Baker

Who knew that after all these years of not being able to bake, well, ANYTHING, that I have successfully baked this baby to 34 weeks?! The goal is 36 and anything after that is icing on the cake. Going into preterm labor makes you reprioritize things a bit.
I can't say it enough but this pregnancy is so completely different than when I had my son nearly 6 years ago. Perhaps it's because I'm a little older and a little wiser (ya right). I've gained 27 lbs total thus far...compared to the 40 lbs I gained at this point last time, and it seems I've gained most of it in my belly. Yup, I have a baby all up in my grill that's for sure. I am getting to that uncomfortable stage where I'll be glad to not share my body with another inhabiting human any longer, but because I went through so much to have this little one (blood, sweat and many tears) I feel terrible about complaining. Let's just say the worst part is the horrendous sleeps. Between an aching back, shoulder and baby hiccuping for hours on end it makes it difficult to sleep restfully. But that's all I'll say because pregnancy is still a miracle and a blessing that I am so privileged to be experiencing.

I'm absolutely loving this time off now. I've been on "medical leave" since my preterm scare a week ago and I find I am more relaxed than ever before. I've been able to prepare my home for JosB to arrive, washing linens and unpacking all those tiny little sleepers that I am shocked & amazed my son once fit. How did he magically get older so fast?

In Canada we have a nation-wide ONE YEAR paid maternity leave. Yes, we are truly blessed. What a great country I live in! (And so fitting that it's Canada Day today). So with me being on medical leave right now, my maternity leave begins the day JosB is born. That means I'll be at home for over a year. I can't imagine having just a few short weeks or a couple months at home and then having to go back to work with a 3 month old like some of my friends in the States. I truly do appreciate that our government agreed to support this maternity leave a number of years ago. I'm going to make the most of my time at home.

All in all the pace around here has significantly slowed and I'm totally alright with that. I'm busy baking a baby and caring for my family. There's something that is just 'right' about that. I am at peace knowing that at any point I would be ready to hold my new little one in my arms. If only JosB knew how much I am completely and utterly in love with them. My heart is soaring.

-With a peaceful spirit and an anticipating heart,

Close Call

I awoke from a long night’s sleep not quite feeling rested and in all truth, a little “off.” I couldn’t really pin point why but I just didn’t feel right. I got dressed in my scrubs and off I went to master my last 3 days of practicum in the emergency specialty course. Three days was all I had to get through until it was done. Eight years of school culminating to this very week of complete and utter closure. This was it. This was what I went to school for: to become and emergency room nurse.

Throughout the day I continued to just feel an overall sense of crappiness. My instructor's grilling and quizzing on my nursing knowledge was extremely intense that day…..and let me tell ya, I was feelin’ the heat. As hours passed of constantly being on my feet in addition to elevated stress levels, I felt my Braxton hicks contracts coming more frequently but because they weren’t painful I omitted them. Time went on and I mentioned to my instructor and friend Stacey that I wasn’t myself and really felt terrible. I trudged through the day and it wasn’t until driving home that I realized my contractions were closer and closer. Once we were closer to Stacey's home I finally decided to time my contractions. Every 3 ½ minutes consistently. In the car I said to her, “Uh, my contractions are coming really close.” In her ever so gentle yet don’t-mess-with-me kind of way she said I needed to call my midwife, oh, like now. I instantly began crying, fearing that I might actually go into full-blown labor at 33 weeks.

My midwife sent me straight to the hospital where my husband met us (thank you Stacey for driving a hysterical pregnant woman), did swabs, urine tests and checked my cervix. I had not dilated, but my cervix had thinned (effaced) to about 50%. I was hooked up to a fetal monitor and we were all worried to see my contractions were at regular intervals of 3-5 minutes. IV and fluids were started in mad attempt to stop the contractions. The contractions themselves still were not painful as much as they were a bit uncomfortable. They never did progress to full-blown pain, which was a promising piece to the puzzle. One thing that put me at peace was that my midwife was so gentle and calm assuring me that if baby were born at 33 weeks they would be alive. I felt my blood pressure lessen just in hearing her serene tone and if she wasn’t worried, well then why should I be worried?

After three plus hours of monitoring, the contractions slowed to 6 minutes apart and my midwife felt ok to send me home with instructions that if they became more painful and longer to come back into the hospital. I was then given even more strict instructions that I was NOT to work or be in school any longer as it was clearly putting my baby’s health at risk, so medical leave from then on would be my reality. Not bed rest per say but rather, ‘just taking it easy’ for the remainder of my pregnancy. I went home with a lot on my mind and contracted through the night but not nearly with the same intensity or frequency. Eventually they slowed right down and stopped.

I contacted my school and they were flabbergasted with what to do since they had never experienced any student going into preterm labor so close to the course being finished. Instructors called directors and they conferenced on how to go about dealing with me and my situation. I essentially had 2 days left of practicum and I’d have my ER diploma but since this particular school was insanely stringent on their clinical hour requirements, it was not at all in my favor that I’d be missing time. They were contemplating having me return post maternity leave to re-do the last 6 weeks of hospital practicum all because I’d be missing those last two days! Talk about frustrating. So after a day of waiting with bated breath on their decision, I was told they would pass me through!!!!!!! I have never been more pleased or RELIEVED in my life.

So as it stands now I am a certified ER registered nurse who is officially on medical leave until I have this baby. I have graduated and it’s done. I have worked so hard for this moment and now I can rest easy for the next while, enjoying my time at home with a grin on my face. I am so thankful for my friend Stacey who saw reason when I didn't, for my husband who was so sweetly worried and my in laws who watched my son while I was poked and prodded in the hospital. And thanks to all who prayed for me in my vulnerable state. I genuinely appreciate it.

I’m gonna gestate like I’ve never gestated before. Just you watch. ;)

Magic Blue Pill

Sad. Anxious. Depressed. Borderline suicidal.

No, I’m not talking about one of my mental health patients. I’m talking about my cat.

“She’s peed again on the couch and floor,” my husband said to me for the umpteenth time this last week. Sigh. Again. We must do something about this. My husband packed up our 15 lb black & white Maine Coon cat affectionately named Mocha and brought her down to the vet. The plan was to rule out a urinary tract infection and go from there. Little did I know that she’d be spending the night just to get a stinkin’ urine sample. ($150 later…..) We picked up our cat in the morning and were told she had been medically cleared except for an anxiety issue that caused her to be so stressed out she’d randomly pee in strange places. We were handed a bottle of little blue pills to give her once a day. No, they weren’t Viagra. I read the bottle and nearly fell over.

An anti-depressant.

Um, you’ve got to be kidding me.

For the last 3 days we have been force feeding our cat anti-depressant medication. I can’t believe I’m actually writing this. Seriously. But I’ll have you know that the pills, in addition to our daily family group therapy sessions have helped our cat improve significantly. Last night we had a discussion about her feelings regarding poor body image because you know, she is 15 lbs which is rather large for a cat and I wonder if this has added to her depression. She doesn’t like to openly talk about her feelings since she is a bit on the shy side but hopefully with persistence we’ll get her to truly share her heart. I haven’t seen any signs of cutting or self-mutilation, but then again she is rather fuzzy and could easily hide any scarring. And then there is the possibility of bulimia because she really does cough up a lot of hair balls being a long-haired cat. I’m suspicious. I also wonder if all the other cats in the neighborhood make fun of her because she is quite reluctant to play outside. She just may have low self-esteem. We need to work on that. I’ll have to give a heads up to her therapist. Interestingly, she also likes dark places, prefers to be alone and wears dark fur……I wonder if she also puts on black lipstick & chains when we leave the house. Sort of Goth-like. Hmmmm. I hope she’s not suicidal. We’re gonna have to watch her like a hawk.

My big black cat is on antidepressants. What has this world come to?
She really looks pumped to be getting her photo taken, doesn't she? I hope the medication kicks in soon because I'm afraid I'll wake up at night with a crazy black cat staring at me with crazy eyes & hissing, ready to smother me with her catnip stuffed animals.

Granted

Things you take for granted when you’re NOT pregnant.

-you can paint your own toenails.
-you can actually shave your legs without hacking chunks of flesh because you don’t have an 8 month belly in the way
-you can wear shoes with laces because when your preggers it is really darn hard to get your feet up to tie them laces
-your navel doesn’t stick out like some tumor-looking thing is growing out of your midsection
-people don’t come up to you and touch your belly and if they do, that is grounds for getting punched in the face because it’s just not cool if you’re not pregnant
-you don’t have to skirt around your 5 year old’s questions about how the baby got in your tummy
-you are only nauseated when you have the flu, not for 4 months straight without being technically sick
-people don’t stare at your cleavage…..well, in my case at least. The only time I have cleavage is when I’m pregnant or breastfeeding so this whole staring thing is a new phenomena for me
-eating for two means there are two of you going out for dinner together
-you can hug people straight on without having to stick your butt out behind you just so your belly doesn’t hit and bounce the poor dude down the block.
-you can sleep on your belly or back. Ahhhhhhhh. Oh I remember those days.

All that being said, pregnancy is still wondrous and I’m pumped to be due in 8 weeks ready to meet this little human inside me. The clock is tickin’ and I’m smiling all the way to the bank.

Shift

I’ve noticed a shift in myself, a change I didn’t expect to come as soon as it has. What is that shift you might ask? Well........ I am feeling ready.

For the last 6 months I have been in full-time school completing my emergency critical care specialty and the grueling exams, studying, papers and practicum have begun to take their toll. Prior to taking my specialty I had just graduated as an RN, so going for additional schooling has truthfully been a very easy progression for me. And now it is coming to a close. I’ve written my last final exam and all that is left is 4 weeks of practicum and two papers. Wow. I can’t believe it’s here already. The end. Finally I’ll be done.

But just as I am relieved to be finished this leg of the journey, I find my heart and mind have shifted from a primary focus on school. It seems to take everything in me to stop daydreaming about what is to come in a short 10 weeks from now. A baby. A brand new baby. My heart skips a beat just thinking about it. I simply cannot wait to hold this baby in my arms because I am soooo ready to be a mom again. That is my heart’s desire. I long to take some time to simply be a mom.

I should be utilizing these last 4 weeks of school to glean all that I can so that I am even better prepared to brave the journey into emergency nursing on my own, but my mind and heart wander. I am there in body, but not in spirit. My shift has already begun. Perhaps this is God’s way of preparing me for what lies ahead, I’m not entirely sure. I am at peace awaiting the arrival of my new little love in just a matter of weeks knowing that I’ll be meeting them face to face. It is amazing that although this child is growing and kicking within my own body, going with me wherever I go, I still feel the skin & tissue layers between us are like a chasm holding us back from truly knowing one another. Soon. Our time will come. I will relish in that thought.

So for now I will continue on my educational pathway, putting in the time although my heart cries out to be someplace else. I will write my papers, do my assignments, attend each practical day in the hospital…….but what I really want, what I really, really want is to hold my two children in my arms and love them with fierceness that could cause an explosion.

Biker Chick

I drove into the garage and parked my car after a long shift in the emergency department. Exhausted and feeling oh so very large & in charge, I began walking (ok, waddling) through the garage to enter my house when I noticed something rather blue and shiny hanging on the wall. I walked over to get a good look. Wheels. Spokes. Handle bars.

Oh. My. Word. It’s a new bike. For me. Seven months pregnant.

Now, you must understand that I learned to ride a bike as a child and being one of 7 children, I never had the privilege of owning a bike myself. We were forced to share the communal bike. In fact, never in my entire life have I EVER owned a bike. Peddling around has never been my sort of thing. I’m more of a swimming, jogging, snowboarding type of person. So when my eyes grazed across my new reality: biking whilst sporting an ever impressive, ever growing waist line…….well, it would be safe to say I said something along the lines of, “Oh crap.”

I touched the blue metal frame and smiled at the thoughtfulness of my husband and son, but then quickly began laughing as I pictured myself actually riding the thing. From never owning a bike, to now having one when I’m 7 months pregnant. Complete with unbalanced center of gravity, huge boobs and a body already 20 pounds heavier than in my unpregnant state, what I envisioned in my head was something along the lines of a graphic horror flick. Broken arms, bleeding scrapes and a black eye inevitably from the handlebars somehow jumping up and biting me. I hate it when they do that.

When I saw my son, his eyes filled up with excitement as he said, “Mama! We got you a bike today. Now we can go on family rides all together! We even bought you a pink helmet.” Perfect. I smiled. A pink helmet. Very fitting for me. I thanked my two boys for their gift and secretly dreaded having to actually go for a ride, inevitably later that day.

My suspicion proved right. After dinner my husband suggested that we “go for a little bike ride to try out the new wheels.” We were really doing this. So I donned my new bike helmet and cautiously got on my bike, wobbly and all. I have never seen my son so excited to watch me do something. “Mama!” he said, “How did you learn to ride without training wheels?” What a foreign concept that a person could actually ride a bike without having to own one! Snicker.

We started to ride around the block, me completely winded and my 5 year old riding faster than I could. I huffed and puffed my way along. With each peddling action my thighs smacked my belly causing a domino effect where my belly would then smack my boobs and my boobs, well, they smacked my……….Um ok, I’m not that big breasted, people! At least not YET. I don’t think the baby liked me giving them a swift kick in the arse because for every thump on my belly, the baby would thump me right back. It was a tug of war in form of karate kicks. It was hard to say who won.

I thought my boys would take it easy on me and we’d just ride around the block. But no. We basically rode the Tour de France. I grunted and groaned in the end caboose position of our family train for ONE HOUR. Seriously. Way to break the pregnant lady in. I only wanted to die about 9 times that hour. And I lost track of how many Braxton hicks contractions I had while going up the hills. Yes, hills. Not huge ones mind you, perhaps more like moguls….but to someone nearly 29 weeks pregnant, it may as well have been Mt. Everest.

We completed our family biking ‘adventure’ and the little boy squealed with delight as my husband said, “We can do that again tomorrow too!” And that was when I saw stars, the room went black and I fainted. Ok, not so much, but I did have to crack a smile and say, “Oh yea! Another bike ride tomorrow.” My son then chipped in, “And the next day and the next day and the next day.” Um....er. Sputter.

This is my reality. I will now become a biking superstar. We are going to have to come up with a team name and wear matching tracksuits. I'll bike around for the next few months lugging this belly of mine around because I love my husband and little boy. I’m secretly hoping that once I hit 9 months I’ll be too walrus-like to hurdle myself onto that teeny tiny little seat because this morning when I woke up I discovered that seat provides very little support for the pregnant hiney. Oh does the tush ever hurt!!! So picture this for my next bike ride: big ol’ preggo RW hitting her belly every time she peddles while sitting on a puffy pillow. That’s right. I’m breakin’ out the pillow next time. It’s funny enough to see a pregnant chick on a bike, so why not give ‘em a bang for their buck and sit on a monster pillow. Now THAT is more my style.

A Tale of Two Baskets

Once upon a time in a far away, rainy land called Canada, there was a girl who was given two hanging baskets as loving housewarming gifts. For two months those hanging baskets stayed side by side playing and growing together, learning and loving one another. The baskets were watered and fertilized at the same time, getting the exact same amount of sunshine & rain......and yet something was different about the two baskets. One decided to be disobedient and stop growing, the other flourished and bloomed each day sprouting new beautiful flowers.

The girl had been watching how the two baskets weren't getting along anymore and she became exasperated with them. "What shall I do about this?" she wondered. "Why must I have one well-behaved basket and one extremely insolent basket? I never asked for this!!!!"



And so the girl did what any reasonable parent would do. She went on facebook and made her status for the day asking why oh why would one basket be doing so well and the other wilting before her very eyes?!


To her surprise, advice came pouring in as to how she should deal with this 'situation,' the most practical of all advice coming from her eldest sister. "Separate the two," the sister said, "and take away the naughty basket's lego and leapster. Then reward the good basket by taking them to the McDonald's playplace. It works every time." So the girl gave the disobedient basket a stern scolding explaining just why they had to be punished.


She took the naughty basket, put them in a time out and did exactly as her sister instructed her to. She took away the basket's lego and leapster hoping that this would create a change in behavior that would benefit everyone. After all, she simply wanted a beautiful hanging basket. Was that too much to ask for?!


Then the girl felt it was important for the good basket to be rewarded for being so well-behaved, so she let him play in the sandbox with all the special shovels & buckets. Oh what fun the little basket had!!!!



The girl didn't feel it was right to bring the basket to McDonalds and spill potting soil all over the plastic balls and jungle gym, so instead she packed up the basket in the car and drove him to the nearest park.

They went down the slide...........



And played on the swings..............

What a lovely day was spent with her very compliant little hanging basket. It would warm any mother's heart to the very core.

So now we must wait and see if the strategic disciplining actually worked and the disobedient plant will begin to grow again. If not, well, the sad part of this story is that the bad hanging basket will be thrown into the garbage and a new, more beautiful hanging basket will be purchased in its place. At this point it is survival of the fittest.

It's just the way it is, man. No one wants to get hurt, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.