Smart Bitches, Trashy Books...

My grandmother used to tell me that it didn't matter what I read, as long as I read something.

So I used to spend my summers reading trashy romance novels in her garden (or as she affectionately called them "bodice rippers"

Somehow I dont think Gramma had this in mind... teh_buttsecks

As different as night and day

Already at only 5 months my darling little spud his showing his personality.

And it is amazing to me how different my two children are (though it bugs Mr. Dreadful to no end that they look indentical at this age, if one were to put a picture of The WeeV and Spud at 5 months next to each other, it would appear as two photo's of same child)



V as a child was a cuddler, he loved nothing more than taking a snooze face down on Mommy.

We used to while away more than a few afternoons with him happily snoozing and drooling on me.



Spud will have none of that, he'll nap sitting on my lap, but he must be face out, toward the world. Meeting it face on even in sleep.



Both are happy children, one more cautious the other more stubborn.

Back on the field again.

So a few weeks ago I stepped back out on to the pitch...Ahh the sweet smell of artificial turf, how I missed you.

Now those of you who are regular readers (ok the maybe two or three of you that are occassional readers) know that I have played the sport of the gods ...aka..soccer...aka..football

FOREVER (30 years) ...as my knees can attest.



But for the first time in that forever I started to run that first night back and...didn't go anywhere with any sort of accelleration.



My pregnancy, two month incarceration in hospital, and the follow month(s) which have added up to a year off the field have made me old..and very slow.



I felt like my legs were made of lead (because my arse clearly was) and I was dragging a U-Haul uphill.



My mind was racing down the field, however my body was still lagging far far behind.

So I went home and cried. Because I was too fat, slow and old to play soccer anymore.

And being a soccer player is a part of who I am.

I know I just need to accentuate the positive and all that other rah rah nonsense.

Bugger

To the Unknown Land

It’s a terrible thing when you can’t enjoy something that should be the most wonderful time in your life..your pregnancy and the birth of your child.


Beginning with the tempered joy of discovering the pregnancy,

Endless tests for both you and the child that is growing beneath your heart.

Passing one milestone, breathing a bit easier..only to be confronted by another possible problem.

You try to share it with your partner, after all it is his child as well, but deep inside you realize, nobody else really gets it. This fearful joy that you feel each morning as you wake, and each night as you lay down, silently thanking God for a day without issue.
And selfishly begging for another…and another.
The feeling of your child moving and growing within you giving you reason to believe in happy endings.

And when that day comes when something does go wrong, when that test does come giving you one more thing you must deal with, one more decision you must make you do what you can to keep yourself glued together.

Telling yourself that it will be all worth it, that you will have a child in the end, you may have to fight like hell, but you will hold your baby in your arms and in a couple of years this will all be just a crappy memory that you share with this child.

You hope. Even though life has taught you differently, you hope.

One day on a whim you buy something for the baby, knowing it’s probably a bad idea.
And then one day you find yourself with more and more “baby stuff” and slowing you convince yourself this will be ok. It has to be.

But what do you do when it’s not?

When you end up in the hospital very sick and to save your life, you give birth to this tiny being that is way too fragile for this harsh world. A child that a grown man can hold in the palm of his hand.

They talk to you of statistics and averages and worst case scenarios, but you look at this tiny being, your child and you cannot help but feel the stirring of that old feeling…Hope.

That your child will beat those odds. That your child will survive and you will bring her home and hold her in your arms and love her like only you can.

You will do ANYTHING to make that happen, you would give everything you own for that.

You spend hours sitting by your child’s side, you can’t touch her yet, but you know she can hear you, so you talk, about anything, sometimes you read to her.
And you are back holding your breath with every day that passes, only now your child is not growing within you, but battling for every moment, hour and day in the hospital.

But when all your begging and pleading and bargaining falls on deaf ears…how do you go on? When your child that you carried for twenty five weeks and six days, who struggled and fought for thirteen days finally surrenders the battle and dies, how do you face the world again?

How will you make sense of that loss? What words will comfort you?


This world is a harsh place. Do not take your blessings for granted.

If you have children, hug them often. Tell them you love them no less than twice a day.
Go home tonight and just hold them and thank whatever god you pray to for this day.

Because my coworker, and my friend would give anything to be in your shoes.

Instead today she is picking out a casket and making burial arrangements for her daughter.


Annabelle: born-08 March, 2008 died- 21 March, 2008.


May God Bless You All.

Well Shit.

Whilst I was in the hospital baking spud, K. a co-worker and friend announced that she too was pregnant, due in early June.

She had a very tumultous first pregnancy about 10 years ago (something having to do with restricted blood flow to her uterus) so much like I, the joy of impending motherhood was tempered by unease at the possible return of the same issue.

When at approx 18 weeks it was discovered she did NOT have that problem with this pregnancy much happiness and joy abounded...her daughter while small seemed to be doing just fine.



Then a few weeks ago, her blood pressure started climbing. Suspecting stress and perhaps early pre-eclampsia, her doctor reduced her working schedule to half/every other day and told her to rest.

Last week, her pressure was alarmingly high, and several tests caused the doctors to hospitalize her..the goal was to get her to March 23, at which time she would be 26 weeks..and then hopefully extend it another two weeks..with the ultimate goal being 30 weeks.



Unfortunately, Saturday morning K, started vomiting..and vomiting and vomiting bile.

And then her liver started to shut down so, she had to have her baby.

Annabelle-

25 weeks and 6 days...

12 oz.

9 1/2 inches long.

Barely longer than an adult hand.



My heart just weeps for her, because I've been there. Seeing that incredibly tiny human laboring for every breath (and mine.the wee-V at 4lbs6oz was a veritable giant compared to Annabelle)

K can't pick her up yet, because she's still too fragile to touch.

But you just sit and talk, knowing that your voice calms them (and you can see that from the monitors beeping above) but also knowing that you may have to hold on to these memories forever if something goes wrong. And you just want to jam as many as possible into your head.

I'm praying so hard I'm getting hemmorhoids..

Frozen felicitations...

We got an ice storm last night. Just enough to inconvenience me, and make my pilgrimage to my place of enslavement precarious (because of course it is all about me in my world) the wee-V got a pass on school (closed), and my co-worker's didn't come in..(blurg)
Spud is at his babysitters being cuddled and coddled by the Belgian.

I am sooo leaving early today...

Todays mean thing..

I loathe Tom Cruise.
REALLY.
I think he is just the biggest asshole in the history of assholes.
I simply cannot fathom how anyone can stand him.
He's a ridiculously narcissistic pompous short man with all sorts of issues.
I wish he would go away.

And what the hell happened to Katie Holmes when she married him?
Now she is just as annoying, and entirely too vapid for words.

I now loathe her as well.

and I am not alone: evidence more_evidence

My three children...

My darling first born...the wee-V....My sweet baby..spud.......And my breast pump



I have a love hate relationship with the latter.

Since I have been forced to return to work, I have enjoyed (not) multiple daily appointments with the breast pump.

Ameda..Purely yours..double pump.

We meet covertly in the file room (after locking the door, hanging up the "go away" sign outside, and covering the big window next to the door)
I loathe this process daily, and look at it akin to thrice daily trips to the dentists office.
The discomfort not withstanding, I find it near to impossible to relax. Which is necessary to stimulate letdown. Every slight sound I hear I am sure I am either inconveniencing someone or someone is going to try to barge in (yes I know I lock the door, I'm paranoid like that) so I'm nervous as a wren which means I only get the most pitiful drops (which I covet nonetheless)

So why dont I just stop? Excellent question.

The one I admit to and champion? Because it is the best thing for my little spud, he is gorgeous and healthy and I know to a certain extent it is because of my dedication to nursing him and providing him with breastmilk.

The other less championed reason? Because I would feel like a failure if I stopped.
I feel like a crappy mother for even complaining about this, because it is such a small sacrifice for the well being of my child. There are women who travel miles to just get clean water for their family and I'm whinging about 20 minutes three times a day? I should be ashamed of myself for my self indulgence.

But I just cannot psyche myself for this task daily at work..I live for the weekends more so now, so that I can leisurely nurse or pump or whatever is the comfort and privacy of my home.

I tell you.....This being a mom stuff is a slippery slope of self flagellation.

Happy day after commercial holiday

Happy day after Valentines day!
I hope your sweeties gave you everything you deserve.
In true form of how my life has been limping along lately, Mr Dreadful and I spent the evening on "concussion watch" for the wee V.
He had a collision with a hard surface (the monkey bars and then the blacktop) at school and knocked himself wonky, so we had to wake him up every two hours as to ensure that he wasn't concussed (he was not..is not)

But after being properly fussed over by Mom he is doing fine and back to school today.

On to other news...we have found a childcare provider for spud, a lovely Belguim'n woman in my neighborhood. She is ever so wonderful and she adores spud (who really is quite adorable currently)

My "plague" turned out to be pneumonia...but I'm recovered now.

I hate to say all is ok now...for fear the other boot will drop on my head, or kick me in the bum.

Anywho, I'm off home to enjoy my long holiday weekend.

peas,
PD

I said 'when'..did you not hear me say 'when'?

"When you have had enough, just say when".

When.

The cold my darling spud had last week, turned out to be something worse.

RSV (Respitory Syncytial Virus)

While it is basically a really bad cold for adults.(Which Mr. Dreadful had..and I now have)

But can be quite dangerous for infants under 3 months...which spud is.

Friday evening I returned home from work to a very lethargic, unresponsive, funky breathing and "un-spudlike" spud.

So I played paranoid parent and called the pediatricians office (which now charges a 10 dollar after hours fee for the doctor on call to ring you!)

The doctor who returned my call suggested I take spud to the ER at the local hospital. I grumbled under my breath, Friday nights at the local ER are nightmarish... mostly because the poor souls without medical insurance are guaranteed care if they show up in the ER....but ever the paranoid parent, I went..sure that he would get some antibiotics and be sent on his way home to be cuddled by mom.

Momma was wrong...I stood, terrified tears running down my face in the corner of a room in the ER (thats a good indicator that you know you're actually sick here..if you get a ROOM, not a curtained area) while I heard words whispered like "very sick baby" "CT scan" and the most fear inducing "spinal tap"
The doctors asked a slew of questions "Had he recently had a fall?" "When did you notice these symptoms?" and various others I tried my best to answer...to each person repeating 'He was just at the pediatrician yesterday, and they said he was fine!' as if to prove I was not a neglectful parent.

By this time there were no less than 10 people in the room, at least half of them trying to find a vein on my child so they could start a line.

Mr. Dreadful was attempting to attend to both me and the wee-V who was out in the waiting room waiting for my mom to pick him up, so he missed most of the drama.

Finally after the diagnosis of RSV comes back, and they arrange to transport him up the PICU, (no CT scan or Spinal tap necessar) they let me close enough to lean over next to him and talk to him and touch him (tears and such falling on him) I looked down at the floor and realized I am standing in a little splatter puddle of his blood...

The nurse told me we had gotten him there just in time, that we most likely would have been facing a ambulance ride or worse if we had waited.

He spent that night and half of Saturday in the PICU (in isolation since RSV is very contageous)
and then was transferred to the Pediatrics wing, and finally discharged Monday afternoon..

He has nebulizer treatments 4 times a day right now, and cannot return to daycare.
So I must now find either a nanny (yeah, sure I can afford that) or some sort of daycare provider who does not have a large number of other children.

But aside from a nagging cough and junky sounding wheeze occasionally, he's back to the old spud.

He smiled, and waved his limbs at me when I left for work this morning (finally forced to return after using up the leave I had acquired since my return in early January)


So naturally I am now sick since I havent slept in almost a full week (sleeping chair at the hospital is so not comfy, and every cough has me alert now) and am completely useless.

When.

The Snot Sucker

Because I am not able to live the life of a stay at home Mom I have been forced to place my child in the second layer of Hades know more commonly as "daycare".

The first day I sat in the parking lot and cried for ten minutes. By the next week I had whittled it down to five.

Now I just sniffle my way to work.

So where my first darling angel..aka "the wee V" made it all the way to the ripe old age of one year old before getting any sort of illness...Spud has already been felled by a cold, passed on to him by the unwashed masses at the hellish establishment.

Now..while men have been known to be big babies when sick..they really can't compare to an actual infant..at least the big guys can blow their nose.

My little spud has not mastered this (in fact I have learned that most babies havent even mastered mouth breathing by two months) so the only thing Mom and Day can do to ease his discomfort is to drop saline nose drops into his nose and take the nasal aspirator to his little snoot in an attempt to clear his breathing a bit.

Now for those of you who are unfamiliar with the nasal aspirator, it also goes by the name of "bulb syringe" but in our house it is known as 'The Snot Sucker'
Which is exactly what it does, you squeeze the big bulbous end, stick the slender end in his little nostril and..."ssssssssnooorkk" out comes the snot.

Suffice it to say, Spud does not enjoy this process, he starts yammering at us when he see's it and hollers infant obscenities at us when we've finished evacuating his nose..ending with what we have affectionately begun to call "Giving us the stink eye" Which consists of peering at us hatefully from the slit of one eye as if he smelled something foul.

Fear not he has wraught his revenge already..Daddy is currently home having been felled by the mutated "daycare plague"..and I am drinking Emergen-C like vodka cocktails...in hopes that the itch at the back of my sinus' doesn't catch my immune system in a weak moment.
(because after all, I'm newly returned to work and thus have no sick leave banked)

Of course I still look like shiny like a newly polished Penny ;-)

These slippers are made for STOMPIN!

Spud...is he not so cute you could just EAT him??

The long and winding road.

My apologies my previous post left out all the lovely details of my winding road to incarceration, I shall catch you all up now.



As I may have mentioned, my pregnancy was a result of a "contraception malfunction"



I was on the pill. And yes I took it correctly, and at the same time every day, and no I was not on oral antibiotics. It just happened.



But anyway, there I was April Fools day barfing up my Caribou coffee..and I knew it to be true (though I required no less than SIX tests...each pink line getting progressively darker...literally up to the day I went to the doctor to confirm) I was pregnant.

Never mind that I am past that magic number of 35, past which the chances of things going wrong greatly increases...
Nor mind the fact that whilst I adore Mr Dreadful, and he me. ..we are not married....yet.


Lets focus in the real reason Penny should not be pregnant...Penny only has one full sized functioning kidney..
I've got two. Only the other one is quite small. (I'll spare you the long winded explanation for now) suffice it to say a birth defect and childhood illness resulted in a portion of my kidney being damaged, and my body just absorbed the damaged portion...leaving a mini kidney in its wake.



My first pregnancy was uneventful until the 32nd week when I developed PIH (pregnancy induced hypertension) and was promptly hospitalized (and I mean promptly...like straight to the hospital from the OB visit) I was induced two weeks later, had a lovely little preemie weighing in at 4 lbs 7 oz...who after spending one month and two days in the NICU grew into the wee V, who at 11 is now my equal in height.
I recovered well from that and never really comtemplated how lucky I was to survive the experience. Partly because I was young, and mostly because nobody bothered to emphasize how lucky I was.

Well fast forward 10 years...and viola here I am again..only this pregnancy was much much different.
From the very beginning I have been battered with tests, apparently these doctors were taking this seriously...so seriously in fact that before my first trimester ended I had been referred to a perinatologist for high risk pregnancies.
Where at my very first visit the doctor expressed his concern over my pregnancy, and referred me to a Nephrologist to also manage me during the pregnancy.

Where with V I blithely sashayed through the pregnancy week after week. With Owen,
Every day was a victory, I was absolutely terrified something would go wrong.
(Not to mention an earlier test raised the possibility for Downs Syndrome, but we still chose not to have an amniocentesis)
The stress was phenomenal...every appt both anticipated and dreaded.
I loved that because of the pratice I got to see the spud at every visit (sono in the office...niiice)
But scared shitless that I would start showing signs of pre-eclampsia.
I was put on the Beta Blocker Nifedipine for my blood pressure early and carried the worry of any side effects that would have on our child (I was unable to take other med's because of my reduced kidney fuction)
My blood pressure was almost always high, but not sky high, until September 19, I was 27 weeks and 5 days.
And I had finally run out of luck, my pressure was up, and I had finally started to show increased protein in my urine. The doctor wanted to admit me immediately but I refused (and purst into tears) and asked to postpone making any decision until friday, and the opportunity to see my nephrologist the next day.
The doctor agreed telling me that I needed to come into the hospital antenatal testing center to chart what the baby's progress was, but he cautioned me to bring a bag, because if my pressure was still up, I was being admitted for observation.

Friday I packed a bag in tears, I did not want to leave my home and my family (mention here, I did not want to leave my son) I held small hope that maybe I would get to come home, I prayed, I bargained...but to no avail.
I was admitted, with more than a few tears.
And in the hospital I stayed for eight weeks and five days.
Slowly losing my mind.
Every Monday and Thursday I had blood draws at 6am to see if the magic bad happened and it "was time" which meant that I fasted from midnight before until I got the results...sometimes shortly after my breakfast arrived to taunt me..sometimes hours later when it had reached room temp.
The entire time I remained symptom free (preeclampsia symptoms that is)
Nausea, blurred vision, spots before my eyes, upper GI pain...urinating fine, blah blah blah.
Until finally someone murmered the magic words..delivery in early November...

Well shite...I just realized today (January 31) that I never published this..well I'll finish it later..heres up to now

Sleep deprivation and natural sunlight

I'm home!
And so is spud!

I apologize for being so neglectful...I suck.

No good excuse other than I was just overwhelmed by everything and had nary a creative thought in my pretty little head.

Plus I kept starting an entry..and then getting sidetracked and leaving it unfinished.

So instead on trying to write it ALL at once...I'm going to have to write it in bits...so please pardon the "hindsite" and eventually I will get everyone caught up on the the roller coaster that is this ride has been.

And eventually I'll even get pictures up.

In the meantime I have done my part to continue the species, and Owen Christopher Dreadful is so gorgeous and wonderful that I'm stunned stupid at how blessed I am.

peas and carats,
-P

Incarceration...incarcera.a.a.tion..its making me nutters

Sorry for the delay in posting.

But you see I am incarcerated to an extent.

About one month ago I showed up at the hospital which I shall be birthing at, for a little check-up..to see how the little spud is doing.
Basically an ultrasound to check his weight, size, amniotic fluid levels...blah blah blah.

And ended up admitted to the hospital..and I'm still here.

Waiting for either my due date...or my health to take a sudden plunge for hell.

I never know the boundries of boredom before now.

blurg.

Anyway, my nurse just walked in to check my vitals, so I shall post more later.

I take it out on everyone around me.

Dear Mr Dreadful,



I know you only occassionally read my blog, because in your chivalry you think it somewhat akin to spying on me, and think that should I have have the want... I should have somewhere to bitch and complain about you without having to justify it.



By this time I'm sure you've figured out that if I have something to bitch or complain about, I do it to your face, because what good is being pissed off if you dont know it???





But I feel the need to both Thank You and apologize to you for a couple of things.



First,

I am sorry that the athletic energetic girl you fell in love with and embarked on this "life" with is exhausted ALL the time and you pretty much have to run the house now...AND walk the dog in this crappy summer heat.

And I thank you for never one time complaining about it.



I'm sorry I am such a stroppy cow.

Yesterday at the renal ultrasound I had to pee REALLY bad (as you know)

And it was hot, and that farking eejit in the blue Monte Carlo parked too close to me.

A half dozen things that were not your fault, but I snapped at you for anyway.



Thank you for accepting my weird little jinxy habits about this pregnancy.

It seems like every bizarre request I have had of you, you have done your best to fulfill.

From coming to my doctors appointments with me to listening via stethascope to my tummy every night.



For the seemingly endless stream of terrified tears I have cried, that you have let me weep it out, handed me a tissue and told me we will be fine, I cannot thank you enough.

Just remember at the end of this road you will have a beautiful child, and I love you.

(yeah yeah..barf)

Cue the disco ball...

Last weekend was my class reunion...my 20 year class reunion.



A less than auspicious occasion I was content to let pass like a painful but small kidney stone.



It was held a nearby swanky hotel, the plan being Friday evening was a cocktail/informal meet and greet at the hotel bar (gratis) followed on Saturday evening by the official "grand" event.



My plan was to miss the entire experience, my dear friend since early development planned to attend just the Friday night do.

Of course she calls me at 11:00 friday night drunk as a skunk telling me how much fun they're having and how it just isn't the same without me.

Haaaa I doubt that, since I could very well have been voted the girl you least likely remember going to high school.

But those pesky pregnancy hormones got to me, and made me all weak.

So I slipped into a slinky red dress that showed by big belly to its best (smirk) and toddled off to see how the classmates have fared.

The guys are all skeevy old guys. Either fat or just creepy (drug usage in the late eighties/early nineties not kind)

And the women? Well most are divorced and trying to convince everyone how thrilled they are with this..but one...a rather athletic lass..bleached her hair and got new boobs!

And she is still a bitch!

God I hated high school.

No more suprises..thankyouverramuch

Yesterday we had our Level II Ultrasound where they check the progress of the baby (brain present, heart present measurements and whatnot)
But what we spoilers really look forward to is finding out the gender!

Blah Blah Blah Blah I know life is full of little to no suprises..but if you recall spud was a suprise.

So without further ado....it's a boy. A happy healthy very active boy.

Mr Dreadful is of course over the moon, having been terrified at the idea of a girl.
silly man.

Little person...lots of stuff

From what I hear, most pregnant women look forward to the opportunity to shop for their little one with great abandon and joy. Pouring through catalogs, websites and dragging their partner though endless baby stores...almost from the beginning.
I am 4 days away from my halfway point (20 weeks) and I have not so much as given a thought to anything but a stroller and a baby carrier.
I have no motif for my nursery...no nursery yet in fact (will suss that out soon...ish)
I have not yet begun a registry, nor shopped for clothes furniture or any other baby stuff.

This knowledge has been greeted with much suprise by other women. Both pregnant and not.

Is it my ADD? Some sort of latent denial of my situation? I dunno. Maybe it's just that this pregnancy has been so precarious I'm afraid to get caught up in anything, lest something go "wrong"
Negative Nancy?

Whole body experience.

Dear Random person.

Please do not think that reaching out and touching my pregnant stomach is ok, and do not be offended if you ask me and I say no. In fact dont ask, just assume I dont want someone whom I do not have a relationship with rubbing me.

Please understand that the politely glacial look I give you, or the good humored rebuff is me exhibiting manners.

What I want to do is slap you as hard as I can and tell you to keep your paws to yourself.

Also, telling me I am getting big/huge is just rude, I am pregnant..fuck off. The only person who needs to note my weight gain is my OB.
The same goes for my breasts, yes I know they are larger, it is rather difficult to avoid having cleavage when you left behind a DD and are onto new letters in the alphabet.
Rude sexual comments will get you a kick in the bollocks. Openly scamming on a pregnant woman is just gross. Like the grossest of gross.

Irritate the pregnant woman at your own peril.

Sincerely,

Pregnant Penny full of ire.