Hey, Babe

Fantastic news.  Little Dude decided to make his debut on Saturday {his due date!}.  He came out looking like the Sunbean's twin, though they look differently already.

 

We're not sharing his name via the internets, but if you're my friend on Facebook we've shared it there.  If you're still itching to know, just shoot me an email and as long as you're not a creeper, I'll share.

So we're all just hanging out, getting to know each other.

His birth story is an emotional one for me, and as soon as I have the time/energy/free hands to get it all down, I'll make sure to blog about it.

We're feeling very blessed to have a happy, healthy {and ludicrously hungry} baby home with us.  For a few hours there, things were looking like they might not have a happy ending, so we're just so thankful that this little guy is ours.

More details to come. 

Lesson Learned

Want to hear a ridiculous story that, I swear, could only happen to me?  Of course you do.

I guess this is what you get when you travel across the country at 28 weeks pregnant.  The universe just kind of gangs up on you.

So, picture this.  A pregnant momma, in all her glory, hangin' on the beach.  Actually, you can picture it:

Don't you love that the Sunbean is actually taking her afternoon nap?

We had packed up for a few days and left my grandma's place to stay at the beach.  That night, I started having sharp pain in my nether region.  I figured that if I could get to sleep, I'd be fine.  I got to sleep okay, but I was still having pain the next day.

By mid-morning, I was having some cramping, which felt like it could be contractions.  Well, crap.  I called my doctor, and she told me to go to the ER.  Talk about a beach vacation.

I looked up some nearby hospitals, and decided to drive the extra 20 minutes to a larger hospital.  I was afraid that if something really was wrong, they'd end up sending me there anyway.  I just wanted to avoid a $3,000 ambulance transport.  Biiiiiiiiig mistake.

We get to the big hospital (and I mean big).  I've never seen a hospital so big in my life.  We located the emergency department, and I had my mom drop me off at the door.  The Sunbean was asleep, and I wanted her to sleep as long as possible.  I get up to the door at it is locked.  Yes, locked.  The door to the ER was locked at 10:00am on a Saturday morning.

I waddled myself to the car, and told mom to drop me at the main entrance.  I get to the desk (those doors happened to be open) and I tell the lady I think I'm having contractions at 28 weeks.  What does this genius do?  She suggests that I get back in my car and drive over to the ER door.  I inform her that it was locked, and she tells me I'm mistaken.  Oh, lordy.  This is shaping up to be a great visit.

I tell her I'd rather just have directions from inside the hospital.  She then proceeds to tell me that it is a long and complicated walk.  Why she didn't offer to escort me (perhaps via wheelchair?  I was having painful contractions, you know.), I'll never know.  But I make my way over to the ER.  I had to take three separate elevators, but I made it.

I apparently didn't go to the right desk the first time, because they sent me on another trot across the hospital.  Finally, at desk #3, I burst into tears.  The very sweet receptionist finally gets me a wheelchair and takes me up to labor and delivery herself.  10 points to her for having common sense.

Finally at L&D, still having contractions, it takes them at least 20 minutes to get my information.  For real.  They finally get me into a room, and I was shocked to find that I was sharing a room.  I know that's not unheard of, but I'm from Hospital City, USA, where they build a new hospital every 2 months.  We don't share rooms around here.

So I'm finally in a bed, and they're trying to get the monitors hooked up.  At this point, Little Dude is kicking so ferociously that you can actually see my stomach moving from the outside.  A nurse is trying to find his heartbeat via doppler, and is somehow having a hard time.  She starts to tell me that there is something wrong with the baby because he has no heartbeat.  For real, lady?  Not only is there fetal movement, but I can actually see it.  Duh.

So she skips the doppler, and for her next trick, attempts to hook up the contraction monitor.  Fast forward one hour.  She, and three additional nurses, are still unsuccessful.  I'm not even kidding.  It's like I was their very first OB patient EVER.

I finally ask them to do one of two things.  Either check my cervix to see if I'm dilated or use an ultrasound to check the length of my cervix.  It frightens me that I appear to have more knowledge of preterm labor than the four of them do.  Combined.

One nurse decides to check my cervix herself.  Okay, fine.  That's kind of why I came in the first place.  She gets the necessary 'supplies', and I happen to look down.  She's not wearing gloves.  Oh.  em.  gee.  This cannot be happening to me.  I (politely?) ask her to put gloves on before her hand goes inside me.  Her response?  "Oh yeah!".  Oh, yeah.

Let's just fast-forward a few hours.  I'd been laying in bed, just waiting on my test results.  I finally called for the nurse and asked if I could leave, and they could call me with the results.  They were just testing for an infection, so I wasn't too concerned.

Her response?  Oh, well, there won't be a doctor around to sign you out for about 4 hours.  Um, no.  I will not sit around with you fools for 4 more hours.  My mom and I pitched a fit, and 30 minutes later I was on my way.

As I was leaving, an emergency delivery came into the unit - the momma was only 30 weeks.  Let's just say I've been thanking my lucky stars that it wasn't me delivering a preemie with those goons.

I've since been to my own (fully competent doctor) and things are just fine.  She said having painful contractions during the 3rd trimester is normal, as long as I don't have more than 3 or 4 an hour.  Good to know.

Lesson learned.  I'll never, ever be traveling while pregnant again.  

For real? Legislators need some new hobbies.

I've been scarce with blogging because all I can think to blog about is Primary or pregnancy.  Neither topic is particularly riveting, really.  But this news story caught my eye and pissed me off enough to blog.  Thanks, Georgia.

Basically, this ridiculously stupid Georgia lawmaker (obviously a male) wants to pass a law that will make any attempt to remove a live fetus from a mother considered murder, unless the goal is a live birth.  Translation:  let nature take its course unless you're delivering a baby.

Where to start?  Well, I get the gist of the proposed law.  It's just an anti-abortion law gone horribly, horribly wrong.  He just wants abortion to be murder.  I also get that it will never, in a million years, pass.  But that's not what I'm worried about.  It just worries me that we have such uneducated, single-minded people running our country.

The next thing that pops into my head is my experience with ectopic pregnancies.  I've had two.  The unfortunate truth about ectopic pregnancies is that you can't save the baby and the mother.  You just can't.  It's not even a matter of having a choice, really.  If the ectopic pregnancy was allowed to progress, both would die.  The fetus isn't far enough along to survive without the mother.  So when both of my ectopic pregnancies were removed, the fetus was still alive.  We didn't have a choice.  It just happened to us.  We are not murderers.  We were unfortunate victims of a situation that just shouldn't happen.  There aren't any exceptions in this proposed law for situations like ours.

How about partial miscarriages?  Where a mother starts to miscarry but her body doesn't finish the job?  Technically, under this proposed law, she would have to bleed out and die.  Again, no exceptions.

Aside from the obvious medical-related reasons why this is utterly ridiculous, let's talk about the emotional damage we're looking at here.  Pregnancy loss, of any kind, is tough.  This law would require a fetal death certificate for any pregnancy loss, whether medical assistance was used or not.  In my opinion, that's not going to help anyone through the grieving process.  Being investigated for a natural event will cause feelings of doubt and guilt in the hearts of the parents.  Also, I'm pretty sure those things aren't free.

Basically, a Georgia lawmaker wants to 'investigate' every causes of pregnancy loss that is 'unknown'.  WTF?  Does this guy even know what a miscarriage is?  By definition, a miscarriage is a pregnancy loss, before 20 weeks, for which the cause is typically unknown.  As in, the doctor will say, "It's hard to tell what happened.  Just try again in 3 months."

Things like this are what makes me, a staunch Republican, question anti-abortion laws.  Personally, I believe that abortion (choosing to end a pregnancy when there is no medical reason for doing so) is wrong.  I believe that it is a sin.  But I'm not sure that I believe that our government has the right to dictate that.  I'm not really sure if I'm in favor of or against anti-abortion laws, but I do know that I'm against crazy proposals like this one.

Oh, Georgia.

Professionals Shouldn't Wear 3-D Vests

It's no secret that I love my OB.  She's seriously fantastic.  She's saved my life twice, and gave me a fantastic birth experience with the Sunbean.  She's young enough to be open to just about anything, and experienced enough to know what's safe.  She's an organic foodie, too, which gives her some bonus points.  However, she's not good at referrals.  I hated the pediatrician referral she gave us (love the one we have now), and here's a fantastically ridiculous story about the physical therapist referral.

About 6 weeks into my pregnancy, I started having some serious sciatic nerve pain.  I know, I know.  A little early, but not for me.  I have a very crooked back, and one leg that is 2 inches shorter than the other.  I had early sciatica with the Sunbean, and I was expecting more of the same.

I didn't do physical therapy with the Sunbean because I was working full-time and it seemed like a monstrous hassle.  It is, if you were wondering.  I thought I'd give 'er a try this time, so requested a referral.

I was sent to a group that specialized in maternity care.  Sounded perfect.

As I was filling out the textbook of paperwork, a woman wearing one of those 3-D vests (you know, with pumpkins and ghosts that stick out....strike one) came up and called me 'sweetheart' (strike two).  Oooookay.  One:  you are a professional, for crying out loud.  Lose. the. vest.  Two:  my name is Abbey.  Unless you are my grandmother (which you are not) or my husband (definitely not), you may. not. call. me. 'sweetheart'.  Or 'honey'.  You just can't.

I follow pumpkin-vest to my room.  Even though I was wearing form-fitting yoga pants (which is what I was instructed to wear), she gave me a pair of XXL bootie-shorts.  Do any of you fellow Mormons see a problem here?  And for crying out loud, I'm not an XXL.

Then, she asks me a litany of questions.  Most of the same ones I'd already filled out in the 1,000-page packet.  I mentioned I was taking prenatal vitamins (obviously) and a DHA supplement.  I don't expect the average Joe to know that DHA is important for pregnant women, but this lady supposedly works with preggers all day long.  It was like she didn't believe me.  Maybe she thought it was a street drug.

Then, she asks about my back.  I tell her I have a 30-degree S-curve.  She asks if I have ever been to a doctor to have that officially diagnosed.  WTH?  Um, yes.  I did not have my husband measure that curve with the x-ray machine in our garage.  Honestly.

Why I was still standing there in my bootie-shorts, I have no idea.  But then she has me touch my toes.  It is a medical fact that I will never be able to touch my toes.  The curve in my back prevents it.  Well, this lady doesn't believe it.  She goes on to tell me that my doctor probably doesn't know much about scoliosis (hmmm...the orthopedic surgeon with 35 years of experience treating scoliosis patients....probably a complete dunce) and that I can't touch my toes because I must not exercise enough.  Oh.  em.  gee.

In retrospect, I think I did a knock-out job keeping my temper in check.  Or maybe I was just in shock over the entire experience.  Either way, this woman didn't get her head bit off by me, which is a miracle.

As if that's not enough, she then notices that my hips aren't in-line.  I'm well aware of that fact, as I have spent the past 27 years of my life hemming clothing 'crooked' so that it will look straight on me.  I refer her to my encyclopedia of paperwork, and remind her that my left leg (or is it the right?  i can never remember) is 2 inches shorter.  She literally rolls her eyes and asks again (I swear I am not making this up) if I have ever been to a doctor to have that checked out.

By this point, I am searching the room for evidence that she is really a physical therapist.  I'm sure she has the real one locked up in the closet or something.  But for real, my husband and I do not sit around measuring ourselves for fun.  We just don't.  I have known for fifteen years that my back is crooked and my leg is short.  Like, as in, I went to the doctor.  And had x-rays.  And measurements.  And scoliosis braces.  None of that is my idea of a good time.

The rest of the appointment proceeds with much of the same, and she finally decides she will need to do some research before she can treat me.  Inside, I'm cracking up.  As if I'd be returning to this group.  I (politely?) tell the receptionist that I won't be back.

Thankfully, I'm now working with a fantastic therapist who gives me deep muscle massages for an hour a week.  I think I love her.

Moral of the story:  please don't wear those 3-D vests.  And don't call me sweetie.  And don't ever go to that physical therapist.  She's crazy.

The Story Behind the Shoes

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave me to me...a totally easy and free advent calendar, the best Christmas movie ever made, quick gift card cozies, our Christmas tree, a sweet Christmas memory, and the story behind the shoes.

Okay, so maybe this isn't 100% Christmas-related.  But who reads blogs on Saturday, anyhow?

But yesterday I posted a picture with the Sunbean in these adorable Christmas shoes.  Quick tangent:  I h.a.t.e. that Christmas song.  Anyway, my friend Abby posted a comment that is actually one of my favorite memories, so I thought I'd share it with the internets.

If you're a regular reader (and followed me from my other blog), you know that getting the Sunbean in our life was a long, hard road.  In short, I was in the first trimester of a pregnancy for nine months of 2007.  Holy emotional year.  Poor, poor MacGyver.  Two of those pregnancies ended up ectopic, and one netted us our sweet baby girl.

In December of 2007, we were celebrating the fact that we actually had a viable pregnancy.  So exciting.  For New Year's Eve, we traveled over to see some friends in the Buckeye state.  While doing some shopping, we stumbled upon these adorable little shoes (on clearance, no less!) and right then and there, we made our very first purchase for our very first baby.

I think I looked at them about 300 times that weekend.  I was so excited when the Christmas season of 2008 rolled around, because I could finally use them!  So yes, they're cute, but they are probably one baby item I'll always keep.  I'll be that crazy old lady with the baby reindeer shoes, just because they mean so much to me.

Here's hoping Baby #2 has freakishly small feet so they can be worn again...

Let's Discuss: Prenatal Testing

So, when I'm pregnant, I like to read birth boards.  I love to hear what other expecting moms are up to and what they are experiencing.  The big 'buzz' right now is the 12-week NT scan, which can detect Down's Syndrome, among other problems, I believe.

This is the first I've heard of this scan, so I'm guessing it wasn't around or wasn't popular when I was preggo with the Sunbean.  That was forever ago.  You know, 3 years.  Anyway, they do an ultrasound and measure the neck folds to see if the baby is at higher risk.  From there, they'll do bloodwork or more invasive tests, like an amniocentesis.

My OB hasn't mentioned it, so I'm guessing it isn't offered at my office.  Or maybe we'll be doing it at my 12-week visit and I'm clueless.  I guess it has to be done before the 14th week begins.  Either way is fine with me.

On the birth board tonight, a woman had an NT scan today that showed an increased risk of Down's Syndrome.  Pending the results of her bloodwork and amnio, she's planning to abort.  I was floored.

Here's my opinion.  I am all about getting as much prenatal screening and testing as possible.  Whatever is logical, I will do.  I live to be prepared, and so I'd want to read every book ever written on Down's Syndrome if my child were at a high risk of having Down's Syndrome.  I'd have specialists and therapists researched and a plan and a strategy and dang it, I'd be as mentally prepared as possible.

But.  I would not, not, not choose to end my child's life based on a test result.  It makes my stomach turn to think of it.  While I think having a child with special needs (of any sort) would be an intense trial, I would never choose an abortion.  It just isn't me.  Based on my religious beliefs, I know that children with special needs on Earth will go on to inherit our Father's kingdom.  We believe that these 'special needs' are actually blessings that protect these children from the craziness of this world.  Being a parent to these children is certainly a challenge, but even more certainly, a blessing.  I look at it this way:  if Heavenly Father chose for me to become pregnant with this child, then He will provide a way for me to deal.  He has a plan.  I don't always know the details.

So, I love the prenatal screenings for the plan-ahead, be-prepared aspects, but abortion would never be an option for me.

What do you guys think?  Are you a fan of the screenings?  Why or why not?  I know my religious beliefs are a big factor in my opinion.  How about you?

Let's discuss.

MacGyver, Party of 4

If you're my friend on Facebook (all the cool kids are), you read our big announcement on Saturday.  We're welcoming another one of these in our family:

We're super excited!  It all happened so quickly that we're barely getting used to the idea of being pregnant.  We knew we wanted our kids to be about 3 years apart, and I knew that I wanted to avoid being largely pregnant through the summer again.  We did the math and realized it was time.  We're really good at getting pregnant, so as quickly as we decided, we were pregnant.  It has been a whirlwind of a few months, but we are really pumped about it.

So far I'm feeling, well, awful.  I throw up almost every morning, which never happened with the Sunbean.  And I'm not typically a puker.  Other than that, I'm just exhausted beyond belief.

We've had more than our fair share of pregnancy problems (is there really a fair share?), so we were planning to wait a little longer to announce, just in case.  My uterus, however, has had different plans.  I know I don't look pregnant to the general public, but MacGyver and I have been shocked at how quickly my body has 'remembered' what to do.  My pants definitely don't button anymore!

Because of our history, I've already had a slew of doctor visits, and we've had an ultrasound to see a heartbeat.  I actually didn't think it would be as exciting this time around, but I think I'm more excited.  I'm not as freaked out that something will go wrong, and I know what to expect.  Exciting stuff!

I'm due on June 1st, which is my mom's birthday and my brother-in-law's birthday, so that makes it even more special.

Now I'm off to either puke or make a nest for myself on the couch.

Holy Wake-Up Call, Batman

 A few weeks ago, my darling daughter strutted into my office looking something like this:

 

Just as I was contemplating how adorable she looked, she looked right into my eyes and said, "Do I look skinny?"

Whoa.

That's right.  My freaking 2-year-old wants to know if she looks skinny.  Sadly, I know where she picked that up.

Let me give you some background here.  Like just about every other American girl, I thought I was fat in high school.  Well, not fat.  Just 'chubby'.  Like just about every other American girl, I was not.  Not fat.  Not chubby.  Normal.  Of course, I had beanpoles for friends, so I was comparing myself to them.  Really not fair, but that's what I spent all of high school doing.

I went off to college and decided I was never going to do that again.  I was moving to a new town with new people, and I was going to give myself a new start.  I was going to know that I was skinny.  I had a healthy weight, so I figured I might as well embrace it before my years of matronly child-bearing arrived.

Problem was, I gained not the Freshmen 15, but the Freshman 50.  Turns out, ordering a DIET Coke with that pizza at midnight doesn't 'cancel it out.'.  I was cursed with my grandmother's fat-burning genes.  As in, none at all.

By the end of my freshman year, I was chubby.  Heck, I was fat.  Here's the problem, though.  I had decided that I wasn't ever going to feel that way again.  Oops.  So now I was overweight, but I couldn't see it.  I spent my sophomore and junior years at OU happily eating like crap and gaining weight without noticing.  I know it sounds stupid, but it's the truth.

Then, for some strange reason, I looked in the mirror one day and nearly had a heart attack.  I was married by then, so I asked MacGyver when I got so fat.  Like a good little husband, he muttered something rather non-committal.

I decided right then that I was gonna lose that weight and keep it off.  And I did!  By graduation, I was pretty dang close to what i weighed when I graduated high school.  Fast-forward a few years, and we had a rough year of non-viable pregnancies.  Spending 9 months of one year in the first trimester of a pregnancy does a number to your waistline, let me tell ya.

When the Sunbean was 6 months old, I happened to have another unfortunate look in the mirror.  Yikes!  Didn't like what I saw.  I dropped 100 pounds in the first year of her life, and am still at a healthy, happy weight.

I plan to stay here, too.  There is just one problem.  When I look in the mirror, I do not see a 120-pound momma.  I'm not saying I have some severe eating disorder or anything.  No need to send the psychiatrist over.  I just spent so many years thinking that I looked good, that now I approach myself with extreme caution.  I'm just a little insecure.

Aaaaaand now we're back to the point of this post.  Every.  single.  day.  I ask MacGyver if I 'look skinny' in my outfit.  He, of course, responds with the proper enthusiasm.  I just never thought about the impact it was having on my daughter.

In that moment, when I saw my baby girl asking me if she 'looked skinny', I saw her adolescent years before me.  I realized that I can give her a gift:  the gift of a healthy lifestyle with healthy habits and a healthy body image.  I can show her that by eating good foods, staying active, and having self-confidence, that yes, she does indeed look skinny.  No, she looks great.  She looks healthy.  She looks perfect.

I made a pact with myself that day.  I will never, ever, ever ask again if I look skinny.  I may ask poor MacGyver if my outfit looks okay, or if it matches (he's good with fashion....I'm lucky), but I'm just throwing the insecurities out the freakin' window.

It's a gift I'm giving my children, and, finally, myself.