Thursday, July 2, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
Her Birth by Numbers
06/05/2009 - 38 week OBGYN appt.. Internal exams hurts like hell and reveals that I am 2-3cm dilated. But my cervix was still fleshy and something else common in women who have already had babies.
1:30pm - I bend over to fix a scatter rug and spring a leak. I think I either peed my pants or my water broke. But nothing else happens and I chalk it up to my increasing incontinence.
06/06/2009
2:00am - I wake up to find Brett just coming to bed. I go back to sleep annoyed thinking if we have this baby today he will be exhausted. I don't "get" night owls.
7:00am - 2:30pm Wake up with the boys. Feed them, dress them. Do many loads of laundry. Think "When is my husband ever going to get out of bed." When he finally gets up at 9:30-10am I do my best to passive aggressively protest his sleeping habits which are rather out of sync with his parenting responsibilities... in other words I sulked... My mother came over and hung out with the boys and I made them all Kraft dinner for lunch. Brett cut the lawn and did some outside work. I weeded my birthday garden. Then Brett began to disassemble his closet to install a new closet organizer I had bought him for his birthday. He put all of his clothes on the floor of the nursery.
2:30pm - Brett takes both boys and takes the van to the dealership for an oil change. He entertains the boys by looking at the cars in the show room. I do more chores and more laundry.
3:00pm - I lie down on the couch with our two dogs for a snooze.
3:30pm - I hear the garage door opening - boys are home. I feel like I might have wet my pants again. I stand up carefully and I do wet my pants. I am still not sure I haven't peed myself. Brett comes in and puts a sleeping Evan on the couch. I go outside and sit on a patio chair and watch Quinn play some ball hockey on the driveway.
3:45pm - The ice cream truck pulls up and my water breaks full on. Total gush. I get Quinn to fetch Brett and just sit there.. stupidly. Brett comes out and I tell him and he sends me inside and stays outside with Quinn. I make it to the bathroom only to gush more fluid... I make it upstairs without making a mess. Clean myself up. At 4pm I call my mother and my aunt. Brett calls his mother. We tell everyone to come to our house for 6pm when we will leave for the hospital. I have had no contractions and I figure like with Quinn's birth the baby will arrive hours and hours and hours (22 hours to be exact) after my water breaks. Brett and start putting his closet back together. I finish the laundry or try to...
4:16pm - I have a contraction that makes me stand still and be quiet. I notice the time, it passes and I go back to folding laundry, packing my hospital bag... Then I have another contraction... then another one... at 4:36 I realize I have had seven painful contractions in 20 minutes. And I am ready for drugs - they are growing unbearable. We call everyone and tell them to come to the house immediately because I needed drugs... LIKE NOW.
4:50pm - Evan is awake and grumpy. I am swearing every few minutes. Brett is having a last minute shower. My mother-in-law, mother and father arrive. I scream for my Mom's help with carrying my hospital bags and scare everyone.
4:56pm - We drive away from the house - Brett, my mother and I. My mother-in-law comes in her own car. We leave the boys with my Dad. We pass my aunt and uncle who are on their way to help my dad with the boys.
4:56- 5:16pm - 20 minute drive along highway 401 to the hospital was awful. My contractions were coming every three minutes and lasting a minute and a half. I kept gushing fluid. Someone had told me real contractions left you unable to speak... but trust me I could speak. Yelling and swearing was my coping mechanism. I said very bad words and cursed those women who laboured without drugs by choice - what were they crazy this was dreadful and it had just started... I went on and on every three minutes. I was silent in between.
5:18pm - Brett parks the van at the hospital and my mom takes me to the labour assessment room in a wheelchair. I am still gushing and cursing. I feel like an utter wuss not to be able to withstand even the beginning of labour. The assessment room was empty and I was put right on a bed and assessed no doubt because I was making such a seriously obnoxious racket. The tiny nurse does an internal exam and tells us I am 8-9cm dilated. That explains a lot but I am still writhing and yelling. I shout out over and over that I want "The man with the drugs."
They take me into the labour room. Every two minutes I call out for the man for the drugs. He finally comes. I can't get into position for an epidural - I am stuck lying on my right side. Totally silent between contractions. Crying out in agony when they come - I the asian man in front of me by the leg - I have no idea who he is. I can hear them suggest a spinal. Then it changes. The pain changes. I feel like I need to go to the bathroom. When I tell them this they do an internal and say I am fully dilated. Then I said the baby was coming and someone says it is.. The anethietologist says he can't do anything and he disappears. Someone leaves to get the OBGYN. I feel like I am going to poop NOW. Someone says I am involuntarily pushing. I think I involuntarily push twice... I didn't poop...
5:42pm - The baby is out. I hear the Asian man say the cord was twice around the neck. Turns out he was the intern. A baby cries the OBGYN appears. My mother says "It's a girl." I don't remember the next little bit but apparently I leaned forward and said "I love you. I love you."
They put the baby on my chest and really I just wanted a break.
They did the work to help me deliver the placenta and again all I wanted was a break.
I had a small first degree tear. I felt myself being sewed up. It was nothing compared to the contractions. But really I just wanted a break.
My mother makes phone calls and my mother-in-law makes phone calls and I just lie there wanting to rest. The pain is gone. The after pains pale in comparison.
The girl who wanted an epidural for an internal exam the day before is a woman who gave birth having only taken two Tylenol a few hours before.
I felt like I had been having an ordinary day and then suddenly I was set upon by wolves or wild animals. And then they just went away and left me alone just as quickly. And I felt almost normal.
This post is going to take days to write and edit.. she is hungry.
1:30pm - I bend over to fix a scatter rug and spring a leak. I think I either peed my pants or my water broke. But nothing else happens and I chalk it up to my increasing incontinence.
06/06/2009
2:00am - I wake up to find Brett just coming to bed. I go back to sleep annoyed thinking if we have this baby today he will be exhausted. I don't "get" night owls.
7:00am - 2:30pm Wake up with the boys. Feed them, dress them. Do many loads of laundry. Think "When is my husband ever going to get out of bed." When he finally gets up at 9:30-10am I do my best to passive aggressively protest his sleeping habits which are rather out of sync with his parenting responsibilities... in other words I sulked... My mother came over and hung out with the boys and I made them all Kraft dinner for lunch. Brett cut the lawn and did some outside work. I weeded my birthday garden. Then Brett began to disassemble his closet to install a new closet organizer I had bought him for his birthday. He put all of his clothes on the floor of the nursery.
2:30pm - Brett takes both boys and takes the van to the dealership for an oil change. He entertains the boys by looking at the cars in the show room. I do more chores and more laundry.
3:00pm - I lie down on the couch with our two dogs for a snooze.
3:30pm - I hear the garage door opening - boys are home. I feel like I might have wet my pants again. I stand up carefully and I do wet my pants. I am still not sure I haven't peed myself. Brett comes in and puts a sleeping Evan on the couch. I go outside and sit on a patio chair and watch Quinn play some ball hockey on the driveway.
3:45pm - The ice cream truck pulls up and my water breaks full on. Total gush. I get Quinn to fetch Brett and just sit there.. stupidly. Brett comes out and I tell him and he sends me inside and stays outside with Quinn. I make it to the bathroom only to gush more fluid... I make it upstairs without making a mess. Clean myself up. At 4pm I call my mother and my aunt. Brett calls his mother. We tell everyone to come to our house for 6pm when we will leave for the hospital. I have had no contractions and I figure like with Quinn's birth the baby will arrive hours and hours and hours (22 hours to be exact) after my water breaks. Brett and start putting his closet back together. I finish the laundry or try to...
4:16pm - I have a contraction that makes me stand still and be quiet. I notice the time, it passes and I go back to folding laundry, packing my hospital bag... Then I have another contraction... then another one... at 4:36 I realize I have had seven painful contractions in 20 minutes. And I am ready for drugs - they are growing unbearable. We call everyone and tell them to come to the house immediately because I needed drugs... LIKE NOW.
4:50pm - Evan is awake and grumpy. I am swearing every few minutes. Brett is having a last minute shower. My mother-in-law, mother and father arrive. I scream for my Mom's help with carrying my hospital bags and scare everyone.
4:56pm - We drive away from the house - Brett, my mother and I. My mother-in-law comes in her own car. We leave the boys with my Dad. We pass my aunt and uncle who are on their way to help my dad with the boys.
4:56- 5:16pm - 20 minute drive along highway 401 to the hospital was awful. My contractions were coming every three minutes and lasting a minute and a half. I kept gushing fluid. Someone had told me real contractions left you unable to speak... but trust me I could speak. Yelling and swearing was my coping mechanism. I said very bad words and cursed those women who laboured without drugs by choice - what were they crazy this was dreadful and it had just started... I went on and on every three minutes. I was silent in between.
5:18pm - Brett parks the van at the hospital and my mom takes me to the labour assessment room in a wheelchair. I am still gushing and cursing. I feel like an utter wuss not to be able to withstand even the beginning of labour. The assessment room was empty and I was put right on a bed and assessed no doubt because I was making such a seriously obnoxious racket. The tiny nurse does an internal exam and tells us I am 8-9cm dilated. That explains a lot but I am still writhing and yelling. I shout out over and over that I want "The man with the drugs."
They take me into the labour room. Every two minutes I call out for the man for the drugs. He finally comes. I can't get into position for an epidural - I am stuck lying on my right side. Totally silent between contractions. Crying out in agony when they come - I the asian man in front of me by the leg - I have no idea who he is. I can hear them suggest a spinal. Then it changes. The pain changes. I feel like I need to go to the bathroom. When I tell them this they do an internal and say I am fully dilated. Then I said the baby was coming and someone says it is.. The anethietologist says he can't do anything and he disappears. Someone leaves to get the OBGYN. I feel like I am going to poop NOW. Someone says I am involuntarily pushing. I think I involuntarily push twice... I didn't poop...
5:42pm - The baby is out. I hear the Asian man say the cord was twice around the neck. Turns out he was the intern. A baby cries the OBGYN appears. My mother says "It's a girl." I don't remember the next little bit but apparently I leaned forward and said "I love you. I love you."
They put the baby on my chest and really I just wanted a break.
They did the work to help me deliver the placenta and again all I wanted was a break.
I had a small first degree tear. I felt myself being sewed up. It was nothing compared to the contractions. But really I just wanted a break.
My mother makes phone calls and my mother-in-law makes phone calls and I just lie there wanting to rest. The pain is gone. The after pains pale in comparison.
The girl who wanted an epidural for an internal exam the day before is a woman who gave birth having only taken two Tylenol a few hours before.
I felt like I had been having an ordinary day and then suddenly I was set upon by wolves or wild animals. And then they just went away and left me alone just as quickly. And I felt almost normal.
This post is going to take days to write and edit.. she is hungry.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
If this is wrong I don't want to be right...
I had our baby on Saturday, June 6, 2009.
It was a girl. I was wrong. I still can't believe it. Every diaper change yields a big surprise... it still hasn't sunk in.
She was born one hour and a half hours after my first discernible contraction after my water broke. My water leaked at 3:30 and then flooded at 3:45 and then the contractions started at 4:16pm and went right to every three minutes and about a minute in length. They hurt like hell. We left for the hospital at 4:56pm. Got to the hospital at 5:18pm and she was born at 5:42pm.
When I got the hospital I was 8-9cm dilated. I had thought I was just a wuss - turns out I was going through the super-fast version of labour. I was screaming for drugs. By the time the anesthesiologist got to me for an epidural I was fully dilated and the baby was coming out. I didn't even really push... she just came out.
I can only describe the whole thing as an attack. I was having a busy productive day at home and then suddenly I was attacked by wolves or wild dogs... it was horribly painful.When I was fully dilated it hurt less but it was still just as urgent. Then she was delivered and it all subsided just as suddenly and I felt almost normal again. The recovery was almost immediate. Compared to my earlier labours with the bigger babies and all the interventions this labour was so much easier. That being said, a little pain relief would have been nice. Those contractions hurt like nothing I have ever experienced.
My daughter, Gracie, weighed 6 lb. 14 oz., a full 2 lb. 1.5 oz less than Evan and a pound less than Quinn. Her head was a mere 34cm compared to Evan's 40cm head. She is only 18.5 inches tall. Both boys were 21 inches long. She is very delicate and well-proportioned. I think she is stunningly beautiful. That being said she just did a blow out in her diaper.
I will write more some time about being wrong about her being a girl.... but not today. There is a tiny bottom to clean...
It was a girl. I was wrong. I still can't believe it. Every diaper change yields a big surprise... it still hasn't sunk in.
She was born one hour and a half hours after my first discernible contraction after my water broke. My water leaked at 3:30 and then flooded at 3:45 and then the contractions started at 4:16pm and went right to every three minutes and about a minute in length. They hurt like hell. We left for the hospital at 4:56pm. Got to the hospital at 5:18pm and she was born at 5:42pm.
When I got the hospital I was 8-9cm dilated. I had thought I was just a wuss - turns out I was going through the super-fast version of labour. I was screaming for drugs. By the time the anesthesiologist got to me for an epidural I was fully dilated and the baby was coming out. I didn't even really push... she just came out.
I can only describe the whole thing as an attack. I was having a busy productive day at home and then suddenly I was attacked by wolves or wild dogs... it was horribly painful.When I was fully dilated it hurt less but it was still just as urgent. Then she was delivered and it all subsided just as suddenly and I felt almost normal again. The recovery was almost immediate. Compared to my earlier labours with the bigger babies and all the interventions this labour was so much easier. That being said, a little pain relief would have been nice. Those contractions hurt like nothing I have ever experienced.
My daughter, Gracie, weighed 6 lb. 14 oz., a full 2 lb. 1.5 oz less than Evan and a pound less than Quinn. Her head was a mere 34cm compared to Evan's 40cm head. She is only 18.5 inches tall. Both boys were 21 inches long. She is very delicate and well-proportioned. I think she is stunningly beautiful. That being said she just did a blow out in her diaper.
I will write more some time about being wrong about her being a girl.... but not today. There is a tiny bottom to clean...
Sunday, May 31, 2009
10 Things I am looking forward to experiencing with #3
My due date is 19 days away. I was sure I would be early but now I am not so sure. I slept so well last night that I think there must be more days of discomfort in store of me before this wee belly tenant is evicted.
I am excited. It comes and goes. Very often the worry overtakes the excitement. But have no doubt that I am excited.
I remember when I was pregnant the first time that women who were mothers kept telling me their birth stories. Birth stories with details about the drugs they took and the stitches they got... I like to listen so I listened to their stories but I wondered why they were telling them to me. In such detail... so many years later in some cases.
Then I had Quinn and his birth, though hard, was so exciting. Probably the most exciting 22 hours of my life. And afterward I wanted to share my exciting story too. The story of how I became a mother... the story of how my body did something amazing... the story of how I met the small boy who would become one of the great loves of my life. Giving birth and meeting your child is one of life's greatest joys and excitements.
So here are ten things I am looking forward to re: Baby #3
1) Of course, the excitement of knowing, finally, that it is going to happen today after so many weeks of waiting.
2) Seeing the baby's face for the first time and thinking about who he looks like.
3) Knowing he is ok. This should be number 2...
4) Learning all the vital stats.... the size and length and hair quantity....
5) Picking the name and then introducing Mr.? to the world by that name.
6) Kissing the small hands and feet. Nibbling the ear lobes. Nuzzling the baby-smelling neck.
7) Breast-feeding. I pray it goes as well as it did with Quinn and Evan. Evan was so easy to feed - despite the birth trauma.
8) Swaddling baby and cuddling it to sleep.
9) Writing the birth announcement.
10) Falling in love.
I am also looking forward to not sharing my abdomen with another human being. My bladder will be so happy not to have someone doing a headstand on it 24/7.
I am excited. It comes and goes. Very often the worry overtakes the excitement. But have no doubt that I am excited.
I remember when I was pregnant the first time that women who were mothers kept telling me their birth stories. Birth stories with details about the drugs they took and the stitches they got... I like to listen so I listened to their stories but I wondered why they were telling them to me. In such detail... so many years later in some cases.
Then I had Quinn and his birth, though hard, was so exciting. Probably the most exciting 22 hours of my life. And afterward I wanted to share my exciting story too. The story of how I became a mother... the story of how my body did something amazing... the story of how I met the small boy who would become one of the great loves of my life. Giving birth and meeting your child is one of life's greatest joys and excitements.
So here are ten things I am looking forward to re: Baby #3
1) Of course, the excitement of knowing, finally, that it is going to happen today after so many weeks of waiting.
2) Seeing the baby's face for the first time and thinking about who he looks like.
3) Knowing he is ok. This should be number 2...
4) Learning all the vital stats.... the size and length and hair quantity....
5) Picking the name and then introducing Mr.? to the world by that name.
6) Kissing the small hands and feet. Nibbling the ear lobes. Nuzzling the baby-smelling neck.
7) Breast-feeding. I pray it goes as well as it did with Quinn and Evan. Evan was so easy to feed - despite the birth trauma.
8) Swaddling baby and cuddling it to sleep.
9) Writing the birth announcement.
10) Falling in love.
I am also looking forward to not sharing my abdomen with another human being. My bladder will be so happy not to have someone doing a headstand on it 24/7.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Mothers and Sons
People keep telling me that they hope I have a girl. It annoys me. Let them hope. Let them be disappointed. People also tell me all the wonderful and all the difficult things about raising girls. Like I would have no insight myself? Was I not once a little girl? Sheesh.
One reason people tell me that it is "good to have a daughter" is that she will always be close to you, even after she is married (you won't lose her to a daughter-in-law) and she will take care of you in your old age. This one I don't buy. I look at examples all around of distant daughters and adoring sons and I say what you raise is a person and you hope for the best. I see all my cuddling and affection and doting as an investment in our shared future. Hopefully, my boys will always want to be around me - right now they are absolutely smothering.
My father is the middle son of three boys. My grandmother was without a doubt, one of my father's very best friends. She has been dead since 2004 but was senile and ill for about six and half years before that. He has been mourning the loss of her all along, not expressing it and I don't think even quite understanding it. Sometimes he will mention he has dreamed of her and will say things like "I still miss her you know." And I will say "Of course. You always will." He seems surprised by his feelings.
Clearly, there were issues with how he was raised but he was raised in such a way that he became very close to his mom and she to him. His brothers were not so close. His older brother was "stolen" away by his wife and his younger brother never seemed to get over the resentment of all his parents did wrong.
Anyhow, my Dad was always there for his mom. Even before she was widowed at age 61. His Dad was ill for ages and was not a nice husband, or man for that matter. In his 20's my Dad would leave work on his lunch hour to pick up his mom and take her where she needed to go - rush back to work - and not get his own lunch.
During my growing up a Saturday afternoon visit to Grandma's house was de rigeur. They would sit together at her kitchen table. Drink tea or coffee. Perhaps eat a sandwich or some treat one of them had bought. Then they would retire to the living room to watch whatever sports were on that afternoon. My grandmother enjoyed baseball and hockey. She had four sisters and one brother - so I am not sure how she became such a sports fan herself. Perhaps through necessity.... perhaps so my Dad would stay with her longer... I will never know.
My brother and I would go with my Dad to Grandma's. Go with him when he ran errands with her and eventually for her. Go with him when they went on lunch dates. She loved a draft beer with her lunch - her son did not. They both loved deli sandwiches. Rubens. Each others' company.
When my Grandma's arthritis got bad my Dad stepped up and did what he could to keep her in her house and comfortable. He took care of everything with little involvement from his brothers. My mother always supported and encourage this relationship. My mother would visit my Grandma with my dad and on her own. My Mom also considered my grandma her dear friend. My mom didn't interfere. She wasn't jealous that he had stayed his mother's boy.
Anyhow when my grandmother had her first stroke and started slipping into senility my Dad started visiting everyday. Making sure she ate, changed her clothes, was clean. He tried to get her help but she refused and so he did it himself - going everyday after work. My mother helped and did the more personal things like helping my grandmother with sponge baths. So it was my mother who found the cancerous lump that lead to my grandmother finally leaving her house for surgery never to return. Instead she lived out or rather died slowly in a nursing home.
My Dad visited. My Mom visited. Me granddaughter - a girl - I rarely visited. It was hard to see someone so physically and mentally wasting away. I was younger. I am still struggling with understanding that the stuff that happens to the people I love is also happening to them - not just to me. I am sure that makes no sense.
This is all to say I have never wanted a daughter because I worried a son would not care for me once he married and once I grew old and needy. My father adored his mother. My husband talks to his mother everyday. This is the way it should be. I am sure there are examples of loving daughters and distant sons and distant daughters and loving sons many times over... many times over... many times over within the same family... same set of siblings.
Families are a puzzle because each person is a puzzle. I can`t worry about who will care for me when I am older. I am too busy taking care of people and being cared for myself right now.
One reason people tell me that it is "good to have a daughter" is that she will always be close to you, even after she is married (you won't lose her to a daughter-in-law) and she will take care of you in your old age. This one I don't buy. I look at examples all around of distant daughters and adoring sons and I say what you raise is a person and you hope for the best. I see all my cuddling and affection and doting as an investment in our shared future. Hopefully, my boys will always want to be around me - right now they are absolutely smothering.
My father is the middle son of three boys. My grandmother was without a doubt, one of my father's very best friends. She has been dead since 2004 but was senile and ill for about six and half years before that. He has been mourning the loss of her all along, not expressing it and I don't think even quite understanding it. Sometimes he will mention he has dreamed of her and will say things like "I still miss her you know." And I will say "Of course. You always will." He seems surprised by his feelings.
Clearly, there were issues with how he was raised but he was raised in such a way that he became very close to his mom and she to him. His brothers were not so close. His older brother was "stolen" away by his wife and his younger brother never seemed to get over the resentment of all his parents did wrong.
Anyhow, my Dad was always there for his mom. Even before she was widowed at age 61. His Dad was ill for ages and was not a nice husband, or man for that matter. In his 20's my Dad would leave work on his lunch hour to pick up his mom and take her where she needed to go - rush back to work - and not get his own lunch.
During my growing up a Saturday afternoon visit to Grandma's house was de rigeur. They would sit together at her kitchen table. Drink tea or coffee. Perhaps eat a sandwich or some treat one of them had bought. Then they would retire to the living room to watch whatever sports were on that afternoon. My grandmother enjoyed baseball and hockey. She had four sisters and one brother - so I am not sure how she became such a sports fan herself. Perhaps through necessity.... perhaps so my Dad would stay with her longer... I will never know.
My brother and I would go with my Dad to Grandma's. Go with him when he ran errands with her and eventually for her. Go with him when they went on lunch dates. She loved a draft beer with her lunch - her son did not. They both loved deli sandwiches. Rubens. Each others' company.
When my Grandma's arthritis got bad my Dad stepped up and did what he could to keep her in her house and comfortable. He took care of everything with little involvement from his brothers. My mother always supported and encourage this relationship. My mother would visit my Grandma with my dad and on her own. My Mom also considered my grandma her dear friend. My mom didn't interfere. She wasn't jealous that he had stayed his mother's boy.
Anyhow when my grandmother had her first stroke and started slipping into senility my Dad started visiting everyday. Making sure she ate, changed her clothes, was clean. He tried to get her help but she refused and so he did it himself - going everyday after work. My mother helped and did the more personal things like helping my grandmother with sponge baths. So it was my mother who found the cancerous lump that lead to my grandmother finally leaving her house for surgery never to return. Instead she lived out or rather died slowly in a nursing home.
My Dad visited. My Mom visited. Me granddaughter - a girl - I rarely visited. It was hard to see someone so physically and mentally wasting away. I was younger. I am still struggling with understanding that the stuff that happens to the people I love is also happening to them - not just to me. I am sure that makes no sense.
This is all to say I have never wanted a daughter because I worried a son would not care for me once he married and once I grew old and needy. My father adored his mother. My husband talks to his mother everyday. This is the way it should be. I am sure there are examples of loving daughters and distant sons and distant daughters and loving sons many times over... many times over... many times over within the same family... same set of siblings.
Families are a puzzle because each person is a puzzle. I can`t worry about who will care for me when I am older. I am too busy taking care of people and being cared for myself right now.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
The Truth
I doubt it will set me free but I suppose it is worth trying.
Right here in my right hand is a small sliver, a glimmer of a thing. It was once huge and presumptuous. But now it is so tiny that mostly I can pretend it is isn't there. But it is there. A sliver of hope. Useless hope, fruitless hope. A sliver that when not ignored stings; stings and hurts.
I wanted a daughter. I wanted a daughter all along. Since I was a little girl obsessed with dolls and real babies... Since I was a 'tween who loved to draw pictures of girls in dresses and imagine a future with two daughters and one son. Two daughters so maybe I could learn what the sister thing was all about. I wanted a daughter and I just assumed I would have one. Assumed it to such an extent that I didn't consciously want one. I think at some level I thought girls were the default gender.
It never occurred to me that I wouldn't have a daughter until I had my detailed ultrasound when I was pregnant with Quinn. When I was pregnant with Quinn I thought I was having a boy. But when the tech told me he was a boy I was a little taken aback because I just assumed everyone including me had girls. Assumed it without knowing I was assuming it... because if I thought really hard about it my family and Brett's families are full of boys. Also filled with single gender families.
Before we began to try for a second child I had done some reading on gender swaying. And we sort of, kind of tried that with Evan. With Evan I thought signs were pointing to another boy. I remember my Mom saying she saw a pink glow around me when I headed out to my second detailed ultrasound. It must have been me that was glowing pink because we found out once again we would have a son. I was disappointed and I was afraid that I would never have a daughter... for the next 22 weeks of my pregnancy I dealt with gender disappointment, mostly silently. When Evan was born with his fractured skull I felt as though the universe were punishing me for wanting a girl and for not being content to have a healthy baby... because of my disappointed feelings both Evan and I were punished. When he was fixed and healed the focus was on getting to know him and coming to know he would be okay.
But the gender disappointment returned. I wondered and I still wonder why the universe or God or whoever doesn't want me to have a daughter. All of my friends have a daughter or two... so why not me. When I think about WHY I want a daughter the reasons are mostly stupid. To give her the things I missed in my girlhood... and most of the things I missed were really just things. It is stupid to want a daughter so that you might buy her dresses and dolls and braid her blonde hair. Stupid reasons. Stupid but none the less the wanting doesn't go away even with the knowing that it is stupid.
Before this pregnancy I read books on gender swaying. Read online forums about gender swaying. I looked into the Microsort option and PGD options in the United States. In the end when started to try for baby number 3 we didn't try anything too interesting or drastic. Nothing that didn't involve a calender, a trip to the drugstore or a change of frequency. Yes TMI... but this is all TMI.
Yesterday, I had what should be my last ultrasound before baby #3 is born. Everything went fine. The estimate is that the baby isn't big and doesn't have a big head. The ultrasound tech. made an effort to keep the sex a secret, turning the monitor away when she had to measure the baby's bum. But then next she said the baby is sucking away and I asked on what and she said trying to find HIS fingers. HIS fingers. Not IT'S fingers but HIS fingers. I didn't cry this time after the tech slipped, not like in January when the tech's blathering on about how great three boys are left me weeping.
But still, now I sit here feeling the sliver again. Trying not to rub at it, trying not to think about it and make it worse. such useless, fruitless hope. And all dashed. Sure I could be wrong... sure I could be reading something into nothing. Nonetheless I have feelings I don't want to have. I know I will love and adore and nibble and squish a third son. I know that more than anything I just want a child that is well and healthy.
I know a lot of things. I know that there is a sadness in my heart that I really wish would just go away.
Right here in my right hand is a small sliver, a glimmer of a thing. It was once huge and presumptuous. But now it is so tiny that mostly I can pretend it is isn't there. But it is there. A sliver of hope. Useless hope, fruitless hope. A sliver that when not ignored stings; stings and hurts.
I wanted a daughter. I wanted a daughter all along. Since I was a little girl obsessed with dolls and real babies... Since I was a 'tween who loved to draw pictures of girls in dresses and imagine a future with two daughters and one son. Two daughters so maybe I could learn what the sister thing was all about. I wanted a daughter and I just assumed I would have one. Assumed it to such an extent that I didn't consciously want one. I think at some level I thought girls were the default gender.
It never occurred to me that I wouldn't have a daughter until I had my detailed ultrasound when I was pregnant with Quinn. When I was pregnant with Quinn I thought I was having a boy. But when the tech told me he was a boy I was a little taken aback because I just assumed everyone including me had girls. Assumed it without knowing I was assuming it... because if I thought really hard about it my family and Brett's families are full of boys. Also filled with single gender families.
Before we began to try for a second child I had done some reading on gender swaying. And we sort of, kind of tried that with Evan. With Evan I thought signs were pointing to another boy. I remember my Mom saying she saw a pink glow around me when I headed out to my second detailed ultrasound. It must have been me that was glowing pink because we found out once again we would have a son. I was disappointed and I was afraid that I would never have a daughter... for the next 22 weeks of my pregnancy I dealt with gender disappointment, mostly silently. When Evan was born with his fractured skull I felt as though the universe were punishing me for wanting a girl and for not being content to have a healthy baby... because of my disappointed feelings both Evan and I were punished. When he was fixed and healed the focus was on getting to know him and coming to know he would be okay.
But the gender disappointment returned. I wondered and I still wonder why the universe or God or whoever doesn't want me to have a daughter. All of my friends have a daughter or two... so why not me. When I think about WHY I want a daughter the reasons are mostly stupid. To give her the things I missed in my girlhood... and most of the things I missed were really just things. It is stupid to want a daughter so that you might buy her dresses and dolls and braid her blonde hair. Stupid reasons. Stupid but none the less the wanting doesn't go away even with the knowing that it is stupid.
Before this pregnancy I read books on gender swaying. Read online forums about gender swaying. I looked into the Microsort option and PGD options in the United States. In the end when started to try for baby number 3 we didn't try anything too interesting or drastic. Nothing that didn't involve a calender, a trip to the drugstore or a change of frequency. Yes TMI... but this is all TMI.
Yesterday, I had what should be my last ultrasound before baby #3 is born. Everything went fine. The estimate is that the baby isn't big and doesn't have a big head. The ultrasound tech. made an effort to keep the sex a secret, turning the monitor away when she had to measure the baby's bum. But then next she said the baby is sucking away and I asked on what and she said trying to find HIS fingers. HIS fingers. Not IT'S fingers but HIS fingers. I didn't cry this time after the tech slipped, not like in January when the tech's blathering on about how great three boys are left me weeping.
But still, now I sit here feeling the sliver again. Trying not to rub at it, trying not to think about it and make it worse. such useless, fruitless hope. And all dashed. Sure I could be wrong... sure I could be reading something into nothing. Nonetheless I have feelings I don't want to have. I know I will love and adore and nibble and squish a third son. I know that more than anything I just want a child that is well and healthy.
I know a lot of things. I know that there is a sadness in my heart that I really wish would just go away.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Waiting for push to come to shove
Yesterday, I had contractions all day long. They stopped in the evening. Most of the contractions weren't too painful so I didn't think it was going anywhere. I just thought of it as uterine rhythmic gymnastics. Walking Quinn to and from kindergarten seemed to really get them going.
With Evan I had contractions on and off for three weeks but still ended up being induced on the evening of my due date. My water broke in the middle of that labour. With Quinn my water broke at 38 weeks 2 days while I was out for dinner and I was induced so that I would deliver within 24 hours to limit our chances of infection.
For a moment last night I wondered if my water had sprung a slow leak. But after much consideration and waiting for further "signals" I think I just peed my pants. Again. Usually I know when I have peed - yah, lately not so much.
And also I now outweigh my husband. My husband who is more than eight inches taller than me. And I am pretty close to out-weighing my Dad. So glamorous all of this... so, so glamorous.
With Evan I had contractions on and off for three weeks but still ended up being induced on the evening of my due date. My water broke in the middle of that labour. With Quinn my water broke at 38 weeks 2 days while I was out for dinner and I was induced so that I would deliver within 24 hours to limit our chances of infection.
For a moment last night I wondered if my water had sprung a slow leak. But after much consideration and waiting for further "signals" I think I just peed my pants. Again. Usually I know when I have peed - yah, lately not so much.
And also I now outweigh my husband. My husband who is more than eight inches taller than me. And I am pretty close to out-weighing my Dad. So glamorous all of this... so, so glamorous.
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