes more than 10 minutes. We left at 10:45, ahead of schedule (I guess...). We get there and I go to the backseat and unstrap G from his car seat but leave him in the car, I go around and get Pipes put in her sling (it took 3 tries to tie the Moby because I was rushing), then I go to the front and get the dogs (the worst leash walkers on the planet by the way) and the diaper bag, then I go back around to the other side to help G get down. There was a time in my life when I just walked into places, ya know? Man alive...

And the difference between first time new moms and second time new moms is simple:

No one feels comfortable complaining if they're a second time mom. We are no less tired, we are no less miserable, but we knew... We knew what we were getting in to. We signed up a second time for sleepless nights, being screamed at for no real reason and all the other  "fun" that comes with having a newborn. I thought it might be easier this time, but it's really not. To say nothing of the fact that on top of having a newborn I have a VERY active toddler to keep happy and out of the way of oncoming traffic. I'm definitely not my best self for him lately. Talk about Mommy Guilt.

I can say though that I'm soaking in the good moments more with P than I did with G. It was all about survival with G and now I know that there is an end to those sleepless nights and there is an end to babies wanting to snooze on your chest (and it comes with incredible haste), so I'm doing my best to ignore the dirty dishes and carpet that is screaming to be vacuumed and enjoy having that baby in my arms for the third straight hour. I just really, really wish I had the patience to sing "Itsy Bitsy Spider" for the thousandth time while holding said baby. The balance is more precarious than expected.

We'll get there.

Found.

Honestly, who are these children?

 

This picture has been brought to you by light wash jeans, old school Fossil watches, the Johnny Damon era of the Boston Red Sox, broke-college-student dye jobs from a box and the year 2005. Oh, and Six Flags over somewhere over Massachusetts.

Aside: This was about 8 months prior to Erik's first deployment, but just a few months after he graduated for Airborne School. At the top of the Batman ride, where they raise you up several stories and then drop you, he told me that the ride had lost it's draw after having jumped out of an airplane. I can't help but wonder, after 3 combat tours and many rides in a helicopter that was being shot at, how many other amusement park rides have lost their appeal.

Piper's Birth Story

So since I'm keeping this blog for the sake of posterity, I'll spare future generations the gory details, although there aren't nearly as many as my labor with Grant.

I should preface all this with the fact that a) my OB was on vacation so I was being cared for by a midwife, Kim, that I didn't know, b) though I didn't have Preeclampsia with this pregnancy I was experiencing problems with my kidneys and had a very high amount of protein in my urine (which is why I was induced) and c) a growth scan 7 days prior to my induction showed an 8.5lb baby.

I went in at 6PM on Wednesday the 21st and at 9 was given a drug called Cervadil to start the induction. Much to my surprise, when I was hooked up to the monitor I found I was already having mild contractions on my own. The nurse said she wouldn't be surprised if I delivered that night, however (sadly) she was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. The next morning, they stopped the Cervidil and since I was still contracting on my own we decided we'd see how I did on my own before we started the Pitocin. I walked the halls and bounced on the bouncy ball for hours. Seriously, I bounced and watched almost the entire movie The Perfect Storm. It's not short, people. Erik was super awesome and walked the same two hallways with me for hours, stopping often to coach me through pretty intense contractions. In two labors, these were the first "natural" contractions I had ever felt. They weren't nearly as long or intense as Pitocin contractions, but certainly weren't a walk in the park, either!

By 4, I hadn't made enough progress on my own and my midwife decided that I'd start the Pitocin that evening. At 7PM Erik and I were taken down to the delivery room and we started the Pit drip. I hate that stuff, it's like being at the worst stage of labor for the entire duration of your labor - it's so hard on your body. At about 8:30 I was really starting to feel the pain, and asked for my epidural. The nurse said I'd have to be checked because they didn't give them before you were dilated to a 5 (which isn't fair if you're on Pitocin!), but after having been checked at least 7 times earlier in the day, and since I had entered the bitchy phase of labor, I told her just to forget about it, that I'd tough it out longer. However, a few minutes later the anesthesiologist showed up to check in and convinced me to go ahead and get it. I was a 6.

So they did the epidural. Why, oh why does that seem to take so damn long?! Maybe it seemed to take forever because I was expecting the excruciating pain I experienced with my epidural with G, but it wasn't nearly as bad. Thank heavens! I had almost talked myself out of getting it.

At about 10PM and Erik and I decided we should probably settle in and try to get some rest. Which of course, is impossible in the hospital. Kim showed up about half an hour later and suggested that I sit straight up in bed to help the baby descend. Okay, great, so we did that. She went home to get some sleep, so again, we decided we'd probably better do the same.

About half an hour later I literally felt her descend from -3 to +3, but I was only an 8 so it was decided that my water needed to be broken. I could hear the midwife walking down the hall when I felt a huge pop (like a water balloon exploding in my body) that Erik could hear from 4 feet away and an unbelievable gush of water that just kept coming as Erik an I laughed at the fact that the pop had been so loud it made a huge blip on the monitor. As the nurses were changing my linens they both said it must have been a gallon to a gallon of water. A GALLON. "No wonder I'm so huge," I thought.

Earlier in the day I had told Kim that when I delivered Grant my epidural hadn't worked and I found it exceptionally helpful to be able to push on my hands and knees in order to deliver such a big baby, and it was my hope that I'd have the same control of my legs. Her suggestion was to turn off the epidural when it came time to push and I told her I didn't think I was brave enough for that, and we'd have to discuss it later. But now I could hear the nurses talking about how Kim had instructed them to turn it off. I was pretty pissed and nervous but decided that it probably really would help and surely she knew what she was doing. My teeth were chattering and I was so cold they had to get me a heated blanket.

And then her heart rate dropped. They put my on oxygen for several minutes, 4 maybe, in hopes that it would go up. They were just about to call in the doctor (presumably for an emergency C-section) but were going to give it another minute because he was just a few streets away. I was laying in bed with that horrible, stinky mask that had made me vomit so violently while in labor with Grant, staring at Erik, both of us saying silent prayers for the safety of our unborn baby. Suddenly she perked right back up and within minutes it was go time.

When I heard the nurses say they were turning off my epidural I quickly pushed my bolster button for a little extra shot of meds before the unhooked me (hey, I was scared!) so they had to help me get my legs in the stirrups. I could still move them, but they were heavy. Kim had told me that I should try pushing traditionally a few times so I could get the hang of it again and I figured by the time that was over I'd have complete control of my legs again. They told me to put my hands under my butt and go for it.

So I pushed. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. Quick deep breath. "Push." 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. Breath. "Push." 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. Rest. I hadn't made any noise. No grunting, no moaning, nothing. The light was dim and it was just me, Erik, 2 nurses and the midwife. It was (almost) enjoyable, rather than utterly traumatic the way it had been with G.

"Push again." 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. Breath. "Push really hard this time, Sheena" 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. Breath. "Push." 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. I groaned. And the nurses cheered. She was here, and I was honest to God in shock. They put her on my chest immediately and cleaned and stimulated her. I was in such shock I kept saying "Someone just take her, please!" but Erik said later I hadn't been speaking coherently. And it didn't even occur to me she wasn't crying (because her cord was still attached). A few minutes later Erik cut the cord and she cried. We just sat there staring, in disbelief that it was over. I had pushed for more than 90 minutes with Grant, but had only pushed 6 times with this baby. Piper started to crawl up my chest to eat.

The room was so warm and dim and quiet. It was such an incredibly different experience from my delivery of Grant - in a cold, bright room literally filled with (honestly) 30 people. It was beautiful and joyful and completely free of any pain. I was on Cloud 9.

She was born just after midnight, so I can tell her I labored for 3 days (but really it was "just" 27 hours), and she was exactly one week late.

It was an hour before we finally got her on the scale. One nurse guessed 8 lbs, 11 oz, one guessed 8.25lbs. But she weighed in at 9 pounds, 7 ounces - exactly like Grant, but an inch longer. It baffled me how she could come out so much more easily than he did. Though I got the answer to that later when looking up the measurement of his head at birth - his head was a full 2 inches larger!

Mima

In my last post I mentioned that my Grandmother, my moms mom, my Mima, had died. She actually was given just a few days to live several times before, but kept saying she wasn't ready and she kept holding on. No one could ever figure out why (and the hospice nurse had advised the family not to ask).

The last time she was given "just a few more days" was the day I went into the hospital to be induced. My mom and her sister were able to be with Mima as she drew her last, unfortunately painful, breath two days after P was born.

Before she died though, she bragged to everyone at the nursing home that she got a new great-grandbaby, so my mom printed off a picture I sent her of P right after birth and tacked it up over Mima's bed so everyone could tell her how pretty P is, which I guess that just thrilled her to pieces. I can't help but be moved by that. I'm so glad she was able to find joy in our sweet baby girl during her last few days. A tiny part of me wonders if that's why she held on. Mima LOVED babies and could put one to sleep lickety-split - everyone in the family called her lap the Nap Lap.

My mom and her mother never liked each other. My mom thinks it stems from Mima and her mother (who we called Granny Cane, which I think is in the running for weirdest Grandma name ever) not liking each other, as my mom and Granny Cane were very close and very similar. (Luckily my own mother has broken the cycle and loved both my sister and I equally, and I'm pretty sure, likes us both as well. Haha!)

To be honest, I'm not entirely sure my Mima ever cared much for me either (I'm exactly like my mom). And I can tell you truthfully that I never cared much for her. I mean, I guess I did as a kid - I tried to be around her, asked to spend the night, etc, but we hardly ever saw her - even though we lived in the same town. She had kind of a woe-is-me personality, which as I grew older became like nails on a chalkboard to me. Though ironically, in 30 years of blindness, she never once complained about being blind. Oh, she complained about plenty of other stuff though - like if you didn't warm up her plate before serving her dinner on it. But on the day she died I got a message of condolence from a sweet as pie family member who always manages to put things in perspective for me, and she pointed out that Mima could see all of us for the first time in 30 years. I couldn't help but weep tears of happiness for her. She had been reunited with the two of the four children that had been taken from her far too soon, and she could look down and see the faces of grandchildren she hadn't been able to see since we were toddlers, and was able to see the great-grandchildren we had all created.

I haven't been that happy for anyone in a very long time.

The Grandparent Lottery

I didn't exactly hit the grandparent lottery. It's okay, they're all dead now, so I can say it. Well, wait, one isn't, but she refuses to talk to me, I guess that just proves my point: I didn't hit the grandparent lottery.

Proof:

Mother's Father, Pepaw - He was very good to me but died when I was a toddler (though by all accounts I was his favorite grandchild.

Mother's Mother - Recently died, but never much cared for my mom, and as such never much cared for us (myself or my sister).

Father's Father - Cold, withdrawn WWII vet. I think he was probably always a cold and withdrawn person, but the war didn't help much.

Father's Mother - Quit talking to me several years ago because she thought my step-dad was going to (and rightfully) walk me down the aisle.

Step-Father's Parents - Father not in picture for many years, and then died shortly after meeting us. His mother rented us a hotel room when we visited so we didn't stay in her house. Yes, you read that correctly.

Honestly, until I met Erik's grandparents I had no idea what real, warm grandparents were like (ya know, like the kind who actually call you on your birthday. Or at all...). When I think of them, I think of a line in a Keith Urban song that says "And people that I barely knew, they love me 'cause I'm part of you. Yeah, it's hard to figure." They loved me before they met me, just because Erik did. Not because of who I am or something I did, but because we're family. Which is honestly more than I can say for my own Grandparents. They're precious.

As are my own children's grandparents. Each of them loves my kids just as much as I do (which I'm assuming is how it's supposed to be but can't say for certain, because... ya know...), and does something special for them each chance they get (and I don't just mean sneaking them extra desserts, though they do that too *cough, cough*).

But the "something special" that has brought on this post is a video Erik's dad made for G. Ken travels to Africa for work (and to hunt) several times a year. Last time, he went in hopes of shooting a second zebra and all throughout the trip when G would mention calling Papa we'd say "He's in Africa," and G would say "Papa TWO zebras!" so the next time Pat and Ken came for a visit, Ken brought G not one but two stuffed zebras from Africa. This time, Ken and the folks he's traveling with, have been documenting the steps of their journey in a video blog for the Facebook page of the company they work for, and Grant has been ALL over those videos! When Ken emailed me a photo for G of him with his second zebra to show G (he didn't get it last time), (and yes, the bullet hole seems to have been on the opposite side of the zebra than the side photographed. Haha!), I told him how G has been devouring the videos on the Facebook page. The next day I had a video in my inbox just for G, from Papa in Africa. G calls it his Africa show now. All Ken talks about in it is the animals they've seen and how they eat lots of good food and take naps in the afternoon when it's too hot to hunt, but G thinks it's just about the best "show" ever. At the beginning, Ken says "Hi, Grant!" and G smiles and waves to the computer screen, and says "Hi Papa!" It was such a sweet gesture, and makes G so happy that I often tear up during the video thinking of how lucky my kids are to have four grandparents who love them just as desperately as their parents do.

So like I said. I didn't win the grandparent lottery, but my kids surely did. And that's even better if you ask me.

Q: You Know What's Difficult?

A: Blogging with a super fussy baby in your arms.

Erik says he doesn't think G fussed this much, but man alive, I'm pretty sure P is the winner of the fussy baby Olympics. To be fair though, she's in cloth diapers and I think they piss her off because the cloth doesn't wick away the moisture like disposables do. But cloth doesn't burn her butt like disposables do, so you'd think she'd be happier in the moisture than with a burned "botwin," as G would say. I digress...

Hopefully I'll be back with something more exciting soon. I have about 30 posts swimming in my head - I'd hate to lose them.