Overcoming

I sang my first solo at church tonight with the choir. It went okay; I was generally on beat and on pitch, though there were a couple croaky notes and the musicality left a lot to be desired. There is definitely room for improvement, but it wasn't a disaster. Not as good as I hoped but better than I feared, so I suppose that's something.

I sang it for Caetlin, though she wasn't even there. Not because she particularly likes my singing (I suspect she does, but she's in a controlling phase right now and always orders me to stop singing unless she has specifically requested something). Not because it was a song I thought she might like, especially.

A recent Facebook status update of mine went like this: "Patricia is always sad and disappointed to see the things I like least about myself reflected in my children." My least favorite characteristic of mine, the part of myself that I most actively dislike and am dismayed by more or less on a daily basis, is my fear of not being perfect. I'm not talking about OCD-style perfectionism, but more like I'm afraid to screw up. I don't want to look stupid. It's maybe my biggest fear, and it is pathological. I don't want to appear lacking in any way, whether to friends, family or complete strangers.

Let me give you an example from when I was a kid. I started playing the trumpet when I was 12, in 6th grade. I had remembered my sister practicing her flute in her room when I was younger and she was in high school; I had this fantasy that I would do the same with my trumpet. Not long after I began learning, I was practicing one evening and hit a bum note, and my dad said something from the other room about me "hitting a raw one" or something equally innocuous about my wrong note. For the first time, it dawned on me- my family could hear me! In the small home in which I grew up, it would have been impossible not to, but for whatever reason, it had never crossed my mind to think they could. And they could hear me make mistakes!

I almost never practiced at home after that. For a long time I blamed my dad, for commenting about my screw-up, or for making me self-conscious. But the real problem was not his comment; it was me. My home was where the people who loved me best lived; if anyone was going to tolerate bum notes, it would be them. This went deeper than one offhand teasing comment by my dad.

If I could have ever found a place where no one could hear me, I would have practiced. I grew up in the middle of nowhere, on the outskirts of the back 40, and I couldn't get comfortable practicing even in the middle of the woods that surrounded my little neighborhood. Because someone might hear me make a mistake. I wish I could have gotten over it. It weakened me as a musician, this failure to practice at home. I look back now and realize that I squandered some real talent. I would never have been a professional; I never wanted to be. But I performed at a truly high level, particularly for a high school student, on the basis only of whatever class time and after school rehearsals I might have had. My band program was of high quality, so that meant probably 8 or 9 hours a week, but still. Nothing on weekends unless there was a performance. Nothing over the summer.

It haunts me. I could have been so much better even than I was. My senior year I lost my first chair (yes, I was first freaking chair and I never practiced) to a kid who wanted it so bad. He was so good, and he clearly put a lot of time into his music. Then I lost second chair to another kid, and then I lost third chair because I didn't care at all. I didn't practice my scales for the challenges, see, so it almost wasn't even worth showing up to them. In one case I didn't.

The main criticism of me was always, play out. More volume. I was afraid to let anyone hear me. I was afraid to fail, to sound anything less than perfect.

A more recent example is that I am afraid to live in country where I don't speak the language. I'm afraid to sound dumb. Not just by not knowing the vocabulary, but even by getting the accent wrong. I realize how ridiculous this is by seeing my own behavior with a non-native English speaker- do I laugh when they struggle for a word or don't get the grammar quite right? Nope, of course not. But the fear is petrifying. And I hate it in myself.

You can imagine how dismayed I was when I realized I was seeing some of the same things in Caetlin. She may not have that fear to the same degree I do, but I see it in her. She won't try to do things I know she can, preferring to say, "I can't do it." She won't guess at questions- if she doesn't absolutely know the answer, she'll say, "I don't know." Even when she does know, and I know she knows. She just doesn't want to be wrong, I think.

This makes me so incredibly sad. Of everything that is who I am, I wish I could have not passed that part on to her. I hope I didn't pass it on to Phoebe, and I pray I will not pass it to any future children I may be blessed with. Because if Caetlin is anything like me, she will live parts of her life in paralyzing fear. She will miss out on opportunities to have fun, to improve herself, and to experience wonderful things because of this trait, this issue, this shackle that weighs me down.

I can't let that happen to her, not if I can help it. I realized recently that I have the chance to try to combat it now, while she's young, and that I must do everything I can to counteract this in her. So I try to push her, gently, to try new things, or to answer questions of which she is unsure. I hope her teachers at school do the same. I try to make home a welcoming environment, making it explicit that she can screw up without fear of failure or judgment. She's too young to get all this, of course, but I hope it will sink in over repeated interactions.

But one other thing I must do is model for her the behavior I want to encourage. And that means facing my fears and doing things that scare the shit out of me. And making myself do them even when my whole being is screaming to stop, I'm going to look like a fool, everyone will laugh at me or worse they will just smile and say nice things to my face and then behind my back will talk about how terrible I was (something I'm working to convince myself my choir-mates aren't doing even as I type this...).

So, tonight I sang mediocrely in front of my church congregation. I could have asked the women to sing my part, or asked someone else to take the solo. The pianist could have sung it beautifully on no preparation whatsoever, and knowing that I have those kinds of alternatives makes it easy for me to consider running away again. But I did it. I did it for my daughter. In doing it for her, I ended up doing it for myself far more than I could have ever imagined. My choir-mates (whom I respect so tremendously and I'd hate for them to think I'm not a good musician, oh, God, they all think I suck now) all said nice things because they knew how ridiculously nervous I was. I pooh-poohed them a little, because it really objectively wasn't that awesome, but a part of me didn't want to soft pedal the praise at all, because it is such a HUGE deal that I did it at all. My choir-mates don't know me well enough to know that, so it would have come out wrong.

But I did it. Croaky, trembling, shaking almost uncontrollably. I sang into a microphone in front of a few hundred people, and if I looked stupid, or sounded terrible, well, that matters less than that I did it at all. I did it for Caetlin. Maybe, in trying to be a good role model for her, I can make the tiniest of starts on fixing the thing I like least about myself. Maybe we can help each other that way.

Gah!

So, I blogged at the end of January, completely intending to resume writing a couple of times a week. And it just...didn't happen. For some reason, blogging is not something I feel compelled to make time for. Part of the problem surely is that time for blogging is relatively limited, once you subtract work, sleep, boot camp, eating, church obligations, and hanging out with the family. But the other issue is that I haven't felt moved to write. It feels almost like a muscle that has atrophied; as my body has gotten stronger, so my writing muscles have weakened.

So, this time, no promises, but I hope to resume posting a couple times a week again. Starting with today, of course, and not just this mea culpa.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

Yet More Medical Developments

In Caetlin news, her surgery is scheduled for February 23. Hopefully I will still be pregnant at that point.

In news regarding my own health, I visited the doctor again today, and I'm officially ordered out of work, since my blood pressure remains high. In (even) less encouraging news, I had protein in my urine again today, which leads the doctor to suspect pre-eclampsia again, without the excuse that my daughter is in the hospital this time. I had blood drawn and we'll see what that tells us tomorrow. I am at home now, but it is not out of the question that I would be hospitalized for the remainder of my pregnancy, if it is pre-eclampsia.

I am desperately trying to make it to the end of the month with Segunda, for her sake and mine. I am 37 weeks this Thursday, which is technically full term, but everything I read suggests that longer is better for babies, even beyond this 37 week threshold. Lungs are better developed, sucking reflex is better developed, babies just have better outcomes if they hang in there until 39 or 40 weeks. I am sure Segunda would be fine, but after all we've been through this last few months, is it really so much to ask that the baby stay inside until she's really all the way done?

Anyway, I'm not exactly on bed rest, but it is suggested that I basically be a couch potato. I am going to keep working remotely for the time being, just to give me something to do, and I suspect my bed and I will become even better acquainted than we are already. I haven't spent large amounts of time doing more or less nothing in many years, so it will be interesting to see how I cope, even connected as I am by internet, cell phone, etc. It's not quite the same as fresh air and human interaction.

To sum up: I'm to be spending large chunks of my remaining pregnant days in bed; hopefully those remaining pregnant days will number at least 20 or so; and please keep your fingers crossed that the blood work comes back okay and there is no pre-eclampsia.

I'm not terribly sure when we're going to catch a break. Maybe soon.

Joining My Own Generation

Okay, so I finally joined Facebook. Apparently I had actually joined some time ago without really realizing it, in response to a friend request a long time ago. But I'm now ready to actually be a part of it.

I know, I know, I'm seriously the last person under 40 who is not already on it. And for a long time I've talked about how I really just wanted to avoid the time suck of it all. Bruce joined not too long ago, though, and every few days he's all, "Sweetie, you have to do this!" Making me feel like the world's oldest, fogiest young(ish) person to continue holding out.

So all of you who are on Facebook (which would be basically everyone who reads this, who is under 40), please bear with me as I find you and send friend requests. It strikes me a little like approaching the popular table in the middle school cafeteria and timidly asking to sit down, all hopeful that people will shove down and let me eat with them.

So shove down, okay? Okay??

Whew. Thanks!

(Or you guys can send me friend requests, if you happen to be on at any particular time and I haven't managed to find you yet.)

32 Weeks

We had another ultrasound this afternoon. The good news is that the placenta has moved plenty far away from the cervix. The even better news is that Segunda appears perfectly healthy. No cleft lip, all 4 chambers of the heart showing up and beating, diaphragm, stomach and kidneys all in the correct places and appearing normal and working. We saw her practice breathing, a sign of a happy baby according to the ultrasound tech. We saw her little face, her eyes and mouth opening and closing, and according to the tech, she has hair (I couldn't see it myself). She's a little over 4 pounds, which is exactly as big as she should be for her gestational age, not that there was much question about when she was conceived.

The so-so news is that she is breech. I thought she had turned head down, and maybe she had, but she's back to head up. My little contortionist has one foot up by her head and one foot under her bottom, and is lying on her left side.

It's not a huge problem if I have to have a C-section because she's breech, but I really would prefer not to have a C-section if I can help it. I really want to try to have labor start naturally this time, instead of being induced as I was with Caetlin, and I even want to try an unmedicated delivery. I am not one of those crunchy natural birth people like Riki Lake- I want to have my baby in the hospital, and I am not opposed to medication if it turns out that I can't handle the pain, and I won't be crushed if I end up having to have a C-section. That said, I really do want to try it nature's way if I can this time. I think I would feel seriously empowered if I could have this baby without pain medication.

Anyway, the current breech baby in my ever-growing belly is not helping with that. Turn, kiddo! The OB didn't seem remotely worried about the positioning at this point, so that was comforting. She seemed to feel like we had plenty of time, she has plenty of room, and all will likely sort itself out. Fingers crossed.

And that's where we are at 32 weeks.

In unrelated-to-Segunda news, we actually rented the Charlotte house! That is hugely good news, since it helps us financially a lot. It takes a little of the pressure off the laid off one to find a new job at a certain salary right away. So, yay renter!

Stay of Execution

So, the meeting at which the laid off one of us was to discover the terms of the impending "separation" from the firm was to have taken place this past Tuesday. That morning, less than half an hour before the appointed time, it was rescheduled to today. ("How rude!" I fumed at Bruce. "As rude as firing one of us?" he asked. I had to concede he had a point.) Then yesterday, it was rescheduled to next Monday.

The practical upshot of all this is that we remain in a constant state of stress and worry, since we can't plan for details that we don't know. Our nanny remains completely unaware that anything is wrong, since we don't want to break the bad news while we aren't sure of things ourselves (there is still that one last Hail Mary the laid off one has, though neither of us have much hope that will amount to anything). The laid off one hasn't started job searching in real earnest yet, since again we have no idea of what the firm may be planning.

It's been like being marched up the gallows steps several times, and each time being told, "Oh, no, sorry, it's not your turn. Yet."

But...Some Good News!

Here is hopefully the first sign that 2009 may be a better year. We received word that our house in Charlotte is under application to be rented. Assuming the renter checks out and is okay with paying our pet deposit, we will soon be able to recoup some of the monthly expenses for that property. The rent is not enough to cover the management fees, mortgage, taxes, insurance, etc., but it will help a lot with defraying those costs.

With the house presumably rented, the laid off half of this partnership is considering staying home with the children instead of finding another job. We'll have to see what the terms are of the layoff and how the job search ends up progressing. We've run the numbers- we could do it, though it may be tighter than we would like. Still, we'd be paying more attention to expenses, daycare would cost nothing, we'd be cooking almost every meal at home, etc. It's not likely that we would be able to put away the same amount for savings, but we may not feel the same lifestyle hit as we would expect.

I should clarify that we don't live extravagantly. I know some family members who think we have a "big city lifestyle" but the truth is that we drive two paid for cars. We have no debt besides student loans and our mortgage. Our two TVs are both 5 years old or more (no flat screens or big screens), and we really don't spend a lot on clothes for ourselves or the baby, electronics, jewelry, toys for the kid, etc. Our mortgage was modest as compared to our income when we bought the house. We put a lot away each month for retirement, the kids' college, and just general savings. Where we tended to spend money is on food, as we eat out a lot or have delivery. And we spend a frightening amount for the nanny's salary.

I think where the pinch would be felt is in our thoughts and attitudes about money. Right now we don't really think about it on a day to day basis. We can go to a bookstore and spend $150 at one time without really giving it a lot of thought. We can order takeout if we want it and don't feel like cooking, without really worrying about it. It's in the little things like that- a Starbucks in the morning, a breakfast out on the weekend, Caetlin's Kindermusik classes and the zoo membership and Children's Museum membership- that we would feel the pinch. Not to say that we couldn't still do those things, but only that they would require thought. And we certainly don't shop for bargains habitually. I'm sure that will change as well.

It could definitely be a good thing for us. It will certainly make us more mindful of our finances, which can only be a good thing. I'm trying to maintain the optimism that presumably renting the house has brought. It's a new year! It's a new life for us, a new reality. I have no idea what that's going to look like, but I'm trying so hard to believe that it will be a better one than we have now.