Barefoot and....

The most wonderful day of the year

2011-12-24T12:50:00.000-08:00

To me, anyway. I love Christmas Eve. I think that Christmas carols sound their absolute best right after the sun goes down tonight....and even though I am, I suppose, an adult, I still feel a coil of anticipation in my stomach. Santa's coming tonight!

This morning, I tried to explain the whole chimney/fireplace/presents thing to the Chicklette, but I'm not sure how much stuck. No matter. The cookies and milk will go out, someone will eat them, and tomorrow morning will end in a giant pile of wrapping paper.

After that, I suppose it's time to turn to the Big Decisions that loom in life....but until then, I'm going to squeeze every last second out of my favorite 24 hours of the holiday season.

Merry Christmas!

Back in the blogging saddle....for the moment, anyway

2011-12-22T10:42:00.000-08:00

I don't even know what to say about the fact that it's been 9 months since my last post. It's, um, been a long time!

Life has been crazy. My marriage has been to the brink and back....I won't elaborate too much on the specifics, but let's say we are both in recovery and leave it at that. Things are good -- not great, but stable. And that is more than I would have hoped for a year ago.

The Chicklette turns 2 tomorrow. I could just eat her up -- she is so cute and fun. And challenging. But mostly fun. Being a parent is so much more than I expected it to be -- in all sorts of ways.

What prompted me to post today, mostly, is that it's my 36th birthday. Which reminds me that time and my ovaries are marching on. We have been charting and "trying" and generally living life with the goalie pulled for the last year or so. Unsurprisingly, this has not resulted in anything resembling a pregnancy (despite the numerous suggestions that It! Could! Happen!). It hasn't happened. And that's OK for now (see above re: marital brink).

But I think what this means is that, come January, we (meaning mostly I) will be back in the stirrups. I have so many mixed feelings about this that I don't know where to start. So I might try and start to sort them out here.

Happy holidays to anyone who is still reading this sorry excuse for a blog....may magic and joy be the biggest part of the season for you and your family.

Destruction, thy name is Chicklette

2011-03-25T10:43:00.000-07:00

It's really amazing how quickly the Chicklette went from tottering a couple of steps at a time to full-out running around the house. In circles. Repeatedly. Until Mommy and Daddy have both broken a sweat trying to catch up. The cats have taken to hanging out on the breakfast bar, because they can barely outrun her (and are, frankly, too fat and lazy to try more than once a day).

And the mess. Oh, the mess. Parenting lesson of the week: even if you've childproofed a room, it doesn't mean that there still aren't dozens -- maybe hundreds -- of "safe" things that can be moved/thrown/otherwise displaced in a matter of seconds.

The capacity for self-destruction is also high. Just this week, we've had a fat lip (falling face-first onto a toy), a smushed pinky (from exploring the dresser drawers), and a head bonk (from walking in one direction whilst looking in the other). I don't know what this says about me, but I find these types of mishaps quite amusing (aside from the initial tears). It's like having a very small and cute drunk person wandering around all the time. I'm sort of surprised that I'm as calm about the physical injury side of things as I am, but I guess I always figured that the Chicklette was doomed to inherit clutziness from both sides.

In other news, I found an ossified avocado under my car seat this morning -- it must have rolled out of the daycare bag about a month ago, because it was about half its original size and weight. Complete with a little "ripe now!" sticker on the side. Which made me laugh way more than it probably should have.

So that's the news from here. Hope you all have a great weekend!

Using birth control un-ironically

2011-03-06T12:03:00.000-08:00

So, one of the interesting decisions we've had to make in the midst of our current family drama is the decision to table for one year any discussions about or efforts towards having another kid. I say "interesting" rather than "awful" because it unexpectedly felt really good to be open and honest about the fact that we are not in a position to bring another person into this family right now. This past month has made me see what being a single parent would look like, and while I'm hoping that won't become the permanent state of things, I just can't stomach the idea of bringing (or trying to bring -- let's not get ahead of ourselves here) another innocent bystander into the current chaos.

Also "interesting" is the way my thinking has changed on the whole age thing -- 6 months ago I was panicked about turning 35 and OMG I need to get pregnant again right now, but the Perspective Fairy seems to have visited me during some night recently and I'm a little more sanguine about the whole thing. Sure, it would be better from a biological standpoint to get the baby party started sooner rather than later, but I've been around the infertility blogosphere enough to know that I could still have a few good years/eggs left in me. Or I could not. Either way, it's out of my hands and I'm at peace with that at this particular moment.

So, we're back to using birth control. Not in the ironic suppression-before-IVF way, but in the actual, hey, sex can make babies and we don't want one of those right now way.

How unexpected is that?

A Tale of Two Ear Tubes

2011-02-28T12:33:00.000-08:00

First of all, a non-explanation explanation of where I've been, for anyone who still even reads this thing. My little family is currently going through our biggest challenge yet. I'm not going to say much, because it's not really my story to tell and this is the internets, after all, but I feel as though my home life has completely changed in the last 3 weeks. I think ultimately it will be for the better, but for now we are taking it, as they say, one day at a time. (Surely that will provide a clue.)

Anyway, my saving grace through all of the drama has been my beautiful daughter. The best part of what's been going on (and granted, there's not much competition for that honor) is that I've been getting more quality Chicklette time. And she is just so fun. Walking, talking, blowing kisses ("MmmmmmmmmWAH!"), growing vampire teeth (the two front ones just refuse to come in for some reason), and just generally being awesome.

One not-so-fun thing was the surgery she had last week to insert ear tubes. I thought I'd write about our expereince here, in the event there's anyone out there contemplating a little bilateral myringotomy action.

We've known for a couple of months that we were going for the tubes. The Chicklette's had 5 (or 6, depending on which doctor you ask) ear infections since July, a couple of which required multiple rounds of antibiotics to clear. That's a lot of drugs, not to mention office visits. But the thing that truly motivated our pediatrician (and us) to get a consult from the ENT was that the Chicklette ALWAYS had fluid in her ears, even when they weren't infected. We'd read and learned from family experience that this was likely causing a hearing deficit that could affect speech development.

In we went for the consult, and then to the hearing test which confirmed that yes, the Chicklette was definitely having some issues. So we scheduled the surgery (or, as I liked to call it, the "procedure").

So, I don't think I need to tell any parent out there that scheduling surgery for your child is SCARY. You know, the whole "please read these forms and sign them and oh no of course your child isn't going to die from the anesthesia or bleed out of her ear but we have to put it in there JUST IN CASE" thing. Good times. But we knew it was the right thing to do, so I sucked it up and put myself on a Grey's Anatomy hiatus for a few weeks.

I will preface the actual surgery story by saying that everything turned out JUST FINE. But in case anyone's curious about the process, here's how it went down. We got to the surgery center at 6:30 a.m., with a tired but generally happy baby. I had been nervous about the night before -- she couldn't have food or milk after midnight, and then only clear fluids until 5:30 a.m. Luckily, no wakeups that night and no screaming for milk in the morning. We checked in, and then headed back to the pre-op area. We were at a facility that specializes in children's surgery, so there were toys and stuff to amuse her highness. When the time came for her to go in (after the signing of many more frightening forms), the nurse whisked her away quickly. Not a peep. She was done 15 minutes later, confused and cranky from the anesthesia (administered via mask, not IV), with a dollop of heartbreaking blood dried on her ear. But she was fine. We got discharged within about a half hour, headed home, and spent the day at home. She took a 3-hour nap and woke up good as new. I swear, kids are resilient.

The doctor told us that they had pulled a LOT of very thick fluid out of her ears, and actually looked mildly skeeved by it. Is it wrong that I was sort of proud of being able to gross out a doctor? Even if only vicariously through my child.

Anyway, almost a week out and she's fine. We'll have our post op on Thursday, and hopefully she won't have any issues with infection. I've already noticed her responding to things she didn't before (and she actually startled at a noise yesterday, which I've NEVER seen her do), so it feels like the decision is already paying off. She'll have another hearing test in a month or so.

So, that's the story. Happy to answer any more specific questions anyone has if they're contemplating taking the ear tube plunge.

Baby steps

2011-01-19T09:15:00.001-08:00

I can't believe it's been almost a month since I last posted. Well, I guess I can. The holidays and their attendant chaos have required some recovery time. And, to be honest, I've just been generally having a rough time. We're still working through some Marital Discord in the Barefoot household, and I've been having a bit of a pity party about it. Hopefully a temporary one -- because I'm losing serious patience with my sad sack self.

In happier news, the Chicklette is cuter than evah, and even took some first steps yesterday and today (both of which I missed, thank you business travel). I am relieved -- all of her little friends have been zooming around on two feet for quite some time, and I was starting to get a complex. We are full-on into table food, which has been messy and also a fun introduction to the many different textures of poop. And I'm pretty sure that the Chicklette has either a) developed her own language (baby genius!), or b) is being visited at night by aliens, because she is talking a mile a minute, very authoritatively, in a language that is very clearly not English.

So, life rolls along. Mostly good, some bad, but always interesting. And if anyone out there is still reading, happy new year!

Happy Birthday, Chicklette!

2010-12-23T12:01:00.000-08:00

One year ago today, give or take an hour, I was grunting and pushing you into the world through a happy epidural haze. While the details are blurry, I will never forget the feeling of seeing you -- my little miracle -- and holding you against the OUTSIDE of my stomach for the first time.

These past few days, I've watched through misty eyes as you've eaten (well, smashed) your first birthday cake, ripped your first piece of wrapping paper, worn your first birthday hat, and taken your first step (even though I'm pretty sure it was an accident, and was really ONLY one step, followed by a wipeout).

I'm sure that your second year will be full of even greater adventures, but it's hard right now to imagine how it's going to top your first. Even with the challenges, it's been the best year of MY life. I love you with all the love that it's possible to love.

Happy Birthday!

What distraction looks like

2010-12-18T13:22:00.000-08:00

Is this enough for you, Santa?

Today I went on a bit of a cookie-making binge. Nothing too fancy, but I was excited to try two new (to me) recipes -- this one for snickerdoodles, and this one for pfeffernusse.

Pfeffernusse is German for "good luck cleaning up that powdered sugar"

And now I'm getting ready to make lasagna for tomorrow's first-birthday extravaganza.

Operation Distraction is going quite well -- except for the fact that I can no longer fit into my pants. But that sounds like a 2011 kind of problem, no? I think so.

Off to do some quality control on those cookies!

Distracted

2010-12-10T11:09:00.000-08:00

I just realized that the last time I posted was right before our marathon Thanksgiving trip, which seems like it happened about a hundred years ago. Not because it was bad -- actually, it went pretty well, if exhaustingly -- but because I have been in full holiday swing since we got back. Putting up the tree, putting up the lights outside the house, shopping, party planning, menu planning, wrapping, etc. etc. Just the normal holiday stuff, plus a little first birthday stuff thrown in. It's crazy.

And you know what? Thank GOD for that. Because there is a whole lot of stressful stuff to think about after January 1, and one of those things is Trying for Another Baby. First, there's the whole "We're in counseling, should we really be having another kid?" question, coupled with the "Eek! I'm turning 35 -- do we really have the luxury of talking about this for more than 5 minutes?" question. Oh, and the "Our house is small, can we fit another kid in without destroying everyone's sanity?" question. All questions any "normal" couple would have to consider in our circumstances.

But, of course, we're not reproductively "normal," so there's more! Will my insurance cover IF treatments after next year? Does an FET with only one frozen embie have any hope? What happens if the FET cycle doesn't work and we do a fresh cycle and get too many eggs for one cycle? Do we try for a third baby if we're lucky enough to have a second? Do we donate embryos? When do we stop if we're unsuccessful after multiple cycles?

And THEN, there's the fact that I feel so guilty because I'm lucky enough to have this amazing baby, and yet still manage to spend so much time dwelling on negative stuff.

With all this in mind, getting distracted by the holiday season seems like a FANTASTIC idea. So, here I am, drowning myself in shopping, baking, cooking, eating, decorating and dressing my child in all manner of ridiculous holiday outfits.

Who's with me?

Girding my loins

2010-11-18T16:29:00.000-08:00

I love that scene in The Devil Wears Prada when Miranda Priestly arrives at the office unexpectedly early, and everyone panics, and Stanley Tucci's all like "Gird your loins!"

That's exactly what I'm doing right now. I am roughly 15 hours and 4 minutes (but who's counting?) away from boarding a cross-country flight with a rambunctious 11-month-old, three large bags, 2 smaller bags, a stroller, a car seat, and a husband who has recently given up drinking. Which is a good thing, because I HAVE NOT.

When we land, we will be taking those 5 bags, 2 large pieces of baby equipment, and 1 baby on some sort of shuttle/train/whatever to a rental car place, renting a car that better have 4 doors, and driving an hour plus in NY rush hour traffic to our first set of grandparents. I don't even have the energy to detail what comes after that, but suffice it to say the next few days involve traversing several states (yes, they're small states, but still), baby and gear in tow, to visit 2 sets of grandparents, 3-4 sets of friends, 1 sister, and God knows how many other random visitors while at each of these destinations.

To top it off, the majority of this time will be spent in the company of one particular family member (rhymes with Flicked Pepsmother) who has loved, from the time I was about 13 years old, to tell me how fat/unattractive/unkempt I look. Which means that any residual feelings of hotness mentioned in my previous post will be gone by about 8:30 p.m. (Eastern Standard Time) tomorrow.

BUT. I am so excited to be starting the holiday season with my sassy little Chicklette. Despite all of the hurdles mentioned above, I'm really looking forward to a week of "vacation" with my immediate (i.e., nuclear) family. I'm sure there will be some fun parts to this trip, even if they are few and far between.

So, off we go. And if I don't have a chance to post during this next week, Happy Thanksgiving!!

A small personal milestone

2010-11-12T10:42:00.000-08:00

Or, more accurately milestoneS.

I can finally, FINALLY fit the girls back into my pre-pregnancy bras. Which are, to be fair, still size 34 effing DD, but at least they are not the 38Gs I was dealing with during the Dark Days of Breastfeeding. I could wear those things on my head.

On a somewhat-related note, I am also currently wearing a pair of size 8 jeans, a feat which I haven't accomplished since well into the last presidential administration.

I'm actually feeling a little bit -- juuuuuust a little bit -- hot. Like I could flirt with the cute guy in the coffee place downstairs and he wouldn't gag.

I'm sure it won't last, but for today, I'll take it.

Happy Friday, everyone!

Traveling transcontinentally

2010-11-08T12:38:00.001-08:00

That's what we're doing in about a week and a half. Eeek! I was scared before, and now that we have a Baby On The Move, I am terrified.

First, there's the packing. We're going from the SF Bay Area to the NY Tri-State Area, so there will be some weather adjustments. How cold will it be? Do we need to buy winter gear? Can the baby wear jeans to the country club (don't laugh!)? Will they have her favorite baby food flavors at the supermarket?

Then, there are the actual logistics of the trip. We're flying to NY, then driving to Maryland for a couple of days, and then driving back up, stopping to see some friends along the way. Are we crazy? YES!

And finally, there's the whole time change thing. Will we be going through all of this logistical hell with a sleep-deprived baby? Not to mention sleep-deprived parents? Oh, and the 137 unfamiliary friends and relatives? How will they fit in?

Stay tuned! It should be a festive start to the holiday season.

So totally worth it

2010-10-25T12:49:00.000-07:00

As much as I hate to admit it, and as much as I thought it would never be possible, there are times when I forget about the struggle to get (and stay) pregnant. I sometimes find myself, what with the Marital Discord and sleep deprivation such, a bit mournful for my "old life." Which, of course, was SO FANTASTIC (as you can tell from my archives).

This forgetfulness really bothers me. I mean, sure, I have a twinge when I get my period after a month of rampant unprotected sex (and by "rampant," I mean, "twice a week," which I think is sort of impressive although the Mr. would not agree), or when a friend or family member announces a pregnancy (will I ever be pregnant again?), or basically any time I see an episode of Private Practice. But I'm not going to pretend that living with infertility once you have a child is the same as living with it without one. It's just not. For me, anyway.

BUT. The point of this post was not to wax philosophic about what an unappreciative asshat I can be. It was to relate a moment of pure joy that happened yesterday.

We decided that it would be fun to take a few early pictures of the Chicklette in her Halloween costume (not just any butterfly, but a monarch butterfly). And while I am too paranoid to post any pictures here (despite the fact that probably 20,000 kids across America have the same costume), I will tell you that she was so adorable that my heart just about exploded in my chest. I turned to the Mr. and said, "I don't care what we went through to get here, or how long it takes us to work through all of our issues, but seeing her in that costume makes it all totally worth it."

He agreed.

And then the girl's wet diaper exploded all over the inside of the costume.

Hey, it was good while it lasted!

The comfort of routine

2010-10-24T10:14:00.000-07:00

I am a creature of habit. Or I guess, more accurately, routine. One of the hardest things for me during the first few months of the Chicklette's outside-of-my-body existence was the fact that everything was so unpredictable. It was impossible to create a routine. And it drove me NUTS.

Now we've got a routine in the Chicklette's life (with a few curveballs like, oh, CRAWLING thrown in here and there), but the rest of life is a bit of a mess. I'm on the road a LOT for work, and my marriage....well, you know. There are good days and bad days. And certainly very few ROUTINE days.

So today, rain tapping on the skylights, I decided it was good day to insert a bit of our old (as in pre-baby) routine into life. With the Chicklette in her Bumbo on the kitchen floor chewing on a plastic spoon, I pulled out the Crock Pot -- dusty from about a year of disuse -- and put together a pot roast. I'd hastily pulled the ingredients off the shelves during yesterday's grocery run, and I think I did OK. We'll see in about 8 hours.

Tonight at 5, we'll sit down at the dining room table (one of us in a high chair), pour a glass of red, light a fire in the fireplace, and have dinner. It won't solve everything, but it feels like it might be a good start.

I can't wait.

Um, ICLW

2010-10-23T20:23:00.001-07:00

So, I just realized today that ICLW has been going on for two days, and hurriedly made the rounds tonight. Ugh, I'm terrible. And it's been a while since I've done ICLW. Forgive me?

For anyone who's new here, I'm the frequently-traveling parent of a 10-month-old Chicklette, conceived after 2+ years of trying. We were successful after a few rounds of Clomid and an IVF cycle.

If you look back a couple of posts, you'll see that I am currently experiencing some Marital Discord. I'm told this is normal for parents of newborns, but I will say (without revealing too much, because I am crazy paranoid about anyone in my family reading this) that we have some issues that are a bit beyond what I think is the scope of "typical" new parent stress. BUT, we are in counseling and working at it.

The immediate ramification of all of this is that I think our original plan to get back on the horse (or, I guess more accurately, back in the stirrups) in January has been delayed indefinitely. Not TOO indefinitely, because I'll be 35 in a couple of months, but I can't really imagine bringing another baby into the current situation.

So, here I am. Incredibly blessed by my beautiful, perfect baby girl. Struggling to keep my marriage together. Working like crazy to stay in my employer's good graces in this crazy economy. Taking it, as they say, one day at a time.

Welcome!

Thud!

2010-10-12T14:54:00.000-07:00

It seems like the most often-shared parental anecdote -- right behind "I never realized how much I'd miss sleep!" -- is the "just wait until the first time your baby falls off the bed/changing table/chair" line. "You'll never forget that sound! You'll never get over the guilt!"

Well, 9 months had passed without mishap (other than the almost-losing-a-finger nail clipping incident). Until yesterday morning.

Ironically, we had just been at a friend's house the night before, and she shared with us the horrifying tale of her baby falling off the changing table that morning. And of course, I smugly thought how I would never let that happen, my child has never fallen, etc. etc.

Well, I was getting dressed yesterday and had Scooter Baby on the bed. She had scooted her way towards the edge to check out what I was doing, but not so close that I was worried. I turned my back to grab something from the dresser drawer, and THUD!

I whipped around to see the Chicklette lying and squirming on her side on the floor. She immediately started screaming, and I scooped her up. Nothing seemed broken, and all of her limbs and whatnot were moving as they should (including the right hand slapping me in the side of the head as if to say, "bad Mommy!"). Within 5 minutes (and after many kisses), she was smiling and playing again. But sheesh. Scary.

So, yeah, I got taken down a peg. I am no longer smug. Thankfully, the Chicklette is fine.

But I never will forget that sound.

Or get over the guilt!

7 years

2010-10-08T15:27:00.000-07:00

Seven years ago this weekend, I married the best man I have ever met.

This week, that same man and I sat down for our first marriage counseling session.

It's almost a cliche....the seven year itch and all of that. But some combination of infertility, job dissatisfaction, anxiety, clinical depression, suspicions of infidelity and new parenthood have landed us on the couch.

I just read that last sentence back and thought "Wow, your marriage is really effed up!" But honestly, I don't have any doubt that we'll work through our issues. I'm strangely optimistic, and relieved that we're facing our problems head-on in the same way that I felt relieved when we finally figured out why we weren't able to get pregnant and how we might be able to deal with it.

So in a couple of days, we'll celebrate our anniversary. A little bruised and battered (not literally -- thank God THAT'S not one of our issues), but we'll celebrate nevertheless. And kiss our little girl a hundred times (if she'll let us).

Scooter

2010-10-04T10:17:00.000-07:00

Late last week, life as we know it changed forever. The Chicklette finally put it all together and achieved what seemed to be the impossible -- forward motion.

She's not crawling in the traditional sense of the word. It's more of an asymmetrical scoot, and it's not particularly pretty. But it IS effective. This girl can cruise.

And surprise! She's not interested in her toys anymore. She's like, "Sorry peeps, I've moved on to this dirty flip flop/week-old crumb/electrical wire over here." It's a heart attack a minute. The one saving grace is that she hasn't yet figured out how to get from a sitting position to a scooting position, so we can put her in a time out when we need to.

I suspect we won't be seeing the cats again for about 5 years. They each got curious enough about Squirmy McSquirmer to lose a large handful of fur. They now do not appear until after bedtime.

Such is the life with a mobile baby. Let the games begin.

Botching the dismount

2010-09-28T12:14:00.000-07:00

A couple of months ago, I had a couple of mama friends over. We were all contemplating stopping the whole breastfeeding/pumping thing, and one of them commented: "I'm so used to eating whatever I want and chalking it up to breastfeeding. I hope I don't botch the dismount and gain a bunch of weight."

Well, folks, I have officially Botched The Dismount. I haven't exactly gained a bunch of weight , but I haven't lost any more either. I am stalled. Stuck. Stuck in a delicious jungle of carbs and red wine. I'm about 10 pounds lighter than when I got pregnant, but still about 10-15 pounds heavier than I was pre-IF. (And about 25 pounds up from my wedding, but hey, I'm not in my twenties anymore and that's OK.)

So, I am recommitting. Reattempting the dismount. Trying to break through the plateau. Insert metaphor here.

My goal: the elusive Size 8 pants. I've got my former favorite pair of charcoal grey flannel slacks (did I just use the word slacks? I really am a mom) hanging from the bedroom door. I want to get into them by Thanksgiving. I do not want my thighs to look like a pair of bratwursts.

This is my goal. I have thrown it out there to the world. Please hold me accountable.

Or just hold me. I miss carbs.

In which I rant about work

2010-09-25T09:11:00.000-07:00

WARNING: Big, slightly self-pitying, enormously self-indulgent work rant ahead.

I just got back from a 3-night work trip. Which came on the heels of a two-night work trip. Which came on the heels of another 2-night work trip. To put it in perspective, three of the Avis car rental reps and 2 of the desk clerks at the Embassy Suites in a major metropolitan area now know me by name. And the manager at the Embassy Suites knows what kind of wine I like to drink (after an embarrassing late night incident involving a glass of cabernet knocked off a dresser onto the carpet and a subsequent room change and complimentary replacement glass blah blah blah).

Meanwhile, I feel lucky that my daughter recognized me (and actually smiled) when I walked through the door last night. I mean, she's going through a serious stranger danger phase right now and let's face it, I'm kind of a stranger lately.

I'm not complaining in the larger sense. I know what I got into when I got back to work, took a promotion, and basically returned to business as usual as if I never had a child. (And my husband can be available to be with the Chicklette when I'm not, so I know she's in good hands.) I PURPOSELY did this -- I didn't want the men in my male-dominated environment (law firm) to think that I had gone "soft." I've killed myself to seem like I'm on top of it all of the time. I never complain. I never mention the baby unless I'm asked about her. I've totally set myself up. This is all my fault.

BUT. Just once, it would be nice if someone -- ANYONE -- like, remembered that I had a baby 9 months ago. And maybe said "thanks" for kicking my own ass to get things done. And spending nights away from my family. And never complaining. Except here.

And yes, my fault.

My doing.

But still.

I miss my baby.

That is all.

The great Halloween debate

2010-09-19T09:39:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know. It's only September 19th. But I already feel like I'm behind schedule in making the very important major decision of the Chicklette's Halloween costume.

I figure I've got this one year, and maybe next, to assert my costume authority before we're bending to the whims of whatever princess/Dora/Hanna Montana ridiculosity has captured the Chicklette's imagination. It's a big decision. No ladybugs or bumblebees -- they're cute as hell, but everyone's a ladybug or a bee. And apparently it is child abuse (according to my husband and mother) to dress my kid up as a skunk, even though it's the cutest costume I've seen out there and highly appropriate given the stink cloud regularly surrounding my child's nether regions.

So, I think we're left with this. A monarch butterfly. Am I crazy for spending $50 on a costume that will get worn for 10 minutes? Probably. But the opportunity to bend the Chicklette to my will for perhaps the last Halloween, and take about 200 pictures while doing it?

Priceless.

Missing in action

2010-09-14T12:45:00.000-07:00

I just realized today that it's been nearly a MONTH since I last posted. Yikes! It seems like a few days.

I've been slammed at work, and traveling a lot -- which sucks but the Chicklette is getting lots of Daddy time, so it's not all bad.

The big news -- other than the fact that the Chicklette gets cuter by the minute, in my completely biased opinion -- is that we have our first tooth! The first thing I thought when she sunk that little chomper into my finger was THANK GOD I'M NOT GIVING HER THE BOOB ANYMORE.

Anyway, more to come soon, including my newfound complete ambivalance about attempting to have child number two. And the mild havoc it is wreaking on my marriage.

I hope anyone who's still reading this sad excuse for a blog is doing well.

All turkey, all the time

2010-08-16T11:10:00.001-07:00

What is it with the Chicklette and homemade baby food? Last week we had the Great Zucchini Drama. This week -- Turkey Gagfest 2010.

I thought I was being efficient -- I bought a pound of organic ground turkey at Whole Foods, and would use 1/3 of it for baby food and the rest for Mommy/Daddy food (Turkey Bolognese -- yum). I gently cooked/poached it in a nonstick pan with water, and then lovingly pureed it in the Cuisinart until it was smooth and, if I may say so myself, quite tasty (for pureed meat).

At dinnertime, I assembled a veritable buffet of turkey, avocado, sweet potatoes and green beans. I thought it looked awesome. First we tried avocado. Then the veggies. And then....

Turkey went in. Bottom lip went out. A wail emanated, and then I swear to God my baby gave me the universal sign for choking. She wasn't really choking, but OH, THE DRAMA. I mean, really? It's TURKEY. Poached in WATER. Organic and pure and all that crap.

The good news is, the Turkey Bolognese was delish, so after we put the Chicklette's cranky, turkey-hating ass to bed, we enjoyed that with a nice Super Tuscan.

Tonight we'll try again. Because there are a dozen itty bitty containers of turkey in the freezer, and they will be eaten!!

Fabulous Food Friday (um, well, Sunday): Baby Food Edition

2010-08-08T19:53:00.000-07:00

I have been ridiculously changeable when it comes to the whole baby-food-making thing. First I was all gung ho about doing it. Then I had the baby and realized that I would be lucky if I had time to bathe (myself) daily. And then I started to feel guilty, so thought I might do it. Then I went back to work.

We started solids about six weeks ago, and were on grains for the first 3-4 (our ped is VERY conservative about what to offer and how long to wait before offering different things). Then we started veggies, and inevitably the little Gerber plastic packs entered our lives. I've been tasting along the way -- most are OK, but after trying one pretty putrid pack of green beans (honestly, it tasted like someone opened a can of beans and threw them in a blender), I decided that I was going to give food making a try. How hard could it be? And I wouldn't make everything -- we'd just try one item and see how it went.

As of today, she'd had sweet potatoes, carrots, squash, peas and the aforementioned green beans. Zucchini seemed like a logical next step. Mild, easy to find this time of year, nice and watery. So I steamed some up, and threw them in the food processor. The result tasted pretty good, I thought. Certainly as good or better as any of the Gerber stuff. I mean, I would have liked to add salt and maybe some garlic and a spoonful of parmesan, but it will probably be 2 years before our pediatrician lets us feed any of those things to our baby. So plain zucchini it was.

My daughter? So not into it. And this is the girl who's eaten pretty much everything so far with aplomb. There was spitting, and crying, and just general misery. Baby torture, apparently. So, now I've got a vat of zucchini sludge in the fridge. I'll try again tomorrow, but somehow I think that Project Turkey Puree is going to be put on indefinite hold. And I was so looking forward to blended meat.

Well played, Gerber. Well played. I don't know what kind of crack you put into your nasty little plastic packages, but I suppose I will have to continue buying it.

For now.

Sleep Training.....

2010-08-06T14:03:00.000-07:00

...also known as, how many glasses of wine does it take before the sound of my child crying doesn't make me clench up and huddle in a fetal position on the couch?

The answer? About 2.5.

So, we went up to Portland to visit some friends last weekend, and after witnessing how (relatively) docilely their 18-month-old son went to bed at 7:30 each night, we decided the Chicklette's whole "hey, maybe I'll go to bed at 8, or maybe I'll go to bed at 11:30" thing wasn't really doing it for us anymore. It's not that she's not a good sleeper -- she almost always sleeps through until 7:00, no matter what time she does down -- it's just that the fact that my husband and I haven't gone to bed at the same time in 8 months is starting to take a toll on our marriage. And the unpredictability is sort of terrifying to me.

I read Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child and Solve Your Child's Sleep Problems at the end of my pregnancy, but I'll be damned if I remembered ANYTHING except some vague concepts of "crying" and "extinction." Sounds fun, no? I mean, philosophically we've always been on board with the concept of "crying it out," (please don't hate on me -- I know it's not for everyone) but the mechanics have always sort of eluded me. And frankly, who the hell wants to hear their kid cry? It's like, hey, can I please have an extra pelvic exam?

So. We did a little research, talked to some other friends, and decided last night was the night to put her down and let 'er rip. We'd do our little routine (dinner, bath, some quiet play time, then into the nursery for a bottle and in the crib soon after that), and go cry it out ourselves in the family room for a while. I put her in her crib at 8:58 (a little later than ideal, but hey, baby steps), sort of asleep. She started crying at 9:04. And kept crying. At about 9:21, I started to lose my will. My husband restrained me, and we turned on an episode of Top Chef. At 9:27, we noticed that she was no longer crying. Sleepy baby. Aaahhh.

She was happy this morning, so not scarred for life (at least not yet). So, all in all, not bad. We'll try again tonight, a little earlier. But the feeling of triumph at 9:27 was pretty awesome. We put our baby to bed!

(Oh, and by the way, the sleep section in Baby 411 suggests parents who are waiting for their kids to cry it out to try "making love with earplugs" to pass the time. Apparently I am 12 because I begin snickering uncontrollably every time I think about it. Making love! With earplugs!)

Worst. Blogger. Ever.

2010-07-16T19:40:00.001-07:00

God, I am so boring. I'm sorry. Every time I think about posting, I wrack my brains (what's left of them) for something interesting and pithy to write about. I come up with nothing.

The Chicklette continues to get cuter (I think, anyway). My work schedule continues to get crazier. The Mr. and I continue to fail to find ways to spend any meaningful time together. Lather, rinse, repeat. I can't complain. If I get a couple of glasses of pinot in me, I will, but generally life is good.

A few observations:

A barley cereal beard on a baby is a really awesome look.
It's really hard to lose that last pooch of pregnancy belly. I think I sort of understand Mom Jeans now.
Losing all of your status on United because you didn't fly for 8 months and having to fly in Economy Minus in a plane to the east coast that's packed like a sardine can is Not Fun. Sleeping for 8 straight hours in a hotel bed after downing a Tylenol PM, however, is.
Getting fishhooked by a baby is about as much fun as it sounds.
It is possible to get promoted after coming back from maternity leave.
It's also possible to completely forget what it feels like to be pregnant.
Paying 10 extra dollars to see Twilight: Eclipse in IMAX was totally worth it.
There can never be too much pink.
Or too much laundry detergent.

Happy weekend, everyone!

Oops, I did it again

2010-07-03T08:01:00.000-07:00

I left my pump horns

Right next to the sink

Oh, baby baby

Oops, you'd think I'd have learned

That's not a good plan

I'm not that smarty-smart

At this rate -- one set of new horns per business trip -- I'll have about 37 sets by the time all is said and done.

Good thing I'm quitting this pumping thing very soon!

Taking the "moo" out of motherhood

2010-06-30T13:37:00.000-07:00

For anyone out there who might still be interested in the state of my breastfeeding efforts -- and let's face it, I'm barely interested these days -- here's a quick update.

At 6 months, 1 week, things are winding down. Since I returned to work until about three weeks ago, I had been breastfeeding once in the morning, and then pumping 5-6 times per day (including one middle-of-the-night pump). About two weeks ago, I started consistently dropping one daytime pump, bringing the total down to 5 pumps. I was only getting about 10-12 ounces from all of those, but continuing to chug along.

Last week, I got my period and decided that the 2 a.m. pump was going to go. Almost immediately my supply dropped to 7-8 ounces per day. Now I'm down to about 5 ounces over 4 pumps, and I think I'm done. I'm spending close to 90 minutes a day at work pumping very little milk, and that's time I could be spending getting work done so that I can go home and play with the Chicklette. All for one bottle a day. Also, I've got two multi-day business trips coming up, and the thought of a) dragging my pumping stuff with me, and b) figuring out whether to pump and dump or ship milk back on dry ice is just too much for my frazzled brain.

So. I'm going to cut a pump every few days until I'm done. I'll keep feeding her in the morning for as long as there's something to feed her, but the dairy bar is otherwise closing.

I'm trying not to feel too gleeful at the prospect of getting my boobs back, but I can't help it. I'm already planning my nursing bra-burning party.

Dang it!

2010-06-19T14:11:00.001-07:00

Well, it was bound to happen sometime.

I got my period.

For the first time since March 2009.

And you know how I know that I haven't completely left the infertility journey behind? Because I was DISAPPOINTED. Not just because now I have to go back to buying feminine products and eschewing white pants, but because a leetle teeny tiny part of me was wondering if maybe just maybe I was miraculously pregnant again already! Even with the breastfeeding! And the sperm count!

Sigh.

The good news: I can finally drop that middle-of-the-night pump. Because now that my supply has been officially deemed A Joke, and now that Aunt Flo is back, there is no conceivable frickin' reason for me to get up in the middle of the night.

Does my body even know how to sleep more than 5 hours in a stretch?

I shall report back.

Satan has been renounced

2010-06-15T11:50:00.001-07:00

Or, alternately phrased, we have christened the Chicklette.

She was a champ. It was 95 degrees out, with about 95 (OK, I exaggerate) friends and relatives wanting a piece of the baby, but she didn't cry at all. In fact, she looked so serious when the priest was baptising her that I half-expected her to engage him in a theological discussion.

But, there were cupcakes.

And a sleepy baby.

Life is good.

Traveling mama

2010-06-03T16:01:00.000-07:00

This week I embarked on my first business trip since having the chicklette. Just one night away, but with all of the anxiety I'd been having, you'd think it was a month-long trip around the world. It's not so much being away from the baby that made me nervous -- I was actually looking forward to a quiet night, to be honest -- but more the fact that I hadn't been on a plane in 8 months. Or had to pack a bag. Or had to bring a breast pump with me. I'm out of practice.

So, here's the story. I had to give a presentation in San Francisco on Tuesday morning, and then hop on a plane around noon to LA. My plan was to get to the office at 8, pump, present at 9, and then hightail it to the airport.

Here's how it actually went down:

Got to pumping room at 8:30. Realized that even though I bring a pump to work EVERY SINGLE DAY, I somehow managed, on THIS day, to forget my pump horns. Swore profusely. Ran back to my office to see if the Walgreens downstairs had pump supplies. They didn't. Located a Target between my office and SFO that had what I needed. Found one. Checked my flight. See that it'd been delayed for 2 hours, making me late for my meeting in LA. Called travel agent. Rebooked on flight out of Oakland. Gave presentation, boobs afire (I fed the babe at 6:15, so by 10 I was really feeling it). Ran down to car, drove feverishly to Babies R' Us near Oakland airport. Ran in, bought flanges. Ran to car, got pumping bra on. Ripped open box to discover that I only bought the flanges, not the valves. Ran back into Babies R' Us, grabbed a box with valves. Ran back to car, ripped open box to discover that the box only has ONE piece. (I have two boobs.) Ran back to BRU, bought ANOTHER set, tried to convince register lady that I do not have some serial shopping disorder. Ran back to car, hooked up the girls, pumped in BRU parking lot. Flashed my nips to some random woman who had the ill fortune to park next to me. Drove to airport.

Going through the security line with breast milk was much less harrowing than I expected, although I did have some woman (a passenger) call me out for being in the "medical liquids" line. I guess I don't look like I need medical liquids? Guess who almost got a bottle of room temperature breast milk poured on her?

Anyway, the rest of the day went fine and I ended up getting upgraded to a PENTHOUSE SUITE at the Beverly Hilton, which was a pretty sweet (haha, get it?) way to spend my first night alone. And that night -- it was just a little bit blissful.

But I did miss my morning chicklette smiles. And I am happy to be home.

And I will NOT forget those damn pump horns next time!

Single parenting = hard

2010-05-19T10:14:00.001-07:00

DISCLAIMER: I am by no means looking to minimize the job that full-time single parents do by complaining here about my experience this week. Three nights is not a lifetime.

BUT.

It is three long nights (and days).

The Mr. went on his first business trip this week. He left at 6:45 on Sunday morning and OMG THANK YOU he just landed about 5 minutes ago.

It's not that the Chicklette is a difficult baby -- in fact, she's pretty dang easy -- but her bedtime is, shall we say, variable. Which means that she falls asleep anytime between 6:15 and 11:30. This unpredictability is usually not a big deal to me, since I do the morning shift and the Mr. does the evening. My bedtime is usually 9:30, no matter what.

And actually, she was great this week. Down by 9:30 or 9:45 every night, for the night. But oh, the anxiety. I'm not good at putting her down, and there has been at least one false start each night, rendering me a quivering piece of WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING? for at least one chunk of the evening. And then there's the fact that I'm so worried about sleeping through whatever she might need during the night (since there's no backup parent) that my body has woken itself up every. single. hour. for the last 3 nights. And has not really let itself fall back to sleep again.

My milk supply is suffering. I am a snappish, walking zombie at work, which has also chosen this week to completely kick my ass. I had all but forgotten those early days when the sleep deprivation made me crazy....it is an amazing thing, sleep.

I am so looking forward to resuming my regular bedtime tonight, I could cry. And I probably will before the day is out.

And I am so, so thankful that I have a partner to do this child-raising thing with.

Zzzzzzznfkjdfkjbg......

p.s. On a more positive note, the Mr. being gone means that I have gotten every single smile, coo, raspberry, and chubby kissy baby cheek all to myself for the last 4 days. I will miss that.

The gassiest house on the block

2010-05-15T17:21:00.000-07:00

Friends and family would be well advised to keep their distance from the Barefoot house this week. Why, you might ask? Well, because the Mr. is headed out of town on a business trip (the prospect of which fills me with utter terror, but that's a topic for another post).

One of the things this means is that I'll be indulging in all of the foods he doesn't like to eat. You might think this would mean that I'll be eating lots of chocolate, or something, you know, indulgent. But no. The Mr.'s only food aversions are to vegetables. So here's what's on the docket for the next few days:

Cream of Broccoli Soup (already simmering on the stove)

Pasta with Cauliflower

The roasted vegetable whole grain lasagna from Trader Joe's

One might question the wisdom of partaking in so many toot-inducing foods while still breastfeeding. I know, I might pay for it later. But anyone who wants to come visit will pay for it IMMEDIATELY.

And should probably avoid lighting a match.

How exciting and sexy is my life?

Now we're talking

2010-05-09T13:31:00.000-07:00

I will spare everyone my schmoopy thoughts about Mothers' Day.....not because I'm not feeling schmoopy, but because I'm actually at a loss for words (me? oh yes) when it comes to articulating what this day means to me. The Mr. handed me the homemade card that the Chicklette made for me at daycare (unaided, I'm sure, because she is a baby genius) on Friday and I've been speechless ever since.

But, I can talk about the totally shallow reasons why this weekend has rocked. Let me count the ways:

1. 90 minute massage.

2. Saturday girls night out, with adult beverages.

3. Upcoming dinner at my favorite restaurant.

4. Chicklette sleeping 'til 9 and letting mom sleep off her mild hangover (and -- bonus -- snuggle in bed with Dad for the first time in months).

Wishing everyone reading a day of peace and contentment, wherever you are in the journey.

No longer ding-free

2010-05-03T11:17:00.000-07:00

You know that blissful-yet-nervewracking period after you get a new car, when you haven't accidentally plowed a shopping cart into it yet, or had a neighbor bonk you with their door, or had to parallel park yet? That no-ding period?

Well, it's over in the Barefood household. Except not with the car. With the BABY. And instead of a shopping cart, the Chicklette was dinged by two completely incompetent parents.

You could see it coming a mile away. Fingernails needed to be clipped. I was in a rush to hop in the shower, so handed of the clippers to the fingernail-clipping-virgin husband. As I was toweling off, I hear baby screams, followed by "I'm SO sorry, I'm SO sorry" and "Honey, we need a band-aid in here!"

Of course, I didn't have a baby-sized bandaid, so had to McGyver an adult-sized one to fit her little bleeding, quivering finger. And oh, the sadness. And the blood. There was a lot of blood. But still ten fingers. Phew.

So. We bandaged her up, and headed out for the day. Because I am a fate-tempting idiot, I proceeded to pepper the Mr. with jeers throughout the course of the afternoon. Because he didn't feel bad enough, and I can't ever let go of an opportunity to lord my parenting prowess over him. I'm lucky the foreshadowing didn't knock me out with a blow to the head.

Because later, I was all like, "Hey, let's finish cutting those nails!" And the baby was all like, "Hey, I need a matching wound for my other hand!"

That's right, folks. ANOTHER fingernail boo-boo. More screams. More blood. (Still 10 fingers.)

So, yeah. Not exactly an A+ weekend for parenting around these parts. And I think I've learned my lesson about the lording of parenting prowess.

At least for today.

Boring

2010-04-30T19:40:00.000-07:00

I haven't written much lately because I have become boring. I get up. I feed the baby. I drop her off at daycare. I go to work. I come home. I play with the baby. I cook dinner. I pump a lot. I go to sleep. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Which is not to say that life is boring. Life is now all about the exquisite little moments -- the smile when she wakes up and sees me in the morning, the grip of her little hand, the way my husband looks at her, the sight of her fast asleep on her back with one little hand behind her head. And other moments, too -- the delicious solitude of a train ride to the city with a good book, the mental exercise of solving a thorny problem at work, the decadence of eating an entire meal with nothing to interrupt me except the internet. Oh, and -- surprisingly -- my newly rediscovered sex life. Sex on a weeknight? Really?

So, yeah. I'm boring. But I'm not bored.

And I'm OK if it stays that way for a little while.

Sick baby!

2010-04-21T12:02:00.000-07:00

Is there anything sadder than the sound of a 4-month-old hacking like a two pack a day smoker? Or, instead of her usual high-pitched cry, a low "meeeeeh, meeeeh" sort of bleating sound as she looks up at me from her crib?

Well, yes. Even sadder than that is the sound of a hacking, bleating baby getting 3 vaccinations in her little fat baby thighs. And screaming her little stuffy head off.

And I suspect this is just the beginning. The handy dandy Baby 411 book I was reading at 2 this morning while waiting for the little bleater to fall back asleep tells me that there are over 100 variations of the cold virus, and that babies and toddlers basically keep getting sick until they've built up their immunity to all of them. So we have DOZENS more nights like last night ahead of us.

The silver lining (other than that I've been able to start catching up on TiVoed episodes of Grey's Anatomy and the absolutely awful Private Practice) is that I've been sick with the same bug and have lost my voice a bit, which the Mr. seems to think is tres sexy.

So, um, yay?

Bring on the smelly pee!

2010-04-16T15:16:00.000-07:00

Thanks for all of the kind comments on yesterday's post.....I'm feeling much better today. Except sometime between last night and this morning, I lost my voice. When I went in to get the Chicklette this morning and croaked "Good morning!," she looked at me, like, who is this prepubescent boy and what did you do to the lady with the boobs?!?

Anyway, so today's post, if the title didn't clue you in, is about asparagus. Asparagus soup, to be exact. It's one of the tasty concoctions I've been living on lately as part of my fabulous foray into Weight Watchers land.

I can't say enough good things about WW. It's the perfect plan for me -- she who likes wine and carbs and appreciates being able to eat whatever I want (although not necessarily in the quantities that I want, of course). I've lost something like 45 pounds since I had the baby -- about 20 of these on Weight Watchers. I'm now down to my pre-IVF weight, and have another 25 or so to go to get me back to where I was when I started my two year infertility self-pity binge.

Anyhoo, the soup. I make a lot of soup, and experimented with this one last weekend. I thought I'd post the recipe since it's asparagus season and it's ridonkulously easy to make. And of course there's the added smelly pee bonus.

Happy weekend!

Springtime Asparagus Soup

2 big bunches asparagus (or two bags of frozen from Trader Joe's)
6 cups chicken or veg broth
1 TBSP butter
1 large onion
1/4 cup fat free half-and-half (or fat free sour cream, if that's more your thing)
salt and pepper to taste

Chop onion and asparagus into manageable chunks (you'll be pureeing later, so no need to be too fussy). Melt butter in a large pot over medium-high heat, and add onion. Saute for 2-3 minutes, then add asparagus and broth. Bring to a boil, then lower to a simmer for 20-25 minutes or until asparagus is very tender. Puree soup with a hand blender* (or in a blender in batches), add half-and-half, and salt and pepper to taste.

This soup is awesome with a sprinkling of croutons and parmesan cheese on top, and keeps in the fridge for a few days. I didn't try to freeze it, but I'm sure it would be just fine. I'm planning to try this recipe with a bunch of other veggies in the coming weeks.

* One annoying thing about this soup is that the strands from the asparagus can get wound around your blender blade. Be prepared for a few extra minutes of asparagus extraction during the otherwise very low-maintenance cleanup.

Crying over spilled milk

2010-04-15T15:36:00.000-07:00

I just returned to my office from the "Wellness Room," where I discovered that one of my pumping bottles had tipped over in the fridge and divulged itself of a couple of ounces of my morning's work. Earlier this week, I was transferring milk from one bottle to another to bring to daycare, and accidentally knocked one of the bottles over, making a sad, giant puddle on the kitchen counter.

I don't know what it is, but I had to fight back tears both times. My supply still sucks, so every ounce counts.

I'm feeding the Chicklette once in the morning when she wakes up, and then pumping 5 or 6 times a day to get an additional 15 or so ounces. She's also taking 2 or 3 bottles of formula a day. I don't know how much longer I can continue, but also don't know if I have the strength to just walk away. It's a permanent decision, so as much as I fantasize about giving up the mid-night pump and using my pump time at work for a trip to the gym....I hesitate.

Sorry for the pity party. I am dead tired this week, fighting a cold, and just generally feeling sorry for myself.

Bleh.

Weird

2010-04-09T10:32:00.000-07:00

I'm working from home today, sans Chicklette. Yep, I passed up the opportunity to spend the day with her and took her to daycare. And let me just say, I have not achieved this level of productivity since, oh, December 22.

Things today that are kind of awesome:

I can grind coffee beans with impunity! No need to worry about a baby napping.
I can get through a conference call without apologizing for a baby fart!
I can go to the gym!
I can lavish attention on my cats, who I sometimes go days without thinking about!

Don't get me wrong, I will be running stop signs to get to her this afternoon. But before that, I will enjoy the luxury of the next 6 hours. Even though I'm working.

Because working for The Man is waaaaaay easier than working for The Baby.

The post in which I sdilsdfajilsdfzzzzzzz........

2010-04-07T09:17:00.000-07:00

One of the things that new parents seem to like talking to pregnant women about is sleep. If I had a buck for everytime someone told me to "enjoy your sleep while you can!"....well, I'd be spending even more money on useless frilly baby clothes than I already am.

The sleep comments always annoyed me. I mean, what was I supposed to do? Stockpile sleep? Freeze it like breast milk and thaw it out for a rainy day? And wasn't my sleep already crappy enough, what with the 7-pound bowling ball sitting on my bladder? Surely the sleep situation with a baby couldn't be that much worse, right?

Wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

I have to say, as a person who has always enjoyed a solid 7-8 hours a night, topped off with a lazy morning or two on the weekends, that having a baby has COMPLETELY changed my relationship with sleep. And not in a good way. And not just because the Edward Cullen dreams have all but disappeared.

It wasn't just the newborn phase -- sure, it was tough with the frequent baby waking and the bleeding and the soreness/pain and the hormones and the general recovery from bodily trauma. Oh, and the fact that you hear every single dingle noise the baby makes and OH MY GOD IS SHE STILL BREATHING? Let me check.

Even though the Chicklette has been sleeping, more or less, through the night for the last few weeks, it's STILL hard. It's the sheer unpredictability -- sometimes she'll have a night or two where she'll wake up or just be so grunty that it's hard to not lay in bed counting the minutes until I'm going to have to go in and feed/change/soothe her.

Most of all, and especially since I've gone back to work, it's the fact that the days start so early and are soooooo looooong. It's up at 5:30, sometimes 6 if it's a day my work schedule permits and she actually sleeps until 6. I'm lucky to be in bed by 9:3o or 10, which would actually work if I wasn't still getting up in the middle of the night to pump. Which only technically takes 20 minutes, but sometimes turns into more if I can't get back to sleep, or the baby wakes up, or (as was the case last night) I fall asleep, boobs in horns, and wake up an hour later with a crick in my neck and 3-inch long nipples.

So, yeah, life has changed. And most of the time I can deal with it. Except when I can't, and I'm struggling to make it through the day without falling asleep in my office or doing something stupid. Thank God for the pumping breaks so that I can catnap....but after last night I'm a little scared I'm going to nod off and not wake up until the night janitor comes to empty the trash can.

I guess I'm doing better with the sleep deprivation than I thought I would, but it's still not fun. And the fact that it may be YEARS before I can sleep in at the same time as my husband on a weekend morning makes me want to weep.

What all this means is that every time I talk to a friend who is expecting, or see a pregnant woman on the train, or talk to my former self (which, yes, I sometimes do), I can't help it. I don't say anything out loud, but in the back of my mind, a little voice is saying:

"Enjoy your sleep while you can, beyotch!"

A very happy Easter

2010-04-04T09:27:00.000-07:00

Easter week has been a very happy time in the Barefoot family as of late. Last Holy Thursday, we got the amazing call letting us know that our IVF cycle had been successful. And last Easter, this generally non-churchgoing couple of semi-lapsed Catholics got dressed in our Sunday best and went to Mass. I remember standing there, hand on my belly, so very thankful for the little life growing inside of me.

Today, we'll be taking the grandparents to church, with that little life squirming (and hopefully not crying -- ohpleaseohpleaseohplease) next to me.

I am so very thankful. And I don't take for granted for a minute what a miracle it is that we'll have a bonneted beautiful baby with us today.

Even if she hasn't pooped for two days and will probably let loose all over her fancy dress.

Happy Easter, peeps.

1 week down, many more to go

2010-04-02T10:31:00.000-07:00

We made it through the first week with both parents back to work. I am exhausted. I am glad it's over, even though it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.

I have just enough energy to share the following exchange, which was the first conversation I had on Monday morning:

IT guy, walking by my office: "Hey, welcome back!"

Me: "Thanks, it's good to be back."

IT guy: "So, did you have a natural childbirth?"

Me, dumbfounded: "Do you mean...."

IT guy: "I mean, did you have a C-section, or the other way?"

(Please keep in mind that I barely know the IT guy.)

What I wanted to say: "Are you asking me if the baby came out of my VAGINA?"

Thankfully, no one else asked about my birthing experience this week.

But there's always next week, I guess.

Oh, the guilt

2010-03-25T09:57:00.001-07:00

This has been a tough week.

I return to work on Monday, and we've been doing trial runs at our day care center all week. I love our day care center. I thought that dropping the Chicklette off there would be easy. It turns out that the way you feel about day care when you're 8 weeks away from going back to work is a little different than the way you feel when you're 7 days away from going back to work.

Here's how it went down:

Monday -- Bring the Chicklette to the center, and sit with her for an hour. Surreptitiously inspect the the other infants, and try to hold back tears the whole time. Finally break down on my way out. Call husband. Cry more. Call mom. Cry to mom. Mom says, "welcome to motherhood." Spend rest of day questioning my worthiness as a mother. What kind of mother leaves her kid with other people ALL DAY LONG?!?

Tuesday -- Bring Chicklette to center, stay 15 minutes. Leave her for 45 minutes. She is smiling when I leave. She is still smiling when I return. Hey, this isn't so bad!

Wednesday -- Husband brings Chicklette to center. Leaves her there for an hour. Sits in Safeway parking lot close to tears the whole time.

Today was better, and I'm guessing tomorrow will be fine as well. Monday? I'm sure I'll be a mess again.

I thought that the fact that my going back to work was not a decision for us -- financially, there's no other option right now -- would make things easier. I wouldn't have to agonize over the choice, right? I treated my maternity leave as a break in the normal routine.

Turns out that there are plenty of other things to agonize over. I'm starting to realize that I can now ALWAYS find something to worry about. I think that worry is the new normal.

As my mom would say, welcome to motherhood.

Lactation Frustration, Part 3: So Over It

2010-03-22T08:28:00.000-07:00

I am so over it. The breastfeeding.

I am one week out from going back to work, and my supply has ALREADY tanked. I think it has something to do with the 12-week postpartum hormone realignment -- the same phenomenon that is causing my hair to fall out in clumps in the shower. That, and the fact that the Chicklette is sleeping through the night every night (I know, boo hoo) and I've decided that getting up once in the middle of the night to pump is enough, thankyouverymuch.

Every feeding involves an unhappy baby pulling painfully at my nipples. Every pumping is an exercise in frustration -- I'm lucky now if I get 2 ounces per pump, which means it takes me 3 pumpings to get one bottle feeding (she's now eating 5-6 ounces per feed -- probably because by the time she gets the bottle in the afternoon/evening she's hungry after a day on my loser boobs).

Nothing I've done has helped bump my supply. I've taken the herbs, eaten the oatmeal, and drank (drunken?) the gallons of water. I've increased the number of feedings/pumping sessions. And it's not working. I'm tired. And my boobs are hurting almost as much as they did in the beginning.

And I'm going back to work next week. Which everyone assures me will not help matters. I feel like my attempts to increase my supply are futile, since the work I'm doing will probably get undone once I return to my crazy job which will almost certainly involve me missing pumpings.

We've started giving the Chicklette a bottle of formula at night, just to get her used to it. She cried and fussed the first couple of times. It broke my heart. Now she's fine. But it feels like we're on a spiral towards the inevitable.

On the one hand, I feel great. I'm so looking forward to being done with breastfeeding.

On the other hand, I feel AWFUL. Guilty. If I were a good mother, I'd stick with it and do whatever it takes! (This coming from a formula-fed baby, married to another formula-fed baby, surrounded by friends who at least partly formula-fed their perfectly happy/healthy kids.)

And on the third hand (let's pretend I have one), I feel like a total asshat complaining about the feeding issues, since the Chicklette has been, as of late, the most low-key, agreeable, happy baby I can imagine. She sleeps through the night. She doesn't cry unless she's hungry or tired. She travels well. She smiles and laughs and is generally just fun to be around.

But I don't think I can feed her by myself anymore. Which is sad.

And happy.

Argh!

Adventures in the city

2010-03-11T07:51:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I made a trip into the big city (San Francisco) to show off the Chicklette at my office (and my husband's). All in all, it was pretty fun. The highlight was changing a poopy diaper in my office -- I can't imagine most law firm desks have seen the back of a baby's butt. And I got to check out the lactation room, which seemed nice but honestly I'm having a hard time seeing how this is all going to work out. I guess I'll find out in 2 weeks.

Anyhoo, we made it back home unscathed, and were enjoying an episode of the Gilmore Girls (which I have now watched in its entirety and am now reliving via repeats on ABC Family -- it's sickness, I know) when I got a call from my dentist's office. Apparently a "nice young man" (according to the 90-year-old woman who runs the front desk) had called their office, having found my wallet on the sidewalk in the city. He tracked me down via an appointment card stuck in some back corner of my wallet.

I called the nice young man, and my nice not-so-young husband is going to meet him today --thank you note and bottle of wine in hand -- to retrieve the lost wallet. Which apparently still has all of my credit cards and -- thank God -- my driver's license, because I think a trip to the DMV might put me over the edge.

I guess I'm a bit of a cynic, because I'm always surprised when someone does something nice like this. So, Mr. Nice Young Man, thank you for not taking your entire office out for drinks on my Amex.

Today, I'm going to try and not leave the baby on the sidewalk.

A night in the life

2010-03-04T09:11:00.000-08:00

When the alarm went off this morning for my 1:00 pumping session, the Mr. was not in bed with me. I sighed, knowing that this meant he had fallen asleep on the couch with the Chicklette in her swing. And that I'd have to spend about 10 minutes waking him up, which would result in me becoming fully awake (if I'm lucky, I can get up and pump in a state of half-sleep and then be able to get back to sleep easily). I was pretty pissy. I tend to get that way in the middle of the night -- not my best quality.

Sure enough, I trudged out to the family room with my pump horns and there he was. I shook him and flicked him and said "hey, it's 1:00 -- put the baby to bed!" He eventually got up and took the baby. I leaned back, turned on the pump, and watched E! through half-open eyes for 15 minutes or so.

After I finished, I started to make my way back to the bedroom. I heard the sound of running water -- WTF? I walked into the bathroom, and the shower was running. "Hon? Are you in there?" No answer. I pulled the curtain aside and found him sitting on the floor of the tub, water running over him. "I'm just so TIRED. I don't know how I'm going to make it to work," he moaned.

"Um, it's only 1:15," I replied. Silence.

"Your husband is a f-ing IDIOT!"

And then we started laughing. And crawled into bed.

Apparently I'm not the only one having sleep deprivation issues.

Lactation Frustration, Part 2: Supply and Demand

2010-02-26T07:49:00.000-08:00

The good news: the Barefoot house is still a breast milk-only zone. The not-so-good news: we've been fighting the battle of low supply.

Over the last couple of weeks, three things have happened.

1) I've been feeling under the weather, flirting with a cold.

2) I started Weight Watchers, and have lost somewhere between 5-10 pounds.

3) The Chicklette has been sleeping through the night with increasing regularity.

Some combination of these factors has been wreaking havoc with my supply. The Chicklette was fussy and unsatisfied at the boob, and my pumping output (which I know is not a totally reliable measure of overall supply, but still) went from 3.5-4 oz per session to 2-2.5.

When I first noticed it happening, I tried to make a few tweaks -- drink more water, try to eat more nutritiously (i.e., fruit and protein instead of 1-point Weight Watchers chocolate cake), and try to go to sleep a bit earlier. None of these really seemed to work (although I did feel better overall).

Next I tried Fenugreek. 3 capsules 3 times a day. My pee started to smell like maple syrup, but my supply, while slightly improved, was still less than it had been. We were starting to dip into the freezer stash, which was stressing me out.

Finally, on a recommendation from a lactation consultant and a couple of moms in my group, I tried More Milk Plus. This stuff tastes like the worst aspects of maple syrup and black licorice multiplied by 100 (you can get it in pill form, but it costs twice as much), but I'll be darned....it works! I've also started eating oatmeal in the morning, which is supposed to help as well. Between the two of these things, I'm back to pumping 3.5-4 oz a session, sometimes more depending on the time of day. And the Chicklette is back to looking drunk when she comes off the boob, which not only means she's getting enough milk, but also amuses me greatly.

So, we're chugging along. I can't believe how much time I spend thinking about milk and boobs (and how much money I'm spending on foul herbs), and dread whatever shake-up going back to work is going to bring to the whole supply issue. But for now, things are OK. A full baby is a happy baby. A happy baby is a happy mom. Etc. etc.

And speaking of happy, I need to figure out what I'm wearing on my DINNER DATE tonight because some other crazy friend of ours is so excited to spend time with the baby that they've offered to babysit. I don't know what's wrong with these people, but I'll take it.

Happy two month birthday, pork chop!

2010-02-24T08:37:00.000-08:00

To my dearest Chicklette:

Happy two-month birthday! I'm a day late, but I'm betting you can't tell the difference.

I can't believe it's only been two months since I pushed you through a happy epidural haze into the world. You have done so much growing and changing since then, and I honestly can barely remember what my life was like before you were in it. Kind of like in Twilight, when Bella can only hazily remember her human life. (Is it too early for me to start reading you those books? Let's discuss later.)

I'm not going to lie -- your first few weeks were not so much fun for mama. But now, I get greeted in the morning with smiles and giggles. Your big blue eyes follow me around while I make coffee and putter around the house. You gurgle in agreement with me when I comment on the morning news. You giggle in delight at all the pretty colors when we go shopping. You are, at this moment, a super-fun companion.

I look at you, and even though for the life of me I can't see either daddy or me in your face, I'm in awe that we (with the help of a very nice reproductive endocrinologist) made something so perfect. I could just explode from the cute. And the love.

I'm looking forward to every minute (well, almost every minute) of the next month we get to spend together before I go back to work.

But now, it's back to the Price is Right.

It's very educational.

Shot through the heart

2010-02-23T10:26:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, we made our way to the pediatrician's office for the appointment I'd been dreading since I scheduled it -- the Chicklette's 2-month vaccinations.

Now, after all of the blood draws and injections of IVF, it's not like I'm squeamish about shots. In fact, I almost enjoy them now because it makes me feel like a bad-ass that they don't bother me. (I take my bad-ass where I can get it these days.) But watching your child get poked is a whole other ball game. Heck, I don't even like watching the pediatrician put a cold stethoscope on her chest. Overprotective, anyone?

So, anyway, we got to the office and had our regular appointment -- height and weight measurements (she's 9 pounds, 8 ounces!), ear and eye check, etc. -- and then we started the Shot Talk. The ped gave us a sheet with all of the things that could go wrong that we should watch for (thereby guaranteeing that I would see EVERY ONE OF THOSE THINGS), and instructions for Baby Tylenol. Then he left for what seemed like an hour to get the fun stuff.

Do any of you have pets? Do you sometimes feel really bad when you know they're about to go to the groomer or the vet, or take a long car ride (if they hate long car rides like our cats do)? Because you know what's coming and they don't? Well, this was like 100 times worse than that.

The shots themselves went quickly, but not so quickly that the Chicklette didn't start shrieking immediately. Poor little pumpkin. We calmed her down (the Mr. took a day off yesterday to come with me to the doctor -- how awesome is he?), and she was asleep in her carseat by the time we left the parking lot. She slept for 4 hours (!), and then woke up and proceeded to howl for 90 minutes. Then she went back to sleep, and woke up and starting howling again. Then she went down for the night -- 12 hours with one short break for food at 4 a.m. -- and woke up my normal happy baby again.

(Oh, and how I know she's my kid and the clinic didn't grab the wrong petri dish? During her relatively brief but traumatic moments of alertness last night, she put down about 15 ounces of milk. Like her mother, only an act of God could kill that appetite.)

So, all's well that ends well, but I think I aged about 5 years last night. Such a wimp. How I'm going to survive the next 18 years is beyond me.

IComLeaveWe: All apologies, and where do I go from here?

2010-02-21T11:38:00.000-08:00

(For the short version of my history, please visit the sidebar. And be forewarned: lots of baby talk in these here parts.)

I had a quiet moment the other day while the Chicklette was napping, and I didn't have anything urgent to do (translation: I had nowhere to be that day so didn't have to race to the shower/fold a load of laundry/pump frantically), so I hopped onto Stirrup Queens to check in. And realized that I hadn't done so in, oh, the amount of time between that moment and when I checked into the hospital three days before Christmas. And then I realized how behind I am on news from around the ALI blogosphere, outside of the folks whose blogs I hurriedly check via my Google reader.

And I felt horrible. And selfish. How much support did I get from this community during my infertility struggles? A TON. How much did it mean to me to feel connected with other people who understood our screwed up little world? More than I can express. And now I sit here and basically complain about how hard it is to have a baby. Nice, hunh?

And so, I offer an apology. Without excuses. I'm just sorry.

And then I got to thinking -- where does this blog go from here? I imagine at some point it will detail the fun world of secondary infertility, but until then I have a feeling that anything I write will be pretty singularly focused on those things which consume my days -- diapers, boobs, crying jags, and the occasional glimpse of cute, happy baby. In a couple of months, I'll write about going back to work. I know that there are many, many people for whom this is either too painful or uninteresting to read. But I'll likely still plug away. I'll keep signing up for IComLeaveWe, with fair warning about the content of my blog. But I know that on some level I'll continue to suck, and occasionally (or more than occasionally) rub someone the wrong way when the annoying mom lady comments on their blog.

So. I've tweaked the name of my blog, and made a few changes here and there, but I'll still be around in some form or another. And will try harder to do more than just talk about myself.

And with that wonderful introduction....welcome! And happy ICLW! I look forward to getting to know more of you and your blogs this week.

Valentine's Day + 8-week-old = not a whole lot of romance, but I'll take it

2010-02-15T12:29:00.000-08:00

Ah, the three-day weekend. Is there anything it can't do?

Fellow new moms (or soon-to-be moms who are up every hour peeing), don't hate me, but I am feeling SUPREMELY well-rested today. The Chicklette slept for a total of 13 (!!) hours last night, with one feeding at 4:00 which my awesome valentine of a husband took. Which means I slept for about 10 broken hours, with breaks every 3 hours or so for pumping (I'm having supply issues post-cold, so am trying to be diligent about having something regularly sucking on my boobs). And she's finally sleeping in her crib, which means that.....drum roll please....the Mr. and I slept in the same bed this weekend for the first time in 8 weeks. A regular miracle.

(Now, I don't want to misrepresent the miracle -- we were just sleeping, not SLEEPING. We've yet to, um, resume marital relations. I have to admit I'm kind of terrified, as everyone loves to tell me how painful it is the first few times. Why do they do this? In any event, I'm sure I'll have a TMI post at some point about that whole experience. But anyway.)

In other news, we had our first post-baby date on Saturday night, during which we managed to limit baby-related conversation to about 20 minutes. And I had 2 glasses of wine! And raw fish! And a big headache the next morning! But it was so, so worth it.

So, a good weekend. I'm in such a good mood, I let the Mr. go and play 9 holes of golf. I don't really expect any of this goodness to last (particularly the sleeping part), so I'm just trying to soak it all in and appreciate it. And write it down so that I remember the next time Ms. Fussypants is on a tear.

Happy Valentine's weekend!

(Oh, and for those of you in the two week wait -- I'm thinking of you and silently sending good vibes your way. Stick stick stick!!)

The time has come

2010-02-12T15:43:00.000-08:00

Well, I finally succumbed to the waves of junk mail hitting my various mailboxes and went to a Weight Watchers meeting today.

My weight has definitely plateaued over the last couple of weeks, and I think I've reached the limit of where childbirth and breastfeeding can take me. Also, I'm already starting to fall into some bad habits -- drive-thru lunches and quick but carby dinners -- that I'm starting to blame on "the baby." If I don't stop now, I'll probably find some way to extend my visit to Fatland until I get pregnant again (assuming, of course, that I can).

My main motivation at this point? It's so shallow I'm almost embarrassed to admit it. I confirmed yesterday that I'll be heading back to work in six weeks, and I really want to go back and have people think "Wow, she looks great!" I know it's probably ambitious, but I'd like to have lost another 15 pounds by then. I think I can do it.

So, I'll update here periodically on my progress. Not because I expect it will be all that thrilling to read, but because it will help keep me honest and motivated.

Oh, and the best part of today's meeting? The Chicklette blew a serious load in her diaper about midway through, complete with pre-show grunts and post-show farts. Heads were turned.

I've never been so proud!

Lactation frustration (or, how I learned to stop feeling guilty and make my own damn decisions)

2010-02-07T19:44:00.000-08:00

So. Breastfeeding. I've been wanting to write about it for a while, but my feelings about it change pretty much with every feeding. But I wanted to throw some thoughts out there, because I felt SO ALONE trying to figure things out for the first 2-3 weeks, which coincidentally was also the period of time when I was strapped on the crazy postpartum hormone train. And a disclaimer: these are just my thoughts. I am a pretty judgmental person, but I honestly have NO JUDGEMENT about the choices people make on the feeding front. Not after living through the process myself.

I came to the decision to breastfeed pretty haphazardly. It's encouraged by, well, pretty much everyone, and seemed to me, in the limited amount of time I spent thinking about it, to make sense. The natural order of things and all that. I took the prenatal breastfeeding class, which seemed at the time to be long on evangelizing about the wonders of breastfeeding and short on actual breastfeeding instruction. I read a little bit about it in my library of pregnancy tomes, but basically just thought I would figure it out when I got there. I mean, it's what nature intended, so how complicated could it be, right?

WRONG. Well, at least for me. I think breastfeeding can be pretty easy for some women, but I've only met a handful of these women. Every other new mom I've talked to falls into the "wow, this is way harder than I expected" camp.

Here's how things went for us during the first couple of weeks:

1. My first couple of breastfeeding sessions were completely unsupervised. A nurse basically dropped her off with me about an hour after I gave birth and said "you want to try breastfeeding?" and left. So, I hazily put her to the breast, and figured that even though it didn't feel very good, that probably was because I'd never had someone sucking on my boob that vigorously before.

2. When I finally got some guidance from a couple of different nurses, the message from both was basically "smash her face into your nipple, and she'll latch on eventually." By the end of day one, I had 3 blood blisters on my areolae, due to the Chicklette frantically latching wherever she could, with no meaningful guidance from me.

3. On the second day, a lactation consultant came by. She was appalled that the Chicklette hadn't "eaten" anything, diagnosed her with a "disorganized suck" (you think?) and immediately put us on a schedule of 5 minutes per side, pumping, and finger-feeding formula as a supplement. Which meant that each feeding session took about an hour and fifteen minutes, maybe a little less if the Mr. did the formula feeding.

4. On the third day, we went home, and then ended up back in the pediatric wing 3 hours later (due to a breathing issue completely unrelated to his whole feeding mess). The Chicklette didn't eat for most of that day, since we were in the ER getting ignored for a good chunk of it. We ended up back in the hospital under observation for three days, during which time I slept at home while the Mr. stayed with her at night. We only had time to try and get on the breast a few times during the day. Another lactation consultant visited us there, and pointed out (finally!) that she was only really taking the nipple and not any other part of the breast, and thus wasn't getting milk and was also damaging my nipples. I continued to pump after every "feeding," and my milk finally came in. We were able to finger-feed mostly breastmilk to her after a few days, which was nice.

5. We kept trying once we got back home again. When it got to the point where I had two significant, pus-y cracks on both nipples and my baby had swallowed enough of my blood that she was pooping it out in her diapers, I made an appointment with another lactation consultant, who showed me some techniques for achieving proper latch. She also told us to ditch the finger feeding and just use a bottle. After a few more days, a tube of Polysporin, and one more consult, we seemed to be on the right track. I might only feed her at the breast a couple of times per day, but they were good feeds and weren't damaging my nips any further.

Every day since then has gotten a little easier. I breastfeed her about 4 times per day, and we bottle feed pumped breastmilk the rest of the time. I pump about every 3 hours throughout the day and night, although sometimes I go a bit longer if she's had a good feed at the boob, or it's nighttime and I don't wake up. I'm not planning to try and get her breastfeeding exclusively, as it seems silly to do that, only to have to go back to what we're doing now once I go back to work. I don't really mind the pumping, and my supply seems fine (and seems to be increasing with her growth spurts, which I try to encourage through more frequent pumping during these periods).

Physically, there's no more pain, which has made a big difference. But the bigger difference? My mental and emotional outlook towards the whole thing. Once I was out of the post-partum blues (at about 3.5 weeks), I was able to utilize my own common sense and get over the guilt of not loving breastfeeding and trying to feed her at the breast exclusively. It wasn't enjoyable for me, it didn't seem to be all that for her either, and most importantly, the frustration of struggling with her 8-10x per day was almost completely eliminating any joyful time for us to spend together. And killing my sleep. Now, my husband can feed her once or twice during the night, and I can get a solid block of 5 hours or so, plus other naps between feedings.

(Oh, and my husband actually likes to be able to participate with feeding. Which is great for him, but also, in my opinion, fair. One of the other little things they don't tell you about the exclusively breastfeeding route is that it means that mom essentially has a baby tethered to her boob for half of the day and night. Which some women love, but it's not for everyone.)

Some of the women (including the lactation consultant) who facilitates one of my mom's groups discreetly roll their eyes at my feeding arrangement. Why am I not willing to go that extra mile to breastfeed her at every feeding? It's what's best for my baby!

To which I respectfully disagree. The Chicklette is gaining weight, occasionally sleeping through the night, and eating exclusively breastmilk. And even if she had to have a couple of formula supplements, that would be fine with me as well. She is thriving. And so am I. We enjoy our days together, and I'm able to focus on the parts of raising her that aren't just about feeding. And now that I'm sleeping more and feeling more rational and sane, I know that this balance is just as important as all of the other stuff. My daughter needs a mom who is not constantly at the end of her rope.

So, anyway. There it is. My breastfeeding manifesto. My advice for anyone getting ready to embark on this journey: do the best you can, use your common sense, digest the information that's out there (no pun intended), and make the decision that is right for you and your baby.

Oh, and invest in some Soothies.

The things we do....

2010-02-05T08:07:00.000-08:00

One of the funny things about pregnancy and parenthood is that you get to cross a lot of things off of the "oh, I would/could NEVER do that" list. You know, things like giving birth, kissing your kid after she spits up, etc. etc.

Last night, we crossed an item off the list which has scared me ever since I started reading about baby care. Something I never thought I could do. Something that makes me cringe every time it happens to our cats at the vet. That's right, folks: the rectal temperature.

The Chicklette was super-fussy and miserable yesterday, and felt a little warm to me. I knew if we called the doctor they'd ask if we'd taken a rectal temp, so we had to suck it up. And you know what? It was easy! Easier than breastfeeding! Or changing a diaper! And the baby didn't care! (She did have a temp, by the way, but it seems to be gone this morning. And how do I know that? Because we took her butt temperature again! It was just that easy!)

Why do I post about this, you ask? C'mon, there have got to be other people out there just as terrified about sticking a foreign object in their baby's butt. And I'm here to tell you: YOU CAN DO IT.

(Sorry about all of the exclamation points. I think I might have put a little too much caf in my half-caf coffee this morning.....)

6 weeks

2010-02-03T10:17:00.000-08:00

Despite pushing a small bowling ball out of my hoo-hah six weeks ago, I was still VERY WOUND UP about my 6-week postpartum OB/GYN appointment yesterday. You'd think that after all my lady bits had been through, the prospect of a speculum and maybe a finger or two would be no big deal. But, nevertheless, I was scared. What if I was scarred for life down there?

The good news is that I'm not. Things are healed up just fine, and the exam didn't hurt a bit. (Which of course then made me worry that I've been stretched to infinity and will never feel anything -- good or bad -- down there again, but I'm not prepared to really think about that yet.)

And then we commenced the birth control conversation, which I found highly amusing. I mean, seriously? But, because my infertility urban legend friend is expecting in June, I listened. My choices are basically the mini-pill (which concerns me because of the milk supply issue -- the doctor says it shouldn't affect things, but I know a handful of people who had trouble), condoms (which honestly would be fine with me, but not with my husband), and a whole host of other options that don't really appeal to me for various reasons (sticking things up the chute right before trying to get romantic doesn't really do it for me).

So, I don't know. Maybe we'll strike a compromise and use condoms for a couple of months until I go back to work, and then try the pill since I'll probably have to supplement with formula at that point anyway.

Part of me is just tempted to throw caution to the wind -- I mean, really? We're going to get pregnant? And if we did, would that be so bad? We want to have another, and it's not like we're going to let non-ideal timing get in our way after waiting so long for #1.

What holds me back is the embie in the freezer. We need to give that little guy a chance, and then suddenly we're looking at the possibility of three kids. Would that be OK? Yeah, probably, but it's just not something we've ever seriously considered.

Yes, yes, I'm getting way ahead of myself. The chances of our one embie surviving a thaw and a transfer are not great, and the chances of us getting knocked up the old-fashioned way are even less great. Chances are, we'll decide to start trying, go through the whole rigamarole again, and probably not be lucky enough to be successful on the first try of IVF. But these are the things I think about, waiting for the Chicklette to fall asleep at 4 in the morning with "19 Kids and Counting" on in the background.

Maybe I should just stick to SportsCenter.

Miss Fussy McFusserson

2010-01-31T17:05:00.000-08:00

According to this popular child-rearing tome, the Chicklette is scheduled to reach her peak of fussiness this coming Wednesday, i.e. when she turns six weeks old. And let me tell you, Little Miss Fussy McFusserson has certainly been ramping up with a vengeance.

She does well in the morning, and for most of the day (she's started smiling and interacting with the other babies at mom's group, which is So Effing Cute), but starting at around 3:00 we start the long descent into the City of Fussbudgetton. The top of her little head turns red, and then you know you have about 3.7 seconds until you are in for it.

And the eating -- oh, the eating. Apparently there's some growth spurtage going on in Fussbudgetton, because my boobs cannot churn out the goods quickly enough. Well, they actually can, which is lucky I guess, but holy cow. Literally.

So, anyway. You can imagine that we have been in major "let's try and soothe the baby" mode. Here are some things I've learned do NOT soothe the baby:

--Walking around in the Baby Bjorn. The baby starts to scream the second she SEES the Baby Bjorn, much less get strapped into it.

--A pacifier. Unless it's five minutes later, when the pacifier becomes the best thing EVER.

--Dancing around with the baby, and making her shake her hands in the ay-a like she's a big play-a. Although this greatly amuses me, which cannot be underestimated at 3 in the morning.

--The Food Network. Which I don't get, because doesn't the Food Network soothe everyone?!?

I know this phase will end -- at least everyone tells me this phase will end -- but right now it feels like it will never end. Please please tell me it ends.

Are they trying to tell me something?

2010-01-25T03:37:00.000-08:00

On a somewhat random note, I find it amusing that the spam in my Yahoo account has morphed from "Last Chance -- 50% off Maternity styles at Old Navy!" to "Join Weight Watchers with no activation fee!"

Are they trying to tell me something? Like maybe it's time to start thinking about switching back from my maternity jeans to something with a waistband?

For the record, the weight is coming off -- almost 25 pounds so far (only 20 or so to go to get back to my pre-IVF weight -- yikes). But the thought of fitting in a Weight Watchers meeting or summoning up the mental energy to count points is pretty hilarious.

I guess my "pull something random out of the freezer and wash it down with a Chips Ahoy cookie" diet will have to do for now....

Progress?

2010-01-24T04:54:00.001-08:00

I'm always hesitant to post when something goes well, or when it seems like we've made some sort of breakthrough/discovery with one of our baby issues, because it seems inevitable that the universe will construe it as bragging and immediately send some other aspect of baby life to shit. But, since I'm sitting here at 5 in the morning killing time until I'm sure the baby's asleep, I guess I'll take my chances.

In addition to the breastfeeding issues, we've also been struggling with sleep. Not so much that the Chicklette doesn't sleep, it's more that she was sleeping at all the wrong times (like, from say 10 in the morning until 6 in the evening) and in all the wrong places (car seat, swingy chair). And not sleeping at the right times (anytime it was dark) or in the right places (her bassinet).

At first we thought it was a day/night reversal thing, which apparently is pretty normal for a person who's spent the first 10 months of their existence in the dark. But then we started thinking (thanks to a smart mommy in one of my 4 mommies groups -- more on that some other time) that maybe she has a touch of reflux, given that she was sleeping comfortably in any sort of contraption that kept her elevated. Maybe the day/night thing was just a coincidence?

So, a couple of nights ago we tried putting her down in her bouncy chair for the first part of the night, and then in the swing after her early morning feeding. And it seems to be working, although the second part of the plan involves me sleeping on the couch in the family room for at least a couple of hours. But, I'll take it. It beats being awake, or trying to put down a fussy baby multiple times into a bassinet.

The best part of all of this (other than that the Chicklette is sleeping more at night and less during the day, and seems generally happier overall) is that I'm able to piece together 7 or so hours of sleep a night (3-4 from 9 or 10 until she wakes up, thanks to the Mr. doing a bottle feeding or two, 2-3 on the couch, and then maybe another 1 or 2 after she eats at 7 or so). It's not perfect, but it sure beats the walking dead routine I was doing last week on 3-4 hours plus little naps during the day.

We talked to our pediatrician on Friday, and he's fine with this plan. Basically, anything you can do in the first couple of months to get the baby to sleep is OK -- it's a little later you have to start worrying about setting bad habits. (Or so he says -- I'll let you know if I'm still falling asleep to the dulcet tones of the Fisher Price My Little Lamb Cradle Swing when she's in high school.)

So, it's still a work in progress. But, as they say, baby steps.

4 weeks

2010-01-20T04:03:00.000-08:00

I just realized, as I sit here in the dark in the family room at 4 in the morning waiting for the Chicklette to fall back asleep after a feeding, that today is 4 weeks and Saturday will be a month. It has been a LONG month.

If you read this blog, you know that, obviously, I really really wanted to have a baby. I'm grateful every day that I was able to. And I love my little pork chop more than anything in the world. BUT.

This newborn thing is hard. Harder than anything I've ever done. And I don't even think I have a difficult baby! But the combination of constant and unpredictable demands, lack of sleep, physical recovery and hormonal fluctuations is pretty brutal.

And the breastfeeding.....oh, the breastfeeding. I've been hesitant to post about it, since I'm still working out how I feel about things and what the plan is going forward, but let's just say it hasn't been smooth sailing. I'm happy to report that she's getting all breastmilk (sometimes from the breast, sometimes from a bottle), and that my nipples are no longer sporting open, bloody/pus-y cracks, but it has been a long and painful process. And while I've had lots of "support," let's just say that "support" doesn't always come in the most helpful forms. And it's a horrible feeling to be so frustrated with your itty bitty baby that the supposedly transcendent experience of providing sustenance for your little one devolves into wincing and cursing.

But anyway. Enough bitching. Things are getting better, slowly but surely, and I'm focusing really hard on enjoying her and the process of her growing up. I realize that there will be good days, usually followed by bad days. I've learned that things ALWAYS look brighter after a good cry (and maybe a glass of red wine and a bath). And that my husband is a rock star, even though sometimes he's so cheerful that it makes me hate him a little bit.

And thus is my state of mind very early in the morning on just a couple hours of sleep. Aren't you glad you stopped by? ;)

Maybe I should go live in Alaska

2010-01-14T09:25:00.000-08:00

I have so many things I want to blog about, but just either don't have a long enough stretch of time to do it, or when I do have a chance to sit down I'm too tired to collect my thoughts.

But I did have a breakthrough moment last night that has me kind of excited. I've discovered that if I stop paying attention to whether it's dark or light out, staying up with a hyper-alert Chicklette in the middle of the night doesn't bother me nearly as much. And sleeping during the day doesn't seem nearly as "wasteful." It's made the last 24 hours much more pleasant!

Of course, 6 hours of fragmented sleep still does not equal the 8-ish hours of semi-uninterrupted sleep (in the dark) I was getting before the baby. But hey, I'll take what I can get at this point.

And now, time to put my boobs back in my shirt before Grandma and Grandpa get here.

Sexxxy

2010-01-09T18:39:00.000-08:00

I've come to the conclusion that the only thing less sexy than a pregnant me is a post-partum me. I could tell lots of stories about bleeding, trying to poop, and the lovely sweatsuit ensembles that are my daily uniform, but I think I can make my point much more effectively by listing the items currently on my shelf in the bathroom:

--4 different sizes of maxi pads

--Disposable underwear pilfered from the hospital

--Polysporin ointment (for cracked nipples)

--Giant bottle of ibuprofen (also for said nipples)

--Senokot (natural laxative)

--Tucks

And just think, in 4 weeks my doctor will clear me for sex!

Bwwwwaaaahahaha!!

Birth Story

2010-01-07T19:17:00.000-08:00

I've finally gotten my act together between feedings and changings and loads of laundry and visitors and naps and crying jags and gotten my birth story down. Overall, I have to say I feel very happy and lucky with my birth experience. I didn't really have any expectations going in, but I was definitely starting to get a little scared towards the end about how things were going to go. Hopefully this will be helpful to anyone facing a possible induction.

Prologue: The Final OB Visit

We had our final OB visit on Tuesday, December 22nd -- six days past the chicklette's due date, and also my birthday. We were expecting to talk induction with the doctor, since she had told us she'd be willing to induce at 41 weeks, and would probably encourage it if I was already starting to dilate.

Right before our appointment, my husband took me out for a fabulous Italian lunch. We lingered over our food, talking about how excited and nervous we were for what was coming, and remembering some of our favorite times together pre-baby. It was really special. Thinking about what came next, it seems even more so!

At 2:15, we got to the doctor's office and learned that she was back after being out a week with swine flu. Maybe that's why the chicklette waited? Anyway, she checked my cervix, and I was 1 cm dilated and "moderately" effaced. She asked how we felt about induction, we told her we were ready, and she said that she thought I'd probably head into labor soon so we might as well get her out before Christmas. Her plan was to check us into the hospital that evening, give me some meds to ripen my cervix, and start Pitocin in the morning.

Act 1: Cytotec, A Pain in the Ass

After our appointment, we ran home to get our things together and get ready to check into the hospital. Promptly at 6:00 p.m., we checked in to Labor & Delivery and got settled in our very large and somewhat fancy room.

What I didn't really think about or anticipate was that they'd be hooking me up to an IV and monitors RIGHT AWAY. I mean, I guess I should have known that, but I thought they'd give me the ripening agent and kind of leave me alone for the night. Not so much. I got set up with the IV (which was put in by a 12-year-old nurse who didn't really seem to know what she was doing). Next came the monitors for the baby and for contractions, which were strapped around my waist. Then came the fun part -- my doctor and her oh-so-delicate hands came and shoved a Cytotec pill up my hoo-hoo. She left with a "well, we'll see if that puts you into labor -- otherwise, see you bright and early in the morning!"

My mom came by after that, and hung out for a couple of hours. I started to have some mild contractions, just like I'd had at home for the past week or so. My mom kept watching the contraction monitor and giving me the play-by-play, which was kind of annoying. The nurse came back and gave me an Ambien at about 9:30, and I drifted off to sleep. The Mr. and my mom left -- it was weird being alone, but it made sense for my husband to get some rest in case the next day was a long one.

At 1 a.m. or so, another nurse came in to check my cervix and give another dose of Cytotec. I was still only about 1 cm dilated, which was kind of disappointing. I fell back asleep.

At about 2:00, I woke up with some lower abdominal cramping. When the nurse came by to check on me, I asked her about it and she said it was normal with the Cytotec. I drifted back off to sleep.

Act 2: Active Labor?

Shortly after 3:00, I woke up yet again, this time with some back pain added to the lower abdominal cramping. It felt an awful lot like period cramps, but like 10 times more intense. The pain seemed to come and go every couple of minutes. I checked the contraction monitor, but didn't see anything too interesting. I made a few trips to the bathroom to try to distract myself, but the pains continued to get more intense. I tried breathing through them, which helped somewhat. It took about 6 breaths to get through each pain, which calmed me down. Just 6 breaths. I can do this, right?

By 4:00, I was REALLY uncomfortable. When the nurse came back in to check on me, I reported that the pains were progressing, and asked if there was any way I could be in labor. She looked at the monitor and said "no" -- and kind of laughed at me a little bit. I started to get annoyed. I mean, I'm not a pain champion or anything, but I think I would know when something felt different, right?

By 5:00, I was on my side, gripping the bed rails with each contraction. They were now lasting 10-11 breaths each. Another nurse came in and I asked again about labor, and about any pain relief. She said that since I wasn't dilated, they couldn't start an epidural but could give me a narcotic called Stadol to "take the edge off." I thought about how Pitocin was scheduled to start in a couple of hours, and how it could take a couple more hours after that to dilate to where my doctor would let me have the epidural, and I said "yes, please."

Now, if I had been thinking clearly, I would have made the connection that they hadn't checked my cervix in over 4 hours. But I wasn't thinking clearly. I was getting sick of having to fight with the nurses, though, so I called the Mr. and asked him to come in early. I needed an advocate for pain management, and I was, well, in too much pain to do it for myself.

Act 3: HOLY SHIT THIS HURTS!!

In the time between when I called the Mr. and when he showed up, I got my Stadol. It made me loopy and delirious and slightly hallucinatory, but did nothing for the pain. By the time the Mr. arrived, I was in full clench with my bed rails, and taking 17 breaths during each contraction. (I had tried some other positions to try and work through the pain, but they just were not cutting it. I don't know if this is a back labor thing, or I'm just a big pussy.)

We decided a shower might help (and plus, I figured this would be my last chance to take one for a while), so he walked me over. I don't remember much, except having to sit on the little shower stool and moan a lot. Oh, and there was some bloody show.

Act 4: Sweet, sweet relief

At some point around 7 or 8, one of the nurses got ahold of my doctor, and the doctor gave the go ahead for an epidural. I don't remember specifially asking for it, but I think either the Mr. or my mom (who had arrived by this point) took care of letting someone know that I really really wanted it. The anesthesiologist arrived and was great -- they sat me up on the bed and rigged me up to this massage chair-type contraption. He talked me through everything, and while the needles didn't tickle, they were nothing compared to the contractions.

It took about 10 minutes, but I started to feel some relief. I was still feeling a LOT of pressure, so the doctor topped me off with a little more juice. And let's just say at this point that I became a Very Happy Person. I mean, really happy.

Oh, and guess what? They checked my cervix right after the epidural, and turns out I had already dilated to 4.5 centimeters. Guess I was in active labor after all. Idiots.

At some point my OB arrived and said -- "let's have this baby by lunchtime!" I think it was at this point that she broke my waters, but the timeline is a little fuzzy. It didn't hurt at all, but it did feel really funny to have all that stuff gushing out. Oh, and they started Pitocin somewhere in here, although I don't remember that at all.

Act 5: Push it real good!

I spent the next hour or two in a very happy place. I dozed a bit, which was nice. My blood pressure apparently dropped, because they gave me some oxygen. But it's all a little hazy at this point. I could feel the baby's head moving lower and lower, but not in an unpleasant way. I was laying on my side, and it sort of felt like I could just lift a leg and she would come out. I'm not sure if this is what they call the "urge to push," but getting her out didn't seem like such a bad idea.

At around 10, someone checked my cervix and pronounced me 9 centimeters. They called my doctor, and we waited. A bunch of people came into the room and started moving things around. When they started switching on the baby warmer, we realized that things were getting seriously moving!

At around 10:30, my doctor arrived, checked me again, and declared that the baby was "right there." They whipped out the crazy full-leg stirrups, rigged me up, and one of the nurses gave me a quick tutorial on pushing. Basically, pull my legs in, lift my head and bring my chin to my chest, hold my breath and push for 10 seconds. We were supposed to try and get 3 pushes in with each contraction.

And then we started! It was pretty neat -- I had the doctor and the nurses down below, and the Mr. right next to my head, holding my hand and quietly urging me on. My mom was still in the room, but back a ways by the window. I could feel the each contraction come, and would alert the doctor and nurses, and they would coach me through the pushes. It was very surreal, because there would be these breaks in between pushes where we would just chat and wait for the next one. We did about 5 rounds of pushes when the doctor said that she could see the head, and that it wouldn't be long.

(By the way, just a note on how great the epidural was -- at one point during the pushing, the doctor somewhat loudly asked one of the nurses to prep sutures for her, because I was going to tear, and I DIDN'T FREAK OUT.)

At this point, I could definitely feel her head, but not in a painful way. It just felt very stretchy. I started one more round of pushing, and then all of the sudden she was out! She cried right away. They wiped her off a little bit, wrapped her up, and put her on my chest. That moment was everything I had hoped it would be -- my husband right next to me, and my beautiful miracle of a baby looking at me. The Mr. cut the cord, and we just enjoyed life for a minute.

Of course, then they snatched her away to weigh her and do her Apgars and all of the other crazy crap they do to newborns. At some point I delivered the placenta, but seriously, I don't even remember. My doctor stitched up my second-degree tear (Public Service Announcement: If your doctor wears glasses, you will see WAY MORE THAN YOU WANT TO if you make eye contact during this process), and I continued to enjoy my epidural.

The Aftermath

We got booted pretty quickly from Labor & Delivery to our much smaller post-partum room. I got to push the little button on the way that plays the lullaby chimes all through the hospital. At some point I started bleeding a LOT, and freaked out a bunch of the nurses, and had to have my bedding and gown changed several times. Yuck. The epidural took a while to wear off, so I ended up with a catheter for 24 hours, which was actually awesome. I mean, when was the last time you got to drink 37 cups of water and not have to leave your bed to go to the bathroom?

Overall, I feel very happy about my delivery. I'm happy that the induction was quick, happy that the epidural worked, happy that I didn't tear horribly, and most of all happy that the chicklette came out in one beautiful piece. I'll post a bit more about recovery later (and our lovely readmission to the hospital about 4 hours after our discharge), but long story short is that two weeks out, I physically feel pretty darn good. Emotionally, I'm a bit of a mess, but I think that's more sleep deprivation than anything else.

Whew!! Sorry for the novel. And for the hazy parts post-epidural. I don't mean to be a drug pusher or anything, but OMIGOD that epidural was the bomb. The post-partum Vicodin wasn't bad either.

And on that note, I shall sign off. Time to go pump and watch some more Gilmore Girls.

Two weeks old!

2010-01-06T19:19:00.001-08:00

This past two weeks have been both the shortest and the longest of my life. I can't believe the chicklette is already two weeks old, but each day seems so long and action-packed (seriously -- even though it couldn't be further from the truth!) that if someone told me she was two YEARS old I wouldn't argue.

I'm still working on my birth story -- not that anyone really cares anymore, but I want to get it down so that *I* don't totally forget -- and probably a post on the wonders of breastfeeding. It is a THORN IN MY NIPPLES.

Tomorrow we may actually try to get out of the house with the stroller. You know, that thing we just HAD TO HAVE because we weren't going to be one of those couples who holed up in the house with our baby? Yeah, not so much.

And then I plan to curl up in a fetal position and rock back and forth in terror at the prospect of my husband going back to work on Monday and leaving me ALL ALONE. With another human being who is totally dependent on me for everything (including making sure that Netflix keeps episodes of Gilmore Girls arriving at a regular clip).

Eep!

Happy new year!

2010-01-01T09:49:00.001-08:00

Apologies for being so delinquent in posting here and commenting on your blogs....it's been, unsurprisingly, a very busy week.

I have been riding the emotional roller coaster. Like, I love the chicklette to death, but sometimes I'll just start crying for no reason. I know it's the hormones, and the fact that I'm sleep-deprived and recovering from, you know, CHILDBIRTH, but it still catches me by surprise how I can go from perfectly happy and content to a snorting mess inside of 5 minutes.

I have every intention of getting my birth story up soon -- before I forget what happened completely -- but for now, just a few random observations:

1. My favorite time(s) of the day are when the chicklette is awake and alert. I look in her eyes and the whole world just stops. Stupid baby songs spontaneously erupt from my mouth.

2. Baby gas is really funny. Sometimes you can hear her toot all the way across the house, and it's effing hilarious. Even if she does smell like a sulfur factory.

3. It's so nice to be able to see my feet again.

4. Pooping for the first time was so much more stressful than giving birth. And still I battle, as I sit here eating a bran muffin and drinking coffee. (You really didn't think I could get through a post without talking about poop, did you?)

5. Being out in public not pregnant is WEIRD. No one smiles at me anymore. I'm sure when I'm out with the baby it will be different, but I kind of miss the attention. The same attention I hated when I was pregnant. I tells ya, there's no pleasing me these days.

6. Confession: I went to Babies R' Us on Monday and parked in the "Stork Parking." I won't do it again, particularly now that my stitches feel better and I can walk somewhat normally, but it felt deliciously subversive.

7. Breastfeeding is hard. I'm sure I'll have much more on this later, but it confounds me that something supposedly so natural can be so difficult.

And speaking of, I'm off to wake the baby with a a diaper change (which, in case you didn't know, is apparently CHILD ABUSE judging by the amount of screaming it induces) and whip out the boobs. Which are taking over the world.

Happy new year!

Chicklette pic

2009-12-28T13:31:00.001-08:00

It's really hard to not just gobble her up completely:

She's here!

2009-12-27T19:33:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the radio silence...it's been a crazy few days! But she's here! The chicklette arrived on December 23rd at 11:15 a.m., weighing in a 6 pounds, 7 ounces. I'll post much more about her birth, but long story short -- it went much more smoothly than I ever could have anticipated. Of course, it was also aided by a very strong epidural administered by the most wonderful man on the planet (a.k.a. the anesthesiologist).

She's beautiful, we're smitten, but unfortunately are still in the hospital due to an unfortunate spit-up-swallowing-then-turning-blue episode that happened approximately 5 seconds after we got home from the hospital on Christmas Day. Everything looks to be fine, but we've been "under observation" for the past couple of days. Hopefully we'll be going home tomorrow.

Much more to come!

And away we go!

2009-12-22T15:48:00.000-08:00

Just got back from the doctor....I'm moderately effaced, 1 cm dilated, and HEADED TO THE HOSPITAL IN TWO HOURS. They're going to give me cytotec tonight to ripen my cervix (that just sounds gross to me for some reason), and if all goes well start the pitocin early in the morning.

All of the sudden I'm a leetle beet nervous about this birth that I supposedly haven't been nervous about. This is definitely the most exciting birthday I've ever had....

STILL no baby, so we shop (and celebrate a birthday)

2009-12-21T09:54:00.000-08:00

After several hours of contractions and painful baby movement last night, I find myself once again this morning with no labor signs and of course no baby. Ugh. I keep telling myself every time I start contracting that it's probably nothing, but it's hard for us not to get our hopes up. The poor Mr. is walking around like a zombie this morning, having been awake and excited all night. I guess it's a preview, but still...kind of frustrating.

So, I guess things will either kick in today or tomorrow (which is my birthday). In the meantime, I think I'll head out today and do a little last minute Christmas shopping/puttering around. I'm sure it's going to be a madhouse out there, but being in my actual house is driving me mad. There are only so many episodes of House and Gossip Girl that I can watch -- which I didn't think possible.

And we will try to get back to our happy place -- after all, we'll be parents in a couple of days, which is pretty darn exciting.

I hope that everyone's enjoying their holiday prep!! I can't believe it's only 4 days until Christmas....

Still no baby, so we eat!

2009-12-19T17:14:00.000-08:00

Yeah, so, still no baby. Lots of contractions, many false alarms, and enough spicy-food induced heartburn to keep a Tums factory in business.

I swing between being totally zen (she'll get here when she gets here, this is our first taste of our plans not being our own, etc.) and completely despondent (she'll never come, something is wrong, I am a FAILURE because my body apparently DOESN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO, etc.). I'm also not thrilled about being induced, but not because I'm worried about the induction itself. I just don't want to wait until Wednesday!

Anyhoo, so we've been trying to take advantage of the quiet time, since I finished my Christmas shopping and nursery prep weeks ago. Movies, walks, sexy time (not that it's that sexy, but it's probably the best we're going to get for a while), dinners out and random puttering around the house. It's kind of nice in a way. We've also given up on calling anyone unless absolutely necessary, because we get the breathless "IS THERE A BABY YET??" from everyone -- including, oddly enough, the cat groomer, who apparently my mother has on high alert.

Tonight we decided to relish our little remaining adult time by having a modified version of the Christmas Eve dinner that, one way or another, I won't be in any shape to cook this year. I come from a large extended Italian family, so Christmas Eve is all about seafood. Normally, I make a dinner with a bunch of courses and appetizers, basically squeezing in as many kinds of fish as possible. Since there are lot of fish that I probably shouldn't be eating, and my stomach capacity is about the size of a walnut right now, we're just going to go with our favorite course -- Linguini with White Clam Sauce, served with hot crusty bread. Yum. Because I can't be bothered to deal with cleaning or prepping live clams (plus, no need to screw around with potential food poisoning right now), I'm doing the ultra-easy version. Recipe is below for anyone who's interested.

Of course, this probably means I'll go into labor tonight, puking clams and garlic all the way. But it would be SO WORTH IT.

Merry early Christmas Eve!

Linguini with White Clam Sauce (Serves 2 as a main course)

4 6.5 oz cans minced clams (I'm partial to Snow's brand)

4 cloves garlic, minced

Olive oil, enough to coat the bottom of a small saucepan

Small handful fresh Italian parsley, chopped (you could also use a couple of tablespoons of dried)

Juice of one lemon

Splash of white wine (I used Pinot Grigio, but whatever dry white you like to drink would work)

Salt and pepper to taste

Heat olive oil at medium high heat in bottom of small saucepan. Add garlic, saute until golden. Add clams (with all juice in can), lemon juice, wine, parsley and pepper. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer. Let simmer for 20 minutes or so, then add salt to taste. Sauce can be made early in the day, and reheated, or served immediately over linguini with warm crusty bread to sop up the juices.

Due date

2009-12-16T08:01:00.000-08:00

Well, here we are. December 16th. It's your birthday, baby! Come on out!

We had our 40 week appointment yesterday. Long story short: my OB didn't check me, since she won't induce us any earlier than 41 weeks and if I'm not contracting it doesn't really matter at this point how dilated I am. So my next appointment is Tuesday the 22nd (my birthday), and we're talking induction on the 23rd if she hasn't arrived by then.

I've actually been feeling pretty normal, aside from another big nasty yet fascinating chunk of mucous plug on Monday. I'm skeptical that anything's going to happen on its own. But I'm still hopeful.

Off to the gym, to see if I can walk this baby out. Out out out!

The Girl Who Cried "Baby"

2009-12-13T18:35:00.000-08:00

On Friday I became that girl. The girl who cried "baby."

It started off as a normal day. I got up at 6:30, worked for a couple of hours, and headed to the gym. Of course I had to pee when I got there (that 5-minute drive sure is a killer), so I headed into the ladies room. I did my thing, followed by the customary toilet-paper analysis routine, and -- what's that? Could it be? Could that be part of a mucous plug? That smear of snot-like material? I wiped again and found more, and then more after that, and decided that yes, indeed, this was probably part of the plug.

Knowing that this didn't necessarily mean anything imminent is happening, I proceeded with my workout as usual (40 lame minutes at a lame pace on the lame lowest setting of the elliptical trainer).

And then things started to get weird. My regular 39-week lower back pain got noticeably more painful, and I started to feel some mild pressure on my pelvis. I had a prenatal massage scheduled, so I went to that, where the pelvic pain progressed to the point where I almost couldn't roll from one side to the other on the table, get off the table at the end of the massage, or get back into my clothes. The massage therapist was convinced I was in early labor.

On the way home, the pelvic pain got worse, and I started to shake and my teeth started to chatter. I called the Mr. and told him I thought maybe he should think about taking the afternoon off. I called my mom and asked her to come over for a bit. I even told my boss (it was my last official day of working from home before my leave) that I might not make it to an afternoon conference call. I sat on my yoga ball and rolled and breathed, and tried to wrap up some work stuff.

The pain and pressure got worse as the day wore on, but I never felt anything that seemed like a contraction, so decided to wait it out and not call my doctor. I spent the afternoon lying on the couch, watching old episodes of Grey's Anatomy, and having the Mr. help me up when I needed to pee. I ate a bland lunch Just In Case. I napped, exhausted, and went to bed early.

And woke up on Saturday.

Feeling great!

But kind of like an ass. I'm pretty sure that this baby is going to be crowning before I call anyone else to tell them I think I might be in labor.

Meanwhile, it's two days later and still no baby. No bloody show, no meaningful contractions, no more plug action. There's been yoga and walking and sex and spicy food and various pleas directed towards the belly, but no sign of baby.

Kid, you've got 3 more days before I am Officially Impatient. You hear me?

Can anyone say....nesting?

2009-12-08T13:18:00.000-08:00

Since I've been "working from home" for the last week, I have been in a bit of a frenzy. Packing the hospital bag, tweaking the nursery, doing baby laundry, wrapping Christmas presents, assembling baby seats and swings and monitors....you name it, I've done it. When coupled with all of the baby-eviction activities, it does seem to add up to quite a lot of busy days.

But what is the most scary is the cooking. I have an irrestible urge to cook and freeze. And cook and freeze some more. Here's what's been cooking so far:

Split Pea Soup
Butternut Squash Soup
Bolognese Sauce
Meatballs (triple batch)
Pesto Sauce
Chicken Soup
Quiche (actually, a friend made this, but it's in there)

Every day I evaluate the freezer to see what else I can fit in. The little stacks of Gladware containers are so pleasing to me -- it's got to be pathological somehow. But it is pleasing, right? RIGHT?

Tomorrow I'm thinking of trying one more recipe....

Or maybe two.

Eviction notice

2009-12-07T09:09:00.001-08:00

I know it's still 9 days until my due date, but we served our first eviction notice on the chicklette last night.

One of our local pizza joints, Skipolini's, has this concoction called the "Prego Pizza." It's rumored to have some sort of legendary labor-inducing properties. I put down 3 slices of this legend, and needless to say I am still here, not in labor. Although I would now like to be evicted from my own body, as I deal with the aftermath of 6 different kinds of meat, plus extra garlic and onions. Ugh! (I have a couple of slices left over in the fridge, and am debating whether I can handle eating it for lunch. I'm thinking no, but we'll see. Pizza is pizza.)

Other things we've tried this weekend: walking, yoga, pressure point massage, and yes, sex. Well, sort of sex. There's not really room for any extra people in there right now, so we sort of improvised. Which was nice, except the baby seemed a little TOO into it, if you know what I mean. She shouldn't be thinking about these things for at LEAST 18 more years.

It's not that I don't love hosting our little nugget, or that I've had a particularly terrible time of it or anything. But I'm cranky and uncomfortable, and ready to have this childbirth thing over with so that I can start obsessing about other things. I'm sure I will look back and think I was crazy to ever want to give up this tranquil end-of-pregnancy waiting period, but I guess maybe I've had enough waiting at this point (a sentiment that I'm sure many readers can identify with).

So, anyway, here I wait. With a heart full of anticipation, and a tummy full of meat.

38 weeks (gulp)

2009-12-02T07:38:00.000-08:00

I've only got 2 weeks to go. Yikes.

I had my OB appointment yesterday, which I dreaded for about a week, thinking I'd be getting my first cervical check courtesy of the least gentle hands in the Bay Area. Turns out Dr. Miss Sunshine doesn't do internals until you're overdue or your water breaks, since they don't really tell you anything about when you might actually go into labor. So that was nice.

We did get to get another peek via ultrasound to make sure the Chicklette was still head down (which she is, and which I didn't doubt for a second, as the feeling of a skull grinding into your pelvis is a pretty singular sensation). We also confirmed that the appendage digging into my left ribs is indeed a foot (or maybe a hand -- all four limbs appear to be clustered over there), and that the hard area on my right side is a spine and baby booty. Pretty neat.

Anyway, I think I crossed the line yesterday and am now more physically uncomfortable with her inside of me than I am anxious about having her outside of me. I'm sure I'll be regaling you all with the various crazy things I will be doing over the next couple of weeks to try and encourage her arrival (Step 1: yoga tonight). Not only would I like my body back, but I also wouldn't mind not spending Christmas (or my birthday 3 days before) in the hospital.

Oh, and I guess I'd also like to meet my daughter. Almost forgot that minor detail!

Hand over the chocolate and no one gets hurt

2009-11-30T09:06:00.000-08:00

Since my daily activities have pretty much been reduced to nesting, cooking, freezing said cooking, and eating said cooking along the way*, I thought I'd return to my early blog roots and do a good, old-fashioned food post.

(*Yeah, yeah, I'm also "working from home," but you can probably tell by the quotation marks how that is going.)

I have never understood the obsession with chocolate. Not the pre-period cravings that I've heard about, not the "death by chocolate" desserts, not the dark v. milk debate. I mean, chocolate's nice and all, and I won't turn away the occasional Snickers or scoop of ice cream, but it's never really done it for me. I've always been more of a second-helping-of-carbs-in-lieu-of-dessert type gal.

Until recently. I don't know what has come over me (well, I guess I do, but anyway), but I am all about the sweets. ESPECIALLY chocolate. There's a See's Candies right downstairs from my office, and every day for the last few weeks I've been nipping down there after lunch to buy a couple of milk chocolate caramels, plus of course the free sample(s) they give you along the way. I never pass up dessert when out to dinner. It's gotten a little disgusting. I feel like I'm always scrounging for chocolate like a pig snorting for truffles. It doesn't help that I'm starting to resemble a pig, either.

But, to continue the unfortunate pig metaphor, sometimes I choose to revel in my slop. As was the case this weekend, when I used the excuse of Thanksgiving + another chocolate-loving family member to create the most resplendent (yet simple) pure chocolate dessert masterpiece, courtesy of Smitten Kitchen. I command every chocolate lover out there to click through to the recipe and bake this cake IMMEDIATELY.

I wish I had taken a picture, but I was too distracted by the glossy, beautiful deep brown frosting cascading over the sides of the cake. Oh, and the moist, fluffy insides....I am drooling at the memory. And it really wasn't that hard to make....and trust me, I can count on one hand the number of things I know how to bake (including items that come from a Duncan Hines box and/or a premade cookie dough log).

The chocolate-loving family member loved the cake, and graciously agreed to take the leftovers so that I wouldn't put myself into a chocolate coma. Instead, I now must contemplate where the closest See's Candies is to my house. Or it's going to be a very long afternoon of "working from home."

Happy belated Thanksgiving, everyone!

Man candy

2009-11-23T14:05:00.001-08:00

I finally went to go see the new Twilight movie yesterday. With my mom -- which I know is kind of weird, but we tend to have the same taste in fantasy men. Short review in a nutshell: while I've always been an Edward girl, I say yes to the chest. The werewolf chest. Some woman (I'm assuming, but I live in the SF Bay Area so I guess you never know) actually clapped when Jacob took his shirt off for the first time. Which were my sentiments exactly.

Ahem. So, just to demonstrate how riveted I was to the screen, I will let you know that I did not get up once in two hours, despite:

1) Having to pee desperately; and
2) Having somewhat painful and regular contractions during the second half of the movie.

The contraction thing is new -- I've been having them on and off for the last few days, and it's interesting. Last night the Mr. whipped out his stopwatch when I had a few more, but I'm pretty sure that was more of a "too much buttered popcorn" episode than anything else. I can see, though, how the last few weeks can drive a person a little crazy.

Chill out, chicklette. The doctor is out of town until next week.

Ready for launch

2009-11-19T15:38:00.000-08:00

Well, technically speaking, anyway. At our 36 week appointment today, the doctor confirmed via ultrasound that the chicklette is head down. As soon as the wand hit my stomach, she proclaimed:

"Yup -- that's a head all right."

And indeed it was. A big round head pushing on my bladder 24/7.**

The good news is that now that her head is lodged in my pelvis, she's there for good. No worries about flipping, version, etc. etc. I like to think it's the 37 squats we did in yoga last week, but who knows.

In other news, I had my super-fun GBS swab. I have to say, it's a little alarming that a Q-tip in the nether regions can actually HURT (given what's going to be going down, so to speak, in the next few weeks), but then again, my doctor does not exactly have the gentlest hands.

So, one more week until I'm officially "full term." Exciting and so very scary.

**By the way (TMI alert), the books always say that if you are concerned about things leaking and what they might be, you can tell the difference between pee and amniotic fluid by the smell (pee smells like ammonia, amnio fluid smells a little sweet). I always thought that was BS. But I can now say with confidence -- pee DOES smell like ammonia. Yet another useful (and sexy) skill brought to you by late term pregnancy. See also: wiping your butt when you can't actually reach your butt.

Weighty issues

2009-11-17T14:01:00.000-08:00

It's two days before my next OB appointment, also known as The Day I Officially Begin To Dread the Weigh In. For anyone who's ever been on Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, Nutrisystem or the like (I've done all 3 at some point -- do I get a prize?), you know the feeling. Please God is there anything I can do to miraculously drop 5 pounds in 48 hours?!?

OK, so I'm not in full-on panic mode. I realize that porking up is part of this whole pregnancy thing, and I'm almost done so I know that hopefully things will be headed back in the other direction soon. But I am Hermione -- the annoying eager beaver who always wants the A+ from everyone -- so I desperately seek approval from my doctor on all fronts, including my weight.

But I haven't been getting it lately. I've gained a little too much -- not WAY to much -- but enough that I am not sporting the "cute pregnant chick" look. And it's totally my own fault. I love food and have given into the cravings.

And here's where the food dysfunction really sets in. As much as I can't wait to lose the shelf that is my belly (and the convenient receptacle for dropped food it has become), I am a leetle beet heartbroken to have to give up the lovely food habits I've adopted: McDonald's hamburgers (with extra ketchup), morning lattes (baby needs calcium!), sweets of all kinds (a new thing for me), nightly desserts (since I can't have wine....), morning AND afternoon snacks, and a complete lack of guilt about carbs.

All good things must come to an end, I suppose. But will I ever be able to get any sort of food discipline back?

Time will tell. Stay tuned!

Somebody please stop me....

2009-11-12T17:10:00.000-08:00

I am officially in a shopping frenzy.

I held myself back for so long. What if something goes wrong? What if it's not really a girl? What if I get a ton of duplicate clothes at my shower?

But there is no holding back now. I just can't help it -- all of the little clothes are SO DAMN CUTE. And I've been buying them for other people for so long that I know JUST WHERE TO GO to get the very cutest things.

Making matters worse: I am as big as a house and fit into nothing, so I have only my unborn child upon whom to unleash my shopping urge.

Making matters even worse than that: Grandma thinks we are having a celebrity baby. Which must be why she purchased this:

Yes, that's right. It's a Burberry outfit. I have never owned a thread of Burberry clothing myself, but now my daughter will ooze pretentious London charm.

Somebody please help us stop the insanity!

To vax or not to vax

2009-11-09T15:27:00.000-08:00

That is the question. For tomorrow. For the swine flu.

Each time I go to my OB's office, they promise that they'll have the thimerosal-free H1N1 vaccination in "any day now." Apparently "any day" really means "any day," but not any day SOON. I know it's not their fault, but I really want that shot!

So, on our hospital birthing center tour this weekend, we ran into my husband's general practitioner, who was also getting a tour with his pregnant wife. He pulled us aside and said "PSST. I've got some doses of swine flu vaccine. Come in on Tuesday and I'll set you up." They're the regular kind with the preservative, but he gave one to his pregnant wife and basically said that the risk of getting the flu while waiting for the shot was greater than anything the dose of preservative could do to me or the baby. The CDC website seems to agree -- they recommend the shot for all pregnant women, with or without thimerosal.

My doctor, however, does not seem to. I called today and the front desk person said that she "really wants" her patients to wait for the thim-free shot. I asked about the CDC recommendation, and the risk of waiting vs. the risk of getting the regular shot, and she said the doctor would have to call me back. Which she hasn't yet.

I'm heavily leaning towards getting the shot. Any advice/stories from out there in internet-land?

UPDATE: My doctor just called and said to get the injection. I'll leave the above hand-wringing up as a data point for anyone with a similar quandary!

UPDATE #2: We are now both vaxed and hope to stay oink-free! Thanks for all of the input.

34 weeks!

2009-11-05T17:29:00.000-08:00

I had my regular OB appointment today. I was sort of terrified, as I was prepared for the dreaded GBS (group B strep) swab -- you'd think at this point there wouldn't be much you could put in my hoo-hoo that would scare me, especially a Q-tip -- but that fun gets to wait until next time.

So, it was utterly uneventful, although I did get a bunch of questions answered as well as some food for thought. In a nutshell:

This baby will come before Christmas. My doctor doesn't want me to go past 41 weeks, which would be December 23rd. Which means that the baby might come on my birthday (December 22nd), but hey. I've been sort of over my birthday since I turned 21.
The doctor strongly suggested that I either stop working or at least cut back my schedule at 36 weeks, so that I can "contemplate impending motherhood." Since my company did its second round of layoffs today, I think I will opt for "contemplating how I can kiss as much ass as possible so as not to get fired" first.
She thinks the baby is head down, but we're going to do an ultrasound at 36 weeks just to be sure. Yay ultrasound! That will almost make up for the aforementioned Q-tip.
She will let me have an epidural as early as 3 cm if I want it, and maybe even earlier if I need it. And she will not do an episiotomy unless it looks like I'm going to have some sort of exploding tear. Which I guess is comforting.....that's really the only part of childbirth that I'm truly squicked out about at this point.
I need to stop gaining weight. I think that means I need to toss the leftover bag of Halloween candy.

Off to breastfeeding class now, which should be interesting. I couldn't possibly be more clueless!

On Complaining

2009-11-04T10:11:00.001-08:00

Edited to add: I realized in reading some of the comments that my post might have come across as a total indictment of infertiles complaining during pregnancy. I sincerely apologize if I offended anyone -- I mean heck, pregnancy IS hard, and so different from any other physical experience that it's hard to prepare. Upon reflection, I think my post was more about my particular relationship with this particular person, in which there are clearly other things going on. I probably should just have kept my thoughts to myself on this one. Apologies again.

Let me preface this post by saying that I know I can complain with the best of them -- this blog is certainly evidence of that (although I do try to keep it lighthearted -- the various indignities of pregnancy still seem more amusing to me than anything else). But I just need to get a little something off of my chest -- although of course NOTHING relating to my chest is little these days.

I have a friend -- actually more like an acquaintance -- who is pregnant with twins, and due around the same time as I am. She is one of those people that I don't know super-well, but we somehow discovered that we were both struggling with infertility, and bonded over that. She's done 7 IVF cycles, and had been trying for many, many years before that. Her last cycle was a sort of "Hail Mary" -- she knew it would be the last time, both for financial and emotional reasons, that she would try for a biological child. And it worked!

BUT. The complaining. Oh, the complaining. At first, it was because of the morning sickness. And to be fair, it was bad enough that she was on bedrest and fluids for a part of her first tri. But things have been going well since then -- the babies are healthy, she's mostly healthy (dealing with a mild case of gestational diabetes), and most importantly, she's having the babies she's waited so long for.

I want to be understanding. I want to be supportive. But sometimes I just want to throttle her. And the endless Facebook updates.....just for kicks this morning, I took a look at her news feed for the last few weeks, and she averages about 4 updates a day with NOTHING POSITIVE IN THEM. Nothing super-negative either, but just a lot of noise of the "oh, I'm so big and life's not fair" variety. I mean, really?

I guess I should simmer down and recognize that maybe she truly is having a hard time. Maybe she doesn't have a good support system and the complaints are her only outlet. I know her well enough to know that she's got a pretty solid network, so I don't really think this is the case, but I also don't really know her well enough to ask. I guess I'm just surprised after all she's been through to get to where she is, and the fact that she knew that a twin pregnancy was a possibility, that she's acting so completely surprised that there's some discomfort involved in this whole pregnancy thing. And that the joy isn't seeming to outweigh the discomfort.

So, bottom line -- I just don't know how to be there for her when I can't understand where she's coming from. And I'll probably just let it lie and try to ignore the negativity, because I'm all about avoiding the negativity in all aspects of my life right now.

And so concludes MY complaining for the day. ;)

Slowing down

2009-10-29T13:46:00.000-07:00

Well, I've fought the good fight for 33 weeks, but I think it's over. It's official. I have become an annoying slow person. You know, the person you have to speed by on the sidewalk when you're trying to make the light. The person you pass on the right side of the escalator. The person you need to watch hoist herself up out of the train seat before you can get out at your stop.

I've tried to ignore this inevitable progression. I huff and puff with people down the hall at work, I do all the planks and downward dogs in yoga, I swim with the "real" swimmers in the lanes at the pool. But I don't think I'm fooling anyone.

And, more importantly, it's time to stop fooling myself. I fell up an escalator running for the train last week, and even though I didn't land on anything "important" and only ended up cutting/bruising my foot, it was stupid and unnecessary and a little bit scary. Yesterday morning I slipped a bit getting out of the shower -- again, no harm, no foul, but a good reminder to slow the hell down.

And you know what? It feels right. At 33 weeks, I should take more care to acknowledge what my body is doing, and preparing to do. And of course it's time to seriously adjust my thinking -- it's not just me I'm responsible for anymore.

Now if only I could remind myself of this the next time I'm at a crosswalk with the flashing red hand blinking and only 3 seconds left to cross, I'll be all set!

I guess now we have to have a baby.....

2009-10-26T10:29:00.001-07:00

Because otherwise, what would we do with all the stuff?

This weekend, we went from empty nursery to packed baby warehouse in under 24 hours. Yesterday morning, I was getting ready to go to my baby shower (which was beautiful -- thanks Mom even though I really hope you're not reading this) when I got the call from the baby furniture store telling us our furniture was in and ready for delivery. Only a short 12 weeks after placing the order! So, about an hour after getting back from the shower and unloading the loot (which was plentiful and PINK), the delivery guy arrived and assembled everything.

(And about 8 seconds after that, one of our cats had already jumped onto the crib rail and started walking the perimeter, before jumping in and making herself a little fort amongst the bedding packages. Sigh.)

It's all starting to seem a bit more real. Which feels mostly great, but also a little....unsettling. I've had more than one friend tell me that at some point in my pregnancy, I will freak the heck out about having a baby. Could this be the time?

If so, I feel like the most ungrateful schmuck ever.

In which Barefoot complains about public transportation

2009-10-21T11:10:00.000-07:00

[Happy ICLW! For new visitors, here's the brief scoop -- I'm 32 weeks pregnant after 2.5 years of infertility and an IVF cycle. I talk about pregnancy a LOT -- it's kind of all I have going on right now -- so please beware if you're not into that. If you would like to read more about my cycle, you can find all kinds of blather on that in the archives between March and May of 2009.]

I know, it's like shooting fish in a barrel. (BTW, does anyone actually do this? I use this phrase all the time and the thought of actually taking a gun to a barrel of fish is simultaneously amusing and horrifying.) Public transportation, while often preferable to sitting in traffic for hours on end, generally sucks. Especially now that every time someone coughs on the train, you can feel a stiff breeze from all of the heads turning and eyes narrowing. It's easy to complain.

As public transportation goes, I'm pretty lucky. I live in the SF Bay Area and ride BART, which all in all is a pretty comfy ride. Padded seats, not too many bumps, etc. But let's face it: when you've got a watermelon strapped to your front, there is no "fun" in, um, public transportation.

Now that I'm visibly pregnant, people for the most part have been pretty great about the whole giving up the seat thing. Which is nice, because feel like such an a**hole asking that I'll just stand and bear it. Usually after a few minutes, I smack enough people with my belly that someone notices. Or, if I'm really desperate, I'll give the bump a couple of "absentminded" rubs. And honestly, it's less about having to stand (which is not such a big deal yet), and more about having a little extra space so that the chicklette's not getting an accidental elbow to the head.

But wouldn't you know it, the few times when I'm super-tired or having lower back pain or general crampiness are the times when no one will give it up. And you know what? It's always some 25-year old clean-cut guy in business gear, sitting in the "reserved for seniors or people with disabilities" seats, tapping away on his BlackBerry. Not that I have anything against corporate preppy guys -- heck, I married one -- but COME ON. Are you really going to avert your eyes and ignore me for a half-hour?!? Are you really going to make me ask? DO YOU REALLY ENJOY HAVING MY BELLY SIX INCHES AWAY FROM YOUR FACE? (And on a related note, Mr. Gap Man, did you really just cut me off to sneak into the LADIES room at the BART station?)

I know I probably just need to sack up and ask for a seat when I need one. Nothing less attractive than a passive-aggressive preggo.

But I don't liiiiiike to. Wah.

[New visitors, aren't you glad you stopped by this whine-a-thon?]

Home sweet home

2009-10-20T10:05:00.000-07:00

After seven weeks, 35 additional commute hours (per person), countless take-out meals, and I-don't-even-want-to-think-about how many dollars, our remodel is done and we're HOME. Hooray.

The big part of the project was the bathroom remodel. We live in a 3/1 ranch, but didn't want to expand too much and price ourselves out of the market when we do eventually (please God) sell the house. So we opted to redo our existing bathroom, making it luxurious enough for the grown-ups AND durable enough for the kid.

Here's the old bathroom. As you can see, we had only a stand-up shower (no bath), a pedestal sink, and some interesting storage.

Here are a couple of pictures of the bathroom post-demo. We opted to move one wall 18 inches into our third bedroom/office, so that we could have a little extra room for the new tub setup and linen closet. You can probably see the nasty dirty termites crawling around -- their discovery set us back another couple grand, but we'd always suspected we had them so it was sort of a relief to deal with it already.

And now for the big reveal! On the right side, you'll see a new vanity, toilet, medicine cabinet and overjohn. We also installed new light fixtures, hardware, paint -- well, everything. Another nice space-saving change was the installation of a sliding pocket door (not pictured) -- now we don't have to make room for a big door swinging into the bathroom.

On the left side, we have a whirlpool tub/shower combo (sorry for the fuzziness in the second picture, and our new built-in linen/laundry closet. I didn't get any good pictures of the tub, but I've already logged some serious time and I will tell you it is HEAVEN. I am a huge bath fan and I can't believe I managed to live in a house for almost 4 years without one.

The other parts of the project were the replacement of hardwood floors in the bedrooms/office/hallway, since we'd had some termite damage and pretty much hated the floors that were in there. Here's one of our cats approving of the change (or maybe disapproving, it's hard to tell sometimes):

We also painted the baby's room, the office and the hallway. I'll save the nursery for some time when we actually have furniture (don't get me started on how long we've been waiting for THAT). The color turned out a wee bit, um, radioactive, so we might make another change. But hey, if one paint color is the worst misstep we had, I'm not complaining.

So there you have it -- the great Barefoot remodel of 2009.

Transverse "lay"

2009-10-16T13:53:00.000-07:00

OK, apparently it's actually a transverse "lie," but I swear my OB said "lay" yesterday, which perked my husband's ears right up as it sounded vaguely dirty.

But it's not. A transverse lie is what they call it when your baby feels like lying (laying? I can never get that straight) sideways, rather than head-down. In my case, it's not really a big deal yet because babies don't generally get into launching position until after 32 weeks. But it does explain why my stomach has been looking a little wide and OMG CAN YOU PLEASE GET YOUR FEET OUT FROM BETWEEN MY RIBS, BEBE?!?

Anyway, so I'm thinking lots of head-down thoughts and doing extra puppy poses, which the yoga instructor says is supposed to help such things. At least I think it's the puppy pose -- I've been a cat, cow, pigeon and camel in the last couple of weeks so it gets kind of confusing. But basically it means you get on all fours and put your head down on your crossed arms, which doesn't look like a puppy at all IMHO but does have the added benefit of moving the baby off of your bladder. If only I could work all day in puppy pose, I would be getting a lot more done.

Anyway, back to the doctor. Everything otherwise looks/sounds good (my weight gain seems to be plateauing, which was nice news), and I got a seasonal flu shot. Supposedly the swine flu shot will be arriving at my OB's office "any day now," so I have that to look forward to.

Oink! Have a great weekend, everyone.

Today

2009-10-15T14:14:00.000-07:00

Thinking of many, many of you today (which is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day). Wishing peace to anyone who has suffered a loss or losses.

Mr. Stinky Breath

2009-10-14T15:37:00.001-07:00

The Mr. has become the most recent casualty of my super sniffer. About a week ago, I woke up in the middle of the night (as is my wont, or rather, my bladder's), inhaled deeply, and gagged.

The offender? My husband's breath.

I figured maybe it was the Taco Bell we had for dinner that night, tilted his head to the other side, and fell back asleep.

Every night since then, it's struck again. And it's not just in the middle of the night -- sometimes I catch a whiff when we're watching TV, or he's giving me a hug, or certainly during more, um, private times. I ask him to brush his teeth, and it doesn't help. And I know he's got good dental hygiene -- gets his teeth cleaned regularly, brushes and flosses and all that good stuff.

Certainly other things continue to offend my nose to a heightened degree (hello, public transportation and work refrigerator), but this particular case is ever so slightly more inconvenient. I mean, how are we supposed to take care of business during these last weeks of relative peace and quiet? It's not like the belly hurdle isn't already making things a bit challenging in that department.

Which shall likely be a topic for a whole 'nother post.....

A series of boring updates

2009-10-13T12:44:00.001-07:00

First of all, thanks to everyone who encouraged me to write the love letter to the Mr. I really enjoyed writing it and giving it to him on our anniversary on Sunday. He was thrilled and so moved, and read it 5 times.

Of course, then we ended up bickering about our remodel and baby to-do list all through our dinner, but at least we had a couple of good moments first!

In other news, I am starting to feel like a major wuss because I am starting to get uncomfortable. I mean, come on, it's only 31 weeks, right? But between the shortness of breath, the random stretchy pains, the expanding ribcage, the growing boobs (seriously? MORE???) and the fact that I needed the Mr. to help me try on shoes at the shoe store over the weekend, I'm starting to feel like a big pile of suck. And I know there's so much more to come.....

BUT, the fabulous news is that our remodel is DONE. All that's left to do is have the cleaners come for a deep clean, move a bunch of furniture back where it belongs, and move back in this weekend. I'll post some pics once we've gotten everything looking all pretty.

Now all that's left is to wait for the baby furniture.....

The New "Normal"

2009-10-09T15:31:00.001-07:00

This morning I woke up, refreshed and ready at 6:15, and commented to my husband:

"Wow! What a great night's sleep. I only got up to pee 3 times!"

At which point he snorted, rolled his eyes, turned over, and went back to sleep.

Obviously, infertility, treatments and pregnancy have changed me in countless important and fundamental ways. But this morning's episode got me thinking about the countless, semi-trivial ways in which I've changed over the last 3 or so years (beyond the constant need to pee and the ability to fall asleep immediately afterwards -- and OK, sometimes during).

To wit:

I'd never gotten blood drawn before my first infertility workup, and was so grossed out/scared that I had to shut my eyes and do deep breathing. Now I avidly watch and discuss things like the color of my blood and needle technique with the lab tech.
Pelvic exams and other occasions where medical professionals insert things in my hoo-ha are no longer a big deal.
I've come to appreciate work as a distraction from disappointment.
I've come to realize that I can indeed live without red wine for extended periods of time.
I've learned how to ask for help lifting my suitcase into the overhead bin (sort of -- this is a work in progress).
I've always been sensitive about my weight, and people commenting on it. Now I find comments about the growing size of my belly reassuring, and actually enjoy when people touch my belly.
On a related note, I used to perish the thought of walking around in my bathing suit. Now being in the water feels SO GOOD, I let it all hang out and don't even really think about it (except when my giant boobs occasionally pop my suit open).
I crave sweets.
I have hair growing in odd places.
When my husband tells me I look beautiful, I don't fight it -- I just smile and appreciate the compliment.
Have I mentioned the size of my boobs?

What about you? Anyone care to share in what crazy ways this whole roller coaster ride has changed you?

Babymoon, take 2

2009-10-08T13:30:00.000-07:00

It's Fleet Week here in San Francisco, and the Blue Angels are doing practice runs overhead, which must mean it's almost anniversary time! Six years ago this week I was an hour late to my own wedding because of traffic streaming out of the Presidio after the Blue Angels air show. Which resulted in my poor now-husband having to give a speech to the assembled guests letting them know that I was NOT leaving him at the altar, but just stuck in gridlock in the back of a limo. Thank goodness for cell phones!

To mark this momentous occasion, we have planned a second babymoon this weekend, to try and make up for the fact that our previous attempt didn't exactly have the glow of romance to it. So I used hotel points to book us a room downtown, where we will blissfully (hopefully) be tourists in our own city for a weekend. We have dinner reservations, and big plans to walk around aimlessly and maybe ride a cable car or two.

Given that we just spent a buttload of money remodeling and buying baby stuff, there will be no gifts exchanged this year. But, I'm thinking of totally cheesing out and writing a love letter to the Mr. He has always been more than I could have hoped for, but in this past year particularly. I feel like I don't tell him enough what an amazing partner he is, and so I think I'm going to take a crack at putting it in writing before my brain turns to baby mush.

Has anyone else ever done this? Any advice?

Baby Basics

2009-10-05T16:40:00.000-07:00

We took our first prenatal class -- Baby Basics -- over the weekend. It was definitely basic, which was a good thing for this only child with very limited baby experience. Although I have to imagine that changing a dry diaper on a doll is going to be wee bit less complicated than changing a squirming baby with poop running down her leg with a cat on the changing table and the phone ringing on 2 hours of sleep. But I suppose those would be hard conditions to simulate.

Now, I'm always the eager beaver in class-type situations -- lots of questions, and notes, and probably annoying the crap out of everyone else -- but I couldn't help noticing that a lot of the couples in the room looked very unhappy. Or at least seriously disinterested. The classes aren't mandatory, so I don't really get it. But it made me kind of sad for them. I guess you never really know what people are going through. And honestly, maybe they were all just in food coma or something since the class was right after lunch.

But it did remind me, once again, that while infertility sucks the big one, it's certainly removed any ambivalence I thought I had about becoming a parent. I guess I'll have to wait and see if poop sucks worse than Lupron, but I'm pretty sure I'll be happy to go with the poop.

Why you should not read Twilight while pregnant

2009-10-02T10:43:00.000-07:00

WARNING: Spoilers ahead for anyone reading or contemplating reading the Twilight series.

OK, I confess. I've now read the Twilight series not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES. Inside of a year. My excuse: I've found the complete escape into fantasy to be super-comforting during this crazy year of infertility diagnoses, Clomid, IVF and pregnancy.

For anyone else who's read the books, I'm sure we can all think of some very obvious reasons why reading the series -- particularly the final book -- might not be a wise choice for either an infertile OR a pregnant woman (or for someone like me, who's been both infertile and pregnant at different times while reading it). Whether it's Bella getting pregnant on her first cycle, a pregnancy that involves severe morning sickness, an unenthusiastic father, severe illness, blood-drinking and broken bones, or a childbirth that culminates in a c-section via vampire teeth, exsanguination, and death -- well, it's quite a buffet of horrors.

But, even knowing that, I've read the books THREE TIMES. What a loser.

It should have come as no surprise that at some point I'd have a very graphic dream with some Twilight-y goodness mixed in. When it finally happened last night, while I was mildly disappointed that it did not take the form of a sex dream about Edward, I was

also pleasantly surprised that it did not involved me getting my spine crushed by the chicklette.

But it was disturbing nonetheless. I dreamt that I brought my daughter home from the hospital, where she immediately began speaking (a la Renesmee). Not just speaking, but telling me all of the things I was doing wrong.

Mommy, you're not fastening the car seat right.

Mommy, I don't like this car seat.

Mommy, you're not holding my head right.

Mommy, your breast milk tastes yucky.*

The takeaway? As much as I'd like to escape into the world of Twilight from time to time, I'm super-glad that I won't have to worry about this kind of backtalking for at least a couple of years.

*And by the way, where did my subconscious come up with THAT?

Infertility Urban Legends

2009-09-30T10:05:00.000-07:00

OK, OK, enough about my bodily functions. I'm feeling much better this week and can now focus on much more interesting topics.

I got a call over the weekend from my childhood best friend ("S"), as we've been plotting over her plans to fly in for my baby shower at the end of the month. As a bit of background, S and her husband started trying to have a baby soon after they got married in 2003, went through 5 (or maybe 6?) rounds of IVF, suffered multiple miscarriages (including an ectopic pregancy that cost S one of her tubes), and were never able to get an explanation from any of their three specialists as to why she wasn't able to carry a pregnancy past 8 weeks. About two and a half years ago, they decided to find a surrogate, and last October they were blessed with two beautiful, healthy twin girls.

After the expense of going the surrogate route and the heartbreaks of the preceding years, S and her husband decided they were done. All three of their specialists agreed that since she was not able to get pregnant without IVF, there was no need to have her remaining tube tied or worry about birth control.

You know where I'm going with this, right?

S is pregnant. The old-fashioned way. No timed intercourse, no drugs, no nothing. She's not even sure how many weeks along she is, because her cycle's been so irregular with the one tube and the multiple IVFs -- a total change for those of us used to knowing and obsessing over every cycle day! They are totally in shock.

At the end of our conversation, S said: "You know what's the weirdest part? I hate that we're the infertility urban legend....you know, the couple who tried and tried and ended up using a surrogate and then just RELAXED and got pregnant. Because it was so devastating to hear that particular piece of advice from countless people during our struggles."

Personally, I'm thrilled for them, and am happy to be friends with an urban legend. It gives me hope that the next time around, maybe a good sperm will find its way to a good egg and we can make a baby just like "normal" people do. Maybe not, but maybe. What can I say, I'm a hope junkie.

What do you all think? Are you personally acquainted with an infertility urban legend? Does hearing their stories give you hope or drive you crazy?

Missing DayQuil

2009-09-29T08:48:00.000-07:00

Having a cold and not being able to take anything for it kinda sucks. I think I've expressed about a gallon of snot in the last 72 hours.

I know that I'm guilty of this myself, but it's really funny the way people look at you these days when you're out in public and either sniffle, sneeze or cough. OMIGOD IT'S THE SWINE!

But it's not. Just a week of poop, followed by boogers. SEXY!

The good news is that the Great Remodel of 2009 will be done in a couple of weeks. Everything's looking great. I promise before and after pictures.

Now, back to the tissues.

Car rental hijinks

2009-09-23T18:51:00.000-07:00

This afternoon, I sent the following text to my husband:

"Ur wife is officially a WIDE LOAD."

Wanna know why?

Today, I arrived at LAX for yet another fun business trip adventure. The big red Avis rental car shuttle dropped me off at the following vehicle, which Avis had so kindly preselected for me:

It's a Nissan 350 Z convertible, which normally would be quite a fun little car for jetting about LA. I actually think Avis was trying to be nice to me with a complimentary upgrade (since I've rented roughly 37 cars from them in the last 6 months), and hey, intially I was pretty fired up.

Until I climbed in. Or tried to climb in. And my tummy was smooshed against the steering wheel. Even when I pushed the seat all the way back. And then I tried to get out and had to basically roll out of the door and onto the parking lot to get out. You see, the Nissan 350 Z sits about 2 inches off the ground. Apparently I have a little more work to do in prenatal yoga on the whole squatting thing.

So, I waddled over to the Avis counter and explained my problem. "Thank you so much, but there's only room for one person behind that steering wheel, and I've got 1 2/3."

So I got this instead:

A Ford Expedition, baby. Which I think could run over a Nissan 350 Z with its front tire and not even alarm the driver. I'm pretty sure I guzzled $20 worth of gas to drive the 10 miles to my office, but it was certainly an improvement over the minivan "upgrade" they gave me last week.

And the guy behind me in line was REALLY excited to get the convertible.

The good, the bad, and the stinky

2009-09-22T14:01:00.001-07:00

So, we're back from our chicklette-moon.

Let's start with the good, shall we? Late on Thursday afternoon, we checked in to the lovely Hotel Del Coronado on, you guessed it, Coronado Island. It's a lovely, historic, haunted hotel. I've always wanted to stay there. Nice, hunh?

As if that weren't enough, the Mr. in his charming charmingness managed to sweet talk his way into an upgrade to a suite. So we rang in the first night of our vacay looking out the window at this view:

Again, not bad. We watched the beach get invaded by Navy SEALS after dark (apparently they have the run of the island to train on as they wish), ate some totally carb-y Italian food, and went to sleep.

Things continued to look up the next day, as we got up early, hit Starbucks for a Pumpkin Spice Latte, and got to the San Diego Zoo nice and with PANDAS on the brain. No line, everything going well, pandas were cute, etc.

I should have known that furry panda butt was an Omen of Doom. About 10 yards outside of the panda exhibit, I started to feel funky. A little light-headed, a little hot (what else is new?), a little thirsty. I chalked it up to the fact that it was hot, I was pregnant, and, well, those two things seemed to be enough.

We made it to the nearest refreshment stand and I gulped down some water. And then immediately ran to the little pandas room to expel something looking strikingly similar to what that furry panda butt expelled right after I took that picture. It was not pretty -- in fact, the next person to enter the bathroom (while I was still moaning on the stall), exclaimed "UGH!"

Somehow we made it out of the Zoo (that place is FRICKIN' HILLY), and the Mr. drove us back to the hotel. I curled up in a fetal position and slept for two hours, thinking the worst was behind me (ha ha).

But no. I couldn't get to sleep that night, and had a vague feeling that something bad was going to happen. At about 4:00, it did. And then again at 5. And 6. I'm sure you get the picture. I DESTROYED the fancy bathroom. I woke up the poor Mr. (how he was still sleeping at this point was beyond me) and told him what was going on (although I'm pretty sure he got the picture as soon as he took his first conscious breath). He felt my forehead, determined that I was running a fever, got me dressed, and trucked me off to the ER.

Long story short, things are fine, baby is fine, my tummy is now fine, but I spent about 48 hours in lockdown with only Gatorade, bananas and dry toast (oh, and lots of expensive movies from the hotel TV) for company. I felt so bad for ruining the babymoon, and now owe the Mr. a very large (probably sexual) favor for the fact that he carried a specimen of my poop from the hotel back to the hospital for analysis. Is that love, or what?

So, the babymoon was not quite what we expected. But that's not even the worst part.

After ALL THAT POOPING, I was still up 4 pounds at my OB appointment this morning.

4 pounds. WHERE IS THE JUSTICE?!?!

We're off to see the pandas.....

2009-09-16T08:53:00.000-07:00

The wonderful pandas of.....San Diego??

That's right, the Barefoots are off for a long weekend babymoon tomorrow morning. I am so excited for a break from work, work travel, remodeling, and sleeping with a husband and two fluffy cats in a very small bed. Just the husband for a few days, thankyouverymuch.

The last time we were in San Diego, a couple of months ago for my sister-in-law's graduation, we went to the Zoo with a large group and no one wanted to wait in line to see the pandas. I was, in a word, crestfallen. So on this trip WE WILL SEE SOME EFFING PANDAS, even if it means I have to camp out at the gate. Baby needs pandas.

Other than the line, now all that is standing between me and my pandas is a workday in LA, a flight home, an unpack, a repack, a snap decision about bathroom paint color, a trip to the hardware store to purchase said paint, and a flight back down to San Diego.

That doesn't sound so bad, right? RIGHT?!?