Face Trouble

So I just got a call from Mateo's teacher. I know I promised I'd write about my midwives in my next post, but I still need to get pictures so instead I'm going to write about this phone call. 

Apparently there was a chair. And on that chair there was a nail. And that nail? It was sticking out. 

And my son?

He scraped his forehead on the nail that was sticking out of the chair. Or maybe he gashed it. I'm not really sure. From the sad, sad sounds of him, he gashed it. But from the calm sound of his teacher he scraped it. Mateo tends to exaggerate the severity of his injuries, leading one to believe he is surely on the precipice of certain death, when in reality he probably just needs a bandaid and a kiss better. I don't know *where* he gets that from. *Auntie Amy*

2 years ago, age 4.5, Mateo skinned his knee and required not 1, but 2 bandaids to feel better.

Now the issue here isn't that there was a nail sticking out of a chair. At least not to me. The issue here is - how did my son's face, of all the parts of his little body, make contact with any part of a chair, let alone a nail sticking out of one? HOW?!?!

Premature grey. That's where I'm headed with these boys of mine.

Because speaking of injuries, there's also Andreas' recent surgery to fix his face after he fell jumping on the couch and tore the inside of his mouth open. The surgery went well. He's all healed up. Life is good.

Except that his face is crooked now. He looks like he just got punched - permanently. I'm not sure how I feel about my entirely non-confrontational, leave-me-the-hell-alone kid looking like a scrapper for the rest of his life. Do I call the surgeon and ask them to fix his face? Because that'd be another surgery, and there's no way Andreas would be up for that. He could always have them fix it when he's older, if he has a problem with it, right?

The swelling has come down since this picture, but his mouth is still lined up about the same way. 

And his new crooked little smile kind of does make him look like a 4 year old criminal. It's like perma-troubleface. I can never tell now when he's actually done something wrong, because his face doesn't give it away anymore. It's sort of endearing.

Olivier has managed to stay out of trouble for the time being. At the rate we're going though, it won't be long.

My little mook hiding from the static channel on the TV. He turns it on and then runs away in terror and hides.

Rosalie is lovely but unpredictable. She'll sleep for 10 hours one night, and not at all the next. Such a girl, can't make up her mind what she wants to do. 

This picture cracks me up. It's her "are you joking me with all the noisy boys?!?!" face.

And for kicks, a couple of my past favorite troubleface moments compliments of Mateo and Andreas.  

Mateo @ 2.5 or 3 years after using crayola markers to color himself into a tiger.

Andreas @ 11 monthsish getting into the picnic supplies.

copyright (c) Jenna Pelias 2012

all right reserved

Rosalie's Birthday

My sweet baby girl is finally here. Rosalie Maia was born 2 weeks ago, on February 5, 2012 at 3:40am after 3-4 hours of labor and 2 pushes. 8 pounds 8 ounces. 

 Here she was at birth:

Here she is at 2 weeks old:

I haven't been able to write down the story of Rosalie's birth yet, because there is a lot I want to say and I wanted to be in a good frame of mind when I say it. It took me a while to get in that good frame of mind but here I am. This is the story of my daughter's birth, and also the story of how really good medical professionals are worth their weight in gold - because the bad ones can make things really awful in a hurry.

We were sure that our baby girl would be joining us early, sometime in January. She was due today, February 20, but after going into labor January 3 at 33 weeks it didn't seem likely we'd make it full term. With the complication of gestational diabetes thrown in, and the likelihood she'd be a bigger baby, we didn't want to go much past that full term mark because I did not want to argue with the OB's about having another c-section. I wasn't having another c-section after two successful VBAC's unless hell froze over or I really, really needed one. "Big baby" wasn't on my radar as a reason to really need one without even trying first. It wasn't that my OB was an awful, knife-happy doctor. She was actually pretty lovely and I liked her a lot. But the high risk doctors see high risk patients and deal with those 'hell freezing over' scenarios all the time. You can't really blame them when they are in that mindset of considering every possible outcome and being prepared for it. It's their job. It just made me really hyper-aware of what I wanted and what I knew I was capable of. Now, my doctor's partner on the other hand, threatened me with a dead baby while I was in the hospital dealing with preterm labor and getting the gestational diabetes under control. If I had been in my right mind I'd have had something to say, but I was a mess and so I just sat there and cried until my own doctor showed up and reassured me that my baby was going to be fine. I missed my midwives tremendously after I was switched to an OB, but if I had to be switched, I was glad it was to my particular doctor. 

All through January we waited. I was stuck at home, couldn't drive and didn't go anywhere except to prenatal appointments, ultrasounds and the diabetes clinic. There were several times I thought labor was on it's way but it always stopped. Sometimes after hours of regular contractions! 

I hit 37 weeks Monday the 30th of January, and my OB had me booked for an induction on the weekend. The plan was to bring me in, break my water and see what happened. The best news? I'd get my midwives back during labor. I didn't care which of the 3 was on call when I delivered, I was just so relieved that one of them would be there with me. 

I got the call on Saturday morning to be at L&D after lunch for my "induction" - we wouldn't be using drugs because breaking my water would likely be enough given how dilated I was already, how many contractions I was having, and because of the scar on my uterus from the c-section with Mateo. I've always gone into labor on my own so it was a little unnerving to have the process started for me but we had a plan and I liked the plan. We took a final picture of me pregnant, along with the boys, because I realized I didn't have a single shot of me with them from the pregnancy. 

We arrived at the hospital after lunch, ready to get things moving and meet our baby girl. The OB on call comes in and tells me that as soon as there's a bed we'll go in and she'll start me on oxytocin and then break my water later if needed. 

That was NOT the plan. I did not feel good about this plan. The thing I hate about seeing doctors during pregnancy (as opposed to midwives) is that it doesn't matter who you see when you're pregnant - you're at the mercy of whoever is on call when you deliver. It doesn't matter what you've talked about with your own doctor up to that point. And I *hate* that. The thing with this new plan was that my last labor was really fast. It doesn't take much and I'm in hard labor. With Andreas and Olivier both, I went from a 6 to a 10 in an hour. It just happens fast and hard and I knew if they drugged me it wouldn't go well. I wondered if this OB was just wanting to drug me so that it *would* be too hard and we'd be forced into a section. I considered going home - I was only 37w5d and still had time to have this baby. 

In the end, it didn't matter. L&D got busy and I had to wait for my turn. They sent us for dinner and when we came back they decided to give me an empty bed on the antepartum unit while we waited. Shifts changed and that doctor went home and took that new plan with her. 

We were finally called upstairs at 9pm or so. The new doctor wanted to just break my water and let me go into labor. I had already dilated another cm from 3 to 4 while we waited all day so I was feeling like labor would have started on it's own pretty soon whether they broke my water or not. I liked the new doctor and her plan of sticking with the plan whether she knew that was the plan or not. A+ for her. 

The nurse however? She gets a major, major fail. The one person you want to feel good about in labor is your nurse. The nurse is the one who is actually there carrying out the doctor's instructions the whole time. Unfortunately I ended up with a great doctor and a really terrible nurse. 

First things first, we had me hooked up to an IV for antibiotics. I hate needles, tend to have bad veins and told her so. She proceeded to ask me if I've ever been sexually abused. Because that is somehow relevant to me hating needles in that moment? Totally inappropriate question coming from a nurse, and when I gave her a nasty look as I told her I had NOT been, I was hoping she wasn't going to be this inappropriate the whole time. Glenn just sat there looking at me with a "did-she-really-just-say-that?" look on his face. I have doubts to whether this nurse has ever placed an IV before because after she rolled the first vein, which was fine because my veins suck, the second time she screwed it up and decided to see if it was in right by flushing fluid through. You'd think she would have stopped when I started screaming but she kept going. Until I was screaming louder and about to smack her off of me. Literally. She ended up bringing someone else in to do the IV and that nurse did it the first try no problem. Pretty sure the reason why I hate needles - especially IV's and having blood taken - is because it never works. The other strange thing was that she kept wanting me to get a local freeze before trying the IV. She wouldn't shut up about it. Like lady, I've done this before without a local. If she would have stopped rambling on and on and just done it right the first time we wouldn't had to waste half an hour screwing around with IV's and arguing about it.

 Once the IV was finally in she starts in on how I need an epidural. Because if something goes wrong and I need a c-section it's better to have the meds in place in case of emergency. Was she *ever* barking up the wrong tree with that one. Holy shite lady. WRONG TREE. I have no problem with epidurals and thoroughly enjoyed having them with my first two babies. But I didn't need a lecture from a nurse on why she thinks I MUST have an epidural. I just smiled and nodded and let her give her little speech. Glenn just stood there in disbelief wondering what was wrong with her. 

I had Glenn take a couple of pictures before labor got going. 

Sooo ready to meet my baby girl!

Glenn with his, "what-is-wrong-with-our-nurse" face. 

The doctor came in once the IV antibiotics had been run through and she broke my water at 11:20pm-ish. They wanted to monitor me for a bit, but I insisted on getting out of the bed after a while. Contractions started up right away and an hour later I was in active labor. I labored on my feet, sitting on my knees on a chair hunched over the windowsill, leaning on Glenn - everywhere but the bed. They put the mobile monitor machine thing on me when they wanted to monitor me again. 

And this nurse. OMG this nurse would not shut up. Every contraction I had she'd start talking and trying to tell me how to breathe, what to do, etc. I ignored her for a while and then I gave up and turned on the iPod to tune her out. What kind of L&D nurse doesn't know that it's during the contractions that you shut the hell up, and give the mama pointers in between them? And if the mama doesn't listen you return yourself to shutting the hell up again and let her be. Is it that hard? THIS WAS BABY #4 - I KNOW WHAT I WANT AND HOW TO BREATHE THANKS! I just turned the iPod way up so I couldn't hear her. Glenn wanted to throw her out of the room. Because that was the other thing. I never had nurses with Olivier, just my midwives. But with Mateo and Andreas my nurses weren't IN the room the whole time. They would come and go and were very pleasant and very supportive, especially with trying a VBAC with Andreas, and it was all good. With Andreas I even had a student nurse check my cervix and it was fine. This awful nurse camped out in my room the entire time, never leaving and never being quiet. She had to get a word in every time I contracted. It was maddening.

When my midwife Ali got there I finally felt like I could relax. My nurse didn't seem impressed when I told her my midwife was on her way there and it actually kept her off my back a little more. But she still never left the room and never shut up during contractions. Glenn and Ali were amazing coaches. Glenn would stand in front of me while Ali dug into my lower back and they were so reassuring that I was doing great, that I actually felt like I was doing great. As the contractions got stronger I kept telling myself *I* was getting stronger. You'd think the nurse would take some pointers or a hint but she was oblivious. At one point when she wouldn't shut up about how I should be breathing, I just yelled "NO!" really loud at her. She laid off of me for a bit after that. 

So the 3 of us kept on and all of us ignored the nurse together. We never said a word about her. It was just an unspoken thing that the nurse was crazy and we would let her keep on with her crazy and we'd keep on with me having the baby. 

Eventually I moved to the bed, but I was on my knees with the bed up, hanging over the back of it. Glenn was on one side and Ali was on the other. It felt like they were a buffer between me and the nurse. I'm not sure when, but I was checked again and I was at 5cm. My nurse had guessed I was in "early labor" because I had told them that my contractions were all in my cervix. Early labor my ass - 5cm is not early labor. My contractions are always in my cervix. I didn't feel a single one in my belly or back this time or with Olivier. Her listening skills sucked because I did mention this to her but she brushed it off. She just knew better than everything I told her. And she kept getting proven wrong, which was kind of awesome. I didn't care how long she'd been doing this, she'd never been to one of *my* births and I did know better than her what was going on with me. 

I had at one point found the presence of mind to tell Ali that I go from 6 to 10 and pushing in about an hour. You know, so they could like be prepared for that. She told the nurse but the nurse brushed it off. Because the nurse was a freaking idiot. At ten to 3 I was 6 to 7cm and over the next 45 minutes I would basically turn into a crazy, screaming banshee like the women you see in labor on TV. I also warned Ali that this would happen because it always does. Transition is not kind to me - that was when I'd gotten the epidural with Andreas and I do wonder if things would have been different had I stuck it out and moved around to get him out. It's not a regret or anything. Just a hunch it would have been better. Instead of an epidural, I sucked back a lot of the gas in that time. I do like the gas. I had it during transition with Olivier too. It's good stuff. I'd switch between locking eyes with Glenn and Ali while sucking back gas and breathing and they were both so calming. They knew what to say and just kept me focused. 

Sometime before I had been checked or maybe after or something, the nurse suggested I try fentanyl. I'm not sure when she brought it up but I was definitely not a calm, ideal patient and she suggested it a couple times before I finally asked for some. I was told it would take the edge off the pain. 

Guess what? That's a lie. It takes the edge off the patient's level of crazy and makes you easier for them to deal with. It does nothing for the pain. I am still really unhappy that I went with that idea. The gas was working just fine. I do remember begging for an epidural as well. I remember thinking that my labor was going to last forever and I could not stay at this level of pain and intensity for very much longer. Everything the nurse said to me made me doubt myself and I wish I'd have asked her to leave, or asked for a new nurse. You just don't always have the presence of mind to have those conversations during labor and my way of coping with her was to just ignore, ignore, ignore.

And then this crazy little thing happened where I WAS RIGHT and I was already fully dilated anyway. I had started pushing against Glenn's hand with mine during contractions and Ali said I looked like I was making involuntary pushing motions. She told the nurse who wanted to check me. I did not want her checking me but was far too gone with the transition-crazies to argue. 

Worst decision ever. I should have gone with my gut. This awful, awful woman's version of checking me was to ram her hand up inside me and every time I screamed she would push harder. I was screaming at her to stop and yelled at her to get her hand out of me before relented. She was about 10 seconds away from getting kicked right in the face if she hadn't pulled her damned hand out when she did. I've had many cervical checks during pregnancy and during labor and never had one like that. I've never had a doctor or nurse keep their hands inside me and knowingly keep hurting me.  It was extremely violating. I have a hard time even writing it down and sharing it. But I'm doing it because I want other women to know that just because you are in labor does not mean you should be at the mercy of whatever version of crazy you end up with in the delivery room. Glenn and Ali had no idea she was doing this to me because I had no way of verbalizing it in the moment. I feel like I was attacked.

After the nurse took her hand out they said I should try a practice push. I was fully dilated but the baby wasn't descending at all. So I half-assed pushed because I was still reeling from the "cervical check" I just had and I was feeling anxiety over the baby not coming down. My head was not in the game. It didn't matter though because my half-assed push brought the baby down and out almost instantly. They yelled at me to stop because she was crowning. Stopping pushing is like stopping yourself mid-sneeze. It's impossible, but I managed it because I didn't want to tear from here to there from her coming out too fast. The nurse was paging for the doctor to come NOW while Ali was slapping some gloves on in a hurry because the baby was coming like right now and midwives are allowed to deliver babies. Nurses are not so my nurse was now a sitting duck. Doctor flew in along with some nurses, I pushed again, and out came the baby at 3:40am. It was crazy fast.  

Rosalie Maia, brand new!

They gave her right to me and I was just in shock at how fast it had gone. She was perfect and it was over. They took her to be weighed and measured and she was only 8 pounds 8 ounces. Good sized but certainly no giant like we were expecting. I remember them asking me questions but I was just frozen, shaking, after she was born. I guess I was in shock. The doctor gave me one stitch and that was it. It took me a while to stop shaking and be ready to get up and out of bed. 

After the doctor and extra nurses had gone, Glenn was holding Rosalie while I talked to Ali, when out of nowhere the nurse lifted the sheet and doused me from the stomach down with scalding hot water. I looked up and yelled "SHIT!" really loudly because the water was so hot and it scared me. "Is that too hot?" the nurse asks me and I say, "Uh yah!" and she does it again. I could have jumped out of the bed and strangled her at that point. Nobody has ever dumped a bunch of water on me after giving birth while I was still laying in bed. It was very strange and very inappropriate.

I laid back and rested, Glenn held the baby and Ali cleaned up the delivery room while the nurse stood around and talked about how she wasn't looking forward to leaving after work because she had to go to Rona to get stuff for some renovations that were happening at her house. Really. She really kept going on and on about this and nobody was responding or listening to her but she kept talking anyway. I was just in awe of how bad her bedside manner was at that point and so tired from just giving birth that I just shut my eyes and ignored her. When it was time to get up and get ready to go to postpartum I made my way to the bathroom where the nurse was on me to pee or else, and of course I couldn't pee with her standing there lecturing me about why I needed to pee. I gave up and told myself I'd go once I was out of there and had a new room and new nurse. Then I ended up being bladder shy and they almost wouldn't let me go home because I couldn't pee at all. Have I mentioned my disdain for this nurse yet?

My stay in postpartum was much less eventful. My nurses there were all top notch. So kind, helpful and understanding. It was like night and day. I had some trouble with losing too much blood and then the peeing thing. But the blood loss stopped and I eventually peed once I relaxed again. Ali came by that afternoon and that was when she noticed that Rosalie has a heart murmur. They were hoping the pediatrician would be able to see her that day so we could go home but he was already gone so we had to stay the night. The thing that sticks out to me about my stay was how hot the room was. Every doctor and nurse that walked in commented on how it was like a boiler in there. Rosalie liked it - she slept like an angel the entire time we were there. I enjoyed watching a student nurse learn how to bathe a baby with Rosalie as the guinea pig in the nursery. I asked him if I was making him nervous (never seen a male nurse on L&D or postpartum before!) but he said that he could tell I was relaxed so he was relaxed. The nurse teaching him was a pro. The next day the pediatrician came to check out Rosalie and told me she'd be fine. We'll follow up with my family doctor when she's 3-6 months but the murmur should be gone by then. My OB also stopped by which was nice. She was really happy for us and I need to remember to write her a thank you note because I will see my midwives for all of my postpartum appointments with Rosalie. 

Rosalie never did have any issues maintaining her blood sugar levels after delivery, which was a huge answer to prayer. My blood sugar levels returned to normal as soon as she was born, and for that we are extremely thankful.

We are overwhelmed with joy to have our little girl here and healthy. The boys are head over heels for her and so are Glenn and I. There is a lot of pink around here now and I like it more than I ever thought I could. When I think about my baby girl's birthday I think about pushing for what I wanted, not giving in, staying strong, trusting my instincts, kicking ass at delivering her, and how blessed I was to have Glenn and Ali there supporting me. The nurse and her behavior? She's an afterthought. I will be writing a letter to report her (and to praise the nursing staff on the postpartum unit) but right now we're just so focused on our precious little girl that I haven't had the time. My baby girl's birthday is a whirlwind of a day that capped off a roller coaster of a pregnancy, and I'll never forget it. 

Next post: midwives! They are so wonderful that I need a whole other blog to sing their praises. 

copyright (c) Jenna Pelias 2012

all rights reserved

What A Week!

So I spent the last few days in the hospital getting some preterm labor and my gestational diabetes under control, and now I'm going to write it all down so I don't forget, and so everyone can have all the info at once! This blog is for sure going to be long, wordy and full of details that I just need to remember so I'm putting them here. 

BACKGROUND

I found out I have gestational diabetes on Christmas Eve, and was sent to the Diabetes In Pregnancy Clinic (DIP Clinic) right after Christmas. They hooked me up with a glucose monitor, which I use to test my blood glucose 4 times a day: when I wake up (fasting) and 2 hours after each meal of the day. It sounded daunting and painful and scary to me but it's nothing, really. The finger poker isn't much bigger than a tube of chap stick. It doesn't hurt. It takes 30 seconds. They wanted me to track my glucose and what I'm eating and report back this week, on Tuesday. 

MONDAY

Monday my levels were all over the place, but definitely too high. And I was having contractions. I kept in touch with my midwives and by evening the cramps/contractions were coming too close, so off to the hospital we went. 

When we arrived, the baby's heart rate was too high. My contractions were too close and we weren't sure whether they'd progress or stop or what. So I was in this weird limbo place where I wasn't in full blown labor but could get there any time and I wasn't stable enough to be sent down to antepartum for observation. So they gave me round one of steroids in triage and put me on a med to try to stop the contractions. I may or may not have screamed when they gave me the steroids. That shot hurts like a mother. I hate needles. 

And then my midwife, Kim, and I had a talk. About the level of care I was needing being beyond the scope of what midwifery covers. And transferring me to high-risk obstetrical care. I knew it was coming but it was still really frustrating. I have healthy pregnancies and healthy babies! What the heck is wrong with me this time? So we talked. And I learned that my midwives could still be involved in my care from a support role while the OB's do their job in keeping my baby and me healthy and safe during the rest of the pregnancy and delivery. My midwife can still come to my delivery and be there for me. What a relief. So I met the OB, who is fantastic. I really like her. She speaks highly of how my midwife handled the whole ordeal and is totally fine with me still getting support from my midwives. I really thought it would be me getting dropped and never seeing my midwives again or something. So glad it hasn't turned out that way. 

So I spent Monday overnight on the L&D in a high risk observation room while we waited to see what my baby would do, and what my contractions would do. Glenn eventually went home in hopes we could both rest while we wait but I had to call him back early in the morning because we thought maybe labor would start. 

TUESDAY

He came right back to the hospital (my mom was a major trooper and came back to my house to watch the boys after only being gone a couple hours). We spoke with doctors from what seemed like everywhere. OB's and NICU gave us an idea of what to expect and it was just constant information. My contractions ended up slowing down. I was allowed to shower and we were hopeful things would calm down. Baby had relaxed. Glenn went back home in the afternoon and I tried to rest. It wasn't really possible but I dozed for like an hour maybe. Eventually I was stable enough that they sent me to the antepartum unit. I got situated there and saw people about my diabetes and the OB and had to start insulin and it felt like constant in and out. They sent me for an ultrasound. By the end of the day I would start crying as soon as someone would walk into the room anticipating more information that I just didn't have room to contain. 

I had called Glenn and told him to stay home with the boys. I was a terrible mess but he was exhausted too and so was my mom. He could come back in the morning. 

And even though I had been awake since 9am Monday morning (minus dozing off briefly once or twice) I was too wired to go to sleep or rest. So I got out my flat iron that I had had Glenn bring me in anticipation of having the baby and being there a while, and I did my hair. I could not control anything but I could do my hair. My nurse seemed super surprised that I had bothered but it was just something I could do, so I did. 

I called Glenn and scared the tar out of him just bawling my face off. He was so torn. He wanted to be there for the boys, who were confused about why I was gone, but he wanted to be there for me. It was hard for him. Hard for both of us. 

I managed to calm down and get ready for bed but I had more insulin coming at 10pm and then another scream-inducing steroid shot at midnight. As if I was going to sleep waiting for more needles. Once I got them I had some IV gravol and slept. I got 6 hours of sleep with one interruption to pee. After 40 hours of being awake or barely awake it was the best 6 hours of sleep I've ever had. 

WEDNESDAY

I wake up a little more composed and get dressed and ready for the day as if it were just any other day. I had already packed my hospital bag for labor so I had all my stuff pretty much with me. It was nice. 

Glenn came back for a good part of the day. I think he and my mom needed the sleep they got and so did I! It was such a relief to see him again that we just sat in my bed and that was it. I was so tired of talking to people that we didn't even really talk for a while. Just sat. I still had a bunch of consults. A nutrition person from the DIP clinic, the endocrinologist, people from the diabetes team who taught me how to do my own insulin, the OB, the NICU doctor again and I don't remember who else. It felt constant. I also had to be monitored still for the baby's heart beat and contractions. Food, insulin and glucose monitoring had to be done at specific times. There is no rest in that place but it had to be done. 

And then I find out my sister Nicole is being admitted back into antepartum as well! She's expecting twins who already tried to come early a few weeks ago and her uterus is being too grumpy so she's in the hospital until the babies are born. They put us in the same room because, well, why not? How often do pregnant sisters end up in the same hospital unit to keep them out of labor? I will say that even my sister was a little surprised by how many people were in and out of my room. Which was reassuring that my feelings of being overwhelmed must be normal because she's been through a whole lot already herself! She's such a trooper my sister is, just being still and doing what she has to do to keep those babies in one day at a time. What a hero!

When she got her steroid shot (which goes right in the arse if anyone is wondering) I sang her Soft Kitty. It seemed appropriate. Our nurse asked if our mom sang it to us. We laughed even harder. Sometimes, you just have to laugh.

We got all settled in our room together and my parents stopped in with Mateo. I had to not cry, I was so happy to see one of my boys! I just didn't want to upset him by me being upset. It was nice to finally see one of my kids and nice to see my parents.

They were talking about sending me home the next day. I stayed up with my sister while they monitored her well past midnight for contractions but hers settled down and we both went to sleep. Not for long. I think 4 or 5 hours? 

THURSDAY

It was a late night and early morning. And the doctors and nurses and people started again for both of us. Some of them were confused about us being in the same room and thought we were each other. It was kind of funny. We were getting me ready to go home with each of the doctors and nurses I needed to see first, and I was feeling overwhelmed again. I had to leave and do this whole thing on my own. The DIP clinic would follow me from home. I told them I was scared to go home and end up back in labor. I was so tired I wasn't sure I had all my information right. I was crying again. And the nurse told me to just take a nap. I knew I'd have to be awake again soon for more insulin or to eat or test my blood or something but I lay down anyway and slept for an hour. Woke up feeling clear and got my instructions straight on everything. My OB came back and we had a really good talk. It was very reassuring. I see her in a week. 

We waited until after I took my post-lunch glucose reading and it was almost down to where it should be. Then Glenn was there and I came home. I got to the car outside and started crying again. Not sure why. It was relief maybe? Fear? I don't know. Maybe a whole bunch of 4 days of emotion piled up and coming out. Who knows.

I am home now, with all my supplies and instructions. I have been on the couch since I got here and have to go give myself my night insulin now. It's slow acting. I give myself 3 other shots of it each day, once with each meal. It's mind over matter. The injector doesn't hurt. It's not like a syringe, which was my fear. It's an injector pen that meters out the right amount as I set it and doesn't hurt at all. The poking myself was a hurdle to get over but I'm there. Still afraid of needles in general I think. 

NEXT

Now we wait. We wait for the steroids to work their way out of my blood, because they screw with the sugars. So we watch and wait to see if my insulin needs to be reduced when the steroids go away. We hope that my sugars are leveled out for my sake and the baby's before she's born. We wait and hope the contractions don't come back. Now here's the thing. Baby is measuring 6 pounds already. She's only 33 weeks. There is a good chance she will come early. In some ways, she almost needs to. My body seems to be leaning that way and I am told that gestational diabetics sometimes have a problem with placenta deteriorating too soon. So we are on watch. To keep me and her healthy and to get her here at the right time. So if you're praying, pray for the right timing all around. That's what we need most! 

And pray for my sister too, for her babies to stay put and healthy for as long as they can. 

I'm sure I'll remember more stuff but that's what I got. And now I need insulin again and to go to bed. So good night.


copyright (c) 2012 Jenna Pelias
all rights reserved

Boy Oh Boy!

I'm just going to straight up let you know that this is a pissed off rant. There will be no warm fuzzies today, because I've thoroughly had it.

Tomorrow is 2 years to the day that we found out our third child is a boy. Our third boy. And while we were thrilled to be welcoming another healthy son into the world, apparently some people were less than excited over our "misfortune" at not being able to conceive a girl. 

And this time? Oh. My. GAWD. People! 

I cannot count how many times I have had people tell me that THEY are hoping it's a girl this time. Or even worse, is when they word it in the awfully offensive way, "I hope it's not another boy."

I would just like to know where all this girl obsession/boy hate comes from? I am not a martyr because I have a house full of males who adore me. If that's what people define as being 'hard done by' I really hope those people never have real problems because I'm afraid they may actually lose it completely. If I lived in China I would be a friggen rock star with this many sons. ROCKSTAR. Not that I think the obsession that swings in the other way regarding gender in that country is valid, because it's not. Maybe we could all use some perspective.

Boys deserve better and it's no wonder we have a generation full of lost young men who are stuck in delayed adolescence until they are 30. I'm not saying this is all the men, but it's a real thing, a phenomenon that IS happening right now. There are an awful lot of people who expect boys to be nothing other than a bunch of hyperactive, distracted, incompetent, immature pains in the ass. It's getting old. I was watching a cartoon with Mateo the other day and was completely horrified at what I heard. Two female characters were sitting together discussing boys and how stupid they were. So stupid in fact that given two options they will always pick the wrong one and that's why they need girls to tell them what to do. 

WTeff? Who markets this crap to kids?

"Mateo I am turning this show off, because those girls are saying that all boys are stupid. I don't think MY boys are stupid and we don't need to watch shows that say my boys are stupid. You are smart and you don't need to listen to anything that says you aren't." 

He looked at me with a bit of shocked horror in his eyes. I don't think he really got what was going on in that show but he did get that I think way more of him than whoever wrote that garbage. In fact, I think boys and men are full of a lot of potential that is going untapped these days because they are labelled as being too macho if they live up to their God-given masculinity or too stupid if they fail or too immature if they let loose. It's paralyzing our sons and it needs to stop. We are not raising boys, we are raising men. 

Tomorrow will be the day that we find out who is going to complete our family. Will I be raising another little man or will I be raising a young woman? I don't know. I don't care. I am blessed beyond blessed to be able to conceive, carry and give birth to healthy babies at term. You won't find me griping about what is or is not present between their legs. 

This past year some friends of ours lost a baby. It was a baby boy who they knew wouldn't live long, if he was born alive at all. He passed away during mom's labor. What a stupid slap in the face to these friends of ours it would be, if we had a "problem" with having another son. I can't imagine what they would give to have their boy with them, healthy and happy - let alone THREE boys, and maybe four.

If this precious life inside of me is another boy, we will be totally thrilled. And if it's a boy, and someday I feel that something is missing because I don't have a daughter, there are baby girls who are missing mothers in orphanages and foster care, and I will adopt myself a daughter. May even do that anyway someday down the road if this baby is a girl and she wants a sister.

We are done having children biologically. My body is damaged and tired and I am not doing this again. It is a miracle I changed my mind and had more after the horror show that was Andreas' birth and subsequent recovery. So please, leave the gender comments alone. We just want to enjoy our baby, whoever he or she happens to be. 

copyright (c) 2011 Jenna Pelias

all rights reserved

Silly Old Bear

We thought we lost Shaky Bear last night. Andreas went to sleep very sad without his dear friend by his side, while Glenn and I turned the house inside out frantically searching for the bear. Our kids all have toys and things that they have favored at various times but there are none like Shaky Bear. 

He used to be a soft yellow bear with a yellow Satin ribbon and a brown tummy. The day Andreas was born, Mateo (then 2) went with Glenn to the hospital gift shop and picked out this sweet bear for his brand new baby brother and we put it in his basinet. It's been by his side when he sleeps ever since. 

When Andreas was a baby we knew when he'd gone to sleep by when we couldn't hear the rattle inside of Shaky Bear anymore. We knew when he'd woken up in the morning when we could hear Shaky Bear rattling around in the crib again. Sometimes that's still how I can tell if Andreas isn't sleeping or when he's woken up, if he wakes up first. He used to lay in his crib/bed at night rubbing Shaky Bear as he fell asleep, which is yet another of his funny sensory quirks. Shaky Bear has become to Andreas what Winnie the Pooh is to Christopher Robin. They are best friends.  

I was in tears after we'd looked in every cupboard, drawer, shelf, corner and bin in the house. He wasn't under, inside of or hiding behind a single thing. We don't let Shaky Bear leave the house so there was only one place he could be if he wasn't here. Olivier has been trying to throw things in the garbage can when he thinks I'm not looking, and I was pretty sure that my little stinker toddler had thrown his brother's best friend in the trash and we would never see that bear again. 

I was getting dangerously close to a full on ugly cry when I went and started looking again. There may have been praying involved, because I was desperate by that point. Andreas had to wake up to find Shaky Bear next to him! Sure enough, I opened the toy box that I'd already cleaned out once this week and checked thoroughly last night and Shaky Bear was right there, under another toy. I snuck him in to Andreas' bed and thought about how ridiculous I am to get so worked up over a silly old bear anyway. 

Shaky Bear isn't yellow anymore and he's definitely not soft either. The ribbon is long gone. We tried in the past to find an identical bear as a backup but he's so worn in that it wouldn't matter. I'd have better luck finding something that looks and feels like Shaky Bear at the city landfill than I would in a toy store or gift shop. 

I'm pretty sure that if our house was on fire and I could only save one thing (besides my family) it would be Shaky Bear. I can re-write journals and my kids can make new art projects and Glenn and I can write new love notes and letters. There will never be another Shaky Bear though. I never ever thought that the most valuable thing in our home would be a worn out bear that most anybody would mistake for trash if they found it laying around somewhere. He's a priceless treasure to us though, that's for sure. 

Andreas didn't notice Shaky Bear in his bed when he woke up. When I told him I'd found him his face lit up and he ran back upstairs to find his bear laying there like he'd never left. I heard my little boy talking to Shaky Bear on his way back down the stairs. 


"Oh, I so missed you!" 


He's a keeper, that's for sure. The bear, too. 

copyright (c) 2011 Jenna Pelias

all rights reserved   

Fall

It's been too long since I've written. There is so much to say that I'm almost bursting. 

First and most important on the list - it is fall. The calendar may say fall starts later this month but for me, September 1 is fall and that is that. It couldn't have started better either - rainy and cold. Perfection I'm telling you. Utter perfection! I have a big pot of taco soup on the stove right now, waiting for Glenn to get home from work and enjoy. Mateo helped brown the beef and Andreas poured and stirred the other ingredients for "daddy's soup." Olivier sat in his high chair watching us and drinking his milk. :) 

With fall brings back to school. Summer was okay for us, but I spent most of it nauseas and narcoleptic so it was a little boring for the boys. Mateo did a science camp that was just fantastic - Mad Science Outer Space & Robots camp. I think we'll be doing that one again next summer. The boys spent a weekend with my parents while Glenn, Olivier and I did a road trip to a friend's wedding in Saskatchewan. But honestly, other than that - summer was very laid back and relaxing. School starting again was a really welcome event in this house. 

Mateo is in grade 1 this year, which means all day school for my big kid. He's happy and so am I, because I think him and Andreas have spent so much time together this summer that they are ready to disown each other. I don't blame them really; they share a room and toys and space and they just need time apart. It's kind of a relief that it's all day too, because kindergarten was only 2.5 hours each morning. It felt like as soon as I got home from dropping him off, got the kitchen cleaned up from breakfast and given the other two a snack, it was already time to go back and get him. This is better, even though I do wonder what he's doing and how he is the entire time he's gone. 

Andreas is about to turn 4 and I am a little sad. He is hanging on to being little with everything in him though, and that makes me happy. He will tell you himself that he is not a big boy, he is a little boy (wittow boy). My little boy can definitely stay little for a while yet. His peanut allergy seems to have reappeared but the doctor doesn't know why, because all his tests for it are negative. Then he goes and eats it and has a reaction. It's weird. He's also been referred for a developmental assessment for his sensory and social challenges. We are working on trying new foods and he is doing okay. I'll write a separate blog later about the new strategy that is sort of working. 

Olivier is, well, a toddler. Not much to say about that. He likes to pretend to cry for pity and cookies but it doesn't really work. I'm not sure if laughing in your kid's face is the right tactic but I've been here, done that and I don't really play much into the whole whining/crying/tantrum thing. He's also learning to put two or three words together. "I got Thomas" or "Bye Teo" or simple things like that. Today he finally learned that saying please will get him a much quicker reaction out of me than anything else, so that was kind of nice. 

The baby -have I mentioned there's another baby on the way?- is due in February. I'm just about 16 weeks and we'll get to see him/her at the end of the month. We aren't really hung up on gender, although it seems like everyone else is. Is it really that hard to believe we would be equally as happy with another boy as a girl? Whatever God gives us is what we're supposed to have and we'll celebrate that the same way we do every other time. But the super exciting thing is that we're done, done and ready for Glenn's big V-day. I always wondered how people knew for sure they were done, and I thought maybe you just have to make a decision and stick with it. But we tried that and it was never right and now, suddenly we feel complete with 4. 

I'm looking forward to getting back into the swing of writing more. Yay fall! 

Age 3

I know I said I'd write about each of my boys, and I will. First though, I need to tell you about one of my favorite things as a mom:

Age 3

Three year olds are hilarious. Everything they say is wrong. They pronounce it wrong, understand it wrong or just say random crap that doesn't even make sense. And they are crafty, or at least they like to think they are. 

It. Is. Awesome.

Today's best from my current favorite 3 year old, Andreas.

ME: "ughhhhhhh"

Andreas: "what wong mommy?" 

ME: "mommy doesn't feel good because there's a baby in my tummy"

Andreas: "YOU NEED TO GET IT OUT! Get it out of dare mommy!"

ME: "it's okay! Mommy will be okay."

For this one, you have to understand that one of Andreas' favorite snacks are those 'Fruit To Go' bars. He calls them a "sticky" because they are indeed, sticky.

Mateo: "can we have a snack?"

Andreas: "I want a sticky!"

Me: "nobody is having a snack. Daddy went to get popsicles, you can have one when he gets home."

(Glenn had gone to get milk but freezies/popsicles are the only thing that make the nausea go away so I've been having more than I should and we ran out of those too...so I used our need for milk to get him to buy me more popsicles. And I told the kids it was for them. Judge me. I'll live.) 

The boys went downstairs to play. I thought to myself, "well that was easy." Until Andreas came back up the stairs.

Andreas: "my baby is cwying. He's sad."

He has a stuffed dog in his arms, cradling it like a baby.

Me: "oh ya - does he need me to hold him?"

Andreas: "ya, he's sad."

Me: (taking the 'baby' and rocking it) "why is he sad?"

Andreas: "he wants a sticky."

Me: "really? he does, does he?"

Andreas: (looking like he's got me and he knows it) "ya"

Me: "okay, let's go get your baby a sticky."

We had to lay the 'baby' down while we got the sticky. We brought the sticky to the 'baby'.

Me: "does he feel better now?"

Andreas: "ya, he's better. I'm going to go downstairs now" 

He took the sticky and went downstairs. 

Crafty little buggers, these three year olds, I'm telling you. 

Lastly, there's Shaky Bear. Shaky Bear is Andreas' bestest buddy. They are like Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh. Tight. Mateo picked it out for him the day he was born and it's been by his side ever since. Well Andreas tossed Shaky Bear in the air the other day and somehow managed to throw him in between two bookshelves that sit wedged against each other in a corner. There's a small square of space between them and that's where Shaky Bear has been sitting for two or three days. Because the shelves have to be moved and they are loaded full of stuff and we weren't in the mood to move them. Tonight we finally embarked on Operation: Rescue Shaky Bear

When Glenn finally got the bear out you'd think he was a firefighter who just rescued a screaming infant from a burning building with the reaction from Andreas. 

"My BAAAAABBYYYYY! You saaaaaved myyyyy BABY! Thank you Daddy. Thank you!"

I love 3 year olds. 

(c) copyright 2011 Jenna Pelias

all rights reserved