Roundup

Here are just a few things that have been on my mind lately:

1. I figured out the way to clean my closet. It turns out it is more or less like anything else; you have to do it one thing at a time. It took me an hour and a half and there is still a small pile of stuff I don't know what to do with, but my clothes are folded and organized and I can see my entire wardrobe again.

2. Phoebe is, I think, growing again. She's been sleeping more than usual lately. I've also noticed that her feet are flat against the bottom of her Exersaucer, and when we put her in it for the first time a month ago, her toes were just brushing the bottom.

3. Though things are starting to pick up a tiny bit at work, I am incredibly bored most of the time and have been for awhile. It leaves me in the soul-crushing position of hating every second I am there and wanting to quit on the one hand, and being terrified that they will fire me on the other.

4. I am tired all the time. I am tired when I wake up in the morning, and tired when I go to sleep at night, and tired every minute in between. I feel like I shouldn't be this tired; after all, I barely do anything besides sit on my butt and surf the internet and play Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook all day. Occasionally I'll make or receive a phone call. Not exactly expending large amounts of energy.

5. Caetlin is so adorable when she plays costumes (dress-up) with the variety of dresses and costumes we have for her. She puts her fairy wings on and "flies" around the house. Thank you, "Alice the Fairy." ("I have wings so I can fly! I can't fly very high yet, but I can fly really fast!")

6. I finally dragged my father-in-law onto Facebook, so he can see all the pictures of the girls that I post there.

7. I often wish I were 21 and in college again. I wish I hadn't sped through my college years. I was petrified of not finishing. Neither of my folks finished college, though they both made several stabs at it over my lifetime (and prior to my lifetime). Somehow I absorbed that to put off or even slow down school was to fail to finish at all; this despite my sister's model, who by the time I went to college had completed two undergraduate degrees. The same reasoning led me to law school immediately after college, when I could have probably used some time working in between. I really wish I hadn't completed college in essentially three years. I wish I had taken more time. Even though I am only 32, I begin to understand the cynical phrase, "Youth is wasted on the young."

I could go on like this all night, but see point 4 above.

Three

Yesterday at the indoor playground, her little voice calling, "Mommy!" rang through my ears, and I marveled that she meant me.

She made me laugh, too, being silly, a fake har-har-har that cracks me up every time. And then we jumped in the bounce house and collapsed in a pile of giggles.

Later she ate pizza and peaches like a big kid, went potty like a big kid, put her shoes on like a big kid. She is a big kid.

She is so competent, so mindful of herself. When did she become a complete person, entirely separate, with her own wants and preferences and destiny?

She amazes me daily, with everything she is and does and wants to be. She is more like me than not, these days, and by that I mean that at three years old, she is closer to being a grown up than she is a baby. I know that sounds hyperbolic, and I know she has a lot to learn still, but she's fundamentally her own person. She doesn't need me, not like Phoebe needs me.

I am so lucky to be her mom. Happy birthday, my wonderful amazing girl. Who is growing up far too fast. I can't wait to see what the next year brings.

Pack Rat

Tonight, I hated myself.

I have a closet in the bedroom that I share with Bruce. About 3/4 of the closet is my stuff, but there isn't enough room for my stuff even with that much space. What I really need are (big enough) shelves or drawers, because there is plenty of room for the hanging clothes, but the folded stuff- T-shirts, yoga pants, jeans- that's usually a crazy mess. Over the last couple of months, however, the crazy mess has gotten out of control. The closet may technically be a walk-in- even completely empty there's room to take about one step in- but lately, all I can do is peer in from the closet doorway and hope I can find what I need. There is a pile of clothes mixed with other things that is about as high as my hip on the floor in the closet, and it makes the closet almost entirely unusable.

This condition was born of good intentions. I had wanted to sift through my closet, reorganize and weed out and make everything pretty and accessible. I wanted to remove my maternity clothes and bring back my old wardrobe, and I wanted to be able to find everything. That required pulling a large amount of stuff out, off the shelves, off the floor, off the hangers. I got halfway through and got tired, so I shoved it all back in with the intention of finishing up another day.

And I never did.

I have hated the way my closet looks. I hate the lack of functionality. I hate that I wear the same five outfits every week, because it's what I can reach and find. I hate that there are things buried in there that I have forgotten I own, things I would find useful.

Last week I was determined to fix it, to clean it up for good. Bruce has been on a kick of reducing our stuff lately, and fixing the house up in general, hanging pictures and packing up books we've read and giving stuff to Goodwill. Inspired by his example and feeling continually ashamed of my closet, I pulled everything out of the closet and into a pile on my bedroom floor, thinking that if I could see it, I could make a plan of how to deal with it.

It sat on my bedroom floor for a week and a half, untouched, just getting in the way of my scale and dirty clothes hamper.

The ladies who come clean the house every two weeks are coming tomorrow, and it was unthinkable to leave it there for them. We don't pay them to organize my clothing; we pay them to clean the floors and bathrooms.

Rather than face the pile, I threw it all back into the closet.

I hated myself when I was doing it. Every armful of clothes I dumped into the shadows of my closet floor whispered my failure, my inability to take care of even the smallest things at home. My inability to hold it together when I am working and the rest of my family carries on without me, my failure to be useful for my family beyond my paycheck.

It was especially reproachful in considering the hour and a half my wonderful husband had just spent cleaning his parts of the room, while I sat and looked at a computer screen. As if I don't do enough of that at work, but somehow it was the only thing I could make myself do this evening, even as my daughters were bathed and dressed for bed and had stories read to them and fell asleep. If there were a time-lapse video of my evening, it would be Bruce and the girls swirling around me, while I sit on my bed behind a laptop, barely moving.

I barely move a lot these days, metaphorically speaking.

I don't know when I'll be able to deal with the closet. It seemed so symbolic, the packing away of mess behind a door, leaving a tidy exterior. I look like I have it together. I look like a good parent, like a provider, like someone "having it all" in the parlance of the feminism I was raised on.

I know the mess waits for me, even as the door is closed, though. It's not just that I don't know when I'll get to it. It's more that I don't know how to deal with it. In some ways, it's just about folding the clothes and finding a place for them. But the the folding overwhelms me. The finding the place for them overwhelms me. I just don't know how to manage it. I don't know how to unpack it, organize it, make it useful again. I just don't know how.

I'm Not Gone

Honey, I'm home! Did you miss me?

Seriously, I have not abandoned the blog. Funnily enough, I often think of things I'd like to write about, but by the end of the day, my writing time, all my thoughts and desires to put any of it to metaphorical paper have bled away. Part of it is Farm Town, the damnably addictive game on Facebook. I'm obsessed with planting my crops and growing my coins so I can buy stuff to make my farm pretty. Within the last week I've realized that the real money is to be made harvesting for others, so I've been trolling the chat rooms for jobs, like almost everyone else who plays the game (that makes it sound so seedy. See what I did there- seedy?? I crack myself up). This takes up enormous amounts of time, so it seems.

Part of my lack of motivation is that I am almost always tired, and for the last week I've been battling a nasty cold. It's been hanging on for over a week now, and it's knocked both kids flat on their cute little behinds. Phoebe has been hacking periodically, and Caetlin wakes up every night at least once crying because she can't breathe because her nose is so stuffed. I hadn't taken anything for my cold, because decongestants tend to dry up milk a bit, and I'm ultra-paranoid about keeping my production up. So it's been hot showers and the neti pot and lots of tissue. I finally gave in last night so I could get some sleep, and the medicine helped quite a bit. I haven't had a cold this bad for a very long time, and I have to say, I don't recommend it. Bruce has been lucky enough to avoid it, though he's clearly been fighting it off, as he's been extremely tired all week.

Anyway, you may note that the last post was dated July 24. That was when I started the post, and it's been sitting three-quarters finished since then. I'm not sure why I couldn't finish it, or why I finally did, but I hope I'm back on the blogging bandwagon.

The First Week Back

It felt strange to walk in after all these weeks, and see that everything was how I left it.

My big desk calendar was still on February. My cartoon-a-day calendar was on March 3. The chill of those days was long forgotten as I could feel the summer morning sun through the window, already hot. My last two-liter of Publix diet ginger ale, the soda that I was obsessed with in the last days, sits half drunk and probably mostly flat where I left it, and the large plastic green cup I used to sip it from still next to it on my rubber coaster. My pens still in the same place, unused legal pads stacked neatly on one corner of my desk.

I have been back since I had Phoebe, of course. I was in to visit Bruce, and take advantage of the printer (mine is kaput at home right now). I checked my mail and worked with Bruce and his secretary to submit our applications for admission to the Georgia bar. It's not as though I haven't darkened the door here in 4 months.

And yet it all felt strange, like an item of clothing that has shrunk in the wash and no longer fits quite right. It was different, for sure. The same- my same stuff, arranged in my same way- but I had grown out of it, or beyond it, or just different and away from it.

And there was the new stuff too- the new black bag that at a passing glance could look like a large tote bag, and its accompanying square-ish cooler bag. You wouldn't know what those were for. You'd think it was a tote for books, or files, or even a large handbag. You'd think the cooler bag was a lunch. Instead, I lock the door three times a day and bottle up motherhood, using the horribly undignified machinery from the black-bag-that-is-not-a-tote. I pack it in little bottles and ice them in the cooler bag and hope they are enough for tomorrow and worry when it seems like less than yesterday, less than this morning, less than.

Bruce doesn't call often when he has the kids. I assume they are busy; I assume they are having fun. I surf the internet. I check Facebook, annoyed when there are no new status updates from the previous ten minutes when I checked it last. I surf through my favorite blogs, news sites, parenting sites. I get sleepy and think how ridiculous I must look to anyone walking by, my eyes closed, face dipping forward when microsleep overtakes me. If any of my plants had been bodysnatchers, I would have been a goner.

I count down till lunch. Then I count down until I can leave. I don't talk to anyone unless I get up to make yet another unwanted cup of coffee. It helps me get out of my office, anyway.

Economic conditions mean that I have very little to do, and likely won’t have much for awhile. I set myself tasks to do every day, which I sometimes finish. Mostly these are personal tasks, like making Caetlin’s doctor’s appointment or calling the bank about a disputed charge on my debit card. Sometimes there is a tiny smidge of work, that I usually procrastinate. When I only have one thing to do, it’s hard, for me anyway, to make myself do that one thing, even though my conscience would be clear about all the web surfing if I just went ahead and did it.

Phoebe seems completely fine with me being gone most of the time. It turns out she is a very flexible baby, able to roll with just about anything, boob, bottle, mom, dad, nanny. In some ways that makes it easier, and in some ways that makes it harder. I wish she would seem to need me a little more, but I am glad for Bruce and the nanny that she is still happy. I miss her face, her ready smiles, her faux-hawk hair. Her little voice cooing and squealing at me. I drink in when Bruce tells me about something new she has done that day, like starting to enjoy playing in her Exersaucer or getting up on hands and knees like she's almost ready to crawl. But I also hate it, hate missing it, feel like a fraud for not being there.

It would be better if I had something to do. What's that old saying? "Idle hands are the devil's workshop?" For me, they are depression and inadequacy's workshop. I am not conflicted about being at work. If I had a choice before, when I went back to work with Caetlin, I most assuredly do not now. Plus I have made my peace with the fact that I like to work and don't really want to stay home with the kids, unless Bruce could do it too and we could have lots of help. (I need us to be independently wealthy, apparently.) I'm not in the same place at all that had me gaining 20 pounds because I was so unhappy about leaving my kid when I went back after Caetlin. Three years have taught me that my kids will be smart, happy and healthy even as I go off to work every day. That helps a lot.

So I go, and I sit behind my desk and surf the internet, visiting the same sites over and over, feeling like my behind is growing into my chair. I smile at people in the hall, and field well-meaning inquiries about the baby. I collect my paycheck.

Here's hoping things pick up soon, for the sake of my hours (because the pressure to work hasn't abated and in fact has grown stronger since Bruce's layoff), but mostly for my sake. Because I need something to help me grow back into this role of a working mom. Emphasis on the working.

Tomorrow Is the Day

So...I go back to work tomorrow. I wish I had another month. Or 6. Or 12. It's been especially nice that Bruce has been home with us lately, though unfortunately it was a result of his being laid off.

Phoebe and I are not really separate beings at this point. I mean, of course I see and understand that we are two people, but she doesn't get that yet. And I haven't worked at all to emphasize it. Anytime she cries and I can't soothe her any other way, she gets the breast. My body is hers; I'm sure she sees me as a large extension of herself. I am her hands, her feet, her eyes, her food. I have had to do everything, be everything for her. This was true for Caetlin as well, but less so, in part because I went back to work when she was so much younger than Phoebe, and in part because Phoebe is so much more enamored of me. Caetlin loved me, but Phoebe loooooves me. I calm her more easily than Bruce when she cries (and not just with my boobs!), and she just generally usually seems happier with me.

So, tomorrow will be traumatic for her. And for me. It's not that I think she won't be cared for- she totally will. She'll be with our nanny and Bruce, and she'll be perfectly fine. But she'll miss me. And I will miss her. Every time I am away from her for any period of time, I miss her, like she's a fifth appendage. Even though sometimes I resent being so tied to her, and her to me, when I'm untethered from her I also feel unmoored. I worry for her. I worry that she won't understand that Mommy is coming back, and will only know that she wants me and I'm not there.

And then there is the breastfeeding and pumping thing. I am so nervous that she won't continue to nurse. That is what Caetlin did when I went back to work, and though the circumstances are somewhat different here (Caetlin never nursed without a nipple shield and therefore a bottle was much easier for her, plus she was never an avid nurser like Phoebe anyway), I worry. I want to nurse in the mornings and evenings and pump during the day, rather than pumping everything. Down that road lies madness, as I well know; I pumped for 3 more months with Caetlin after she stopped nursing. Despite my frantic efforts, I never pumped enough for Caetlin to have only breast milk, so after my store of frozen milk went away, I was only able to pump about 40% of the milk she needed as she grew. And to eke out that 40%, I was pumping up to 8 times a day, wrecking my productivity and my emotional state.

My big concern about Phoebe is that she has grown so aware, so interested in the world around her, that she will prefer the bottle because it will be easier to look around while she eats. I know I just need to relax and accept what comes, but it feels like such a personal rejection when the babe refuses to nurse. Such a referendum on my mothering. Or on my decision to keep working (not like I have a choice now, but I have had in the past). At times like those, the internet criticisms of "Why did you have kids if you aren't going to raise them yourself?" haunt me the most.

Anyway, going back is not just about these big things, of worrying that I won't be able to continue nursing Phoebe and fearing the pain of separation from her. It's the small things too- having to get up with an alarm in the morning, instead of waking up with the kids. Not being able to wear my comfortable, machine washable clothing, and generally putting less effort into my appearance (I'm always clean, but I don't remember the last time I put on full makeup, and I stress far less about a spot on my shirt). Having to plan my days more carefully, thinking about kids' mealtimes and pumping and getting to the gym and what deadlines will I have at work, when the past four-plus months have just been one unbroken, underscheduled stretch.

And then there is the frustration of work, of trying to scratch out a place for myself in a department that is indifferent to my efforts. The worry about Bruce, and whether and when and where he will find something. Tomorrow will be the first day in over 4 years that Bruce and I have not worked together (barring my maternity leave with Caetlin, when one of us is sick, etc.). And there is the added pressure of being the breadwinner. Though Bruce is continuing to receive a paycheck, that will run out faster than I can even think about it. It makes me scared for my job, scared for us, even though the numbers crunch just fine on only my salary. I don't like the pressure of carrying the family, not in this economy, in my line of work.

Anyway, I can't stop tomorrow from coming, and it will bring what it will bring. I know from experience that Phoebe will be just fine in the long run. I went back to work much sooner with Caetlin than I have with Phoebe (and can I say just how incomprehensibly short 12 weeks seemed with Phoebe, to the point that I have no idea how I went back when Caetlin was so incredibly young? My hat is off to anyone who can or must go back to work any sooner than that, as I know many women are required to do), and she's a perfectly fine and happy and well-adjusted almost-three-year-old. And she was a perfectly fine and happy and well-adjusted baby after I went back. We will all get used to our new normal, probably pretty quickly. If I keep things in perspective, I know it is not the end of the world, not the end of our relationship, not a sign of poor parenting. It's just...different. Different is not bad. Just different.

So off we go into the great unknown. How will we cope with the changes? I hope better than I did when I went back to work when Caetlin was a baby. At least this time there is not a convenient chocolate-filled holiday nearby, so I hopefully won't put on 20 pounds as a result of being so depressed about going back. That time it was a poorly timed trip to Target- a few weeks before I went back to work, I bought a huge amount of half priced candy that consoled me through the first couple months back at work. Consoled me right into larger sized clothing, too. I didn't lose that weight until about a year ago. Let's hope I can avoid that this time!

In other news, we have spent the last two weeks at the beach, and had a fantastic time. Caetlin, especially, had a wonderful time in the pool and the ocean (Gulf of Mexico, really). She started the vacation in my grandmother's pool with floaties on both arms and a pink inflatable ring around her middle, and she had to be coaxed away from the steps into Bruce's arms. By the end of the two weeks, she was going completely underwater while holding her breath, without her ring (her floaties had been long since discarded). Seeing her gain so much confidence in the water has been really great. I think if we had been there another week, she would have been swimming, as often as she was in the pool. The kid was more or less in her swimsuit from morning until night; we had to pry her out of it. And she's been pretending to be swimming all day today, and asking to go to the pool as well. Bruce and I are both fans of the water (something I remembered about myself when I spent so much time in the pool with Caetlin), so it's no surprise that Caetlin loved swimming so much. I can't wait to get her some lessons so she can really get moving.

Also, Phoebe had rice cereal for the first time today, and loved it. She sucked down spoonful after spoonful and consumed in the neighborhood of a quarter of a cup. She quickly got into the groove of opening her mouth for the spoon. Though she sucked on the spoon, which made a big mess, she clearly loved the whole eating experience. She even started crying and fussing between spoonfuls, because I wasn't pouring it into her fast enough. It was hilarious and awesome and so much fun. When we were done, her little belly was all pooched out and full, and she was basically ready to pass out. After a bath and a short nursing session, she crashed hard (this was after a 2 and a half hour nap this afternoon, which might be the longest nap she's ever taken- girl is sleep deprived and then some from our vacation). I'll look forward to giving it to her again tomorrow. It's something to look forward to about tomorrow anyway.

Reality Comes Crashing In

I go back to work in less than two weeks. That's scary to contemplate. We're at the beach right now, and will be until the Saturday before I go back, so this is my maternity leave swan song. And because we're on vacation, I haven't got the time to really think about going back, to really imagine myself at work all day, pumping a few times, and not seeing Phoebe except in the mornings and evenings. At least, it's easy to avoid that reality, though it is getting harder and harder to ignore.

I thought I was ready to go back. I had a great time at the conference that was held at the end of May, and I really was happy to be back in that professional world for a few days. But now that it's not just a short break from my leave, now that my four and a half months has evaporated like dew on the grass in the hot summer sun, I'm panicking. I thought I would be ready. I've been telling everyone that I am ready. But I'm not ready.

I am more ready to go back than I was with Caetlin, that's for sure. I went back after just 12 weeks, and I couldn't imagine going back at that point with Phoebe. More time is certainly better time.

But she's going to miss me so much. And then she won't. Which is worse?

Maybe not thinking about it is the better way to go. Maybe just confronting it when it's time to set the alarm clock and put on heels and pack the pump is less painful. I really don't know. I'm trying to enjoy the beach while I'm here. We're having a great time. Caetlin loves the pool. Phoebe likes it okay too. We're here with a bunch of my extended family, which is nice. They all love the girls. There is nothing to be sad about when we're here in this tropical paradise.

Yet it is lurking, growing more prominent in my psyche. I'm dealing with some administrative crap already, that needs to be done by the time I go back, so it's sort of more in the forefront than I wish it were. And it's looming large anyway. I can't deny that less than two weeks is not a lot of time.

I thought I was ready. I'm so not.

Milestone: Rolling Over

So today, Phoebe rolled over for the first time.

We both missed it.

I was in my room, getting dressed after a shower. Bruce was in the kitchen getting something to eat. He had put Phoebe on the floor on her back in her play gym. When he came back into the living room- so I'm told- she was on her tummy.

I wasn't surprised when he told me, because it has seemed to me like she was working herself up to roll for awhile now. I don't call her my "Get Up and Go Girl" for no reason, after all- she is going to be much happier when she can move around by herself. She's way more motivated to move than Caetlin ever was. Caetlin rolled over like once when she was two months old and then didn't do it again until 4 going on 5 months.

Phoebe hasn't done it again, yet, though I am sure she will soon. Still, I am sorry to have missed it. I think those kinds of milestones become less important with baby #2, so long as it's clear there is no delay, which there isn't in this case. But it's step one toward a mobile Phoebe, who will be a happier Phoebe.

Yeah, It's Been Awhile

Life on maternity leave tends to kind of smooth out the edges of things. Days flow into each other, the weekdays versus the weekends stop having any particular meaning, and I only remembered what day of the week it was by what was on TV that particular night (made more difficult by the end of the regular TV programming). There was me, and Phoebe, and a steady stream of lunch dates with girlfriends, trips to the gym and the mall, and diapers and nursing and spit up and crying and napping. My left bicep is extremely buff from hauling her around in her carrier. Really, for awhile, that was the most notable thing going on. So it's been awhile since I've posted.

Yet time and life both march on, and Stuff has Happened around here that finally moved me to write.

First there was Memorial Day weekend, which started, memorably enough, with Bruce being laid off. Happy three day weekend!

Seriously, if you've been reading here for any length of time, you know we knew it was coming. All options have been exhausted, and there really is just no room for him. He is a man without a department, with a specialty that no one else in the firm does (any more), and almost non-existent billable hours for the year. It made zero economic sense to keep him, and the firm is a business. It really was no surprise. The separation details are pretty generous, though we will have to address circumstances with our nanny (more on that in a bit).

Saturday we took Caetlin to the Y, where we have recently become members. We have found that having kids makes a Y membership entirely more appealing, as they offer a ton of programs for the kid, plus babysitting that Phoebe is now old enough to start using as well as Caetlin. Also, the Buckhead Y has a kick-ass outdoor pool. We haven't been there yet, since we regularly go to the Ashford-Dunwoody Y, but I foresee some summertime fun there. Caetlin loves going to the babysitting there; she "has a good time with teachers and plays with new toys" as she puts it. (The having a good time with teachers part comes from us, to remind her how much she tends to like day care teachers.) She apparently tells the teachers how "Mommy and Daddy be riiiiight back." I'm glad to know she's confident in that fact.

After the Y was the park, since it wasn't raining yet, and then home for lunch and nap. Then a trip to an indoor playground for a very short visit and then to the mall for a "smoovie." Caetlin is a smoothie addict and then some, and often we need to get her the 20 ounce size, rather than the 12 ounce kids' size. Because otherwise she ends up drinking mine, and I don't like to share.

Anyway, it was a good day, the news from the day before notwithstanding. We've both been pretty calm regarding the layoff, mostly I think because we've been expecting it for so long. When the meeting was set earlier in the week, I kind of had a freaking out, hyperventilating "OMG OMG What are we gonna do???" kind of evening, but I was over it by the next day. There are some really good things coming out of it, I think, and frankly, it was time for that shoe to drop so we could deal with the reality rather than worrying about it.

Sunday, we set off for a new indoor playground, where we were meeting two ladies I work with and their respective children, plus a niece who was visiting. We broke out like this: one colleague and her husband brought their 6 year old daughter and their 3 year old son; one colleague brought her 8 month old daughter and 7 year old niece; and we had Phoebe and Caetlin. So everyone had someone to play with, and the babies sort of lumped together (kidding, actually, as the 8 month old had a good time in the crawlers area). We chatted and followed the kids around; we snacked on goldfish and pretzels and juice and water; and we discussed the relative bravery and/or gross motor development of each of the walking kids. Afterward we adjoined to Five Guys for burgers and fries, and watched the kids running around the plaza outside the restaurant. Spencer (the 3 year old) and Caetlin were super fast friends, clamoring to sit next to each other at lunch and hugging goodbye (seriously, is anything cuter than toddlers hugging? I think not). We all had such a great time that we decided to get together for bowling the next day.

I had a small misadventure, though, prior to all this idyll. We left without me getting any breakfast, in order to be on time. We had time to pull into a McDonald's, which we passed on the way, and waited behind a man in line who may never have encountered this weird thing called the McDonald's breakfast menu before. Or perhaps had never been in a drive-through before. Either way, there was dialogue between him and the drive-through worker. Impatient, I told Bruce to drive around and I would go in, figuring the line inside would be shorter as it often is. I walked into a madhouse. Let's say the line was not shorter inside, and when I walked out, the drive-through line had backed up too. Frustrated, pissed off at myself for having made a bad call, I got back in and told Bruce to drive on, since we were going to be late.

We drove to the place, and no one was there yet, so we decided to do our best to find a breakfast place (too bad we didn't see the Starbucks across the street until we went to that complex for lunch). After driving for a couple minutes, we found an Atlanta Bread Company, where we were headed until I saw the Burger King. BK will be faster, I reasoned. We got my food, Bruce got his large coffee, and we were on our way again, Caetlin and I happily sharing hash browns (actually, she got her own small order; remember what I said about not liking to share?). To get back the way we needed to be going, as we really were running late by now, Bruce had to make an illegal left turn. In so doing, and in swinging sharply around the median that tried to force us right, his too-tall-for-the-cupholder coffee overturned and spilled. All over the diaper bag. All over a lot of the junk on the floor of the car. All over me.

I started screaming and trying to hold my jeans leg away from my skin. That coffee was hot. As in scorching hot. As in heated by the interior of the sun hot. As in lawsuit hot.

Bruce pulled over as I sobbed my pain and unhappiness over being soaked in coffee. By the time he stopped the car and I hopped out, my jeans had cooled enough that I didn't need to strip down to my underwear on the side of the road. We moved on to the play place, me smelling like coffee. I headed for the bathroom to soak some of it out, but I smelled like everyone's favorite breakfast beverage all freaking day. My leg was slightly singed, on the order of a very slight sunburn, and it cleared up by the next day. (One of the moms was pretty late to the playground and when I told her that story, she was all, "You win. Your morning has been worse than mine.")

Anyway, we all met up again for bowling, and the kids had another awesome time. Caetlin and Spencer pushed their balls off one of those racks for kids (I had never seen them before and they are great!) and we all were grateful for the bumpers. When C and Spence got tired of bowling they ran around and around and around. Fortunately, early on Memorial Day, the alley was reasonably empty so they didn't annoy anyone. Anyone not related to them, anyway.

Afterward we all went to Willy's for burritos and quesadillas. We were a small pocket of chaos in the back of the restaurant, as we took over two booths plus all the surrounding area. The kids hugged goodbye again, and I heard from Spencer's mom that he told her his favorite part of the weekend was "playing with [his] new friend Caetlin!" Your heart could just melt.

This week was pretty quiet, but we did reach a milestone: we cleaned both cars out entirely and had them super-duper-detailed. The coffee incident caused an irritant that had only been slightly itching me to flare into a full-blown rash of need for clean vehicles. It took us several hours to clear all the junk and trash from the cars, and it took the detail folks several hours to clean them. They remain clean today, and I am determined to keep them that way.

I had a really great and interesting work conference this past weekend, and we've had many discussions about what to do regarding the nanny, but that will all have to wait, since I'm tired and need to pump (ugh) and sleep now. More later.

News and Notes

A scattering of random facts and anecdotes from the No Math house:

- My thrush appears to have cleared up, thank goodness. I'm still on medication for it, as is Phoebe, but it's kind of how you take antibiotics long after you stop being sick- it's still working even though the symptoms are all gone. And frankly the symptoms were what I really cared about. That shit hurt. NOT recommended.

- Phoebe turns two whole months old tomorrow. How is that possible?? And she's started outgrowing some of her 0-3 month clothes. Scary. She otherwise remains the smiling-est baby on the planet. I will have to try to take some pictures so you can see the gorgeousness that is her smile. She's also sleeping really well at night. Last night she slept for 5 hours, had a feeding, and then slept another 5 hours. We're starting to lose that haggard look that comes from too many interruptions in sleep for too many nights in a row.

-We all seem to be healthy around here for right now; everyone please say a little prayer that we can stay that way for awhile. I love all my care providers, but I am really ready to not see the inside of a hospital for as long as possible.

- Caetlin has decided that she loves pretty dresses, and it's been mostly warm enough to let her wear them. It is with some small embarrassment that I admit that I think she has basically every style of dress that my local Target sells for toddlers. What?? I'm trying to make sure she has enough to rotate through the week. Really! Anyway, it's awesome to see her twirl around in front of the full-length mirror in our bedroom. She looks at herself, dances around a bit, looks at herself again, and tells me, "It's a pretty dress, Mommy!" I love making her that happy with something so simple as a dress.

- Caetlin has also exploded musically lately, and will often sing herself to sleep. Favorites include "Itsy Bitsy Spider," and "Pop Goes the Weasel" (which is "Hop Goes the Weasel" if she's not paying attention), "London Bridge is Falling Down", "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean" and the always-popular ABCs song. It also leads to some interesting displays of personality. Her nanny told us about one day last week when Caetlin was singing Itsy Bitsy Spider and her ABCs at the park, and getting all the "Awww"s and smiles from the assembled grownups. Her little friend Mary, who turned three in January, chimed in as well, and started getting her share of attention. Caetlin apparently decided she was not going to be shown up, and launched into an operatic "Baa Baa, Black Sheep," which Mary didn't know. Caetlin's nanny said Caetlin was clearly all, "Top that, amateur."

- We have started a hard core push on potty training. She's pretty good on pee, though we have to make her go when she's in the middle of something. The poop, however, is a different story. She has pooped in the potty in the past, but for whatever reason, refuses to try these days. We'll be putting her in underwear soon, so she can feel the mess she's making when she goes in her pants, pee or poop. It's going to be a long summer, I think, filled with bodily fluids. Y-A-Y.

- Speaking of summer, we joined the Atlanta Metro YMCA this week, and got Caetlin signed up for parent-tot swim classes that start at the end of this month. I am hoping to spend a few days at the beach with the girls this summer, and I want Caetlin to be at least comfortable if her head should go under or something like that. Plus as much as she loves the water, she needs to learn how to swim, pronto. I'm excited about taking her to the classes; I think it will be fun time for us together.

- Bruce and I both took advantage of the wellness programs at the Y as well, starting a 6-month series with a wellness coordinator who set us up on the weight machines and showed us how to use the FitLinxx system. I walked on the treadmill for the first time today. It's Day 1 in my quest to lose weight, firm up, and make my heart healthier. My diet is better than it has been in a long time, and I feel like it's a diet I can maintain, so the next thing is to add in the exercise while I have the time to get hooked on it. Wish me luck.

- On the work front, Tokyo appears to be officially dead, so that's a decision we at least don't have to face. We have informed the nanny that Bruce could be laid off at any time, and things don't look great for him, and she should probably search for another job, given the economic climate. I think she doesn't want to hear it, and has stuck her head in the sand and refused to look for anything else, but that is not a decision we can make for her. I think we have acted in good conscience in this situation. We have given her all the information we can, and she can choose to act- or not- on that info.

- Completely as a lark, Bruce and I have both registered for the Foreign Service Officer Test to be given in June. It's a lark because the odds of either of us becoming foreign service officers are pretty small, and the process takes a really long time, at least a year. I'm actually enjoying the process of studying for it- test taking is something that I am good at, and I'm enjoying feeling mental muscles stretching out that I haven't used in awhile. It would be a huge deal if one or both of us made it, but I'm not even thinking that way at this point. It's much more about the fun of taking the test and seeing how I do. I've needed an intellectual goal for awhile now, since I'm on leave now and before I left work there wasn't much for me to do anyway.

- Finally, Caetlin was super adorable when she came in from the park this afternoon. I had just finished feeding Phoebe, who was asleep in my arms in the same position she had nursed in. Caetlin picked up Cheer Bear (I think I have written about Cheer Bear before, how she's completely annoying but Caetlin loves her so I love her) and said, "I'm feeding Cheer Bear, Mommy," and held the little pink bear's face to her chest. She sat like that as long as Phoebe stayed in my arms in that position, occasionally telling me how she was feeding Cheer Bear. It was adorable to watch her "nurse" her bear.

So, that's about all there is from here. Life rolls on, more or less uneventfully these days. We like uneventful. Uneventful is good.

Make It Stop

I think I have developed thrush on my nipples. Thrush is a yeast infection, the same kind of yeast infection that the boys snicker about, only on my nipples instead of in my lady parts. Yeast is a naturally occurring organism; everyone has some amount of it in his or her system, men and women. A yeast infection, or thrush, occurs when the yeast gets out of balance and too much is able to grow. The yeast loves the sugars in milk, so nursing moms are often susceptible. Particularly nursing moms who have recently completed a course of antibiotics. Which I have.

Where a yeast infection as people are familiar with it is more annoying than anything- itchy, mostly- thrush on my nipples and in my milk ducts is turning out to be extremely painful. I have actually stopped nursing Phoebe again so I can take some prescription painkillers for a day or two, until the medication starts to work and I can stand her to nurse from me. On Monday I will have to get treatment for Phoebe as well, since the likelihood is that she has thrush in her mouth that is not yet developed, but will be painful for her if it progresses.

So I'm pumping- as much as I can stand to, anyway- and dumping again. Yippee. Did I mention this is extremely painful? As in, extremely painful?

I hope this clears up soon. Jeez. I wish we could catch a break!

Getting Back to Normal

Morning smiles:



Caetlin offers a good morning kiss:



These days it's really hard to get good pictures of the two of them because Phoebe is so stationary and Caetlin is so...not.

I'm Going Home!

Well, I didn't have the CT scan today. There is still too much barium contrast in my intestines to get a good picture. I have been given more magnesium citrate to get everything moving (not that it wasn't already), as well as some prune juice just for good measure. However, my surgeon felt that, having delayed surgery already, and given how well I'm doing, everything else can be done on an outpatient basis, especially since it is likely to take the contrast 3 or 4 more days to really work itself out. The last test was seeing if solid food made any difference, a test I passed with flying colors. My continued lack of pain plus good tolerance of food means no reason to keep running up hospital charges with me.

So, they are discharging me tonight, within the next couple of hours. I follow up with the surgeon on Thursday; he will arrange for the CT to be done next Monday (sooner if I show less improvement), and I'm to follow up with my GI doctor late next week.

I have also been prescribed antibiotics that are incompatible with breastfeeding, which means I'll need to pump and dump for the next 11 days. In a few ways it will be easier to pump at home, since I can rig that up to be truly hands free, and I won't have random people walking in on me at any moment. However, it more sucks than anything, because pumping isn't something I can do in public (like breastfeeding), and pumping as often as I need to in order to keep my supply and caring for Phoebe by myself is going to be a challenge. By the time I'm done, I'll have pumped and dumped for over two weeks. It will be worth it when I can feed Phoebe again, though.

I can't wait to go home, eat some good food, sleep in my own bed, be there when Caetlin wakes up in the morning. Wear my own clothes and not be attached to an IV. This has all been like a very bad dream. Thank goodness I get to wake up!

Quick Status

Everyone on my treatment team (!) appears to be on board with the current plan now; my surgeon was skeptical yesterday, though he agreed with my GI that it wasn't quite time to cut yet. He endorses the plan entirely at this point, since my continued improvement can't be ignored. I was pain free today, completely. And I look great and feel great. I am essentially a healthy person walking around these halls.

Now, if the pictures of my insides will back that up! Hopefully all the barium I had to drink on Friday has cleared my system, so they can get good clear pictures. There is talk of an X-ray tomorrow morning, to make sure the barium is all gone. If it isn't, they will give me more of the laxative that I had yesterday and today. That's not as scary as it sounds; I haven't had anything solid to eat since late Wednesday evening. My last solid elimination was Friday. A laxative doesn't do anything impressive at this point. I hope that the barium is all gone, though, because the sooner we can get a good CT scan, the sooner I can go home.

If the barium is all gone, the CT will show the mass either looking better (more defined, more organized, smaller, whatever the doctors decide is better), or not. If it is better, which I have to assume, since I am feeling so incredibly improved, they will make/let me eat something solid, to make sure that actual food isn't a problem or an aggravating factor. I don't know if they are going to require that the solids come out the other end, though I guess in a system as empty as mine is, that probably wouldn't take too long. But in any event, once they are satisfied that solid food doesn't seem to be a problem, I think they will let me go home. Dare I hope that might even be as early as Tuesday? Probably not, since everything takes longer than I think it's going to here in the hospital, but I can maybe realistically hope for Wednesday, I think.

If the scans aren't positive, that's a different story, of course. I would expect that surgery would be on the table again. I have a hard time believing that it's going to go this way, though. My body couldn't possibly be telling me so aggressively that things are getting better if they weren't. I mean, I guess it could, but I think it is more likely that I actually am getting better at this point.

So that's where we are. Hope for clear scans and solid food.

Should I Stay or Should I Go Now? (With Apologies to the Clash)

So, there is disagreement among my doctors. (Per Bruce's recent Facebook status, I really am living in my own personal episode of House. Why couldn't I have been Dr. Cameron in that episode, rather than the Patient of the Week? Shoot, I would even settle for being Cuddy.) Anyway, the surgeon wants to operate. There is a mass (a point on which I don't think I have been clear before, because I wasn't clear until this morning), and he wants to take it out. The GI doctor wants to keep me on antibiotics, because I actually am doing better today. It's a classic surgeon/non-surgeon treatment dichotomy- the surgeon wants to cut, and the non-surgeon doesn't, not yet.

Here are the hypotheses: the surgeon sees a mass in my abdomen, probably in the mesentery, which is the supporting tissues of the abdominal organs, and which also contains the arteries that supply the blood flow to most of the organs. He wants to cut it out, figure out what it is, and proceed from there. It's a pretty big mass, from his description maybe three inches long by an inch or so wide. His take is- this didn't grow overnight, it's probably been there for awhile, let's go ahead and get it out because taking it out will likely alleviate my pain, and if it requires further treatment, then we can go ahead and get started on that.

The GI doctor also sees a mass in my abdomen, but he thinks it might be an infarct in the mesentery. An infarct is basically an area of dead tissue caused by lack of blood flow to that tissue. Most people are familiar with it in the sense of a heart attack- a myocardial infarction. But an infarct can happen anywhere blood flow is cut off. In this case, the GI doctor thinks the mass may be a blood clot and/or dead or infected mesentery tissue, which would resolve itself with time and more antibiotics. He actually has a decent case for this, because I'm getting better. I feel better; my pain is significantly less. My labs look better- my white count is down to normal today.

So, the plan is no surgery tomorrow. I am going to continue on the antibiotics for another day and then on Monday have the CT scan that my surgeon wanted yesterday (radiology gave me injected contrast instead of drinkable contrast, which didn't give as clear a picture as my surgeon would like). If the CT shows improvement, we know how to treat. If it doesn't, well, I may still give it another day or two before agreeing to surgery, unless my GI doctor thinks I should have the operation.

Such good news, to be given hope that I might not need to have major abdominal surgery. That I might not need to have a good chunk of my maternity leave recovering, plus to have the fear that the mass might be cancer or something else really horrible. Plus I feel better, so that's an excellent combination.

Thanks to all who keep me in their thoughts and prayers. I appreciate it more than I can say.

I'm Scared

I spoke with both the GI doctor and the surgeon this evening. They both remain puzzled by what's wrong with me. Basically, the CT scan showed a large area of inflammation in my bowel, but it wasn't clear exactly where or what was causing it. I'm clearly not obstructed, as things are moving along well. It's definitely hinky, though, and the surgeon has concluded that the best option is to open me up to take a look, cut the offending area out, send it to a pathologist and "hope it's benign." Those were his words. If I'm being rational, I don't think he meant to imply that I have cancer, or that he thinks I have cancer- the bottom line is that he doesn't know what's wrong with me, and can't really know until he can actually look at it and feel it. The GI doc thought there was some foreign object that wasn't showing up on the scans- a chicken bone or something- but the surgeon and I both discounted that possibility. I don't chew toothpicks or really even eat chicken or fish with bones, and no way have I swallowed a piece of plastic utensil without knowing it.

Anyway, the surgeon also consulted with another surgeon, who was also flummoxed. This guy is apparently highly regarded, trained at MD Anderson and is a cancer specialist. My surgeon hustled to say, "Not that it's cancer, but he's just a really good surgeon." Somehow that alleviated my fears not at all, though again, if I'm being rational, there are a ton more things that it could be, that it probably is, than cancer, given my age and relatively good health. Anyway, both surgeons happen to be on this weekend, and my surgeon has roped him in because of his experience and skill, and because I am such a mystery.

(I always wanted to be mysterious to someone. This wasn't quite what I had in mind.)

Bottom line is: if I am worse tomorrow, particularly if my white count goes up (which has stayed steady over the past day), they will operate tomorrow. If I hold steady tomorrow, they will operate on Sunday morning. The surgeon will need to convince the GI that there is nothing more to gain by taking more pictures, but he really thinks this is the best course, and I trust him.

I'm scared. We're not talking about minor laprascopic surgery like a gallbladder removal. This will be major, open abdominal surgery. And that scares me. The whole thing- the anesthesia, the opening of my stomach, the unknown wonkiness in my bowel. I'm scared that it is cancer and I'm going to die in 2 months. I'm scared that I'll die on the table. There's no reason to be scared of that- I'm in a great hospital in great hands. But I'm scared just the same, and it's times like now, when I'm all alone because Bruce is with the kids, when it's as quiet as it ever gets in the hospital, that I can't stop imagining wildly out-there worst case scenarios.

I'm going to try to get some sleep.

No Rest for the...Sick

So, my optimism about getting more rest in the hospital was sorely misplaced. I went to sleep at about midnight and threw in the towel on getting any rest at all at about 5 a.m. During that 5 hours, I was awakened no fewer than three times. And this is not just a tech creeping in to take vitals; that I understand and can mostly sleep through anyway.

No, at 1 a.m., someone came in, flipped on the lights and asked me why I was here. I was so groggy and disoriented that I didn't remember where I was, much less why. I struggled to wake up enough to answer her, then spent ten minutes giving a medical history. She was doing the admission questionnaire! I wonder if that could have been done sooner than 1 a.m., given that I had been admitted sometime around 7 p.m.? Or, I wonder if someone might have used some common sense, and said to themselves, "It's 1 a.m. Most people are asleep at this time. Maybe this ought to wait until something approximating normal waking hours, since no one has died because we don't have this information." The tech was quite nice about it, and was apologetic about waking me up, and I wanted to say to her, "What do you expect? I'm sick, I'm in pain, and it's 1 freaking a.m.!!"

I got back to sleep after that, and then was awakened by the tech at 3:30, who was coming in to take vitals. Easy, right? No, the nice lady wanted to know if I wanted a shower or sponge bath and clean linens. "Maybe not...right...now..?" I said, squinting (yes, she had also turned on the lights). Oh, no, she explained, maybe around like 5:30? Still too early for my taste, but more reasonable. And I get that she was trying to map out the rest of her day, but isn't there any consideration of the patient's needs? Doesn't it seem like maybe my need for sleep, you know, the sick one, might trump her need to map out the rest of her shift? Because really, I appreciated her attentions, but I had plenty of time after shift change to take a shower. She was also super apologetic about waking me up. Why apologize? I mean, really.

Finally, at 10 minutes to 5, my nurse came in, flipped on the lights, and started yammering at me about a piece of paper I needed to fill out "just in case I was going to have surgery later." It was a pre-anesthesia questionnaire, that ended up not being collected by anyone until after shift change. Maybe it could have waited? Especially since it wasn't clear whether I would have surgery today anyway? And she asked whether I had given a urine sample in the ER. I hadn't; the ER nurse mentioned it once, I couldn't go at the time, she said it could wait, and it was never mentioned again. I figured it had been dropped as a requirement, since no one asked me about it in the intervening 12 hours. But no, it was apparently a "stat" sample, needed immediately. Right. Immediately. Maybe someone should have followed up on that particular loose end sometime in the 7 hours I was awake, between the ER and being admitted? Maybe given that no one had, and no one was apparently looking for it, it could have waited?

I had had trouble going back to sleep after the 3:30 wakeup, despite my exhaustion, because my breasts were becoming uncomfortably engorged and were leaking everywhere. I still could have slept through it, in a wet gown and wet sheets with painful breasts, if I could have, you know, slept. When I was awakened at 5, I threw in the towel. My boobs hurt, they were leaking all over the place, the tech was coming in half an hour anyway, might as well stay up. The tech was surprised to see me awake when she came in. I thought that was funny.

I've been awake ever since, with the exception of a few short catnaps. Inevitably I go long stretches during which I am told to prepare for some test or that the doctor will be coming in, and so I don't sleep. When I finally do sleep, they come for me 10 minutes later. I get far better sleep with my newborn, I have to say.

What infuriates me most is that there is zero consideration for patient care there. Other than the vitals, none of what I was awakened for needed to be done then. I could have probably forgiven the urine sample if I hadn't been awakened for so much other nonsense so many times before. I'm sick, I hurt, and I'm tired. Maybe better patient care might suggest that personnel think about whether something is truly necessary before waking someone up? And I'm generous- tie up these kinds of loose ends by midnight, then let me sleep until after shift change. I realize these folks have a job to do, but it really feels like no one stops to think whether these decisions are the best for the patient. More like, this is something that needs to be done; must do it now. Maybe night shift workers really lose a sense that normal people are asleep in the small hours of the morning, but if so, someone really needs to remind them.

Anyway, the update on my health: they still don't know what's wrong with me. I had a CT scan this morning that apparently did not show anything out of the ordinary. Confronted with two normal gallbladder images, I guess the doctor had to move on to a different part of the GI system, and has ordered an upper GI, a test that involves me drinking barium contrast and having X-rays of it taken while it's on the way down. I'm not having surgery today; they don't know what to operate on. I'm still in a good bit of pain, and they are just working to figure out what it might be.

It's unclear how long I will be here, and each day they give me more things that are incompatible with breastfeeding. I've dumped something in the neighborhood of 25 ounces of milk just this morning. That's like a two day supply for Phoebe, wasted. I cry every time I empty the bottles, and I hate pumping so much that I am really afraid I will flag in my determination to get through this period. I'm already putting off pumping because I hate it. It's hard to make myself do it when I'm already feeling so cruddy.

I miss my girls- Phoebe is here with me but it hurts to hold her, and I haven't seen Caetlin in almost a whole day by now. I'm hungry- I haven't had anything solid to eat since 11 p.m. on Wednesday. It's rumored I'll be back on clear liquids after the upper GI. I'll take anything at this point. Jell-o and Italian ice can approximate something solid, anyway.

More updates as news comes in.

Because We Couldn't Go A Week Without Some Luna in Some Hospital

I mentioned that last night I was having some abdominal pain. Well, it got progressively worse over the course of the night, and this morning Bruce persuaded me to call our primary care doctor (who I don't much like and I'm trying to find a new one). He saw me and did some lab work, which suggested slightly that I might have a kidney infection, but all my presentation suggested a gallbladder issue. He recommended that I see a gastroenterologist tomorrow, but it was either this afternoon or mid-May, so I went in this afternoon. The doctor took about a five minute look at me and told me I had classic cholecystitis, gallbladder inflammation, and that it was probably infected, as I was running a temperature at that point. He suggested I head down to the emergency room, where he was going to call the GI surgeon and let him know I was coming.

I got to the emergency room and met the surgeon and the surgical resident. It turns out that pregnant women and women who have recently been pregnant are at increased risk for gallstones. Who knew?? So the surgeon was all, "I'm 90% sure that you have gallstones and that your gallbladder is infected, and I wouldn't even do the diagnostic tests if your insurance company wouldn't flip out about it. I would just take your gallbladder out right now." I'm not sure I would have gone along with the "no diagnostics" thing, but luckily I didn't have to. He ordered some (more) labs and an abdominal ultrasound.

The nurse who came to draw my blood first gave me a stick in the back of my hand, and missed the vein, leading to her moving the catheter around in my hand for a second. That hurt! It still hurts, and is already making pretty, pretty bruising. The crappy thing was, it also closed down really fast, so she had to re-stick me in my elbow after just one vial. I don't know why she rejected my elbow the first time, but it hurt a lot less and filled up the vials really fast.

I had the ultrasound done, and was admitted to the hospital and moved to a room upstairs. I was more or less prepped for surgery tomorrow afternoon- not allowed to eat or drink, IV in place with fluids being given, as well as some IV antibiotics ordered, as my labs showed an increased white count, a marker for infection. Then the doctor came in again.

"Amazingly, the ultrasound showed NO gallstones," he said. He went on to talk about how flummoxed he was by this, since I am so exhibiting such classic gallbladder symptoms. He had to (reluctantly) admit that he can't operate, since he doesn't have a diagnosis at this time. His plan is to evaluate my overnight vital signs, my morning labs, and possibly order a CAT scan in the morning as well. He was baffled but seemed confident he would be able to figure it out. Something would point the way to the correct diagnosis, he was sure.

So, that's where I am- in the hospital. Hooked up to an IV that makes using the toilet a challenge and showering impossible. Taking IV antibiotics that mean I will have to pump and dump for at least a day after receiving my last dose. That is on top of whatever they give me in the event of surgery and any pain meds I should need. I hate that part. Just in time for Phoebe's 6 week growth spurt, which I was counting on to boost my supply. It's not like I have any supply problems, but I was hoping I could boost it so I could easily pump some for later. Now I'm just hoping I come through still nursing her at all. I still have no idea what is wrong with me, and I'm still in pain. Not a lot, but I'm uncomfortable.

Silver lining- I'm going to sleep more or less uninterrupted tonight, at least not by baby. Vitals and labs will not take long, unlike feeding the baby. I'm going to wake up in some pain, and have to pump immediately on getting up, I'm sure, but to sleep- that sounds wonderful.

I'm feeling a little sorry for myself, all alone in this lonely hospital room. I'm worried about my innards; I'm worried about being able to continue nursing Phoebe; I'm sad I didn't get to see Caetlin hardly at all today. I'm hot, possibly because of my elevated temperature and possibly because of the temperature in the room. I'm hungry- I was at least able to have clear liquids until midnight, so I "indulged" in two helpings of beef broth, some Jell-o and some Italian ices. It wasn't the most satisfying dinner I've ever had. All the food commercials on TV taunt me.

Anyway, more updates tomorrow as they decide what's wrong with me and what to do about it.

Atlanta Tea Party

So, we headed downtown to join the Atlanta Tea Party protest. I describe myself as libertarian/fiscally conservative, and libertarian/socially liberal. I'm also a huge capitalist and free market champion. Thus, the incredible deficits run up by the Bush and Obama administrations, the eviscerating of the AIG employment contracts, the refusal to let the car companies declare bankruptcy, the "too big to fail" mentality, the "firing" of the head of GM- these are all reasons to protest, in my mind. Add in the tax increases, which almost inevitably will affect my family (we paid a ridiculous amount of money in income taxes last year, plus Social Security, which I would opt out of if I could because no way am I seeing any of that money back, sucked dry by the ever longer-living Baby Boomer generation), and I was moved to add my body to the crowd. I'm not a chanter. I'm not a sign maker. But I wanted to be there and be counted. Both parties disgust me right now. There is no one in the political landscape who represents me, and hasn't been for a very long time.

Am I skeptical about the effects of the various protests yesterday? Yes, but mostly because I am convinced that nothing less than voting politicians out of office gets them to pay attention to the people they supposedly represent. And then it's sort of too late, right? Because you only swap one bum for another.

Cynical? Maybe just a little.

Anyway, we got there at about 7:30, and this was the scene in the little area we were in:



We were crushed between a fence and a fire truck, so we backed out of that mob pretty quickly and went to the other side of the Capitol. There was plenty of room on that side, though we couldn't see the Jumbotron because of all the signage in the way. We listened to the speakers and people watched. At one point we went to the picnic area behind the church that was across the street from the Capitol so I could feed Phoebe. My only real complaint about the whole night was that it was pretty darn cold. I had Phoebe in the Bjorn strapped to me, so she was pretty warm, and she helped keep me warm, but the wind was still quite biting.

Anyway, despite the enormous crowd (someone on the stage estimated 20,000 people- I have no idea if that is right and haven't seen any other estimates today, though I could easily believe it- I could also easily believe that it was far, far smaller than that as well), everyone was very well behaved, even the few folks I saw wearing lots of Obama gear (while I personally am furious at both parties, there is no doubt that the movement as a whole is more generally conservative, so assuming someone with an Obama T-shirt, hat and buttons is a counterprotester is a safe one, I think) or heard espousing different viewpoints.

We stayed through the first segment of Sean Hannity's show (I cannot stand that man-such a blowhard!) and then walked back to MARTA to go home. Our feet were killing us, and I was fortunate that a whole bunch of people got off at the first stop and I was able to get a seat. It was during the course of the evening that I noticed that I had abdominal pain that was getting worse and not going away. More on that in the next post.

So that was my first protest experience- pretty low key. If you didn't see the signs, you would have thought you were at any other large festival. It was definitely a party sort of atmosphere. I'm not sure I'll continue to protest (see above re: cynicism), but it felt good to be doing something, no matter how ultimately ineffective. It felt like being an active political citizen, which was cool. I mean, I've always voted, but this went beyond just voting. Corny as it sounds, I felt like a patriot.

Conversation with Caetlin

Bruce told me he had the following exchange with Caetlin in the car this afternoon:

Caetlin rubs the bruise on her head. From the back seat, Bruce hears:
"Ow! Hurts!"

Bruce: "Don't touch it, silly!"

From the back seat:
"Hurts!"

Bruce: "Don't touch it, Caetlin!"

"Hurts!"

I think he gave up after a couple iterations.**

The offending goose egg, two days post-trauma.

**It wouldn't be funny if she wasn't doing so much better. Her fever was down to a low grade temp this morning and gone entirely this afternoon. She's tired, but seems to be recovering well. Therefore I feel I can safely laugh at her silliness.

At Least Life with Her Is Never Boring

So, Caetlin decided to make life interesting again by having another seizure yesterday. It was in some ways the scariest one she's had, at least to me.

She went to the zoo in the morning, and spent the afternoon after her nap coloring Easter eggs and having an egg hunt at the park with her play group. She came home happy and talking about having high-fived the panda at the zoo (a guy in a panda suit), and about having collected the pink egg as her special one. She had chocolate smeared on her face.

We were all in the living room, and she was standing at the coffee table, when she started to make a strange noise. She often makes strange noises, so I didn't think anything of it. A second later, though, she fell backward, dead weight, her head cracking sickeningly on the hardwood floor. I ran over to her, calling her name, and picked her up as she was simultaneously limp and jerky in my arms. I said to Bruce, "She's having a seizure," and put her down. I stayed over her, watching her lips turn an alarming shade of blue and her face turn a scary grey, though I could see that she was breathing. When strings of saliva started to bubble out of her mouth, I turned her head to the side so she didn't aspirate any of it.

After maybe a minute- or a year, depending on your perspective- she stopped jerking and started to cry a little bit. She was so hot! We scooped her up and gathered Phoebe and some things and headed to the hospital. We've done this enough that I thought to bring Caetlin's blankies and pacifier and pajamas and some diapers.

Bruce lead-footed it to the emergency room and they saw us pretty quickly. She threw up on the way, all over herself and her car seat. When the nurse first took her vitals, she took her temperature under Caetlin's arm, which gave a reading of 98.9, which seemed awfully cool based on how she felt in my arms. When we were admitted to a triage room, the pediatrician saw us fairly quickly. Her ears and throat looked clear, so he wanted to take a urine sample to rule out UTI. We also discussed whether a CT was necessary, since she had hit her head so hard. His thought was that she was alert and talking, and had only thrown up the once, so it probably wasn't necessary, but if we wanted it for peace of mind, we could certainly justify having one done.

Bruce tried to get Caetlin to give a urine sample by making water in the potty, which would have been more pleasant for all of us, but stressed as she was, she refused, so we had to ask the nurse to take a sample with a catheter. The nurse was awesome; she only cleaned the relevant area of Caetlin's girl parts, rather than scrubbing them all over with the antiseptic, which can't feel good, and she got the catheter in on the first try, which is not always the case. While we had her diaper off, we asked them to take another temperature reading, because they were not going to give her any fever reducer based on the earlier reading. We could see she didn't feel good, even as the effects of the seizure wore off. The anal temperature came to 102.2, so she was dosed with Tylenol.

As the Tylenol took effect, she clearly started to feel better. We had the CT done, for our own peace of mind (Natasha Richardson was to the forefront of my mind). The CT was clear for head injury, but did show some fluid on her middle ear and around her jawbone. The urine was clean on the microscope (though we won't be clear on that front until the culture hopefully comes back negative as well), and the pediatrician's best guess is a middle ear infection. That or some random virus, which is always a possibility. He prescribed antibiotics and sent us home.

So, we trooped home, four hours after we left the house. Her fever was down and she fell asleep right away, after having a perfunctory dinner. When she woke up this morning her fever was back up again, so we've kept her dosed with fever-reducer all day, alternating Tylenol and Motrin every three hours. If her fever is still up tomorrow, we'll be taking her to her regular pediatrician for further evaluation.

So that's where we are. Odds are, she'll be fine. As I maintain, kids get random fevers all the time. Caetlin is just more dramatic about it. More updates as events warrant.

My Girls

As I mentioned over on Facebook, this is the best picture I have managed to take of my girls. It kind of captures their relationship at this point pretty well, I think. Caetlin is enthusiastic about Phoebe...maybe a little too enthusiastic for Phoebe's taste. The visible hand holding Phoebe's head is just a nice touch.

Phoebe at 1 Month- The Stats

We went to the pediatrician today for Phoebe's one month checkup (for those of you keeping score, she turned 1 month old yesterday). Here are her vitals:

Weight- 10 pounds, 7 ounces, a growth of 2 pounds, 10 ounces since birth (and over three pounds since her post-birth weight loss). This is right at the 90th percentile for baby girls, per the CDC's growth charts.

Length- 22 inches, a growth of 1.5 inches since birth. This is also at the 90th percentile.

Head circumference- 14.5 centimeters, which is at the 50th percentile. She has her daddy's small head, apparently.

So, she's growing great. The doctor was also impressed with her alertness, and seemed pleased when we mentioned she was starting to smile a bit- mostly around the eyes, but also with her mouth, in her sleep sometimes. She looks perfect, and is healthy as can be. We still had some concerns regarding the amount she spits up, as I mentioned before, but the diagnosis is still overfeeding. Not on my part, on her part. She just doesn't quite get when to stop sometimes. The doctor basically said if it happens every time she eats or starts to really bother her, then we might have an issue, but otherwise, keep feeding on demand and not worry about the spit up.

I also discussed the vaccination schedule with the pediatrician. Because Caetlin has such a history of febrile seizures, at least two of which have occurred on the same day as her shots, I wanted to space the shots out a tiny bit, just so as to not stress Phoebe's system in the event she is prone to seizures as well. At least once with Caetlin, she had an undiagnosed infection the day of her shots that contributed to the fever, but the fact remains that her fever may have been driven up by the shots. The doctor agreed with me that there was ample evidence to space out the shots a bit, so we're going to be doing two at a time, rather than a whole bunch at a time. It means a few more visits, but I'm okay with that, if it reduces the chance of Phoebe having a seizure from a vaccination-induced fever. Maybe it won't; maybe the shots have not had anything to do with Caetlin's fevers and subsequent seizures. But it's worth the extra time. I'm a big proponent of vaccines and will not be the parent that skips them or fails to bring the baby in for the extra visits.

All in all, a good visit. Phoebe is growing like crazy!

Happy Easter! (Early)

Today after Mass the Marrieds Group at church had its annual Easter egg hunt. After the eggs were all found (within minutes, of course), everyone adjourned to the playground across the street for cupcakes and juice boxes.

Caetlin had a red cupcake.



She enjoyed the frosting first.



With the spoils of the egg hunt.



Then smiled at me after finishing.



It's awesome watching her eat a cupcake.

Three Funny Stories

Okay, enough with the depressing for a minute. I have three different, funny, true stories from my life the past few days.

1. The Footwear Incident
Friday, I met Bruce and a good friend with whom I work for lunch. It was nice to get out of the house and see my friend, with whom I had lunched pretty regularly before I went on leave. She drove Bruce to the restaurant and I met them there, but I ended up driving Bruce back to the office afterward, just for a few more minutes with my hubby.

In the car, Bruce looked at me and said, "Did you know that when I left the house this morning, I was wearing a hiking boot on one foot and a dress shoe on the other??"

When I caught my breath from laughing, I looked down and saw that he had put on white sneakers that had been in the car. With black pants and a polo shirt. It made me laugh all over again. At least they matched, I guess. Each other, anyway. After I stopped laughing again I had to assure him that I had most definitely not been aware when he left that morning of his, um, shoe situation.

2. The Full Moon
I have mentioned over on Facebook that Caetlin is going through a phase where she's taking off her clothes and diaper in her crib. Partly it is a potty training thing- we're deep into it now, with her regularly going on the potty, if not terribly reliably. And part of it is a sleep-delay tactic. She's giving us and her nanny fits, requiring three sheets changes per nap, and covering all her sleeping accouterments- Elmo, Flat Bear, her two blankies, her pillows, and her covers, plus whatever other stuffed animal may be sleeping with her at the time- in the waste product of the day. This is an awesome stage, I must confess.

So last night, we put her down, and while we normally watch her on the video monitor to make sure she's not taking her clothes off, the monitor battery was dead, and neither of us felt like getting the charger for it. We didn't hear much from her room anyway, and we knew she was really tired, so we assumed she fell asleep pretty quickly and left it at that, attending to the details of feeding Phoebe, feeding ourselves, watching TV, relaxing from the day, etc.

A couple of hours later, we're trooping back to the bedroom to try and get some sleep, where we finally plugged in the monitor. I turned it on and peered at the picture, checking on Caetlin. What confronted me was startling and hilarious: my daughter's bare bottom, a full moon, glowing into the night vision camera. She had passed out face down, completely naked, a result of taking off her one piece pajamas in order to take her diaper off.

We went in and changed her and changed her sheets, which were sopping wet. Caetlin had to have been cold- we keep it cool in the house and I have no idea how she was sleeping so deeply on cold wet bedding, naked. She went back to sleep immediately, and I was left to continue chuckling over the picture of her bare ass that greeted me when I turned the monitor on.

3. The Church Do-Si-Do
I took both the girls to church with me this morning, to give Bruce some kid-free time and for me to get holy. I had intended to put Caetlin into the nursery, but I was running late and I wasn't sure where the nursery was, as we've never taken her there, and so I just took her with me. How bad could it be? I thought.

(Aside: never, as a parent, think, "How bad can it be?" and then continue to do whatever you're thinking about. If you think, "How bad can it be?" the answer is, invariably, much, much worse than what you're prepared for. Just stop if you think those 5 little words. Really. Not worth it, ever.)

I wasn't dumb enough to try to take both girls to the cathedral Mass, so we instead went to the Mass held in the parish hall, which has a higher than average proportion of children and is easier to get in and out of. I had Phoebe in a sling at my hip, and Caetlin motored under her own power. Everything was great at first. Caetlin was glad to be hanging out with me, no matter how many times I asked her to use her whisper voice, and she was really, really good, staying confined to our little two-chair area, playing with things she found in the diaper bag, etc.

Then the homily ran long. I knew we were in for it when I looked at my watch, and 50 minutes had gone by, and we were only at the beginning of the Eucharist. Of course I hadn't been able to pay much attention to the homily because of wrangling Caetlin, but I figured I could still take Communion, which has always been central to me. Caetlin had started to melt down a little, starting when I took my lipstick from her that she found in my purse. I had let her play with it for a long time, actually, since she wasn't hurting anything, and it would cause more of a scene to take it from her, but when I realized she was getting it all in her hair (at least it was a good color for her), I just grabbed it. That, predictably, didn't go over well.

Then they called our row with no advance warning, sending us up the center aisle instead of down the side as expected. I had to usher Caetlin, who was feeling contrary, out and into the procession. She decided that she wasn't going to go, and laid flat down on the floor.

I tried to get out of the way of those behind me, Phoebe swinging loose in her sling from my hip as I bent over Caetlin with murder in my eyes (not very Godly, I admit). I ultimately had to pick Caetlin up and carry her to the priest so I could receive Communion. I had 9.5 pounds of Phoebe on my right hip, 30 pounds of Caetlin on my left hip, and I was on a mission; I was going to take Communion if it killed us all. Caetlin smacked me all the way up the aisle, too, on my arm and on my face, over and over and over. I marched grimly on.

I reached the priest, finally, and he blessed Caetlin and gave me my piece of the host. I tried to direct his attention to my hip, where Phoebe slept in the sling, pulling the sling open with my non-Caetlin-holding hand, trying to mumble around my mouthful of dry host, "Can you bless her please?" Meanwhile, Caetlin's hands are reaching out for the piece of host that the clueless priest is holding out, and he was about to hand it to her, and I realized at that minute that Phoebe wasn't getting blessed today. I whisked Caetlin away, her grasping fingers closing on empty air instead of the proffered piece of bread, seeing the bewilderment and confusion in the priest's eyes at just how weird that little interlude was.

I reached our seats with something like gratitude smothered in murderous rage at my brat daughter. I picked up our things and took us out, before the end of the service, needing to get out, feeling as though everyone had witnessed my strange little Communion shuffle (of course, they hadn't). What had I been thinking, taking both kids and not insisting that Caetlin go to the nursery? How bad could it be? Worse than I imagined. At least Caetlin didn't start screaming. That would have been much worse. She did, however, decide to lie flat again in the middle of the hallway outside. I saw a nice man stoop to try and help me, before he realized that no, she wasn't hurt, just being obnoxious. He backed away like she had the plague. I couldn't really blame him. I wanted to do the same thing, myself.

Update

We're not moving. When we told our landlord we were considering it, he dropped $250 off the monthly rent. That's not something we could pass up.

I am sad about the house. It was kind of an important emotional thing, since it seems like we haven't had much good going on around here lately, and in fact mostly have been horribly stressed and worried for the last 4 months or so. I had latched onto the new house as a place to spread out a little, mentally as well as physically. But moving wouldn't be the prudent thing, not when we have a much lower rent combined with none of the costs of moving- hiring someone to help with the furniture, the security deposit, etc.

So we're not moving. In more ways than one, it seems sometimes.

Professional Phoebe and Caetlin Pics

We took Phoebe and Caetlin to a wonderful photographer today, Paul Wendl in Alpharetta. The session was mostly to focus on Phoebe, but he took a few of the whole family, a few of Caetlin and Phoebe together, and a few of Caetlin by herself. He has published a few of the many wonderful pictures on his blog. Go here to see what I believe to be some unretouched shots from today's session.

A Couple of Notes

Something I meant to mention awhile ago: a week after Phoebe was born, Bruce ended up in the emergency room with excruciating abdominal pain. After a number of tests that ruled out the big things like cancer and a heart attack, the emergency room sent him home with a referral to a GI specialist and prescriptions for Vicodin and Nexium, which more or less controlled the pain. While the pain faded after a couple of days, and we were pretty convinced that he had just had a really bad case of food poisoning, he had an ultrasound of his gall bladder done last Friday. The results came back yesterday: gall stones. His GI doctor is recommending removal. He's having a surgical consult to investigate his options, as the potential side effects of removal worry him greatly.

We took Phoebe to the doctor this morning. She worried us with several episodes of vomiting, which my crack internet searching revealed might be a symptom of pyloric stenosis. The nurse at the pediatrician's office wanted to see her for at least a weight check; if she had pyloric stenosis, she wouldn't be gaining weight appropriately. Our concerns were quickly alleviated at the doctor's office, as the scale showed she weighed 9 pounds even. She's gained 22 ounces in 13 days. As my friend Kelley says, I am a milk machine! The doctor looked her over, and she looks perfectly healthy, so the diagnosis is overfeeding. She isn't terribly good at telling me when she's finished, and I have so much milk that she overeats and then occasionally vomits it back up. The doctor is of the opinion that she will learn when to stop, plus the sphincter at the top of her stomach will also get stronger soon, so we should see a decrease in vomit soon. Thank goodness. I don't know if I could take it if another family member needed surgery.

Finally, we may be moving in the very near future. Our lease is up at the end of this month, and we recently saw another house for rent that we both liked very much. The new house is in the same neighborhood, and is essentially the same price, but is much bigger. We haven't entirely decided whether to take it or not, but we are leaning that way. It's really a perfect house for us, head and shoulders above our current place. Our main calculus is whether we should look for something cheaper, or try to negotiate a lower rent on our current house. The main drawback of this house is that it is the same price as our current rent, so we aren't exactly cutting costs, which would seem to be important at this time. Anyway, more details as decisions get made.

Sorry for the headline-news feeling of the last couple of posts. That's kind of the way life is for me right now.

Phoebe at 18 Days

She sleeps.

And begins to wake.

News

Some few pieces of news from the No Math household:

1. Caetlin has become ever more adept at using the potty! She has both urinated and pooped on the potty in recent days, some days more than once. We've been inadvertently helped by a really bad case of diaper rash, caused by the antibiotic that is treating her ear infection. (Yeah, she had an ear infection, diagnosed about a week ago. We can't seem to keep the child healthy.) Anyway, she's had a really terrible time with the diaper rash, and it has made her reluctant to urinate in her diaper, because it stings on the rash. So she holds it and goes in the potty. Voila! Toilet training through pain! I should write a book.*

It's been interesting to see Caetlin's response to the diaper rash. She's had it this bad before- the girl has a sensitive bottom. But she has never put up this much of a fight about changing her diaper before, where she wriggles and screams before anyone even touches her. Beyond being heartbreaking, it is also evidence, I think, that she is anticipating the pain, meaning she is starting to think about the future. With previous diaper rash incidents, the pain was immediate and then she forgot about it. This time she remembers that it hurts and anticipates that pain when it's time for a change. Very interesting to me.

2. Caetlin can also read a couple of words. This isn't actually new, so I might have posted about it before, but she can read her name and a couple of other words. They are sight words; she isn't quite ready for phonics and sounding words out yet, mostly because I don't think she grasps the concept of being able to read by herself. When she gets that and wants to read, it will be a snap to teach her, I think. She knows all her letters and the sounds that many of them make already. Anyway, Bruce was skeptical when I called it "reading" that she can recognize her name and a couple other words, but as I pointed out to him, reading is nothing but pattern recognition, and she recognizes and puts meaning to the pattern that is "Caetlin." Just because she can't sound words out doesn't mean she isn't reading these two or three sight words. I think it's pretty cool, regardless. And I'm reasonably confident that she'll be reading before 4.

3. Japan news- things appear to have stalled on the part of the client company. We do not think the position is dead in the water yet; as soon as the firm becomes convinced of that, we think Bruce will be laid off, which hasn't happened yet. However, as the economy continues to go south, both here and in Japan, the prospects for Bruce remaining employed, whether here or there, are looking grimmer every day. I just try to take things one day at a time and not focus on the insecurity. I especially try not to worry about my own job and try to have faith that I add enough value and that the firm wouldn't be so cruel as to lay us both off. I'm also hopeful that maybe when I return from leave, things will have picked up a bit. Fingers crossed.

4. Phoebe's hair is falling out. It remains to be seen whether it all falls out or just some of it. We're having pictures made tomorrow, so we can at least memorialize her birth hair, in the event that she turns into a bald baby. She is otherwise fine, growing like crazy and still an easygoing girl.

That's about all the news fit to print around here. Other than job and economic worries, we are all fine. Bruce and I are a little tired, but otherwise all is well.

I hope to have more pictures of Phoebe soon.

*I hope I don't have to clarify this, but making light of my daughter's painful diaper rash and the unintended (good) consequences thereof don't mean I'm glad for it. I fervently wish it had never happened, as I can't stand to see my big girl in so much pain. But sometimes one needs to find the funny where one can, you know?