I'm exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally.
This morning I woke up and really wanted to throw in the towel.
It could be because the holidays this year just seem to keep going on and on and on and I would so love them to just be over already. It could be because at 8:00am it's still freaking dark out. It could be because after endless months of E sleeping until 8:30am, he's started waking up at 6:00am and I die a small death each morning when I realize what time it is when I hear him chattering away. It could be because I'm just so tired of smelling that damn hospital. It could be because I so desperately want a day that is filled with enjoyable things rather than an exhausting day of just maintaining.
Whatever the reason, I want to be done so just put a fork in me already.
Thursday, December 31
Wednesday, December 30
Girlie girl
InStyle has compiled their editors favorites of the 100 Best Dresses of the Decade.
Here are a few of my favorites...
Wearing a white dress brings back the horror of junior high, white jeans and an unexpected period. But! Once you work through that trauma, this dress drapes in way that could be flattering on almost anyone and that necklace just seems to complete it.
Here are a few of my favorites...
I'm a sucker for a full skirt. Plus check out the top of the dress--you know you wouldn't have to worry about your bra straps all evening. Or, horror of horrors, have to wear a strapless bra. Gosh, those things are wretched.
I adore this color.
I think mainly I like how this dress looks on her. Plus her hair looks so darn soft and swingy.
I remember this one from the award show where she wore it and I think it got panned. But I love a pink dress and I think it's flattering on her.
Ach! So fun! So sparkly! Love!
Super cute, but I couldn't wear this bad boy. My hips and thighs would be attrocious.
Super flowy, so you know you could eat macaroni in it and not worry about the pudge that follows a Carb Fest. Shoot, with that color--no one would even notice if you dropped a noodle on it.
I can't so much wear yellow otherwise I look like I have the jaundice, so mainly I think I like this dress because--holy moses--Charlotte is rockin' that bodice.
Again, I remember when she wore this one because I thought it suited her and what her style seems to be. And she looked comfortable wearing it.
So love this color.
I love the simplicity of this dress and that it's a smooth column. On me it would be Spanx Ahoy!, but on her--lovely. Also, that belt is neato.
The dramatic back on this one was so great. Not sure what they figured out in terms of foundational garments, as not much could be smuggled in that jersey.
I love a strapless dress that looks like it would stay put. Nothing worse than a woman tugging on her dress all night.
Again with the full skirt!
Not sure I could wear this one either, but I think the organza-y straps and tied belt are nice.
Holy waistline, Batman. I love a leather belt. If I had to choose anyone in Hollywood to look like, I'd shoot for Kate Beckinsale.
Wearing a white dress brings back the horror of junior high, white jeans and an unexpected period. But! Once you work through that trauma, this dress drapes in way that could be flattering on almost anyone and that necklace just seems to complete it.
Bored + Hooray!
Given the right combination of Boss Out Sick + Me Exhausted + Short Day + Looking to Future, and I've started thinking about birth announcements.
With E, I'd wanted to send out cute announcements but, yeah, then I figured out that having a baby at home and attached to your boob doesn't leave much time for anything else. Who knew?--not I, apparently.
When I was pregnant this time around, I thought that announcements would be the perfect way to introduce the Two Amigos to the world. Plus, in my own screwy way, I thought it would be a way to even out the balance and give them something of their own that we didn't do with E. I'm still kind of paranoid that subsequent children feel like chump change after the Miraculous First Born!, so I thought announcements could be their "thing."
Well, as you know, things didn't go exactly as planned and somehow a birth announcement doesn't seem quite appropriate. But how about...a coming home announcement! Kind of made up? Perhaps! But I'm not thinking I care so much.
So, again, given that I'm not fully functioning at the work place, I've started scouring the internets for announcements that we can turn into a "Holla! My name is Iris and I'm home, suckas!" (Although, probably with some classier wording...)
Ones I've found that I like from Pear Tree:
From Tiny Prints:
Tuesday, December 29
Courtesy of being a weinie
Besides the obvious, the list of things on Why It's Horrible to Deliver Babies Three Months Early is very nearly topped by: Explaining the Situation to Everyone and Their Brother Who Knew You Were Pregnant.
While not as horrible as actually reliving the experience, it is still fairly ulcer inducing. My first weeks back to work were agonizing. I avoided the elevator full of co-workers and took the stairs. I worked with my door closed. I didn't use the shared bathroom. I winced when a student would approach to the Reference Desk.
When I did start to run into people who didn't know what had gone down, their eyes would first flit to my midsection. It's as if I could almost see the question mark above their head. Those with some degree of tact would just move their eyes back to my mine and go about the conversation. Those without tact would ask. Funny, but it was actually those seconds of not knowing where the conversation was going to go that were most stressful.
It was soon after returning to work that I realized that I might have to start sharing the story with people in other parts of my world who knew I was expecting. My hair stylist. My dentist. Other parent's at E's daycare. The UPS driver I always run into downtown; casual acquaintances who used to kindly ask how the babies were doing inside, only now to wonder what was up.
Someone to lump into that category above is my favorite barista where I would get my bagel and mocha before work. He would ask how I was feeling and asked to see a picture once they were on the outside.
I've avoided him since November 12. I miss my mochas, but I just don't think I have it in me to go in there and explain yet again what happened. The explanation that I've formed for the Casual Acquaintance--brief, to the point, segway included to save each of us from the ensuing uncomfortableness--is not one I've been able to choke out just to get a mocha.
Yesterday I thought I had it in me. I thought, "Let's just get this over with and then I get crackin' on my mochas each morning." I parked at a meter, walked in and then promptly turned tail and walked right back out to my car. I couldn't do it. I just don't want to. The mocha doesn't seem worth it.
Maybe I'll never end up going back. Or maybe the pain will be less one particular day and I'll grow a pair and get it over with. Not sure yet.
In the meantime, I guess I'm saving money. And anxiety.
While not as horrible as actually reliving the experience, it is still fairly ulcer inducing. My first weeks back to work were agonizing. I avoided the elevator full of co-workers and took the stairs. I worked with my door closed. I didn't use the shared bathroom. I winced when a student would approach to the Reference Desk.
When I did start to run into people who didn't know what had gone down, their eyes would first flit to my midsection. It's as if I could almost see the question mark above their head. Those with some degree of tact would just move their eyes back to my mine and go about the conversation. Those without tact would ask. Funny, but it was actually those seconds of not knowing where the conversation was going to go that were most stressful.
It was soon after returning to work that I realized that I might have to start sharing the story with people in other parts of my world who knew I was expecting. My hair stylist. My dentist. Other parent's at E's daycare. The UPS driver I always run into downtown; casual acquaintances who used to kindly ask how the babies were doing inside, only now to wonder what was up.
Someone to lump into that category above is my favorite barista where I would get my bagel and mocha before work. He would ask how I was feeling and asked to see a picture once they were on the outside.
I've avoided him since November 12. I miss my mochas, but I just don't think I have it in me to go in there and explain yet again what happened. The explanation that I've formed for the Casual Acquaintance--brief, to the point, segway included to save each of us from the ensuing uncomfortableness--is not one I've been able to choke out just to get a mocha.
Yesterday I thought I had it in me. I thought, "Let's just get this over with and then I get crackin' on my mochas each morning." I parked at a meter, walked in and then promptly turned tail and walked right back out to my car. I couldn't do it. I just don't want to. The mocha doesn't seem worth it.
Maybe I'll never end up going back. Or maybe the pain will be less one particular day and I'll grow a pair and get it over with. Not sure yet.
In the meantime, I guess I'm saving money. And anxiety.
Monday, December 28
Oh, snap!
Iris is finally sporting some clothes and is no longer a nudie, hillbilly baby in her isolette.
These handy little smocks (for some reason, I love the word "smock") were made by volunteers and I snagged 3-4 when the volunteers brought them in. Iris's nurses then grabbed a few more, so she is well outfitted for the Spring 2010 season in the NICU.
They have velcro on the front and the sides and it dawned on me that this would really be a pretty handy way to dress. Have to use the bathroom is a jiffy? RIP! Too tired to get undressed after a long night of drinking/eating pie? RIP! In a hurry to pump at work before that 2pm meeting? RIP! Just saying...there are lots of uses for velcro clothes.
Anyway, here are a few photos:
Sorry about that flash. My bad.
That's better. One of my favorite all-time nightnurses is way into coordinating. She mentioned that now that Iris is wearing clothes, she'll make sure that the hats, smocks and blankets don't clash. Niiice.
The creepy Michael Jackson one glove-thing is due to a wedding ring that won't budge. Rings are verboten, so I have to throw on a glove.
Iris adored being wrapped up tight. She can't be swaddled in her isolette since the nurses need to keep an eye on her PICC line, but she needed to be warm once in the great outdoors--so the nurse wrapped her up.
Due to his size, E used to look like a burrito when he was swaddled, but Iris is no bigger than a Jimmy John's sandwich. She's just so small.
Saturday, December 26
The unveiling
Wednesday turned out to be one of those days where you know you have lots of things to accomplish but it isn't until much further down the list of planning that you realize that there are actually only 24 hours in the day. And then you think, "Damn."
Before T was even out of bed, I left him a note outlining what needed to get done before I get home ( 1) Buy g.c. for Mom and Dad 2) Buy g.c. for A 3) Lowe's for picture anchors and support 4) Family conference at hospital at 2pm)---at the risk of seeming like a woman who beats her husband into doing projects, I will defend myself by saying that I did have to work a few hours that morning AND I'd already done the bulk of the Christmas shopping for everyone in our family AND he'd been talking about hanging this 40lb print in the sunporch for, oh, about 5 five years AND I'd finally been able to schedule a meeting with Iris's doctor only because T is out these two weeks. So there.
Anyway, I got home around 4:30pm from finally hitting the third Target in town in search of the elusive red bean bag (who knew there'd be such a run on red bean bags this gift giving season? Bet the economists didn't predict that.) to find T and my dad leisurely returning from Lowe's. My hopes of having the floor layed before getting home and unleashing our toddler were dashed.
E was also being a major pistol, or Pistol Pete as we call him when he's acting like this. Head strong, tantrumy, won't be distracted from THE EXACT THING HE NEEDS NOW, wanting to play with scissors and power tools, won't eat dinner, won't climb the stairs to bed. Don't call CPS, but I almost chucked him in his crib at 7:30pm because I was so at the end of my rope. The very, very end.
Sigh. Praise Jesus for bedtime.
I had the brains enough to realize that the tent shouldn't really be put together until once inside the room. I iz smart.
The easel I pulled out of the box and really kind of expected it to be fully operational. Apparently, Little Tykes makes you earn your keep.
Wtf, Little Tykes? Safety goggles? A hammer? A strange block of wood? Isn't this thing made of plastic?
Me working hard. And watching Father of the Bride 2.
T has taken to the bean bag as well.
Before T was even out of bed, I left him a note outlining what needed to get done before I get home ( 1) Buy g.c. for Mom and Dad 2) Buy g.c. for A 3) Lowe's for picture anchors and support 4) Family conference at hospital at 2pm)---at the risk of seeming like a woman who beats her husband into doing projects, I will defend myself by saying that I did have to work a few hours that morning AND I'd already done the bulk of the Christmas shopping for everyone in our family AND he'd been talking about hanging this 40lb print in the sunporch for, oh, about 5 five years AND I'd finally been able to schedule a meeting with Iris's doctor only because T is out these two weeks. So there.
Anyway, I got home around 4:30pm from finally hitting the third Target in town in search of the elusive red bean bag (who knew there'd be such a run on red bean bags this gift giving season? Bet the economists didn't predict that.) to find T and my dad leisurely returning from Lowe's. My hopes of having the floor layed before getting home and unleashing our toddler were dashed.
E was also being a major pistol, or Pistol Pete as we call him when he's acting like this. Head strong, tantrumy, won't be distracted from THE EXACT THING HE NEEDS NOW, wanting to play with scissors and power tools, won't eat dinner, won't climb the stairs to bed. Don't call CPS, but I almost chucked him in his crib at 7:30pm because I was so at the end of my rope. The very, very end.
Sigh. Praise Jesus for bedtime.
Anyway, with E's wandering paws and running feet out of the way, T got crack a lackin' on laying down the floor. I had to promise to either a) help him or b) stay the hell out of the way. Apparently, my popping in to offer helpful suggestions bothered him. I'm not sure why as they were really very helpful. I assure you.
So as to not appear too lazy, I decided to put together the tent and the art easel and sort out the toys into new bins.
I had the brains enough to realize that the tent shouldn't really be put together until once inside the room. I iz smart.
The easel I pulled out of the box and really kind of expected it to be fully operational. Apparently, Little Tykes makes you earn your keep.
Wtf, Little Tykes? Safety goggles? A hammer? A strange block of wood? Isn't this thing made of plastic?
Me working hard. And watching Father of the Bride 2.
Because I was so tired and had time to kill until I could "stage" the room, I ended up eating key lime pie, Chickin n' Biscuit crackers, lemonade and some cashews (and strangely did not get a stomachache) until T finally completed the room at 10:30pm.
Some befores and afters:
Thursday morning we woke up, watched some tv in bed and had breakfast in the kitchen before wandering about the house.
E wandered out of the kitchen and into the dining room...and then he spotted the easel.
And his little face lit up. It was the best thing. His eyes locked on that room and he could see something was different.
T and I have both wedged our big biscuits into that tent and while it's tolerable for a short time, after awhile you start to feel like Godzilla hanging out with the small people.
T has taken to the bean bag as well.
It's been a great room so far. I lovex10 that we no longer have toys in our living room. I love even more the absence of mess in our living room. E loves playing in there and I love that he has room he's enjoying.
It's win-win.
Friday, December 25
Wednesday, December 23
Big business
We used to put E on our laps while working on the computer so that he could watch animal videos on YouTube (cow, lion, goat, chicken, dog, cat, you name it).
Now we try to put him on our laps and he becomes very put out, as clearly he thinks laps are for babies.
Now we try to put him on our laps and he becomes very put out, as clearly he thinks laps are for babies.
Look! He even has the requisite receding hairline that most male officeworkers have.
Tuesday, December 22
Toasted with butter
Iris's surgery went so super well. I had to wake up at the unholy hour of 5:00am (after staying up to 11:00pm the night before, eating pie and watching a movie in bed) and it felt like a blammo! in the teeth.
By the time I arrived her nurse had already loaded her into The Barge (different than The Bullet for her MRI) and she was lounging comfortably.
After a jostle-y ride on the elevator with the two nurses and the respiratory therapist, they dropped me off in the family waiting room.
Oh! When I was meeting with the anesthesiologist (spelling? Lord knows, I can barely pronounce this word) that would be in on Iris's surgery, I looked over and saw the anesthesiologist that did my spinal and was with T and I through my entire delivery of Iris and Noah.
She was quite simply one of the loveliest people we encountered on that horrid day. She was kind while I was throwing up on the operating table. She stroked my hair in way that was nothing but comforting when the doctor said that he felt it was appropriate to stop chest compressions on Noah. And after we said goodbye to Noah and the nurse carried him out of the room, she said something T and I have never forgotten, "All he knew was love."
What she said makes me cry even now and I wanted to let her know how much her kind and true words meant to us, but this morning she looked busy and was with other parents--so I didn't get a chance to talk to her. Maybe another day.
Anyway, T, my mom and I waited in the waiting room for about two hours until the surgeon came out. He said it went smoother than he expected, and that she actually needed two clamps to close the vessel due to its size. He gave me one to show as an example and I'll be pasting that bad boy in her baby book. It really just looks like a staple.
She remained pretty toasted by the anesthesia the rest of the day and didn't even move much with her care.
The good things? Her blood pressure went up to a level where it should have been but one her heart couldn't manage due to the blood coursing in and out of the PDA. She was breathing 21% oxygen (room air) for the first time ever. The ph and CO2 in her blood improved dramatically and they lowered her vent settings. The incision looked good and not too gruesome. Her left lung (smooshed down in the course of surgery in order for the surgeon to reach her heart) reinflated without issue and is not leaking any air.
We are sighing heavily over here. With relief.
Finally.
By the time I arrived her nurse had already loaded her into The Barge (different than The Bullet for her MRI) and she was lounging comfortably.
After a jostle-y ride on the elevator with the two nurses and the respiratory therapist, they dropped me off in the family waiting room.
Oh! When I was meeting with the anesthesiologist (spelling? Lord knows, I can barely pronounce this word) that would be in on Iris's surgery, I looked over and saw the anesthesiologist that did my spinal and was with T and I through my entire delivery of Iris and Noah.
She was quite simply one of the loveliest people we encountered on that horrid day. She was kind while I was throwing up on the operating table. She stroked my hair in way that was nothing but comforting when the doctor said that he felt it was appropriate to stop chest compressions on Noah. And after we said goodbye to Noah and the nurse carried him out of the room, she said something T and I have never forgotten, "All he knew was love."
What she said makes me cry even now and I wanted to let her know how much her kind and true words meant to us, but this morning she looked busy and was with other parents--so I didn't get a chance to talk to her. Maybe another day.
Anyway, T, my mom and I waited in the waiting room for about two hours until the surgeon came out. He said it went smoother than he expected, and that she actually needed two clamps to close the vessel due to its size. He gave me one to show as an example and I'll be pasting that bad boy in her baby book. It really just looks like a staple.
She remained pretty toasted by the anesthesia the rest of the day and didn't even move much with her care.
The good things? Her blood pressure went up to a level where it should have been but one her heart couldn't manage due to the blood coursing in and out of the PDA. She was breathing 21% oxygen (room air) for the first time ever. The ph and CO2 in her blood improved dramatically and they lowered her vent settings. The incision looked good and not too gruesome. Her left lung (smooshed down in the course of surgery in order for the surgeon to reach her heart) reinflated without issue and is not leaking any air.
We are sighing heavily over here. With relief.
Finally.
Monday, December 21
Love/hate Monday
Love: A very productive trip to Target that completed shopping for all but two Christmas gifts
Hate: I was able to carry $250 worth of merchandise out in three bags. That kind of stung.
Love: I am feeling peppy.
Hate: I won't be when I wake up at 5:30am tomorrow morning. Bleak.
Love: After a harrowing trip up and down 196, Sam was able to make it back home.
Hate: She might say, "Sleeping on K's couch and wearing Saturday's undies on Sunday."
Love: T was able to fix our front door lock that is, like many things in our home, kind of hoopty and circa 19old when we try to fix them
Hate: It appears the man is hard up because my joking offer of "lots of french kissing if you fix it before I come home" actually spurred him on.
Love: That we get to throw out our Christmas tree on Saturday. Merely breathing on it too closely (or sneezing in the next room) causes it to lose needles.
Hate: It's going to be a nudie tree by the time we wrestle it outside. I know it.
Love: Everything that I ordered online has arrived
Hate: I should've taken better advantage of the ease of online shopping
Love: That I get to buy little girl clothes in the future
Hate: It's seeming like forever before I can actually do so
Love: E gets excited--like pee-your-pants-and-screech excited--when we announce that we're going in the basement for laundry
Hate: T doesn't
Love: Iris is almost 3 lbs. and 6 weeks (30 weeks via the inside) old
Hate: She's having her surgery tomorrow at 7:30am and some of the risks the doctor listed scared the pants off me.
Love: We are a family of 4.
Hate: We are a family of 3 at home with 1 at the hospital.
Anything on your love/hate radar?
Hate: I was able to carry $250 worth of merchandise out in three bags. That kind of stung.
Love: I am feeling peppy.
Hate: I won't be when I wake up at 5:30am tomorrow morning. Bleak.
Love: After a harrowing trip up and down 196, Sam was able to make it back home.
Hate: She might say, "Sleeping on K's couch and wearing Saturday's undies on Sunday."
Love: T was able to fix our front door lock that is, like many things in our home, kind of hoopty and circa 19old when we try to fix them
Hate: It appears the man is hard up because my joking offer of "lots of french kissing if you fix it before I come home" actually spurred him on.
Love: That we get to throw out our Christmas tree on Saturday. Merely breathing on it too closely (or sneezing in the next room) causes it to lose needles.
Hate: It's going to be a nudie tree by the time we wrestle it outside. I know it.
Love: Everything that I ordered online has arrived
Hate: I should've taken better advantage of the ease of online shopping
Love: That I get to buy little girl clothes in the future
Hate: It's seeming like forever before I can actually do so
Love: E gets excited--like pee-your-pants-and-screech excited--when we announce that we're going in the basement for laundry
Hate: T doesn't
Love: Iris is almost 3 lbs. and 6 weeks (30 weeks via the inside) old
Hate: She's having her surgery tomorrow at 7:30am and some of the risks the doctor listed scared the pants off me.
Love: We are a family of 4.
Hate: We are a family of 3 at home with 1 at the hospital.
Anything on your love/hate radar?
Friday, December 18
To the left, to the left, now dip baby, dip
Sam mentioned that babies look like they're being "robbed in their sleep" when they're like this and I have to agree.
I managed to dig up a photo of E when he was four weeks old and he too looks like he's being held at gun point.
I mentioned yesterday that Iris always has her hands next to her face or head when she sleeps and I realized a few weeks ago that I do too. T, on the other hand, likes to sleep like he's laying in a meadow of flowers on a summer day.
(Holy chins, Batman. Not good angles for either of us.)
Upon the seeing this picture, the first thing I felt was sadness. Sadness because Iris and Noah's birthdays held none of this happiness, none of these smiles and zero peace.
That picture is what a birthday is supposed to look like and I feel bad that my baby girl didn't have that. Will I ever be able to make it up to her that her arrival was one full of fear and sadness? Maybe her homecoming, whenever that will be, is where we can really roll out the red carpet.
Speaking of Iris, the surgeon did decide to do her PDA ligation and he would like to do it next week before the holiday. I feel really good about this because she has an incredible amount of blood shunting to her lungs because of the open PDA and her VSD. Closing off the PDA won't stop that blood flow all together, but it will slow it down and this will not only give her lungs a break and allow them to work a little bit more efficiently but it will also give her abdomen and its troubles a renewed flow of blood which in turn will help them heal and also work better.
The other good bit of news is that even though her aorta loops to the right (in most people it loops to the left) the surgeon will not have to go through her little chest. Rather, he can go under her left arm to close the vessel like he would in more routine ligations. This is good, good, good.
Here's to non-shaky surgeon fingers come Tuesday or Wednesday. I know what I was like when I used to play that Operation game (that wishbone was the hardest!) with my brother and there's a reason I'm a librarian and not a surgeon.
We all have our gifts...
I managed to dig up a photo of E when he was four weeks old and he too looks like he's being held at gun point.
I mentioned yesterday that Iris always has her hands next to her face or head when she sleeps and I realized a few weeks ago that I do too. T, on the other hand, likes to sleep like he's laying in a meadow of flowers on a summer day.
Kind of like this.
All very cute on a baby with his own bed, but it only takes one roll over and a husband's elbow in the eye for it to stop being cute.
While trolling through the pictures on our computer, I found this one with the date 5.28.08--E's birthday.
Clearly this photo is pre-hardcore labor as evidenced by our smiles and the lack of barf on me.
(Holy chins, Batman. Not good angles for either of us.)
Upon the seeing this picture, the first thing I felt was sadness. Sadness because Iris and Noah's birthdays held none of this happiness, none of these smiles and zero peace.
That picture is what a birthday is supposed to look like and I feel bad that my baby girl didn't have that. Will I ever be able to make it up to her that her arrival was one full of fear and sadness? Maybe her homecoming, whenever that will be, is where we can really roll out the red carpet.
Speaking of Iris, the surgeon did decide to do her PDA ligation and he would like to do it next week before the holiday. I feel really good about this because she has an incredible amount of blood shunting to her lungs because of the open PDA and her VSD. Closing off the PDA won't stop that blood flow all together, but it will slow it down and this will not only give her lungs a break and allow them to work a little bit more efficiently but it will also give her abdomen and its troubles a renewed flow of blood which in turn will help them heal and also work better.
The other good bit of news is that even though her aorta loops to the right (in most people it loops to the left) the surgeon will not have to go through her little chest. Rather, he can go under her left arm to close the vessel like he would in more routine ligations. This is good, good, good.
Here's to non-shaky surgeon fingers come Tuesday or Wednesday. I know what I was like when I used to play that Operation game (that wishbone was the hardest!) with my brother and there's a reason I'm a librarian and not a surgeon.
We all have our gifts...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)