No longer a mulitasker

I need a support group. Really, I feel like I do sometimes. You see, being a mom is hard work. I know, I know-duh Andrea. I know they say your life will never be the same, and all sorts of other cliches, but I'm now starting to feel like I don't measure up.

This morning I went to breakfast with my friend Stefani. I love Stefani. I was so excited to see her and spend some quality time, but I'm not sure that it was quality time per se. You see, I had to take D, and the fact is I just can't focus on anything fully when I have him. I try. Lord knows I try to focus on the conversation, on ordering my food, heck! on eating my food! But I can't. This is literally what goes on in my head...

-When was the last time he ate?
-Which side did he eat on last? (It matters!)
-Is he making noise because he needs his diaper changed?
-Oh my gosh, where is the bathroom?
-If he has a blowout, I don't have any extra clothes for me, I'll have to go home.
-Does the bathroom have a changing table? (You'd be surprised at how many don't)
-What can I eat that requires little utensil-usage in case he gets fussy and I have to hold him on my lap-which leaves only one hand?
-Is this a quiet place or a loud place?-I mean I don't want stares from people that are mad there's a crying baby.
-How far away is this place from home?

But wait, there's more...

-He's frowning, is he going to cry? Is he going to scream?
-He's going to want to eat-where can I feed him?
-I prefer a booth so people behind me don't see my back.
-There aren't any booths, I've gotta make due with these little garden chairs.
-Does he still have both socks on? Both shoes? Those things cost as much as mine!
-He had a boogar in his nose a second ago...great, it's probably on me now and I can't see it.

Then the ordeal that I call "feeding in public."

-Yes he cries before he latches, no I don't know why. He's got a short frenulum-it frustrates him. Pretty sure that's what it is.
-Baby legs and arms flailing about
-Snorting (him, not me)
-Latching, unlatching, latching, unlatching
-My kid is a messy eater
-Get my shirt out of his way...he's a messy eater
-Now he's crying, I really wish I could just feed him w/o this hooter hider, we all know what boobs look like...yeah buddy, even you who is giving me a mean stare...don't pretend like you don't know.
-Now he's choking, gotta lift him up
-Now he's gagging, gotta lift him up again
-Quit grabbing my shirt, D
-He's frustrated and he's moving his head all around...still attached
-Let's not bite mom!
-Latch, unlatch, latch, unlatch
-Eyes are getting heavy
-Asleep, finally. Wait...no, he is aslee...no, now he's definitely...oh come on, just go to sleep.
-I unlatch him, he spills whatever milk is left in his mouth all over me-click strap, pull down shirt, get kid out of the "veil"-lol, take it off me, burp baby, and...

"Oh yeah, this weekend we don't really have much planned. How about you?"

Do you see what I mean? So no, it's not hard manual labor (unless you want to count all the baby crap I lug around on a daily basis), but it's exhausting. Do I bring the ergo? He always hates it at first. Should I put him in the stroller? Maybe I could just carry him in real fast-but then I'll only have 1 hand-do I need both hands for anything?

It's non-stop. And I do it because I love him. I take him out of the car seat and stroller because its not good for his soft little noggin'. I change his diaper constantly because I don't want him to get diaper rash (and he hasn't by the way). I talk to him face to face because it's important for his development, his growth and his personality. But it's tiring. And the thing that makes me most sad is I can't multitask anymore. When I yearn to catch up with a friend over coffee, I can't give my complete attention to my dear friend. When I want to talk to my husband about his day on the phone, I can't because I'm feeding D and he's struggling to latch. It's hard. And I don't know how to get better at multitasking like this. It's really hard for me to swallow that reality. I used to be a MASTER at multitasking. I could sing lyrics to a song I know while reading an article. I could do the dishes, listen to a podcast, talk to the dogs and tell you everything that was on the podcast. I could listen to a student, write an email (I know that's not good listening) and still tell a different student everything they need to bring to the next concert. Master's in Multitasking-I should've gotten it. Now I'm lucky if I hear the whole sentence from the person in front of me. Total bonus points if I come up with an answer in a complete sentence! I need help.

I've been a mom for 2 months and already I feel inadequate at everything else. Don't feel like such a great mom sometimes either...right when I feel down, I see that lady. You know the one I'm talking about, with her cute little dressed baby, quietly eating from a bottle-mom talking to her best friend, mom is stick thin, makeup done, hair beautiful-better than what I can do on a day I didn't have to worry about a baby. Sigh. Maybe I'm just not cut out for this. Or maybe I should stop looking around at everyone else, and look down at my beautiful child-who is healthy, so handsome, and has the sweetest personality. Wow, I can hardly believe he's mine. It's almost like I don't deserve him-boy, am I blessed.

I'm not perfect, I'm clearly new at this mom thing and I feel super inexperienced, but it is what it is. I should be able to figure it out eventually, right? (At least in 18 years :D)

As for Stefani? Well, she's an amazing friend who is giving beyond belief and supportive when no one else is. I'm sure she understood my dilema this morning. Love you, friend :)

I raise my Starbucks (hot because I was too distracted to remember to say "iced") to all the other moms out there that feel pulled in every direction. Here's to keeping the kids alive...oh and getting dressed once in a while too :)

5 Weeks

It's always the chihuahuas

I wish I had pictures to share, but I honestly had no free hands to take ANY pictures!

Today. Oh my. Today was quite an adventure. You may or may not know that we are a one-car household right now. The reasons are simple: Patrick's car died-and we donated it, my car is paid off and we don't want a car payment from buying a second car, our auto insurance right now is CHEAP!!, and we're going to pay cash for our next car-which will probably be sometime early next year. Long story short, we're making it work. Oh by the way, did I tell you my car has 200K miles on it? :) Ha ha ha. There are some other challenges with it too...like the fact that it has only 2 doors...and getting a car seat in and out of the backseat of a 2-door vehicle, not an easy task. 
This is what my car looks like. Except mine is keyed on the right side, has taillight tape all over the left light, no moonroof like this one, and the headlights are starting to yellow. Oh yeah, and a Central Christian Church sticker, and a Scentsy sticker. What can I say, its definitely broken in. Billy Bob-that's what I call my car-was half a gift to me from my parents for my 18th birthday AND high school graduation. The other half I paid for. So it was PERFECT for me in HS. It was even perfect for me in college. Um, it was doable when I got married. And now that there are 2 adults, 1 baby, and 2 dogs in our family, it's a little...cumbersome with those two doors and minimal space.

So back to today. Today was the day that the Animal Shelter was giving free rabies shots and other discounted shots for dogs. Well, being the frugal people we are, of course we were going to take advantage of FREE rabies shots. Both Kiri and Ella need them anyway, and it beats a $300 bill from the vet for the exact same thing.

So strategically we planned this trip. I was at home with the car, and Patrick was at work. I was going to load up both dogs (large dogs by the way), the baby, pick up Patrick from work, then go to the Animal Shelter. Not as easy as it sounds. In fact, it was sort of a joke-me trying to load up two really excited dogs into my 2-door car, then a baby. I pull up to Schwab and Patrick starts walking to the car. He sees what can only be described as a clown car (us) and starts laughing. In life, laughter is good. But I was a little stressed out. I get in the backseat with one baby and one dog, and Patrick drives to Phoenix. Ella is his co-pilot.

We get there and the dogs go crazy from seeing all the other dogs...and the line is out the door, to the parking lot. Of course. It's free shot day, why wouldn't there be a LONG line? No parking spots close by, so Patrick pulls up to a red curb and we pause to figure out what to do. It's decided he's going to take the dogs and stand in line while I go with baby to find a parking spot somewhere else. Sweet, I like plans. Patrick gets out with the dogs and joins the pack. The pack of wild and incredibly unmannered and misbehaved dogs. The chihuahuas were the worst. Always the chihuahuas.

So I look for a parking spot farther away-nothing. And keep in mind I have to carry the car seat with baby in it, plus a diaper bag. Then Patrick calls me, "Hey, this line is really really long. What if you go get dinner while I wait here." "Okay." Baby is still asleep, so I venture my way out to 27th ave and Van Buren. Imagine industrial, trashy, area. The kind of area you wouldn't be caught dead in (or actually you might) late at night. I think I remember a police officer telling me this area is one of the more popular tracks in Phoenix. Tracks-n. an area in which prostitutes loiter to find...well you know. Cue bladder message to brain-I have to pee. Great. Well, there's no way I'm getting out of the car here...wow, I just saw a drug deal...and Lord knows I'm not taking my baby out so I can go to the bathroom. Just going to hold it. I finally find a Jack in the Box. Drive thru it is. I order quickly, get the food and drive back to where I left Patrick. I probably could have just followed the sound of the barking chihuahuas.

Anyway. I get there, chow down my food, get the car seat w/baby, diaper bag, Jack in the Box bag and soda all out of the car and stumble to where Patrick is waiting in line. You can call me Andrea the pack mule Jones. Patrick is still waiting outside the building in line. The dogs (our dogs) are staying so close to him and to me, which is not like them, but I quickly learn why. The dogs (and really, the owners) that come to these free rabies shot days are not real...uhh...dignified people. There are some pretty aggressive dogs there. Some obnoxious dogs, and owners. And some real loud mouth dogs. Some people have leashes. You know, like the kind you buy in a store. But other people have chains, rope and various other restraint mechanisms. I even saw the chain from a light fixture used as a leash. Interesting.

It didn't take long for us to decide that it would be best if I waited in the car with D. Glad I did too. It took exactly 2 hours for us to be done at that place, and it was a long 2 hours. But we got what we came for: free rabies shots. On the way home we sort of laughed about our "family trip." There was a person and/or dog in every seat. 5 seats, and someone/thing occupied every one. And you know the small little middle seat in the back? Yeah, that's where I sat. Next to a car seat that took up more than one seat, and an 81 pound dog that just couldn't get comfortable. And that my friends is what you call an adventurous family outing. At least we saved some money :)

Somethings I can't explain-part 1

Something happened to me since becoming a mother. Several things actually. And there doesn't seem to be logic to explain them away. At least none that I can find. Maybe you can relate, maybe not. Either way, this is what perplexes me-logically speaking.

Holding my son.

When you ask to hold my son, a part of me wants to just come out and say, "Nope." It doesn't matter who you are. The only person this doesn't apply to is Patrick. Yup, he's it. Every single other person makes me, to different degrees, totally nervous/anxious/uneasy. It feels like I'm extracting my literal heart each time and saying, "Here you go. Don't drop it, be gentle and care for it as if it were your own." I don't think this metaphor is too far fetched. I mean, he did come from inside just like my heart...but I digress. The funny thing is, a lot of people are much more cautious about holding him than I am. Not like I'm rough or throw him around, but they're usually SUPER careful. Still with every transfer from my arms to another's, part of me can't handle it (on the inside). Of course lots of people have held him, so I obviously have had to deal with this. And no one would know I feel this way because I'm a master of covering up my emotions usually. But that is it. And I can't explain it. Even if I was going to put him down anyway. Even if I'm exhausted. Even if my arms are burning because those muscles aren't quite used to holding a now 10 pound babe...I still freak out on the inside when anyone holds my child.

What not to do: Don't give me a hard time about this. Don't say to me, "Well, I was going to ask to hold D, but I know you freak out...so I guess I won't." I might kick you out of my house, and I definitely won't appreciate your snide remark.

What to do: If you want to hold him, ask. I probably won't give him up on my own accord...I'm just being honest. But I will gladly let you hold him if you ask. Also, just be understanding of how I feel. You don't need to say a word about it-just know that I'm talking myself down off the ledge on the inside. I'll be fine though. Just be understanding when you hold him, and know that you are holding everything that I love in one small little package. :)

The Birth Story

The words "your life will never be the same" have taken full force since Tuesday (9/4/12). That is in no way cliche, it is 100% true, and I have the birth story to prove it! This is the story of how my first born, Denzel Brennan Jones, came into this world...

Tuesday, September 4:

1am-I wake up with what feels like period cramps. I'm thinking, hmmm, could this finally be it? They weren't contractions like I was thinking, but the cramps didn't go away. I woke Patrick up and said, "Hun, I think you get to call in to work today." He was overjoyed! After being overdue we had grown...well, let's just say a little impatient :) Of course we didn't go back to sleep, we were way too excited. 

The rest of my labor was all sort of a blur as far as time goes. Patrick kept track of my contractions and we tried to wait it out as long as humanly possible before going to the hospital. Contractions were all on average over a minute-which I've been told is pretty long, especially for the beginning stages. I finally had several contractions right on top of one another and in my mind I thought-TRANSITION!! I was in a lot of pain, and this 3.5 minute contraction (or series of them) made me cry, it was rough. So Patrick says, "I think its time to go to the hospital." We gather up our stuff, including Amy, Patrick's sister who had come to visit us, and set out for the hospital.

Unforgettable Experience #1: driving 20 minutes to the hospital while in labor. MISERABLE. All I remember is saying to Patrick, "Isn't there ANY other way to get to the hospital?!" ABSOLUTELY MISERABLE.

So we get to the hospital, and I walk in to the lobby to find two other beautiful pregnant women. They're both waiting with their spouses/partners all dressed up in a cute little pregnant dress, hair done, makeup like they're going out...beautiful looking women. In walks a monster of a woman-me. My hair is all disheveled, I'm wearing black yoga pants that barely fit-Kiri dog hair ALL over them, and the only shirt that fit-Patrick's soccer shirt from years ago, stains all over it. It was clean, but stains from a long time ago. I WAS A HOT MESS. Contractions were still going, I'm pale (so said a few people) and we walk up to the front desk. "Hello, are you here to check in?" "Yes," says Patrick. "Ok, please fill out this paper and someone from admittance will be right with you." Patrick fills out the paperwork, turns it in and we sort of patiently wait...for 15 minutes. Several more contractions. A lady comes out all cheery and says, "Oh! Well, we have 3 ladies here. Let's see who gets to go first...Andrea Jones? When is your due date?" I shout out (probably more abruptly than I intended) "I'M 41 WEEKS." Still cheerful the lady says, "Oh, you may just trump the other two" then smiles. I wanted to punch her between the teeth. She proceeds by asking the others about their situation and I notice no one else is in pain...they were on the induction list. One wasn't even the full 40 weeks yet, she just got impatient and decided she wanted her baby today. The lady says, "Ok, Andrea follow me." I walk into her office and we begin the paperwork process. I mentioned a few times that I already checked in online last month with the long form, and the OB office faxed my file over-they told me they did. We were still there filling out paperwork for 10+ minutes. Contractions still going. While I'm breathing, my eyes are closed and she talks to Patrick about all the details. I'm still hearing everything that's going on. Probably about 15 minutes later she walks us back to Triage-THE FIRST STEP IN ADMITTANCE. I wasn't even admitted to the hospital yet. 

So I'm strapped to a bed, wearing a hospital gown and two monitors-one for contractions, one for baby.  They leave me there for observation for close to an hour. Then determine I'm 4-5cm, so they let me walk around the halls a little. It's been about 1.5 hours now and they check me again. Contractions still going, but no further progress. They call my doctor, and she said if I let her strip my membranes they'll admit me, if not I can labor at home. Trying to go the natural route, I go home. It was around 3-4pm I think and Patrick and I walk out of the hospital, and head home. Contractions still going. 

The next several hours were pretty miserable. I ate close to nothing because I just wasn't hungry, nor could I focus on chewing. I know it sounds crazy. I sat on the birthing ball, I went in the pool, I took a couple of warm showers, I walked out in the neighborhood at 11pm (although didn't get very far), I got down on all fours, Patrick massaged every part of my body probably twice throughout the night. Contractions were consistent in their duration-about 90 seconds, but frequency fluctuated. Sometimes I'd get four in a row, sometimes it would be 3 minutes in between, it was rough. No sleep was had, except I tried to let Patrick sleep for a little bit until I just couldn't take it anymore on my own. I was defeated. I woke him up and he said we'd keep track of contractions again. Took another shower. By this time it was late morning and he said, "Ok, let's go back to the hospital." 

Wednesday, Sept. 5:

Another miserable drive to the hospital, but for some reason it was better than the first. I guess I knew to hold on to the pregnancy bar (which is what most people call the oh ______ bar) this time around the whole way. We get to the hospital, and can you believe it...have to wait in the lobby again. This has got to be a joke-I still have my wristband on from the first time! No cutsie pregnancy women waiting in the lobby though, which I was grateful for. They finally take my back, contractions are coming very frequently and are very intense. We walk into the same admitting office and the lady says, "What's going on?" WHAT'S. GOING. ON. I have a pregnant stomach, I'm in a lot of pain, I'm ready to have a baby. In the words of Bill Engvall-Here's yur sign. We're asked the same questions as before-the first time we did the paperwork. As if I moved in the process and my address has changed, or I bought a new cell phone WHILE IN LABOR and decided to give them the new number. At least she asks the questions quickly. I get a new sticker for my bracelet and get sent to triage again. I'm beginning to hate the word triage.

A nice nurse comes in, although in no hurry like I was, and gives me the gown. 15 minutes later she checks me 6-7cm. NOT what I was hoping, but at least they're going to admit me. What I wanted her to say was, "Um ma'am. You're crowning, let's get you to a room right away." But that's ok, I'll deal with 6-7. I get to my labor and delivery room and its much nicer, much bigger and surprisingly more cosy than triage. I say surprisingly because its a hospital-really, what's cozy? Nothing. So I labor for several more hours. I'm stuck at 8cm and my doctor comes in. She asks me if she can break my water to see if I'll dialate any more. I give in. My first non-natural thing. It takes her two times to break it completely. Apparently the bag was extra sturdy, no wonder he was taking forever. So they break the bag and...meconium. Dang it.  The next part is a little graphic, so you can skip it and you won't miss much of the story.

::GRAPHIC::

Unforgettable Experience #2: My doctor checks me by sticking her hand in there and moving the cervix (or trying to) to fit around the baby's head. The MOST pain I've experienced in my life. More than the worst contraction, more than all the contractions put together. I did all but scream. She said, "Lots of pressure hunny." This was not pressure, this was mutilation.

::End graphic part::

I had been pushing for an hour and with no luck in getting that cervix to move, and no luck in his head getting any farther down, I see the doctor's face drop. No. no. no. I don't want to hear what she's about to say. (This is the only part I heard, I was devastated) "Well, here's what's going on. Not fully dialated for a long time...when you were admitted at 6-7cm, it should've only taken you another couple of hours to fully dialate...you've been pushing far more than anyone who hasn't had an epidural. You can try to push for another hour or two if you want...I worry your pushing will be in vain if you keep going because you're exhausted...there was meconium which probably means nothing, but its still a little of an alert...I wouldn't say this to you because I'm trying to speed up the process, its up to you. You've tried so hard...it's your choice. [Then she explains the c-section to me] 20 minutes...bikini incision...recovery isn't that bad like everyone says...you can still hold him, still breastfeed and Patrick can still cut the cord and give him his first bath...it's up to you. You've worked so hard sweetie."

I looked at Patrick and his face was exhausted, supportive, caring, loving. He's an incredible man. I said, "What do you think?" But before I let him say anything I said, "I think we should just do it." Un-natural give-in #2. He quickly responded, "Remember, the birth plan was just for the ideal, but the most important thing is that you're healthy and Denzel is healthy. It'll be ok, I'm right here. I love you." I married a true gem. I even get teary-eyed writing this.

A C-section was my worst enemy. It was everything I didn't want, everything I worked so hard against, everything I told myself for 12-weeks of Bradley Method class I could definitely avoid. But after hearing Patrick say those things, my mourning INSTANTLY turned to hope. I threw in my towel, but I was no less of a woman, not a failure. I mean, I did just labor for 43 hard hours and pushed for more than an hour. This time around I just had to be flexible. I told my doctor, "Ok, I trust your judgement. Let's do this." She repeated, "You worked so hard..." and continued to affirm that what I was doing and what I had already done was no less than the best I could possibly do.

The doctor said, "Okay, I'm going to go change and I'll meet you in the delivery room." I'm glad she didn't say operating room. Somehow that was just a better word choice. In wizzed about 6 doctors and nurses telling me about anesthesia, the possible complications of surgery, what the process was going to be like...I can't even tell you a word they said. All I know is I was STILL having super duper contractions, signing papers (sort of-scribbling is more like it), and just praying they would hurry up with the meds so I could get some relief. I mean, I finally decided on medication (obviously you have to with a C-section) and they couldn't stop the pain from the contractions?! If that's not an atrocity to modern medicine, I don't know what is. Then in the blink of an eye, everyone is gone, even Patrick-who looked like he was going into outer space when he left the room-that was one crazy outfit they made him wear. ARE YOU JOKING ME?! I'm still having these god-forsaken contractions and no one is here with me?! Hello?! You need ME to operate on! I'm your patient! About the minute these thoughts formed in my mind one nurse came in and whisked me away.

I know I've said it a bunch before, but remember, at this point I'm still having contractions. So I manage to get on the operating table, and I'm sitting on one side of my bum. Those of you who have been pregnant probably understand you can't exactly sit in the middle. Well, in order to get the spinal I had to. So somehow I sat straight. In go the three shots. Ow. Contractions start to fade away. PRAISE. THE. LORD. Before I know it, I'm laying down with the drape set in place and the anesthesiologist and I are chatting. Love Shack is playing in the background. Don't ask me how I remember that. Oh wait, I know why-I was singing to it. I felt so good I was singing to Love Shack. Awesome. Can't believe I almost forgot that :) So they finally bring Patrick in. I'm pretty sure its him because he still looks like he's going to outer space in that suit. A few minutes later baby Denzel Brennan Jones is born. He's crying-a good sign, and then was taken right away to suction out all the meconium and goop. Patrick goes with him and they keep him for what seems like forever. Finally they bring him to me. I'm totally in awe. Totally in awe and a little bit in denial. Is this really my child? He's perfect.

After they close me up I'm sent to recovery where Patrick and Denzel are waiting. We're a family, it's wonderful.     <--Stefani brought me a cookie that says "One tough cookie."

Skip ahead one day and a nurse comes in my room and says, "Your pulse is kind of high." I look at her, "Ok?" Nothing more is said about that. The rest of the day apparently all the nurses and doctors were keeping an eye on my heart rate. Around dinner time Patrick took Amy to the airport and ran home really quick to grab some more clothes. At the exact moment he stepped away a nurse came in to inform me that my doctor was worried about my heart rate and I would be admitted to the cardiac floor. I said, "Ok," a little confused. "The only problem is," she says, "baby can't go with you. He has to stay here." I look at her blankly like I don't understand where this came from. "A lab tech will be in soon to take some blood samples and then to take you to the second floor." "I'd like to wait until my husband comes back." She's hesitant to wait but finally agrees after I insist that he'll be back any minute now. (I knew it would be at least 30-he hadn't been gone long). Just then the lab tech comes in and is ready to move me. I told her I'm waiting for my husband to come back and she asks how long he'll be. "He'll be back real soon. Any minute now." Yeah right, I didn't even get a chance to call him yet. She takes my blood and says, "Ok...I'm going to go 'look through' your file (wink wink) to see if there's anything I need to know." In other words, I'm going to stall so the person that gave me these orders doesn't bother us. I'm so grateful for her. The nurse and lab tech leave for a second and I'm crying, I'm mad, I can't leave. Why is this birth NOTHING like I had planned it to go? I already had a c-section, now this. I called Patrick, I was still crying, and the machine that was monitoring my heart rate starts beeping like an ER patient on the show House. Stupid machine, I HATE you. You're the reason this whole thing is messed up. It keeps beeping, just making me more mad, which triggers more tears, more beeping...it's a terrible cycle. The lab tech comes in again because the machine is going crazy and says, "Wow, that's annoying." And turns it off. She says, "Why do you think your heart rate is so high?" Probably not a good thing to ask me at this point. And, I get snappy. "Because I was just told I can't be with my baby. That's why." She wasn't very empathetic. "Well, this started before they told you that, right?" Lady. If I didn't have witnesses around you would be in a world of hurt right now. Oh, this is the mama bear instinct-I see.

I proceed telling the many nurses that come in my room that my husband will be here "really really soon" and somehow manage to keep them at bay. Patrick comes rushing in finally (seemed like it took forever to me) and I explain everything to him in tears. Of course, like he's been for the past 70 hours, he is my rock. He didn't look bothered, he didn't look flustered, he was only supportive. "We'll get this figured out," he says. I find out later-after we leave the hospital-that as soon as I called him he flew (almost literally) to the hospital. Dropped everything, and drove 90 in the HOV lane during rush hour on the 60. Oy. Thanks Lord for keeping him safe. I don't know what I would've done had something happened to Patrick.

Someone must have been carefully watching my room because the moment Patrick got there nurses flooded the small little space. Then I'm informed I probably won't be able to breastfeed for a while because of the dye they're going to inject me with for all these tests. Oh yeah, and by the way, we're going to sacrifice your first born...well, that's what it felt like. They wheeled me in my bed, and Patrick wheeled D in his clear box crib thing. We parted where the nursery was, the two of them going into the nursery and I on my way to the cardiac floor. I cried, of course. The nurse wheeling me away tried to make small talk but I don't think I answered any of her questions. I just kept thinking, "He needs his mom. He needs his mom. There's nothing wrong with me."

They take me directly to a test. I don't even remember which one. Over the course of 20 hours I had 2 EKGs, a CT scan of my lungs to check for blood clots, an ultrasound of my hugely swollen legs to check for blood clots, ecocardiogram of my heart and all its valves, TONS of blood taken, vitals every few hours, and probably other stuff I forgot about.

Back to my room...the first dr. I see I think is an intern or something. He rubs salt in the wound-apparently they don't teach empathy in med school. It must just be a social work thing. "Ms. Jones, you should probably not breastfeed for a while until we know what effects these tests will have." I'm a social worker and a mom who will not give up, plus I read between the lines. These people don't even know all the tests they're going to run on me yet. "Well, what specifically is bad for the baby? I'll breastfeed until I need to take that test." I receive no clear response. Poor intern, they sent him into the wolves den. He doesn't get anywhere with me. "Sorry, I'm feeding my newborn. So please let me know if something is harmful to him, and I'll stop, but not until then." He leaves my room. I'm wheeled away again for another test. I do some detective work of my own. "Do you know if the dye for this CT scan is bad when you're breastfeeding?" "You know, I don't think so, but let me ask the tech. She'll definitely know." I'm waiting outside the room and he goes in to ask the tech. A ray of sunshine, finally. "She says the iodine goes so quickly through your system you can breastfeed by the time you get back to your room." Thank you, Lord. Finally something goes right. See, don't listen to the intern that doesn't know. I have the test done, and go to another test, then finally back to my room. Patrick is waiting for me. I love him so much. All my tests come back negative, and its just the two of us. He already had all our stuff put in my room. Then he tells me about the arrangement he made with downstairs. He insisted that D and myself be together. It's vital for bonding and breastfeeding. He arranged for D to come up to my room with a nurse periodically so he could eat and we could spend some time with one another. Let me explain what the nursery agreed to:

Every time Patrick requested to take Denzel to my room, they would find a nurse who was otherwise not busy, go to the security desk, deactivate his baby security tag so they could leave the area, wheel him up to the second floor, and stay outside my room until our "time" was up (usually 1 hour). Then Patrick and the nurse would go back to the nursery, tell security they're back which would then reactivate his security tag. Patrick got them to agree to all of this, and they did it 4+ times a day. Talk about moving mountains. He also managed to make friends with the lactation consultants, who would leave the first floor-with ALL the new mothers, and come with the baby, the nurse who was otherwise not very busy, and Patrick to my room, to help me with breastfeeding. To say "I could not have done this without him" would be a grave understatement.  <--In my room with all the heart monitors hooked up to me.

This post is already really long, so I won't bore you with more details of my tests. Basically what it came down to was they did test after test after test, only to find that I had a high heart rate...and that's it. The contracted specialist from Banner Baywood/Heart Hospital (I wonder how much they're charging my insurance for his 5 min. consult) explained everything to me. "All your tests have come back normal. Your pulse has been elevated for a while, and the number is high. But maybe that's just your heart's normal rate under such circumstances." He also asked me a million questions and my case seemed to perplex him. Oh well. All I heard was, "You're in the clear." But of course they had to do one more test, just in case. An ultrasound of my heart to make sure it was in working order. Seems to me that should have been the one and only test to do, and more immediately...like the first test? Whatever, I'm not a doctor. So I'm finally cleared to take a shower-to wash away the 43 hours of labor, sweat and nasty hairdo I've got going on. Never loved a shower so much. I take my shower and hop back into bed. They wheel me to the test room. The lady doing my ultrasound is pregnant with twins. So we chat about my horrendous labor, she tells me about her two girls (not yet born), and then says, "Your heart looks great. All the valves are working, its perfect. I don't see why they wouldn't clear you to go back to the Women and Infant floor." Ahhhh. Wonderful.

Again I'm wheeled back to my room, and D and Patrick are waiting for me. My sweet baby boy. We spend over an hour together and the nurse starts to give us the countdown, "10 more minutes." I had already told Patrick I was in the clear and my ultrasound came back perfectly...but I needed the ok from a doc to be moved back to the other floor. Patrick goes outside my room and is gone for a few minutes. Next thing I know, the floor manager is coming in, nurses and CNAs are coming in. They're all telling me they're trying to expedit my test results to a dr. for approval. Whatdoyaknow? Five minutes later I've got a wheelchair, cart for all our stuff and people to transport us. My loving husband had a little...chat...with the floor manager. It boiled down to, "The baby doesn't leave until we all go together. We've been waiting over an hour for clear test results to be approved by a doctor." He says that's the nice version :) I imagine he was just firm, not rude. Patrick is never rude to people. Me? Well...

Anyway, we make it back down to Women and Infants and I'm cleared to leave that night if we absolutely would like. We both decide we need one night to regather our sanity and we'll leave tomorrow. The next day we say our goodbyes, pay the hospital copay and are on our way.  <-- No pictures mom, just take me home.

It seemed so unreal-walking in our house, with our family of three now. We walked out just two and now we're two and a little guy :)

Life since then, as you can imagine has been a rollercoaster. I came home with all but 6 lbs of pregnancy weight, no sleep...and sort of had a meltdown. For the first two nights home, D woke up every 50 minutes to eat. Patrick jerked awake about every hour looking for a baby in our bed, even though he doesn't sleep with us. He dreamt that he rolled over him while he was asleep. We somehow pulled through. Now sleep is a little more consistent, we're sort of getting the swing of things, but the most incredible change is the love we feel for this blessing. He is nothing short of a miracle. And I stare at him daily wondering what I've done to be entrusted with this gorgeous life. He is perfect. And he reminds me of my priorities constantly. I kiss him all the time, smile when he smiles and pray over him when he sleeps. I love my beautiful boy, and I would go through it all again to experience this-right here. They say your life will change forever. My love, you have changed my life in the most beautiful way I cannot even describe. We love you Denzel. 

::Insert Jeopardy Theme Song Here::

Pray, drink organic raspberry leaf tea, prenatal yoga, gym, other physical activities :), go to college football games, finish up my last semester of grad school, dance around the living room, walk until my feet can't take it anymore, go swimming almost every night, visit what seems like everyone in the world, receive a bazillion texts/voicemails/FB messages saying, "Where's the baby?"...there's really not much more I can do. One thing I will NOT do: caster oil. I've heard only terrible, I mean truly, horrifying stories from women who tried caster oil. Don't waste your time in trying to convince me, I WILL NOT TAKE CASTER OIL.

So maybe this little guy just needs a few more days. Or maybe he's been eavesdropping in on all the conversations happening in front of him, and realizes there are way too many excited grandparents, friends, neighbors, family, people from church that won't give him a moment of peace once he leaves his watery world and is forced to be held by ALL    THESE    PEOPLE. Maybe he's a chill kid and just wants a moment of reflection before the chaos. Or perhaps like his mom (and dad too :) he's a bit of a procrastinator.

Whatever the reason, I'm willing to give him the time he needs. Yes my hips feel broken every time I move from standing to sitting, or sitting to standing. I still wake up a handful of times at night to make a bathroom trip-sometimes even fall asleep on the toilet, lol. People still gawk at the gym-as if strengthening your child's heart muscles was a bad thing. My poor husband still asks me every morning, quite reluctantly, "Do I have to go to work today?" And the whole Jones family is coming into town next week. Somehow amidst all that, I've come to a place of peace. Truly a task if you know little ol' impatient me :) But really, what's the rush? Why does he need to come right now? Because our schedules desire that? Because we can't wait? Because we can't handle not knowing?

There is one thing I know: I am not in control. The one who is, is far more powerful, loving and wonderful than I will ever be. God loves this baby more than I do-a very hard concept to wrap my brain around! So I choose to go by his perfect timing. Maybe once this kettle isn't watched so closely it'll start to boil-who knows.

Dear Baby

Dear Baby,

Today is the day they say you're "due," but I feel amazing even after waking up 4 times last night...so I think you have other plans :) I have to admit I would LOVE to see you right now-to meet you, to hold you, to kiss you, to be so in awe of you, but I understand if you need a little more time. Now let's make something clear: a LITTLE more time in my mind consists of a handful of days or less, not two weeks. Just so we're on the same page.

This last week has been pretty funny with everyone expecting your arrival. I just have to share with you some of the crazy things others have said/done.

EVERYONE in the family keeps tabs on us in a way they think is "discreet" but I see right through it. It's ok, I know they're all excited too. I've never gotten so many texts before :) Anyway, last Wednesday your great grandma Miranda called because she was thinking of me and wondering how everything was going. I sort of got my hopes up because the last time she called, she woke me up and I realized we had slept through the alarm to get to work! She said, "Oh, the Lord must have told me to call you this morning." I thought, "No kidding! We have to leave in 10 minutes!!" So when she called on my way to a doctor's appointment this time, and I had already woken up feeling "off," I got hopeful. No such luck though.

Yesterday at church, the bass player (who is always joking around with me) says so empathetically, "Ohh Andrea, you look over pregnant" to which I responded, "I feel over pregnant." He just shook his head as if to say, "You poor thing."

Then we met with a friend of mine from high school, who is living in New York. The first thing he says is, "Oh my goodness! You're so much baby!"

I walk to the bathroom of the same restaurant and the manager asks me when I'm due and says I look great-you can't even tell from the back that I'm pregnant. She wishes us good luck as we're leaving-super sweet.

Then last night I woke up 4 times. The second time my body woke me up because my acid reflux caused me to puke in my mouth. I jumped out of bed, even though I was just asleep. Good thing too because I probably could have choked on that had my body not reacted. What did you do? Stomp on my stomach?! Man kid, you're feisty :)

Then your Grandma Jane FB messages me saying, "It's 2 am and I'm wide awake! Am I going to be a grandma yet?!" I was up, so I responded. Then earlier this morning she tells me that your great grandpa Anderson was up at 2 am too. He had a dream that I was with elephants and was pregnant for 2.5 years!! Last night was a crazy night for sure.

So I just finished one more final, which means one more class is left in my master's program. Your dad is convinced that the second I finish that final proposal you'll decide to make your grand debut...but please, DON'T wait for that. I'm ready for you right now :)

So my little one, start packing your stuff, tell the chemicals in my brain its time and let's meet. I can't wait to see you. Be safe, remember, head first, and let's go for an all-time record of 2.5 hours of labor start to finish :)

Love you,
Mom

Quiet, but not for long

 I woke up this morning at 7am, which is only sleeping in half an hour for me...even though I went to bed at midnight. I let the dogs out, grabbed a bowl of the new cereal I obsess over (Trader Joe's Pomegranate something or other) and closed the bedroom door to let my hunny get some more sleep. The house is really peaceful, it's totally quiet. Even the neighbor's landscapers aren't here yet as is Saturday morning ritual. And I couldn't help but think, "How long will things be like this?"

I've been very contemplative recently, mostly about how every one and their chameleon insists that "life will never be the same." I know things will be different. I know things will be hard at times. But I also know that as a family, we haven't been called to be "the same." Patrick and I talk about this often. We're not "status quo" kind of people. We take things as they come, and adjust. Sometimes we even plan for insanity! Like, for example, the time I decided to take 17 graduate credits in my first semester of grad school, teach three classes, and take on an internship of 24 hours/week. Oh yeah, AND! we moved twice-once out of the Mesa house because our renters were moving in, but our new house hadn't closed yet. So we moved in with my parents for about a month. THEN twice when we moved in to the Scottsdale house. Meanwhile, Patrick was commuting 45-60 minutes one way to work. I'm happy to put that part of our life in the file titled "to never do again." Oh well, you live and learn. But we're still here. No one died, no relationships were broken...we just had to give my mom's herb garden a little time to grow back after the dogs massacred the beautiful greens. Oopsies. :)

Chaos aside, I think that time in our life was a huge growing experience for both of us. There were points when I was exhausted and so mentally overwhelmed words could not describe ::enter flowing tears here::, and Patrick came to my rescue. He didn't just stroke my hair and say, "there, there," he helped me find the last drop of inner strength WAY deep down to persevere, to keep going. And we did it together.

I think there were moments he couldn't handle either. I recall cramming the last of our stuff in my dad's truck as the renters pulled up with their UHAUL. They did a walk through with Patrick, who was exhausted and overwhelmed, dirty from moving, sweaty, just came "home" from work. They complained about every bump in the wall, every speck of dust they could find, why we only had one garage door remote and not two-he was going to crawl in a hole and shut the cave door behind him. I could tell by the look in his eyes. I was trying to deal with the, what seemed like, million questions from all the people that were helping us move and I asked Patrick a question. I looked in his eyes-blank. It was too much, way too much. I took him by the shoulder, gave him a task that would get him away from all this mess, then I dealt with the rest. We finally got to my parents' house and went for a walk-just the two of us. It was just too much. Somehow we got through it.

In the past 4.5 years of our marriage I can think of many stories like these. Times when one of us flipped, and the other picked up the slack. We've learned pretty quickly how to preemptively intersect that kind of disaster now. Or times we made a trip out to California every weekend of the month because there were weddings and funerals galore. Talk about emotional roller coaster. And we're still here...whole...and stronger together.

I'm not going to pretend that we've been through life's worst times. Really our life together has been amazing, at least, that's the perspective I choose. So, maybe it really is about that-perspective. Maybe with this new little baby our lives will never be the same. But I'm actually excited about that. Maybe he will teach us all the things we thought we knew but didn't. Maybe our relationship will be that much stronger after looking at this being God created to be in our care, and he'll test us, and he'll love us, and we'll always be a family. Maybe things will never be the same, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. I'm ready for the diaper blowouts, the late nights with a sick little one, the lack of sleep from worrying if he's breathing or not...I'm ready for that if it means I get to experience this whole new chapter. And I'll watch him become a man, maybe some day get married and have a family of his own. And I'll think back on this time when my house was quiet and I knew it wouldn't be like that for long.

I love you baby, and I can't wait to meet you.

Oh baby, oh baby!

We just got our maternity pictures back, and they're awesome! Thanks Amber for your expertise, artistry and friendship. We love you...all three of us :) (Enjoy)