Horrible mom

I haven't even started the baby book yet. Nine months! Not one entry. I'm making notes, though. I keep telling myself I'll get it in there.

Ten hours

Last night was the first time she slept through the night. And not that wussy "five to seven hours is what we mean when we say through the night," either. Ten straight hours! And no swaddler, either.

Best sleep ever (for mom), until I woke up in a panic at 5am wondering why I hadn't been woken up for a feeding. I sat and listened until I head her make some small noise ad went back to sleep until seven.

The long awaited arrival & Accompanying Edifying Events

I decided that even though I wanted to be The Girl Who Worked Until the Moment she Dropped the Sprog, I had had it with work. I could no longer bend over to take off a cast, and even typing notes into charts was tiring. I called work and told them I was starting my maternity leave right. then. All the while I was worried that I would be eating up both the extra cash in my bank account and the amount of time that I would get to spend with my new baby.

That night (Monday June 11, 2007) I was futzing around on the computer and noticing fairly persistent Brackston-Hicks. I started writing down the times that I noticed each contraction starting because I couldn't remember how many minutes had passed between the last three contractions, and therefore couldn't possibly determine if they were getting closer together. I kept futzing around on the computer and kept writing down the numbers, but they didn't make any sense. 14 minutes, 5 minutes, ... 6, 8, 17, 5. I went to bed totally dejected. I was totally ready to try my hand at labor and delivery.

Michael and I watched TV in bed until midnight. That was a nightly ritual for us the last few months of the pregnancy. We'd sit there and talk about the baby, or delivery, or what we had for lunch. He would put his hand on my belly and wait for the baby to kick. It was my favorite time of day.

At 2am I woke up from a dream where I was having very bad indegestion. I don't know how long they had been going on, but that was the first real contraction that I felt. I thought that maybe it was a passing pain or that I had imagined it, so I just waited there. I was just about to fall asleep when I felt another one. I turned on my other side (with much difficulty), this time toward the clock. They were still coming at weird intervals, so I waited an hour. After an hour they were no closer together, but they were still coming, so I woke up Michael and told him he might want to get packed. He did. Then I made him wait for an hour so that I could monitor my contractions and make sure that they weren't going to go away.

We oh-so-casually packed up the car and drove to the hospital about twenty minutes away. I spent about thirty seconds in the ER before they practically ran my wheelchair to labor and delivery. They do not want women that are 39 weeks hanging out any longer than necessary. They don't like birthin no babies in the ER. I did all the prerequisites for triage; weight, urine, get naked. They put the monitors on me and my husband got to listen to the baby's heartbeat for only the second time.

The girl who came in to take my blood was obviously a student. She was perfectly pleasant, but obviously scared witless. For some reason she went for my forearm instead of the vein on the inside of my elbow that you can see from across the room. She was fine on the first try, but when the needle had been in for like three minutes and she had no result, she started shaking. She got a new needle and tried again, but no love. She practically ran out of the room. I wish she had stayed. I'm perfectly willing to be a pincushion.

Finally we were getting to the good part. I asked the triage nurse what the monitor looked like. She tried to figure out what I was getting at. She told me the baby looked great, and I had some uterine activity showing up on the monitor. I kept pressing her, and she said that the monitor didn't look that impressive, if that's what I was asking. Aw. I looked at my husband guiltily, absolutely sure that he was totally annoyed by the whole getting out of bed in the middle of the night thing.

Then the pelvic. The nurse chirped "You're having a baby today!" I was 4cm. +1 station.

Michael nearly fell out on the floor. The triage nurse left to reserve the last LDR for me. I had a very quiet panic attack.

Slacker mom

I probably should have started this blog while I was pregnant. At the very least, I should have started it when the baby was born, not when she was three months old. That may be why I always click on that damn ad when I'm checking my email; "Are you a slacker mom? Take this quiz to find out." I'm like an Alzheimer's patient with that thing. Every time I see it it's brand new. And my mom guilt makes me click it.

Also, a second warning: I will backdate posts as I please. I have no need for authenticity in this particular case. So although this is one of my first posts, I may have 15, 30, or 400 listed before it.

Yay for me.

Just a warning

I know irony is dead and all, but I'm not the type of person that actually says dear daughter and means it entirely sincerely. So just in case you bumped into me by accident, this might not be your cup of tea.

I'm not the quiverfull, modest, or pious type, which is what I picture in my head whenever I see those DD's, DS's or DH's. Just so you know.