Sugar in the Raw

Goodbye, Sugar

2005-05-30T09:28:00.000-05:00

I am moving!

My brilliant husband worked all day yesterday to create me a new blog. So without further ado, welcome to The Reign of Ellen.

One Year Ago

2005-05-28T13:35:00.000-05:00

One year ago, I was a week pregnant, but didn't know it yet. I guess Anna was implanting herself in my uterus about now.

I was tending to my foster dog's new puppies, falling in love with them despite the fact that I was still slightly pissed that Sugar could get pregnant but not me (I definitely related to Charlotte in that episode of "Sex and The City.") I was also in the process of preparing myself for my laparoscopy, as well as finding out I had Barlow's Syndrome (mitral valve prolapse thingy) through chest X-rays, EKGs and echocardiograms. I find it slightly ironic that if the echocardiogram tech chick would have just moved the wand down about 12 inches south, we might have seen the slight dot in my uterus that was Anna.

A week later, I was puzzled why my period, though it felt impending, was not here. I always spot for about seven days before the full tidal wave hits, so I couldn't figure it out. And my boobs were still big and sore, which usually leaves about the same time the spotting starts. I went to go see the third Harry Potter movie, positive that my period would arrive by the end of the movie. When it hadn't, I decided to take a pregnancy test in the morning, even though we hadn't bothered to "try" that month. (No OPKs, temp-taking, Robutussin-drinking, Clomid-ingesting, green tea-guzzling, progesterone-shoving or pillow-propping.) I didn't bother telling Jason my testing intentions, because he had all but forbid pregnancy tests in our house several months earlier.

I got up in the morning and peed on the last of my Dollar Tree secret stash. And I saw two lines. I didn't even have to wait. It popped up right away. It was the first time I had ever seen such quick beautiful lines on a pee stick of mine. I bent over with my head between my knees and cried with shaking hands and thanked God.

(Of course, Doubting Thomas took over and I went to Walmart and bought pregnancy tests in every brand. I went home and peed on a batch on them. All positive. I finally threw them away after Anna was born. I guess she was the official proof that they really were positive.)

My life has changed so much in one year. I am so blessed to have been given such a good life. I have a rockin' husband, fabulous friends, beautiful home and a much longed-for daughter. I couldn't ask for anything more.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back. Sometimes Three.

2005-05-26T10:23:00.000-05:00

We went through a stage there, around 2 1/2 months, where Anna was sleeping through the night. Well, from 10pm to 5am, which I consider sleeping through. But after I went back to work, we seem to have fallen off the wagon on our collective butts.

After I started back, she started waking up once during the night. This past week, she has started twice. One night, she even did a whopping three times. And it's not just fussing. She wants to eat and gets quite pissy if she doesn't get fed. Is this a growth spurt? Is it the change in routine? Am I coddling her at night? Do I just let her cry at 3am?

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, it is amazing the effect that sleep deprivation has on me. First thing to go is always my sense of humor. My father-in-law has been here all week. I love him, but sometimes he drives me insane. In the past, I have always just taken his slight obsessiveness in stride and laughed it off. Last night, I realized that I wasn't laughing and I was entering Bitch Territory. I had worked all day, hadn't really slept in two weeks, and managed to go out to dinner with Jason, his dad and Anna. Eating out just isn't fun for me if I have Anna with me. There's no point in it. She hates sitting still, so I bounced her, fended off the fussing, wiped up a gallon of spit-up off the table, scarfed down my food in five minutes and left to go walk around the parking lot with her for twenty minutes, so everyone else in the restaurant could have a pleasant dining experience. And my FIL has the nerve to insinuate that I was being too "over-protective." Last night, I officially accepted the fact that dining out, with the child I was given, is just not an option until she is older.

Anyway, I was exhausted and all I wanted to do was sit down and watch the "Lost" finale. Somehow, I was guilted into trampsing around outside, taking pictures of Anna. I missed half my show (which I know is a silly thing to get worked up over) but it was the only thing I was looking forward to all day. Again, usually, this wouldn't bother me, but at the time, I wasn't smiling. I was a crank.

Physically, I feel like I felt when Anna was a month old. Sort of like a walking zombie. And not like the zombies from "28 Days Later," you know, the ones that run around really fast and hyperkinetic. We're talking "Shaun of the Dead" zombies. Grunting, moaning, limbs periodically falling off. Well, maybe not that last one. But I don't feel like my appendages are working correctly. I keep knocking things over and hitting my elbow.

Well, I Did It

2005-05-25T14:23:00.000-05:00

I quit my job this morning.

I've been losing sleep about this for several weeks now, so I decided it was time. My boss was extremely understanding about it-- his wife is a stay-at-home mother of four homeschooled kids. He said, "Hey, ya gotta do what ya gotta do." It was a relief. I told him I was planning on the end of June being my departure, but he asked if I could hang in there until July 14th, so he could get my job posted and replace me (we are badly understaffed in our design department.) I was fine with that. He has been really good to me for five years, so I don't want to leave him high and dry.

I wasn't really worried about telling him. Actually I am petrified to tell my babysitter. She was so good to save Anna's spot for an entire year; I feel awful. But I am giving her ample warning, and I actually have a friend who wants to take Anna's spot. So she's not high and dry either.

I can't believe what a difficult decision this was to make. There are so many good points to stay working. I will miss my work friends greatly. There isn't the isolation that accompanies being a SAHM. My company, despite my frequent complaints, is an excellent company to work for. I have some time to myself during the day, and have lunch with adult conversations (well, "grown-up" conversations. Not "adult" as in Howard Stern.) I was fortunate to have found a good babysitter. But in the end, it comes down to wanting to be at home with my daughter. Everytime I weighed the benefits of working to staying at home with Anna, well, Anna won out hands down.

So here I go, the next big adventure.

"Pahss de Dutchie from de Left Hand Side..."

2005-05-24T13:32:00.000-05:00

My father-in-law is here. Today he informed us that Anna has "Dutch ears." (I hope she also develops her grandma's Dutch cleanliness habit.) So my sister and I have decided to call her Dutchie.

Yesterday, the babysitter told me that she thought that ole' Dutchie was going to be "advanced." She has started trying to pull herself to a sitting position, and she gets mad if you don't stand her up on her legs to watch everyone. When I got home, I pulled down my "What to Expect in the First Year" book. I had no idea what babies are supposed to be doing at this age. I was surprised to learn that the child is doing late five month old stuff. She also turns and looks at people when they talk to her, and is using more complex vowel sounds (and I know that Jason and I are probably imagining it but it often sounds like she repeats what we say, like "Hi." Not that "Hi" is all that impressive. If she said, "Pass the butter," THAT would be impressive.) The fact that she started holding her head up fairly steady at three weeks should have clued me in. I have had my suspicions from the beginning that Anna's crabbiness is partly due to not having the physical ability to do what she wants.

I know that I should be dancing around, all "Look at me, my child is Mary Lou Retton" but inwardly it makes me groan. I don't know if I want a child that is pushing the envelope. The babysitter also said, "You'd better watch out for that one." Which I sort of knew already. Something tells me I have many hair-pulling years ahead of me.

Your Next American Idol

2005-05-24T06:52:00.000-05:00

Exhausted

2005-05-19T11:23:00.000-05:00

I feel exhausted this week. It took a few weeks for the return-to-work-exhaustion to hit me, but boy, did it hit. Anna went for a few weeks of sleeping until 5am, but took a dip this week. She's been waking up to nurse around 3am every morning. We have tried to hold her off, but she will have none of it. Jason tried to get her back to sleep, but she kept trying to nurse on him. I imagine it's a growth spurt.

My exhaustion has come out in a humorless snit. I have had very little patience with Jason this week. It's amazing how fast sleep deprivation can suck out your sense of humor. He got a new macro lens for his spiffy new camera. He's been taking many many photos of bugs, maggots and dandelions. Usually, I would find this interesting. Or even if I didn't, I would have the energy to fake it. But last night, he wanted me to "ooo and ahh" over his latest photographs. I said, "Fascinating. I have to go make Anna's bottles and fold laundry now" and left. I think I hurt his feelings.

And I've never been a compliment whore, but this week, I've really been needing a little more encouragement. [Note: this is honestly not a whoring technique to get everyone to back-pat me in my comments section.] Jason started a new job this week, so he has been overwhelmed and preoccupied with that. But last night I felt like I needed a "You are a good mommy" rather than a "This kid stinks. When did you last give her a bath?"

Maybe I'll go take a nap at lunch.

Regarding Previous Post

2005-05-19T11:16:00.001-05:00

I'm kinda liking "The Reign of Ellen."

Regarding a comment in the previous post...a guy on my high school yearbook staff once looked at me and said, "You have porn star lips." I decided to be flattered, rather than offended. I also did not ask him to elaborate.

By the way, do you know how to find out your porn star name? Add the name of your childhood pet and the street you grew up on.

Example: Mine is Betsy Lou Digby.

Time For A Change

2005-05-18T10:15:00.000-05:00

(First of all, thank you for the sling/carrier suggestions. I will look into that Over the Shoulder Boulder (oops) Baby Holder. What an unfortunate name.)

I think that I need a new look to this blog. And perhaps a new name. I never really knew why I decided to name this thing "Sugar In The Raw" in the first place. To steal it from my sister and piss her off, I guess, because that was going to be her stripper name (if she ever decided to become a stripper.)

I will sic my husband onto the task of figuring out how to create a blog (more than just switching templates.)

I am also open to suggestions for a new name. I have never been a nicknamed person, so that's part of the problem. Just "Ellen" my whole life. Well, one friend in college called me Frank; another called me Mrs. Schmelle. My mother calls me Ellonio Balonio (no idea why.) My friend, Melissa, calls me LBoogie because we were watching a Fugee's video for "Killing Me Softly" and one of the lyrics goes, "LBoogie, take it to the bridge!" I said, "I want a nickname like that. If my nickname was LBoogie, then I'd be cool." So she started calling me that. But I'm still not cool.

Sling/Carrier Advice

2005-05-17T10:02:00.000-05:00

So, I've decided to purchase yet another carrier.

I bought a Baby Bjorn several years ago, at the beginning of our baby-making adventure, because my dear then-pregnant, OCD-tinged friend Shelley had researched carriers ad nausem and decided that Bjorns were the best. So trusting Shelley's obsessive-compulsive internet research, I bought one as well. It was fine when Anna was a month old or so. It didn't kill my back because she was so little, and she faced me and fell asleep. Well, now she doesn't want to face in, doesn't want to sleep and it hurts my back. Plus, that thing is a pain to get on and off.

I also have a New Native tube sling. A few weeks before Anna was born, I researched slings and decided to try one. I quickly decided a few must-haves and must-not-haves. First, no funky Guatemalan-type prints. (Nothing personal, but it's just not me. I am just not very granola. I dress very plainly actually. Solid colored T-shirts, jeans, khakis, brown shoes. I've tried to branch out but the clothes just sit in my closet. If I got a funky one, I wouldn't use it. One exception: I like satin-y, batick-y Asian fabric. I could do that.) Second, it's got to be very easy to use. No weird knots and wrapping me up like a burrito. That's why I picked the New Native. It is khaki (!) and a basic tube to slip the baby in. Perfect, right? Wrong. I gave birth to a very alert baby who likes to be sitting upright on my hip, not all snuggley in a bag.

So, back to the drawing board. I am eventually going to have to attempt shopping with the child. She HATES being in her infant seat; she has to be looking around in my arms to be content. I am thinking about The Hip Baby or The Mei Tai Baby. They say that the hip carriers are for six months and older, but she has good head control, and sits on my hip anyway.

Any advice is appreciated!

The Rundown

2005-05-14T21:40:00.000-05:00

Work: Going okay, I guess. I have no motivation. Hard to think about anything other than my baby. I need to get focused this next week in a bad way. On the up side, I got back product samples of the scrapbooking line that I was working on, right before I left on maternity leave (anyone remember me working fifteen hours of overtime weekly, thereby leading to high blood pressure and an induced baby? Anyone?) Anyway, the product turned out surprisingly good. I am so relieved. I really think that God just took on the project himself, because heck if I was in my right mind during that mess. I claim very little kudos for that success.

Daycare: Even if I end up quitting work a month from now, it would still have been worth it just to have had my babysitter get Anna on a schedule. She has finally been napping, and not only that, falling asleep by herself in the crib. She has been in such a better mood in the evenings. I think that sleeping has made a huge difference. It's still very difficult to leave her in the morning, and I count down the minutes until I get to go back and get her.

Weight: Again, I know I am risking a chorus of "If I only had that problem..." but I am still having trouble keeping my weight up. I weighed myself last week and was startled to see that I weigh 109 pounds. I've really lost way too much weight. I went out and bought myself a bunch of Ensure (they have a new "nursing mother's formula-- probably just the same formula, but with a picture of a baby on the can) and boy, is that stuff nasty. Yee-ucky.

"Lost": Seriously addicted to this television show. I only started watching it about three weeks ago, but man. Why didn't someone tell me that there was a cool, Hitchcocky, intelligent show out there? What is the monster? What do the numbers mean? What's on the other side of that hatch?!

Breastfeeding Brain: What has happened to my mind? I've always been a bit flakey, but lately, I am downright spacey. "Disconnected" my husband calls it. People can be talking to me and I can't seem to keep up with the conversation. I have been losing basic words in my vocabulary, like "shed" or "skylight" (me pointing at ceiling, "You know, the thing. The thing with the clear stuff on it. You can see through it. You can see those puffy white things up in the air.") I was complaining about this, and my friend said, "Oh, you have Breastfeeding Brain." I guess all the blood is going to my boobs instead of my brain.

Pumping: Another good thing that came of my two month's of pumping boot camp (besides helping out my friend's baby), is that I am a speedy little pumper. I can get in the bathroom, pump about 10 ounces and get out in fifteen minutes. But boy, am I getting sick of that trip to the bathroom all day long. Not that I've been able to click my brain into actually doing any work the rest of the time. At least I can become a wet nurse if all other career options fail.

Flat Head: The back of Anna's head is getting a bit flat. Of course, this freaked me out. I talked to my babysitter about it, and she said that before experts started recommending that babies sleep on their back (to help prevent SIDS), she never saw that. Now she sees it all the time. Jason went and got Anna a sleep positioner with memory foam, so hopefully that will help a little. A friend of mine had to put a helmet on her baby at night because his head was getting so flat. I hope it doesn't come to that-- probably not; it's not that bad, honestly. But I'd still rather have a flat-headed child than lay awake at night worrying about SIDS (not that I don't already do that, but at least I am doing everything on my part to prevent it.)

Baby Blue Eyes

2005-05-13T11:13:00.000-05:00

God's Weird Ways

2005-05-10T14:46:00.000-05:00

Time and time, I am amazed that God has a purpose for everything, no matter how odd it may seem at the time.

A breastfeeding friend of mine is having milk supply problems, possibly due to recently starting a new medication. She's been pumping her butt off to try and increase her milk, but only seems to be getting out around 15 ounces a day. Her daughter was getting exceedingly frustrated, and had begun not peeing and pooping enough. Basically, she needs more milk until she gets the problem figured out. Hmmmm...where could she get a buttload of breastmilk? Where where where? From Ellen's monster stash of frozen breastmilk, that's where! She and I are even taking the exact same anti-depressant, so that's not an issue. She came over and loaded up an Igloo full o' milk this afternoon.

I was beginning to look in my freezer, wondering why I was still keeping all 100 bags of breastmilk. I was starting to visualize all the tubs of ice creams that I could be stashing in it's place. But I guess God had a reason for me to go through my annoying two months of pumping, if only to provide milk to a hungry little four month-old for awhile. It's very cool when I see God's plans unfold, even in small ways.

Second Day Back

2005-05-06T14:28:00.000-05:00

Yesterday went much better for Anna, not quite as well for me. The newness of being back had worn off a bit, and the trips to the bathroom to pump were getting a little old. Also, I sat at my desk looking at my new design assignments, not knowing where to begin. I am really not very confident as a graphic designer. I wasn't trained to be one; I am just a Fine Arts major that stumbled into it after graduating to the real world. I researched possible artwork, then ended up reading "Lost" (the show) synopses at my desk. Which made me feel guilty, as I was reminded that if I were home, I would have plenty to do. Which made me think about Anna and miss her and wonder if I could call the sitter again without seeming pathetic. Eating lunch with my superb friends was the highlight of my day.

Anna, on the hand, had a great day apparently. Her evening, after her first day, was great. She was in a nice mood and went to bed at her usual time despite her multiple naps. Her second day, she took three huge naps during the day. She was again in a great mood last night and went to bed as usual. Maybe the child has been sleep-deprived all this time. I guess I wasn't forcing the naps on her, so she just fought them and wound up cranky. And today, I left her in the nursery at the Mothering group I attended. I fully expected to see the nursery lady walk through the church doors hollering, "You there! Come get this kid!" It never happened, and much to my shock, she was sleeping in a crib when I went back to get her.

Maybe somehow, I was subconsciously preventing her from napping and she just needed to get away from me to get started on a schedule. Who knows.

Anna also "made" me a Mother's Day card at daycare. I was very impressed. The child has excellent art and handlettering skills, even at three months.

Groan.

2005-05-05T09:10:00.000-05:00

Methinks it does not bode well when a woman, specializing in infants, refers to your child as "very difficult." Sigh.

Yesterday did not go as well for Anna as it did for me. When I picked her up, she was asleep in a swing, as she had been for most of the day. That totally shocked me because I can barely get the child to take an hour nap during the day. The babysitter said that she got the feeling that Anna had taken to sleeping to block out everything else. Sort of a "shutdown" method of dealing with her environment. When she wasn't sleeping, she was howling. She got pissed off at the babysitter for trying to feed her, and kept swatting her away, even though she was obviously quite hungry. I sighed and explained it didn't surprise me. I remember the first week trying to breastfeed, her tiny hands swatting at me because she was so frustrated. I said, "She just came out this way."

The babysitter then, nicely (she is very nice, don't get me wrong; she obviously loves the babies), told me that we were going to have to be a team in breaking Anna of her need to be held constantly. Which I know but just breaks my heart. I'm not an Attachment Parent, so I don't think that her emotional development is hinging on her not being held 24/7. And I know that she needs more of a schedule, but as her mother, I ALSO know that she definitely has a higher "touch" need than most babies I've seen. Again, she's been this way since the day she popped out of the shoot.

I left feeling pretty depressed. No mother wants to show up at the babysitter's house and be told that she has an extremely difficult child. You want to show up and have the babysitter clutching your child, not wanting to let go, because she is such a perfect angel. On the way home, I called Jason and said, "This is all your fault! She got this temperament from YOU!" Jason likes things the way he likes them, and nobody had better stand in his way...which I have grown to love about him. Everywhere he has worked, he has quickly risen to be the leader, and very respected. You never have to worry that you aren't getting the truth from him-- you always know exactly what he is feeling. Take him or leave him, what you see is what you get. It can be disconcerting at first, but after awhile, it becomes refreshing. But as a child, he was apparently "difficult" also. There's hope for Anna, I know.

This morning, as I handed her over, she gave the babysitter a delightful smile. I hope it sticks for the rest of the day. But I'm not holding my breath.

First Day Back

2005-05-04T08:46:00.000-05:00

Inspired by Tertia at "So Close" (whose first day back was Monday), I am going to give a play-by-play of my first day back:

4:30 am- Awakened by a hungry baby. Feed her in bed half-asleep. Husband is currently sleeping on couch until his allergy-related snoring ceases.

5:00 am- Go back to sleep.

6:00 am- Alarm goes off. Groan.

7:00 am- Wake Anna up to feed her before we leave. She is being delightful this morning. Phooey. It is easier to leave a cranky baby than a sweet one.

8:00 am- Drop off Anna at babysitter's house. Explain every tiny detail to babysitter. Realize that she knows more about infants than I do. Anna starts wailing. Babysitter reassures me that this will be more difficult for me than Anna. This, I know. I leave. Sigh. Poo.

8:20 am- Back at work. Co-workers have left two vases of flowers on my desk. Everyone pats my back and asks how I am doing in concerned manner. I am okay, but I miss my baby. It feels really strange to not be with her. Sort of like I am missing an appendage.

9:00 am- Boss arrives bearing birthday presents for me. Toys and "Mike and Ike" candy. The toys will join my Camilla the Chicken Muppet and Uma Thurman "Kill Bill" toys at the top of my computer. The candy I shall eat right now. I remember why I like working here.

10:00 am- Breasts are about to explode. Found a bathroon to pump. About three people wiggled the doorknob while I was in there. Go away. If my company is not going to provide a lactation room, then I am going to take as long as I need in here without feeling guilty. Two good things that have come out of my two months of pumping are a) I am speedy fast and b) I have an insane milk supply. I got 8 ounces out in 10 minutes. This will get old soon, though, I suspect.

11:00 am- Chatted with a friend who had her daughter a week after me. She had a horrible delivery experience. I say a thanks again to God for sparing me from that. God gave her a super easy breastfeeding experience, though. Guess God knows what people can and cannot handle.

11:15 am- Continue to avoid actual work. Talked to coworker friend on phone to make lunch plans. Poked at my new toys. Sniffed my new flowers. Avoid avoid avoid.

11:30 am- Called babysitter to check in. Anna is fine, but will not take a bottle. Ironic, no? Two months the child would not take my breast, now she refuses the bottle. The babysitter is going to call me this afternoon if it happens again.

12:00 pm- Went out to lunch with my friends. I feel a little lightheaded, for some reason. I've been feeling that way a lot lately. Sort of fuzzy and forgetful and fainty. I think it has to do with the breastfeeding and lack of sleep.

1:00 pm- Off to pump again. Yes, the newness of being back is wearing off fast.

3:00 pm- A party for me! I get a cake party to celebrate my belated birthday and coming back. It's really just an excuse for everyone to eat cake. I am again reminded of the "Seinfeld" episode where Elaine denounces the entire office for throwing cake parties for every stupid occasion. Our company is the same way. Birthday? Cake. Baby? Cake. New driver's license? Cake. Everyone gains about ten pounds in the first six months of working here. Today I am, unfortunately, criticized for losing too much weight. Bah. I think I might start drinking Ensure each morning.

4:00 pm- Antsy. I miss my baby and know that I'm not going to make it until five. 4:30, methinks.

...will update as the day progresses.

The Reign Of Ellen

2005-05-02T10:06:00.000-05:00

Jason just bought his last fun toy for quite awhile-- a new digital camera. A really nice one. He is giddy with excitement with it. If you didn't know, Jason is obsessed with gadgets, electronics and technology. He has this house wired with so many digital gizmos, I don't even know how to plug in the television by myself anymore. If he ever left, I would be like the guy in "2001:A Space Odyssey" with the house trying to kill me. Technology is fun for him, not so fun for our bank account.

But we had a major breakthrough in our marriage. Jason, who has been doing our finances most of our marriage, has finally admitted that he may be a little too impulsive with money to be the one running the show. So starting this week, Ellen is taking over. We both think that this move is for the best. When I didn't know what was going on, I stressed about it more.

So Ellen is inacting "2005:A Budget Odyssey." The camera was Jason's final hurrah before The Financial Reign Of Jason ends. I am a pretty meticulous person when it comes to stuff like this-- before we were married, I balanced my checkbook down to the cent monthly. I think that I am going to do pretty well at the budgeting.

I know that we should both probably have an equal hand with the finances, but in marriage, I honestly do not know if that is possible. Every couple I know has only one person cooking the books. Usually the man, it seems, but almost always the person who is the more practically-minded of the two. The dreamer generally has to have his/her purse strings tightened. I always assumed I was the dreamer of the two of us, but in actuality, that is Jason. I am the one saying, "I don't know about that, honey..."

If you are married, who does your finances?

My Highly Sensitive Child

2005-05-02T00:00:00.000-05:00

In case you are interested, my husband put new photos on our baby site.

The News

2005-04-29T11:27:00.000-05:00

So Britney Spears is pregnant? So Tom Cruise is dating Katie Holmes? So Brad Pitt really was cheating with Angelina Jolie? So Ellen's mother is visiting this weekend? Somehow it doesn't carry the same attention-grabbing headlines, eh...

Still battling this stupid thrush problem. After a week, despite multiple remedy attempts, it still seems to be sticking around, so I am hitting it with the Diflucan as soon as I pick the prescription up. Breastfeeding is just an odd experience. Granted, I'm glad that I've done it and stuck with it. But every week, there seems to be a new annoyance. Last week, thrush. This week, I've had to change my shirt twice a night because of all the leakage (can't sleep in bras.) Then the other night I pulled a back muscle trying to figure out the lying-down side nursing thing.

I'm going back to worrk in five days. Got to be honest with you, not looking forward to it. Even though I've felt pretty lonely at home lately, I am still dreading handing my daughter to someone else for eight hours. It was hard enough leaving her for one night with her two doting aunts, who love the tar out of her. But...as I have promised my husband...I am going to give it a whirl. If but for anything else, it will cement in my head that I decisively want to be a stay-at-home mom. There won't be any "what if"s regarding work or "poor me"s regarding staying at home.

In other news, Anna loves her tha fans. I've got another weapon in my arsenal to cheer her up. I put her under a ceiling fan, and she thinks it's as funny as "Seinfeld." Oh, to be a baby.

And I am totally stoked (yes, I still use words from 1988, but I know that Shelley does too) for "The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy" movie. Please please please let it do the book justice. I implore everyone to read this book if you haven't already.

That's it for today's news.

High Needs

2005-04-24T16:25:00.000-05:00

I had a great birthday on Friday. We went out to dinner, Old Navy (to buy me something to wear back to work) and Barnes and Nobles. Then we went back to our hotel room and watched "National Treasure" (decent movie, but too long and too much yak.) Unfortunately, I discovered that Mommy Brain does not turn off very quickly, and I had a horrible night's sleep. Not worrying per se, just thinking and tossing and turning. Upon returning home Saturday, I was informed that Anna had slept from 10pm to 6am. The longest ever. Oh well.

While at B&N, I bought two books- The Highly Sensitive Child (by some chick names Arons) and The Fussy Baby Book (by Dr. Sears! I actually bought a book by the man! I told you that motherhood changes you.) I've been perusing the books for the past couple of days, and it is not only ringing true, it is "The Gong Show."

I've decided not to refer to Anna as "fussy" or "difficult" anymore. She is "high needs" or "highly sensitive." The truth about her is that, if her needs are being met the way that she likes, she is a joy. She is alert, smiley and content. I do think that we battled colic for those first two months, but her underlying personality is demanding. "High needs" children need to be held constantly, fed a lot and are overstimulated easily. They also rarely nap and wake often. They require a whole different level of parenting apparently.

Anna and I went to a birthday party for a one year-old little boy yesterday. The boy's father is loud and boisterous, as is his extended family. The minute I walked in the house, I knew there would be trouble. I took Anna back to the quiet nursery to nurse and she was fine. As soon as we rejoined the party, it began to overwhelm her. I guess I am getting better at reading her cues. I saw the storm coming, so we went to the backyard and walked around for a bit. She quieted down. We rejoined the party and that was that. I knew it was time to go. It was a good thing we left when we did, because as soon as we started down the road, scream city.

I guess that I am going to need to come to terms with the fact that I wasn't given the baby that I expected. Thankfully, the book said that for every frustration, I will receive an equal amount of delight because "high needs" babies tend to become highly creative, sensitive and kind-hearted kids. I just have to wait for it.

The League of Ordinary Gentlewomen

2005-04-21T22:01:00.000-05:00

Up: Anna slept for seven hours last night!

Down: Anna and I have thrush, probably caused by my antibiotics from the mastitis.

The thrush is not fun. It's like burning in my breasts, with shooting pains up the sides. Again, never in my life have I had so much attention focused on my boobs.

Speaking of boob-attention, I did the unthinkable today. I, Ellen, attended a La Leche League meeting. Ten weeks ago, when I was having my breastfeeding nightmare and desperately trying to glean information from the LLL's book, The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding, wild horses couldn't have dragged me to one of those meetings. Honestly, that book made me feel like a huge failure. I couldn't master the "womanly art." But, my friend Rebekah was going to a meeting and invited me. I was in the midst of this thrush business, so I thought, "What the hey." I am open to any suggestions for getting rid of this darn infection.

And it was actually fine and quite helpful. Most of the women there were normal, down-to-earth women who just like to hang out where there isn't any stigma of whipping out your boob. There were maybe two women that gave me cause to raise my eyebrows. The first such woman was breastfeeding her three year old. I'm sorry, but it's just a little strange to me to see a child running around playing with the other kids, then from time to time, waltze over to lift up his mom's shirt to nurse. But whatever floats your boat.

The second woman went on a co-sleeping tangent for about ten minutes. I do not co-sleep, personally. It would probably be a lot easier to do the nighttime nursing thing, but a) I have not been able to comfortably figure out the whole side-nursing thing yet and b) neither of us gets any real rest sleeping together. I know that it is probably very sweet and bonding to snuggle next to your baby all night. But I am a better mother when well-rested. If I was even slightly on the fence about this, hearing the other women's sleep dilemas pushed me back over onto my non-co-sleeping side. One co-sleeping woman had an eighteen month old that still woke up to nurse FOUR times a night. FOUR. And I was complaining that Anna wasn't sleeping through the night at six weeks! Rebekah and I both raised our eyebrows at that one.

Rebekah and I have had an interesting experience with this whole motherhood thing. We have been complete opposites at every turn. I struggled with infertility; she had an oopsie. I had a great pregnancy, great birth and a heck of a time with a colicky, fussy baby. She had an exhausting pregnancy, traumatic birth but a dream baby who has been sleeping through the night since two weeks. I have lost too much post-pregnancy weight; she is trying to get more off. I was always Miss Managed Medical Care Non-Granola/Attachment Parenting; she was all herbal, all natural and Bradley Method home birth. Well, I am now attending La Leche League meetings, researching slings and finding Grapefruit Seed Extract to smear on my breasts; she is starting to see the benefits of medication and the medical establishment. I guess it just goes to show how much motherhood rocks your world. To quote Julia Sweeney, "And God Said 'Ha.'"

Up, Down, Up, Down...

2005-04-20T11:59:00.000-05:00

It is amazing the effect that sleep deprivation has on me. Last week, Anna practically slept through the night every night. I had a great week. I was in a fine mood and accomplished a number of tasks that I had been meaning to get finished (thank you notes, etc.)

This week, however, Anna has woken up at least twice a night. My husband, though not his fault, has been snoring like a bear all week due to allergies. I have been sleeping on the couch a great deal of the time. Have you ever been so tired that you can't sleep? That was me last night. I laid on the couch at 5am and cried. Partly, I was delirious. Partly, I started panicking because I only have a week and a half left before returning to work, with no signs of getting any more sleep than I have been. Even last week's sleep gain, with the five hour nightly stints, is not going to suffice for me to get through a work day with my brain intact. I am feeling a tad depressed today.

Also, I have not been eating enough. I know I'm treading on thin ice here, because a lot of women have trouble getting the baby weight off and don't want to hear this (and I apologize)... but I have lost too much. I am back down further than I was when I had morning sickness, which was pretty low. I have never been a big eater, but it's never been this bad. With the lack of sleep and constant baby tending, I sometimes forget to eat during the day. Lately, I've started getting a bit light-headed. (Shame, shame, Ellen. I know. Don't scold me.)

Plus I have another plugged duct, which I am petrified will lead to another bout of the dreaded mastitis. Crap. And this morning, I noticed one developing in the other boob, as well. Double crap.

When I am in a better mood, I will tell you all about the surreal experience that I had yesterday at an Arkansas wild animal safari.

Love

2005-04-19T15:29:00.000-05:00

[Warning: Sappy Baby Post Ahead]

I feel like all I've been blogging about for the past 10 weeks are the woes of motherhood. So I thought I'd write about the other side of motherhood, which in all honesty, is so much more enveloping than the frustrations. The love part.

I really love being a mom. I've wanted to be a mom for as long as I could remember. Once, when I was a camp counselor, I was playing in the pool with a bunch of fourth grade boys. Actually, I was trying to sunbathe and was being constantly interrupted with, "Miss Ellen! Miss Ellen! Watch this!" (followed by loud wet cannonballs) and having water noodles dumped on me. One of the other girl counselors was watching me and said, "You are a mom who just doesn't have kids yet." That always stuck with me. When I started having trouble getting pregnant, I thought, "Well, this just figures."

And I love Anna. Sometimes I look at her and wonder how it's possible to love someone so much. I love every part of her. I love her fingers, toes and bellybutton. Her fuzzy hair. Her cries. Her smiles. I know every mother thinks this, but I really think I have the most beautiful baby in the world. I now understand that mother bear instinct. I can't bear to even imagine something bad happening to her. The thought makes me physically wince.

She really is the best thing to ever happen to me. She's the best gift I've ever received. In fact, she's so far above all the other gifts, they look like rotten toadstools in comparison (not counting my husband-- he was a good gift also.)

So I guess I finally understand all those dumb cliches about motherhood.

Sorry if this was too sappy.

Old

2005-04-17T22:49:00.000-05:00

My 30th birthday is next week. I ran into an old friend of mine at Wal-Mart today, who I dated one summer back in college. As he left, he said, "Happy Birthday!" I was shocked that he remembered, but then recalled that he has a near-photographic memory.

Anyway, as I was driving home, the thought occured to me that we dated over ten years ago. Ten years? TEN years? Was I really that old?

Yes, I have decided. I am that old. I feel old. Not "old" like "poor over-the-hill me." Just older. Older is a good thing. I'm not really complaining. It's just strange.

I started thinking about other things happening lately that have also made me feel old. So, here is:

"Ellen's List of Things That Make Her Feel Old"

1. Having a baby, obviously. I am still sort of in disbelief, though. Sometimes I wonder, who would give me sole responsibility of another tiny being? Again, not complaining. It's just strange.

2. "I Love The '90's" on VH1. Puh-lease, I thought, when I saw it for the first time. That was like yesterday. Then I saw the "I Love '91" episode. Har har, I laughed, they think grunge is old. But then I realized, that was fourteen years ago! I went to my closet that afternoon and finally put all my flannel shirts in the Give Away box.

3. A girl that I used to babysit (I remember when she was born) asked me if she could drive over and babysit Anna sometime.

4. Snoop Doggy Dogg. When gangsta rap first came out, it scared the tar out of me. Snoop Dogg included. I just watched some program on E! where he was coaching his son's football team. What?! And I read that the Green Day guys all have wives and kids.

5. 40 year old women. 40 used to be so old. I now have 40 year old friends. And they aren't old at all. They shop at the Gap, for pete's sake.

6. My mom is starting to remind me of my grandma, and I am starting to sound like my mother.

7. ....

...I had other things to add to the list, but I forgot them. Again, another sign that I am old. Also, I am tired and need to go to bed. Old old old.

Good Week

2005-04-14T23:16:00.000-05:00

It's been a good week. Someone told me once that colic was like a switch that gets turned on and off. And I am really apt to believe it. I remember the day that she first started being colicky. It was week two (which is classically when it starts), and I was home alone with her in one evening. The power kept going off at the house, and I sat in the dark with her screaming. It was not fun.

Well, this week, it was like the switch flipped off. She still fusses, but I feel like I am dealing with "normal" baby fussing. She is smiling and cooing at me. She is responding to us more. She still doesn't like to be put down, but she's been like that since the minute she was born. But she doesn't seem to be hating life anymore. Sweet relief.

And can I say that my husband rocks? He sent me flowers today, for being "a good mother." And he is going to take me out on a grand date next Friday for my birthday, complete with dinner, a movie and a hotel room for the night. My sisters are going to babysit overnight. A full night's sleep! And I've decided that since I'll be pumping my milk out, I am going to try the new Coke with Lime that night. Caffiene, here I come! (It's the simple things in life...)

Anyone recommend any movies? I have no idea what's out right now.

And Again!

2005-04-12T11:44:00.000-05:00

She did it again last night! I was telling my sister how amazing I felt after getting five hours of sleep, and she laughed and said, "If I only got five hours of sleep, I'd be complaining about it all day." Such is the life of a parent, I suppose.

I don't know if it was the increased sleep for both of us, but Anna and I had a really good day yesterday. She was moderately content the whole day, and only cried for an hour in the evening. The whole day was pleasant. Maybe the colic is dissipating.

Anna and I went to a Moms And Tots program yesterday. "Program" is a little strong a word. Basically, a bunch of moms get together at the community building, cover the room in toys and lock all the doors so the kids can't escape. Then the moms sit in a corner and drink coffee. I was a little nervous, because I still have the Imposter Mother Complex. I had a great time, though, and fit in well. These moms weren't supermoms at all. I didn't get the feeling that any of them made their own baby food from all organic fruits. Their children have probably tasted sugar. After I left, I thought, "Hey, I could fit into this mommy world." I even prevented a two year old from dropping a basketball on Anna's head.

And I finished Anna's baby scrapbook the other day. Before you start crying foul that I've actually had the time to do a scrapbook, I should preface it by saying that I really did the whole thing before I had her. I just had to drop in the photos after she was born. Scrapbooking is relaxing for me. I don't do the Creative Memories type stuff (which I have nothing against.) Mine are just a bit more avant garde. I like matching up different colors of paper and playing with fonts (I have the spiritual gift of Font Recreation. If you show me a font, I can recreate it by hand.) Anyway, now that I am finished, I feel a little restless to have something else covering the kitchen table. A close family member of mine is planning on adopting from China fairly soon, so I am thinking of starting one for her. The baby will be a girl, so at least I know my color palette.

Sleep!

2005-04-11T08:56:00.000-05:00

Anna slept from 11pm til 5am! Woo HOO! I feel like a new person.

Things That Seem To Soothe A Screaming Anna

2005-04-10T19:17:00.000-05:00

-loudly singing "Hooked On A Feeling" (the Ooga Chocka version, not the wussy version)

-swing (approximately 2 minutes)

-bouncer (approximately 3 minutes)

-drinking a strawberry daiquiri and then breastfeeding (please don't call DHS on me)

-bath (approximately 10 minutes or until water gets cold)

-staring at a light bulb

-walking around outside (unless it's raining)

-pulling her legs up over her head until she farts

-"100 Most Metal Moments" on VH1. (for some reason, she was pretty happy yesterday during all five hours of the heavy metal show, as well as the Metallica documentary)

Weary

2005-04-08T20:50:00.000-05:00

The colic seems to have stepped up a notch this week for some reason. At first I thought it was the shots, but I don't think so anymore. Tonight, my sisters and I tried to go out for Thai food with Anna. That lasted a whole of ten minutes before we asked them to just wrap it up to go. I knew better.

I know that everyone is probably sick to death of me boo-hooing about my colic and lack of sleep "plight." I do feel like a big wussy actually. There are a heck of a lot worse things happening in the world. But honestly, with a colicky baby, your world seems to shrink considerably. I went to work this morning (sans Anna--her father watched her) to pick up some papers from my boss. I work with quite a few baby-crazy women and they were all disappointed that I didn't bring the baby. "How is she? How is she?" I found myself at a loss for happy, chipper baby talk. "Fussy," I said. Not what they wanted to hear, but phooey on them.

I am finding myself torn. Part of me is ready to go back to work, just to get a break. To have an adult conversation NOT concerning the color of poop. But then I stopped by the sitters today to drop off some paperwork, and I left with a knot in my stomach. I don't care how much she screams, I am going to miss her terribly during the day. She is her happiest in the morning, and I am going to miss all of that everyday. I will miss her fuzzy head and big blue eyes. And we just figured out breastfeeding, but I'm going to have to go back to that dreadful pump during the workday.

It's just hard because, as much as I often feel clueless with this motherhood thing, nobody knows her better than me. I can tell the difference in all her cries. I can comfort her better than anyone else. I know the diaper rash cream that works best on her butt. I can almost guarantee that I have been the only person to pick lint from between her toes. I can even tell by the sound of her poots whether it was just air or juicy, and thus needs to be changed.

I guess every working mother probably goes through this...

Desperate

2005-04-06T16:36:00.000-05:00

I think I hit a point today. I think that sleep deprivation may be driving me insane. I just realized this afternoon that I am desperate for sleep. Anna is crying in the other room and I just had to leave, because I honestly wanted to yell at her, "Why?! Why can't you cut me some slack and let me have a nap?!"

Anna is still eating every two hours on the dot, except for a brief period of four hours from 10pm to 2am. Not two hours from when she last ate, but two hours from when she started her last feed. People say, "Well, nap when she naps." Except that she doesn't nap. And when she is awake, she is generally pissed off. Around 4:00 this afternoon, I realized that I was about to fall over from lack of sleep.

I guess it's hitting me now because, somewhere in the back of my mind, I saw the eight week mark as a sleep oasis. Like maybe she'd be sleeping through the night by this point, or at least taking regular naps.

I'm also feeling a bit desperate because I am returning to work in three weeks, with no sign whatsoever that I will be getting any more sleep at night. In fact, by breastfeeding now, I have made it a bit more difficult on myself, because Jason can't share the feedings after I go back.

There has been a bit of discussion over on some blogs about difficult babies versus easy babies. It's taken me awhile to admit that I have a difficult baby. I don't feel particularly angry about this; rather, I have found myself accepting it as a fact and that's that. Last night, at 3am though, I found myself plea-bargaining with God. "Come on, God...cut me a little slack here. Please just let her sleep until 7am this time..." No dice. She was up again two hours later.

Well, I guess I've let her cry for long enough. Don't want to damage her psyche, Dr. Sears.

"24"

2005-04-05T15:51:00.000-05:00

One thing that has happened in the past eight weeks, is Jason and I have caught up on our television series watching. Not very noble or ambitious, but there's not a whole lot else to do besides feeding, soothing and burping. We watched the first two seasons of "Monk," first season of "Arrested Development," and I have rewatched quite a few of my "Simpsons" and "Futurama" DVDs. Jason got sick this last weekend, so went and bought the third season of "24." As soon as he brought that thing in the house, I said, "Damn that man."

I swore I would never watch that show again after it overtook my life about two years ago, with the first season DVD. Argh. I'm back off the wagon and totally addicted to the life of Jack Bauer again.

Here is why the show is so addictive and so maddening at the same time: it does not play by the "television show rules." "24" will kill off main characters at the drop of a hat. "Hey!" I cried after a very, very main character was killed in the season ender of the first season, "Not fair!!!" But deep down, I applauded. You really do not know what's coming.

But, I've discovered, "24" has it's own set of rules, which I sat and deciphered during Anna's 3am feeding last night. Here goes:

1. There is one person in the CTU office (Counter Terrorist Unit, for you non-watchers) that is up to no good. However, at some point you will find out that they are actually up to good, and not a bad guy after all. They are just being sneaky for some reason.

2. If you are making a decision, at least three people are going to question your logic and/or mental capacity. Even if it is just ordering cream for your coffee.

3. The President's plot line is boring. A time-filler to catch the viewer's breath, I suppose.

4. Never trust the ex-wife.

5. Bad guys are pretty gullible and can be talked into anything. Idiots. Do they really think that Jack Bauer is suddenly anti-United States? Duh.

6. If you are noble and selfless, you will probably die. And most likely in a fairly awful way, such as with boils all over your internal organs.

7. Your past indescretions will come back to haunt you. (i.e. Don't have an affair or do heroin.)

8. Never trust the Russian spy.

9. All protocol goes out the window if you are in a time-crunch. Rushing into virus infested hotel? Doling out suicide pills? Holding an 18 year-old scared girl for interrogation without a lawyer? No problem. Ordering cream for your coffee? Well, we need to have a meeting to discuss your mental capacity there.

10. You, too, can get shot in the hand, neck or arm and be back at work in the CTU office in an hour's time.

Shots

2005-04-05T15:47:00.000-05:00

Anna had her shots yesterday. So she's been very needy today. And she has a new cry that I haven't heard before. It sounds sort of like, "Maaaaaaaaaaaa...." Very pathetic. So far, she has a hungry cry (very pathetic, also, although I've been told that it's cute and sweet), colic cry (not cute and sweet at all), tired cry and the Purell Alcohol Hand Sanitizer on the Bum cry (the likes of which I have not heard since.) And now the whiny, don't-feel-good cry.

Graduation

2005-04-01T22:41:00.000-06:00

Well, that little turdlette has been nursing since noon yesterday, no problem whatsoever. I cannot tell you how relieved I am. I feel so much lighter in spirit than I did just several days ago. I even nursed in the backseat of the car today! I just can't believe it.

Let me just say, though, that I now understand the "sore nipples" concept that most breastfeeders speak of. My nipples feel like they are being pried off with pieces of glass. It just proves, in my mind, that Anna simply did not get it, for those three weeks that I fought with her. I never felt anything remotely like this back then. It was more like a slight pinching feeling, as opposed to this "jaws of death" feeling. Not that I am complaining. I am just happy happy happy that she is latching and sucking.

And I am not sure if this has anything to do with the fact that she is now nursing, or simply that she is hitting the so-called "magic" eighth week on Sunday, but she has been great for the past two days. No projectile vomiting, relatively little spitting up, no green acid poo, and she has been much less colicky these two nights. Maybe she's finally getting enough hindmilk? Who knows. She is even smiling at me.

I just feel such a sense of accomplishment (even though I am giving all props to God for this one.) I feel like I should get a diploma or something. Or a "Major Award," to quote the dad from A Christmas Story. Maybe instead of a giant glowing sexy leg lamp, I should get a giant glowing sexy boob lamp. Har har.

Interesting Development

2005-03-31T16:29:00.000-06:00

The other day, Julie at A Little Pregnant discussed the fact that her four month old son has just now figured out how to latch. This afternoon, grumbling at the thought of attaching my breasts to that infernal machine yet again, I thought, "What the heck" and put Anna up to my breast.

And the child latched on and started sucking like there was no tomorrow.

I thought, "Hmmmmm, interesting. But it was probably a one time occurance." I tried again an hour later, and she did it again. And then the rest of the afternoon. I am in a state of shock.

There are a couple of big differences. For one thing, it hurts this time. It feels like my nipples are being sucked off. I'm assuming that is what it was supposed to feel like from the beginning. She is also gulping and swallowing. She even spit up milk. Also different than before.

I was afraid to call Jason to tell him because of the hell I put him through eight weeks ago. I knew he'd think I was nuts for even trying. I was right. He said skeptically, "Did your mother put you up to this?" (She didn't, although she was very proud of Anna despite being a "slow learner," as she put it.) Then he said, "Well, go ahead, but I am not dealing with any more emotional breakdowns."

So there is where that is. I am treading very lightly, and not building up my expectations. But right now, she is sleeping peacefully in front of Baby Mozart with a full tummy.

For Pete's sake.

Smelly Green Mystery Poo

2005-03-30T12:03:00.000-06:00

I think that would be a good name for a rock band.

Down

2005-03-29T19:12:00.000-06:00

I can certainly see how post-partum depression gets started.

I was really doing okay until this mastitis thing happened. I still feel like I've been hit by a truck. Mastitis is probably no worse than the flu (except maybe the burning breasts), but different in that there is still a baby to take care of. And you aren't getting the sleep needed to properly recooperate (Anna and I were up from 1:30 to 4:30am last night. She was having "issues." She projectile spit-up on me. I've never seen anything like it. It was a geyser.) My car is still out of commission (not that I really feel like going anywhere right now), but it adds another dimension to the cabin fever isolation I'm starting to feel.

Needless to say, I've been pretty down today.

And now my mother wants to come again. I have one of those types of moms that you can't tell your bad stuff, because then she insists on coming in to save the day. And she doesn't take no for an answer. I appreciate the help, but when she comes, I feel like a child again.

I would just like things to start finally being normal. I'm not meaning "normal" as in pre-baby. I like the baby. The baby can stay. I just mean "normal" as in non-crisis mode. No big feeding decisions to make, getting at least five straight hours of sleep at night, no mastitis, no colic, no smelly green mystery poo-- that's what I would consider "normal" right now. Maybe a trip to the mall with a happy, non-screaming baby to get a cookie at the Cookie Hut.

Normal.

If You Want To Know What A Screaming Banshee Sounds Like...

2005-03-28T11:01:00.000-06:00

This morning, someone in our household (cough--not me--cough cough) got the Purell alcohol hand sanitizer pump mixed up with the diaper rash cream pump.

Back to Ugh.

2005-03-28T07:17:00.000-06:00

I have a 101 degree fever again. I don't see how, because I am taking enough antibiotics for a mule.

I kind of thought it was coming back, because last night, my mind was spinning with so many things, I couldn't sleep. Usually I am out as soon as my head hits the pillow. When I am sick, my head gets obsessive. I don't know if anyone else is like that. It was spinning about my car, Anna, money, work, breastmilk, my burning boobs. I just couldn't turn it off.

One thing all that obsessing did get me was a possible answer for some of Anna's problems. (I obsessed online until midnight.) I am now pretty sure that I have a foremilk/hindmilk inbalance, or "oversupply syndrome colic." I kept reading about reflux, and it didn't seem quite right. But this oversupply fits perfectly. I've always known that I am a big milk producer, (I usually get twice as much as she needs-- hence the 100 bags of breastmilk in my shrinking freezer) but I thought it was a good thing. But apparently, it is not neccesarily, because I am producing too much foremilk.

I have been making sure I completely empty my breasts for the past few days, to get all the hindmilk. Then I put it in the fridge to coagulate. I guess most women's milk separates into about 1/4 hindmilk. Well, all I get is a tiny microscopic film on the top. It's always been this way, but I thought I was normal.

[The symptoms fit perfectly: appears colicky, fussy, gassy, burps "like an adult" or burps poorly, passes large amounts of flatus, spits up frequently (often appears to be large amounts), gains weight quickly, grunts frequently between feedings, may have hyperactive bowel sounds, wants to nurse very frequently, has a stuffy nose after feedings, has many (10-15) wet diapers per day, frequent diarrhea like green stools that may appear slimy and have and acrid smell due to fermentation of lactose in the infant gut, constant diaper rash.

And I have: persistent sore nipples, pain deep in the breast between feedings which may be from nerve irritation, repeated engorgement, plugged ducts and/or mastitis.]

The problem is what to do about it. All the solutions that I've read have to do with getting to the hindmilk, but I don't seem to be making any, for some reason.

Honestly, I'm getting closer and closer to just giving up this whole stinkin' mess and going to formula.

Bah.

Bad Momma

2005-03-27T12:37:00.000-06:00

I am a bad mother of a different sort. A bad cat mother. My poor kitties have been starved for attention for seven weeks now. Schaeffer and Elizabeth had gotten used to living in the lap of attention-luxury, and now they are desperate. If I have a free couple of minutes, I will go into the Cat Room (we sectioned off our T.V. room for them to live) and resolve to pet them each for ten full minutes. Invariably, that's when Anna starts wailing. Oh well.

I guess I didn't realize how much I groomed them before(they are Persians). Elizabeth is a walking matt-ball. My sister and I attempted to take the scissors to the matts, but it was hopeless. I made an appointment with a pet groomer, which I never thought I'd do, for Tuesday. She may have to be shaved. Horrors.

In other news, my poor '91 Honda may have kicked the bucket. Awhile back, I compared my Honda, in life stages, to a newly retired person. A little creaky, but still pretty reliable. Well, it's entered the nursing home. It's been in the shop twice in two weeks (which reminds me that I didn't write about my horrendous car experience last week. It involved me stranded on the interstate at night, in the rain, with a screaming baby, with the entire phone system shut down in our small town, and with a cell phone that could barely find a signal. Very awful.) Then it died again while Jason and I were out on a much needed, and very short, date. I spent the whole dinner fretting about the car and worrying that Anna's colic was driving her babysitting aunt and uncle to an early grave.

I've been delusional, for awhile, that my Honda was just fine, thank you very much. After the Stranded Ellen incident, I decided that my Honda could stick it where the sun don't shine.

It's interesting that I am usually very clear-headed in emergencies-- medical, emotional, and psychological. But when a car enters the scenerio, I panic. I have some weird car emergency panic-disorder. And last Tuesday night was my nightmare. Alone on a highway with my baby, with huge semi-trucks whizzing by. And when I think about having to go car hunting, and deal with car dealers and car prices and down payments and all of that, it just about makes me want to hyperventilate. But I've got to face the fact that my 200,000 mile two-door car probably isn't the most reliable or logical vehicle to be toting my seven week-old most precious cargo around town in.

Life has gotten complicated.

Double Ugh.

2005-03-25T21:24:00.000-06:00

Okay, I am going to be honest.

I am not enjoying myself right now.

And I am going to complain about it for awhile so read at your own risk.

The child cries all day long. Well, at least from noon until 10pm. If she isn't sleeping (which she rarely does during this time-- no naps for me, boo hoo), she is crying. She even cries while she eats. Right this moment, she is screaming in her swing, because I just cannot do anything for her right now. She has been crying non-stop for four hours. Actually, make that five weeks. But what can I do?

Is it "colic"? Is it reflux? Am I not producing enough hind milk? If I have a free moment (that I don't use to take a bathroom break), I am on the internet trying to figure out what in the heck is the problem.

And I am not angry at her for it...I just feel helpless because something is obviously wrong, and there seems to be nothing I can do for it. I know that I'm not a "bad mother" but I sure feel like it a lot. I think any person would if faced with four solid hours of a crying baby.

Colic. I have some things to say about that. It's the "expert's" catch-all phrase for "We don't have any idea why your baby is crying." Some say that it's sensitive bowels, some say it's just gas. The expert's half-hearted solutions make me want to laugh. "Try placing a pacifier in the baby's mouth." Have you tried to place a pacifier in a screaming baby's mouth? HA. The book The Happiest Baby On The Block even says that colic doesn't exist. You just aren't trying the right things-- the five S's: shushing, sucking, swinging, side/stomach and swaddling. Which each sometimes work, but not on a regular basis. Actually, that book made me feel a little worse, because then apparently, I'm just not doing the "right things." Listen, Happiest Baby, I am here to tell you-- colic EXISTS. In the end, from what I've read and gathered from other people, you just live with it and try not to go insane.

It just saddens me because they all say that it sometimes lets up by the third month, which is exactly the point when I will be going back to work. So I get screaming, miserable baby for three months, then daycare gets sweet, cooing baby. Unless, of course, this doesn't let up. In which case I will take up drinking heavily and often.

There. Done complaining. Had to get it out.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Ugh.

2005-03-25T12:44:00.000-06:00

Word to the wise: if you ever have the choice between having mastitis and not having mastitis, choose the latter option.

I developed a clogged milk duct a week ago, and managed to get it worked out. Then a few days later, I got another one. I got it worked out, also. Then I got another one in the first breast. This time I wasn't so lucky, and it started getting tender. I started having some aching in my legs and I thought, "Uh oh."

I have been on antibiotics since last night, and today I finally feel a little more like a human being. Yesterday was awful. Mastitis ranks up there with any flu I've ever had. I had a 102 degree fever, chills, sweats, aches and vomited up the small amount of food I had eaten at lunch. I don't know what I would've done without Jason last night. Despite having a cranky, fussy (yet damn cute) baby, last evening was the first time that I have thought, "I just can't do it." She would cry, and I would think, "Sorry." Of course, I was laying on the bathroom floor at the time.

So, for any women out there who have been sick with a newborn, and done it all anyway, my hat is off to you.

Mastitis and More

2005-03-24T14:12:00.000-06:00

I got the mastitis real bad-like. Bah. My boobs just suck.

On a positive note, Anna has been great today. She went three whole hours between feedings, and SLEPT, so maybe mastitis milk agrees with her.

I have now watched "When Disco Ruled The World" twice on VH1. Boy, that Studio 54 was a den of sin. Whoa nelly.

Another thing to add to the list of things I never thought I'd be doing, before becoming a mom, is goggling "Green Stool."

Still watching this Terri Schiavo mess on T.V. Not sure how I feel about it.

Mother Vindication Moment: Coming home from Wal-Mart last night, having a screaming baby thrust into my arms and being told, "I give up." Then getting her to stop crying (with one of my many tricks) in ten minutes. Ha ha!

Drugs

2005-03-20T16:43:00.000-06:00

Someone, awhile back, asked me to say something about my pregnancy and anti-depressants. As I have a few moments right now, I thought I would expound on the subject.

Back when I was first starting to try to get preggers, I was on Lexapro, an SSRI (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor.) Most of the new anti-depressants fall into this category-- Prozac, Zoloft, Paxil, Celexa, etc. They are Class C drugs for pregnancy, which means they are thought to be safe, but the researchers don't have enough long term studies to rule for sure. I had been on these type anti-depressants since 1998.

Midway through my pursuit of pregnancy, I decided to switch to Wellbutrin. Mainly for an improved libido (and how), but also because it is a Class B drug (it's not an SSRI.) After I got through the nasty start-up effects, I loved Wellbutrin and have been very happy with it.

I thought long and hard about quitting vs. staying on anti-depressants, with regard to pregnancy and breastfeeding. But when it came down to it, the benefits, for both Anna and I, greatly outweighed the risks. Researchers are pretty darn sure that there is no risk to the baby, and I was pretty darn sure that I would wind up with post-partum depression if I didn't take them.

It's a personal decision, to be sure, but I don't regret taking them in the least. Anna is just better off with a rational, non-depressed mother.

A New Trick

2005-03-20T16:15:00.000-06:00

We found one other thing that Anna likes besides her bath. Wal-Mart. We took her last night for the first time (you know, a rite of passage...) and she quieted down immediately. She didn't like sitting in her infant seat, so we held her the whole time. She stared up at the big florescent lights and the local hillbillies. Hey, whatever works.

That Baby

2005-03-18T19:58:00.000-06:00

Well, I was informed twice in one afternoon that I apparently have a "difficult" baby.

The first time was when my mom and I were driving in circles around the neighborhood trying to lull a screaming baby to sleep (no such luck.) My neighbors flagged us down to see Anna, and I rolled the window down, mid-scream (Anna, not me.) They gushed about how adorable she is (she is pretty damn cute) and then the wife said, "Oh, our first granddaughter was colicky and difficult, too. We preferred to call her 'sensitive.' It gets better eventually." Thanks.

The second time was when my brother-in-law's sister came to visit (is that a sister-in-law-in-law?) She has a little 15 month old. She sympathized as I bounced a still screaming Anna around the house. "My son was difficult, too. He had bad food allergies and reflux. It gets better eventually." Thanks.

The thing is, I didn't know that I had a difficult baby. But this week it has been dawning on me that, perhaps, Anna is a tad difficult. Part of it is that my mom spent her spring break here. I've been watching her get more and more exhausted this week. I thought it was just me, because I've been getting one hour of sleep at a time, but I don't think so. Anna just isn't happy (except her bath...loves the bath) with the world. I try not to blame myself, but sometimes it's hard.

I told my brother-in-law's mother (mother-in-law-in-law?), "Well, God certainly has a sense of humor. I read tons of baby books and breastfeeding books before I had her, and I had decided what kind of baby I was going to have...a quiet, cooing, angelic baby."

"This," I said, "is not that baby."

"Well," she said, "God has to put those babies somewhere."

For some reason, I found her comment oddly reassuring.

Musings from the World of Cabin Fever

2005-03-15T19:04:00.000-06:00

1) I both loathe and am addicted to "Celebrity Fit Club" on VH1. How did they find eight of the most self-centered and egotistical people on the planet and convince them to stand on a giant scale? I think that they have lost a total of about four pounds, because everyone refuses to do what the dietician and exercise instructor tell them to do. I hate this show. Yet I cannot turn away.

2) The other day, the thought suddenly occured to me that I was no longer suffering from morning sickness. About the same time that my husband realized that he was still scooping my cats' litter box for no good reason.

3) I've decided that no one is allowed to give me advice about nighttime feedings unless they are willing to get up with me.

4) For the first time in my life, I find myself pondering which is more important to me...75 bags of frozen breastmilk or rainbow sherbet?

5) Stupid romantic dumbass movies. I found myself sucked into and crying at the end of "The Notebook" against my better judgement. Argh.

6) At four in the morning, this whole "getting one hour of sleep at a time" seems like a big cosmic joke. Are you allowed to slip Ambien to a five week old? No?

7) My boss recently told me, "I really miss you. Hurry up and come back to work." I said, "Can't find anything, can you?" "Er, no...." he muttered. Ha ha! My work is done. I have job security. I have rendered my boss useless without me. My plan worked.

8) I have got to get out of this house. Or I may go mad.

Viewmasters

2005-03-12T20:25:00.000-06:00

My friend, Rebekah, hung out at my house yesterday. We were pregnant together at work, and she had her daughter about six weeks before me. We sat in the living room and fed our kids and talked for a couple of hours. It was refreshing to be with someone who knows where I am at right now. Not just looking back on the newborn stage, but actively in the trenches.

It's interesting how God gives people different experiences, for whatever reason. He lets you muck through some of the tough ones, and gives mercy in others. From what I can piece together of Rebekah's motherhood experience so far, things have been pretty smooth. I mean, she's got the rough patches, but Melody took to breastfeeding fairly quickly and was sleeping through the night by two weeks old. During the times I've been around her, Melody is quiet and happy. Yes, I'm a wee bit jealous. However, Rebekah had an exhausting pregnancy and tough labor. And I can honestly say that, from my experience with pregnancy/childbirth, I would do either again without hesistation. Breastfeeding, on the other hand.... I don't know.

People keep telling me, "Well, I bet it will be easy with your next one." (First off, it's presumptuous for me to think that there will be another one, but that's another kettle of fish.) But experience clouds our little mental Viewmasters so much. From what I experienced of breastfeeding, I can't imagine what it would be like to have an easy time with it. My friend, Mindy, stopped by my house last September with her two week old second child. As we stood talking in the driveway, she actually squatted down, and breastfed her baby under her shirt, all while never breaking the conversation. Wow. I cannot even FATHOM that. But yes, it's true. Maybe someday, I too will be a driveway-squatting-breastfeeder. Some women have such nasty childbirth experiences that they cannot fathom going through that again, or at least in the respective manner that they chose the first time. And some women get post-partum depression so badly that they cannot fathom deciding to have multiple children.

And I think that's okay. God gives us our specially designed Viewmasters for a reason (though at the time, I often have no clue why.) Somewhere down the road, hopefully I'll be able to pinpoint and say, "So that's why I was meant to go through that." Maybe in our little world, it was important that Jason was able to share in Anna's feedings. Or maybe I'll be in some hostage situation in the future where my very life depends on me being able to pump five ounces of milk out of my breasts in five minutes. Who knows.

Eureka!

2005-03-11T14:44:00.000-06:00

I think I may have it. The answer to all my prayers (well, maybe not all...) And it was sitting there the whole time!

My Baby Bjorn.

I bought this thing off Ebay way back in the day, like three years ago, when I was foolishly planning on having a baby "in the next year or so." I bought a New Native sling a month before I had Anna, as my one cave-in to Dr. Sears. I tried that thing a week or two ago and Anna effectively gave Dr. Sears the proverbial finger. (i.e. not a success.) Well, today, I saw that Bjorn again for the first time. I thought, "Hmmmmm...maybe..."

It is perfect. I feel freedom!!! I could tap dance! It is so comfortable, Anna is in snugbug heaven and I am typing. With BOTH HANDS! Woo hoo! I may sleep with this thing on. I may take a shower with it. I may marry it.

Now I am going to go make myself a sandwich. With BOTH HANDS!

Boo Hoo

2005-03-10T20:18:00.000-06:00

Okay. Dumb question. Are babies supposed to cry this much? If she's not eating or sleeping, she's crying. Isn't there supposed to be some pleasant awake time? Time when she's not pissed off about something? Jason thinks it's because I ate garlic bread.

I'm getting much better at letting her cry, though. It doesn't distress me as much. It's probably because my MIL told me about a hundred times, "Babies cry, Ellen." Thankfully, she's still pretty darn cute, even when she's crying, so that has saved her little butt from being thrown to the wolves on several occasions.

On a positive note, she let me sleep for four whole hours straight last night. I haven't had that much sleep in a row since...well, the night before she was born.

Not much else going on. Feeding, burping, rocking. Oh! My microwave died. Kaput. That was the most exciting thing in my world this week.

Getting On With It

2005-03-07T21:50:00.000-06:00

Well, if there's some initiation into motherhood, I think I had it. Today, while changing Anna's diaper, she projectile pooped on me. We are talking poo shooting out of her rear with such force that it spewed at least two feet. It was absolutely nasty, but pretty funny.

Things are going well. I have accepted my position as a member of the Exclusive Pumpers Club. Apparently, there are a lot of us out there. I've been checking out tips and questions online. I guess I have a pretty good breast milk supply. I usually get about 48 ounces out a day. I end up freezing quite a bit, so we're going to need a little deep freezer soon.

There are definite benefits to pumping. For one thing, it gives me some freedom to be separated from Anna for a few hours at a time (though not my pump, due to my breasts potentially exploding.) Also, Jason is able to be much more involved with the feedings, which he really seems to love. His family was here this past week and they gave me a real break for a day or two. Anna spent a good deal of time being schnoodled by my mother-in-law and sister-in-law (while I took some much appreciated naps.) My SIL even got up with me during Friday night feeding sessions to feed her, while I pumped. Before she left, my sister-in-law said to me, "Thank you for letting us have Anna so much." Which I find highly amusing, as they joyfully changed many a stinky diaper. Hey, no skin of my back there. But apparently her sister-in-law (on the other side) has always "hovered" whenever she tried to help.

And I have always secretly wanted to be a bartender, and measuring all that breastmilk in the bottles makes me feel a bit like one.

"Everything I Needed To Know I Learned From My Trashy Magazine"

2005-03-04T10:39:00.000-06:00

One thing I have become an expert on, in these past few weeks, is celebrity gossip. During this time in my life, my brain has been unable to handle any information more strenuous than whether Brad and Jen are back together or not. I have read about fifteen gossip/trash magazines since Anna's birth (and prior to birth, as half of these were read while I was in labor.) Here is what I have learned from People, US Weekly, InTouch, Star and Life & Style:

1) If you need to feel smart, but don't actually have any real knowledge, work a gossip magazine crossword puzzle. (Sample question: "George Lucas's film, Star _____")

2) If you are a new hot celebrity couple, never trust the flattery of a gossip magazine, for they will eventually turn on you like a boa constrictor on a rat. One minute, you are the love of a lifetime, the next you are the worst coupling in the history of the universe. (Examples: Bennifer, Brad Pitt/Jennifer Anniston, Nick Lachy/Jessica Simpson...)

2) Also watch out if you are the next It Girl. Eva Longoria, I am talking to you. (Past examples: Tara Reid, Lindsey Lohan, Paris Hilton, Winona Ryder...)

3) I don't care what "Fashion" says, celebrities cannot dress themselves. (PRIME example: Mary Kate Olsen. When did the "Bag Lady" look become fashion? Frankly, it smacks heartily of the parody in "Zoolander," if you ask me.)

4) Weight-wise, you cannot win with the gossip magazines. The balance between being judged "fat" and "anorexic" is razor thin.

5) For that matter, do not read gossip magazines if you struggle with your weight AT ALL. When someone like Kate Winslet is judged as "hefty," you know that you are in trouble.

6) And don't you DARE gain more than twenty pounds while pregnant. And you'd better lose it in a week post-partum. (Of course, having four personal trainers and seven nannies helps a bit.)

7) After childbirth, no celebrity seems to suffer from sleep deprivation, post-partum depression or breastfeeding problems (sorry, had to throw that one in.)

8) Pregnancy seems to be easily obtainable (and very hip), if you are a celebrity. Infertility doesn't seem to exist, or at least nobody fesses up to it (Courtney Cox and Brooke Shields being the exception.)

9) If you are feeling lonely, just read your trashy magazine horoscope, because love always seems to be in the air, whatever your sign.

10) The more expensive your purse, the higher you rank. If your purse costs more than $1,000, you are probably A-List status. If it is from K-Mart, chances are you were a reality show ejectee.

...That's really all I've learned. But I am grateful for the past few weeks of mental unstimulation. Thank you, Wal-Mart checkout line.

Relief

2005-03-04T09:46:00.000-06:00

I've felt a great deal of relief since making my decision two days ago to just pump. A huge relief, actually. Yet...still disappointed that nursing didn't work. But oh well. I've got to stop thinking about it and move on. I am going to take Selzach's advice and check out those pumping sites.

The difference that making that decision had was huge. I felt in a holding pattern for three and a half weeks. The thought of taking her out of the house seemed impossible until I had made a decision to pump, or at least gotten good at nursing. Yesterday, though, MIL and I actually went to the mall with her!

MIL shopped and I slowly pushed Anna around the mall in her stroller while she slept. The mall was crawling with stay-at-home moms with their strollers. I've never seen so many strollers in that mall. But then, I'm usually sitting in a meeting or such at 2pm on a Thursday afternoon. Actually, I felt a bit like an imposter, with my stroller chock full o'baby. Like someone was going to jump out from behind the Baby Gap sign, and yell, "I banish thee!" But then, in the Dillard's bathroom, giving Anna her bottle, in walks another girl my same age with a stroller and also toting her mother/MIL. She had that same "I'm an imposter" look to her eye, also. She asked how old Anna was, and I said "three and a half weeks." She said "Mine too. When was yours born?" "February 6th." "Mine too!" Turns out that we had our babies an hour apart in the same hospital. She, during the Super Bowl pre-game show; me, in the first half. Very odd.

I wonder when you finally start feeling comfortable in the Mom Skin.

The Real Question

2005-03-02T11:59:00.000-06:00

Tigger had a very good question a post or two ago. Why do I want to breastfeed so bad? If I am pumping, she's still getting the breastmilk, which is sort of the point. (By the way, we decided against going the formula route. I figured that I am already producing about a free gallon a day, so I might as well save that money for diapers.) Interesting that she should ask me that, because my husband has been asking me that for about a week now.

Answer: I am not sure. Truthfully, it's not for her sake. She is well-fed, and actually much happier with the bottle. It's really all about me. Part of it is that in my dreams of motherhood, breastfeeding was part of the scenario. I guess giving that up is giving up a dream of mine. I know that even when the breastfeeding is working like clockwork, it isn't always sunshine and roses. But it's just something that I always wanted to do, peer pressure having nothing to do with it.

Another reason is simplicity. I would love to be able to take out the middle man ("middle man" being that pump and all the bottles to wash.)

But honestly, a big part of my anxiety and frustration probably lies mixed up in my lifelong struggle with depression. People who have dealt with depression will probably know what I am talking about...with depression, there is a fair amount of emotional self-battery that goes on. Through therapy and medication (and let me say, you would be seeing a whole different Ellen entirely if I wasn't still taking my Wellbutrin), I have managed to combat the negative self-talk. I learned to start saying to myself, "That's not true" when the little voice in my head (metaphorically-- I am not going crazy) tells me that I am hopeless or worthless. But motherhood opened a whole new can of worms. Every time, since that first day when she refused to latch, I've had a little voice saying, "FAILURE." Rationally, I know that this is not true. But depression and all it's nastiness is not rational.

Which... is leading me to believe that, for my own sanity and to ward off possible post-partum depression, I should probably just let it go and accept the situation for what it is: a healthy baby who is still getting breastmilk. Part of accepting the situation is accepting myself yet again-- the Ellen who has a "not normal" aspect to consider when making "normal" decisions. Not falling into the Depression Pit.

Because trust me, that would suck ten times more than having to pump seven times a day.

One More Thought

2005-03-01T21:56:00.000-06:00

I've just got to say that I have never in my life discussed, and had so much attention focused on, my breasts. My husband actually declared today that he was sick and tired of my boobs. That's a first for Mr. Handsie (as he was known when we were dating.)

Boobie Boot Camp: A Summary

2005-03-01T21:34:00.000-06:00

On the whole, Boobie Boot Camp was a resounding failure. However, it has now gotten to the comical point, so we've at least passed that hurdle.

Some of the things we tried (many thanks to everyone for their suggestions):

1) Stripped her to her diaper. This one actually helped a lot. She hates being naked, so she definitely stayed awake (If anyone watches Arrested Development, I foresee her turning into a "Never Nude" like Tobias, complete with the cutoff jeans.)

2) Every different kind of hold there is. Cradle, cross cradle, football, lying down...

3) Jason rubbing her head. And her feet, back and tushie.

4) Squishing up my nipple into all sorts of different contortions to get it in her mouth.

5) Holding her arms behind her back.

6) Bribes.

7) Slathering my nipples in chocolate ice cream. (Just kidding, but really did consider it at one point.)

8) Dribbling breast milk in her mouth and on my nipples.

9) Stood up, and Jason got a running start to jam her head on my boob. (I am actually not kidding about this one.)

Needless to say, we're back where we started. Our last hope is this lady that my friend, Shelley, knows (and had help with her daughter) who is known as a breastfeeding miracle worker. If she can't help, then I will officially see nursing as a loss, and just continue bonding with my Medela pump.

All I've got to say about this whole breastfeeding experience so far is "Oh poop." (Now that I am a mother, I've got to watch my language a little more.)

Boobie Boot Camp

2005-03-01T12:47:00.000-06:00

I have decided, though it will probably take a lot of crying on both of our parts, to put Anna through Boobie Boot Camp this week. I'm only going to do the bottle as a last resort.

Pray for me!!

(Last night was much better, by the way. She had her colicky period at her normal 7pm to 10pm time slot. And I gave her to MIL and took a shower. ha ha)

The Problem

2005-02-28T22:45:00.000-06:00

My mother-in-law got here today and I think she figured out what the problem is. Anna is not sucking hard enough on my breast. She kind of half-heartedly sucks, then falls asleep. Then wakes up ten minutes later, extremely hungry and mad. This development now makes sense as to why my milk refused to come in for eight days...

My MIL asked me if I felt a "whooshing" feeling while she was feeding, followed by her swallowing vigorously. Nope, never felt that.

So, how do you make a baby suck hard enough? How do you keep them awake, but not furious at you? Advice greatly appreciated.

Bad Night

2005-02-28T12:49:00.000-06:00

What a bad night. It started at 11pm and lasted until 11am. Anna slept a total of an hour and a half, which by default, means that I slept an hour and a half. It was 12 hours of what we were going through in the evenings last week. I called the pediatrician this morning, just to make sure this was normal.

I described the gassiness, wailing, fussiness and crunching up. The nurse said, "Sounds like classic colic." I said, "NO! I didn't plan on having a colicky baby! In fact, I planned on not having a colicky baby!" She laughed and said, "Well, it should be gone by about three months." Three months?! Hey hey! Ellen did not sign on for this!

I asked her if there was anything I could do and she said, "Get some help. You're going to need it."

Hrm.

Last night, around three or so, I decided that I was the worst mother in the world. Three o'clock in the morning with no sleep and a gassy, crying baby can do that to you, I suppose. Around four o'clock, while pumping my breasts with my two hands and rocking Anna's infant carrier with my foot (and stinking up the joint, as I am covered in poo and spit-up), I revised my decision. No! I am the best mother in the world! I am the Queen Mother. I rock. I am subjecting my nipples to torture seven times a day for this child. I am going 12 hours with no sleep for this child. I am still somehow able to kiss her sweaty head, even while she is screeching.

Of course, the light of dawn caused me to revise my decision back to worst mother in the world, but at least I had one moment of enlightenment.

Fuzzy Logic

2005-02-26T16:17:00.000-06:00

I think I am having mild Baby Blues. Which I am aware is normal. It's different than the "sobbing whilst sitting on the toilet" episodes from weeks one and two. It's more like an emotional weariness.

I know that a lot of it is hormones and the growing realization that my life will never be the same. Which I am actually ultimately fine with. (I don't want to put her back in or anything.) But I think that it still takes a fair amount of acceptance. Jason lets me run to Wal-Mart without Anna, and I find myself savoring getting to stand in the Maxi Pad aisle by myself. But then my boobs start to leak all over my shirt, so that brings me back to reality.

I also think some of my Baby Blues are due to my confusion concerning feeding Anna. I just feel fuzzy. I have never been good at making decisions. Making large ones have usually sent me into a depressive tailspin. Right now, my whole menta l life is wrapped around what type of food goes into a little seven pound creature, and how the said food gets in there.

(The following is all pretty boring stuff, so feel free to skip this section on my feeding process.) What we have been doing is breastfeeding Anna during the day. First I try to get her to take the right breast. When she refuses that, I try the left breast. When she refuses that, I pull a bottle of breastmilk out of the fridge for her, feed her, then pump. If she happens to take the left breast, she nurses for forty five minutes, and then is generally hungry again an hour later. If I give her the bottle, it's two hours. End this with a half hour of trying to burp her and calm her wailing from all the gas build-up. Not much time left for anything else.

Which is why we made the decision to give her formula at night, so I could get a little sleep. She usually promptly falls asleep after the formula, and rarely needs burping. She also goes three to four hours between feedings. It's no wonder that I am greatly wooed by "the dark side." In fact, today (Saturday) we are trying a little experiment. I am pumping all day, and we are seeing how she does on formula. It's been pretty great, unfortunately (cue Darth Vader rasping: "Luke, join me... bring the Similac.") The real test will be this evening. I've had a week's worth of evening wailing sessions, due to gas.

A friend of mine called yesterday and reported back on a co-worker, who had her baby a week after me. She said, "Yeah, her baby latched right on. Apparently, they are naturals." I said, "I hate her."

I just feel paralyzed to make a decision, though. I really did want the 1970's glowing mother suckling child experience. I don't think it's possible, though. Jason asked me last night, "What do you want to do?" I said, "I want breastfeeding to be easy and do that." He said, "From where you are at in reality, what do you want to do?" I thought and said, "I honestly don't know."

What else is keeping me from giving up breastfeeding completely? Well, everything, every book, every doctor, even the side of the Similac can, say, "Breast is best." Also, and probably a dumb reason, but one often finds one amazed by what peer pressure can do, but every one of my friends has breastfed. By not sticking it out, I am a wuss. I have gotten lots of reassurance that, by two to three weeks, it suddenly gets much easier. I confessed to one friend that I was thinking of switching to formula. She said, "Oh, but it gets so much easier!" I told her that we were already giving her formula at night, and she said, "Oh." That was the "Oh" that constantly resounds in my head. The "I've already screwed it up by not trying to nurse her the minute she came out of my womb and then I resorted to pumping and formula at night" Oh. It's the same "Oh" I hear when people find out I'm returning to work.

I think that this whole experience has actually revealed to me several issues, which have lurked in my life for many years. 1) Caring what other people think way too much and 2) Not trusting my own Life Instincts.

...but right now, Le Baby stirs. Ellen out.

Disjointed Thoughts

2005-02-19T11:52:00.000-06:00

1) Thank you to everyone who has commented, given me advice, encouragement and prayers. I am very grateful-- though slightly unable to reply right now, as time will only allow for one event to occur after every feeding ("Shall I pee this time? Hmmm...pet my cats? Maybe drink that bottle of vodka?").

2) Breastfeeding. Well, last night, I managed to get her to willingly take the "bad boob." Three whole times. And then once this morning. But I figured out that she will ONLY take it after she's had the good one and had her diaper changed... and she has to be slightly sleepy, but not too sleepy. If any of these things is slightly out of whack, nope. Ain't fallin' for it.

3) I have almost watched an entire season of "Monk" in the past four days.

4) My mother finally left this morning. It's a long story, but here's the short version: it was nice having the help, but it will be nice to finally get to be the parent.

5) My husband has officially become a proponent of formula. He hates breastfeeding more than I do. The thing is, I tell him, when it is going well, it's nice. I like having her close and "suckling" (erk, hate that term). But when it's bad, I do not have a soothing husband in the background, saying, "Come on, honey, you can do it..." No, he's chanting, "For-mu-LAH! For-mu-LAH!" I'll be honest... she sleeps longer, digests it better, barely needs burping and seems much happier when we use it. For the past couple of nights, it's been a simmering stew between Jason and my mother. She is fiercely against it. She even stayed up late last night, we think, to keep Jason from supplementing with a formula bottle after I fed Anna. So basically, we've been sneaking around the house at four in the morning, giving her formula and quietly washing the bottle evidence, so she would sleep longer than an hour. And no, I know that this is not emotionally healthy, but as I said earlier, it's a long story.

6) Thank goodness for Secrets of The Baby Whisperer book. I have found it invaluable. She is just practical and makes sense to me. I know that life will seem more normal when we are on a rough schedule, so that is my goal by six weeks.

7) Not that I was a flaming Ferber Method person before I had Anna, but I definitely had my mind made up how things were going to go. She'd be breastfeeding with ease, sleeping in her crib and there would be NO nipples introduced before six weeks, other than my own. Well, ha ha. We all know the breastfeeding situation. I had a pacifier in her mouth as we left the hospital. And she sleeps either on top of me, or curled up next to me, as we sleep on the couch at three in the morning, watching "Monk." "Cry it out"? The child can't whimper without being picked up and comforted. And I don't give a RAT'S ASS. I still want to get her on a schedule, but I am overwhelmed by the knowledge that she is only going to be a baby for so short an amount of time. If I want to rock my baby to sleep, then I'm going to do it. I will deal with the consequences later.

The Great Breast Wars Strikes Back

2005-02-18T13:22:00.000-06:00

I'd like to revise my statement from a week ago. My child does not hate my breasts. She hates ONE breast. The right one. Since Day One. And here it is Day Thirteen.

Monday was a pretty good day. She sucked herself onto the left breast and I managed to lob her head onto the right breast (or the "bad boob," as we like to call it around here) a few times. It deteriorated from there, though. By late Monday evening, I started feeding her the left breast every two hours, then pumping the right one afterward, to keep it from withering away. After cleaning bottles and rocking her to sleep, I had perhaps a half hour to tend to myself before the next feed. This, my friends, does not leave much extra time for even the neccesities in life.

Wednesday had me near tears in the pediatrian's office, pleading with her to tell me what to do (F.Y.I. new baby check went great.) Nursing is one thing. Pumping is another. But nursing AND pumping is another animal quite unto itself. She gave me lots of pointers and tips, and even said that the same thing happened to her with her second (she ended up pumping exclusively.) But in the end, she told me it was up to me. Damn that woman. I honestly secretly wanted her to say, "Oh dear. I order you to switch to formula."

So I've kept nursing and pumping. Nursing and pumping. Nursing and pumping. Yesterday, I prayed that God would help me make a decision by this weekend. I called the lactation consultant and she's coming by on Saturday. I asked her, "Is it possible to just use one breast?" She said, "Sure, but you will be lopsided." I said, "I do not care. Bring on the stuffies."

...oh, by the way, I do really love my daughter and would go through all of this again and more for her. I just hate breastfeeding. In fact, I think my mind has officially shifted into Mother Mode. I am already dreading the day I have to drop her off at Daycare (found myself crying in the shower at the thought) and having the panic dreams where I've dropped her or can't find her. I'm assuming it just gets worse from here.

Happy Valentine's Day

2005-02-14T11:43:00.000-06:00

Today, as the best Valentine's Day present ever, Anna latched by herself. No tears and no bribes.

Whoo hoo!

The Great Breast Wars Part Deux

2005-02-13T20:25:00.000-06:00

I thank everyone for their breastfeeding suggestions. My friend, Shelley, read my post and called me immediately to offer support, which helped greatly. I've been so frustrated and obsessed with my breasts this past week, I've barely spoken to anyone except the family who are camped out at my house. She also went through the trauma of engorgement two years ago, so she had some good advice.

However.

Last night, I finally fell apart big time. I was on the fourth day of my breasts feeling like rocks. I was pumping every hour and a half yesterday, so I couldn't even get a nap. I didn't hold my daughter until the evening to feed her (well, I can barely get her out of my family's arms anyway...) Nothing was working. Around 8pm, I pumped for forty-five minutes and got an ounce. Tears came. And my mom means well, but she began demanding that I call the lactation consultant, the doctor, the nurse, the hospital, anyone. The last thing I could bear at this point was getting on the phone and calling a complete stranger to talk about my boobs. My mom and I ended up arguing loudly, with her trying to force the phone into my hand.

I ended up sobbing in the bathroom, exhausted and in pain. I just felt like a failure as a mother. And yes, I realize that I was irrational and hormonal. My husband finally pulled me over to the bed and just held me for awhile. I just cried and let him. I finally told God that I admitted defeat. I didn't know what to do.

My mom came in and told me that she'd been calling around and the hospital told me to come back in so they could check me out. I'm still slightly pissed at her for going over my head, but it was probably for the best in the end. Feeling humiliated, covered in formula, and tear-stained, Jason took me to the hospital.

The nurses checked me in, and I could tell that they thought I was crazy (hell, even I thought I was crazy for being there). But they had me put on a gown, poked at my boobs, and acknowledged that, although I was very engorged, I didn't have mastitis. My doctor's partner got on the phone with me (mine was out of town) and he was very consoling and kind. He gave me some tips, assured me that I was doing all the right things, told me that I wasn't a failure and told me to give it a few more days. He also told me that if I wanted to quit, there was no loss of honor in that. I told him I didn't. Then we left.

Remembering one bit of advice from Shelley, we ran by Target and bought an Avent hand pump. I don't know if it was the new pump, or the bit of reassurance from the doctor, or that I just needed to relax long enough for my milk to come in, but things started flowing today. I think I finally let down. Relief!

I guess the thing with this motherhood thing is that you have to set small goals for yourself and not beat yourself up too bad. For instance, last Wednesday, my goal was pooping for the first time after giving birth. That was my major life goal at that point. Right now, I just want to keep my daughter fed and keep my milk flowing.

The Great Breast Wars

2005-02-12T14:19:00.000-06:00

It's official. My daughter hates my breasts. No, really. She hates them. The lactation consultant is even slightly baffled. She said, "Well, occasionally I see this happen..."

From the minute I tried to breastfeed last Sunday night, my sweet-natured, snuggley baby has shrieked whenever my breast comes near her. On Monday afternoon, the lactation consultant poked and prodded my breasts for two hours trying to entice my child to latch, while I exhaustedly tried to keep from falling asleep. We finally barely got her on with the help of a breast shield (which, let's face facts, is just a plastic bottle nipple placed on your boob) and a syringe of glucose water dribbled over the nipples.

We brought her home, and thus began a three day non-stop marathon (and I'm not exaggerating with "non-stop") of latching attempts, screaming, half-hearted sucking, repeated 200 more times. And Mylicon. Oh, the Mylicon! Frankly, I think that was what was sustaining her for four days.

And yet, my milk refused to come in. Finally, on Thursday night, we bowed under the pressure and gave her a bottle of formula. And I don't give a rat's ass if the entire La Leche League comes over to burn me in effigy, it worked. She ate. She slept. She smiled. She turned back into my sweet baby. (Jason breathed a huge sigh of relief, as he was starting to think we'd gotten a lemon.) I got five whole hours of sleep. Five whole freaking hours.

The next day, World War Three in the Great Breast Wars began. I am horribly engorged by this point, and my milk just refused to let down. We start trying to latch again , but now, even getting near my nipples send her into full-on panic mode. It is now taking about four people to try to get her to latch. I hold the breast, my mother tries to pour sugar water all over my nipples, my husband holds her head and my sister tries to keep her flailing arms down (she actually starts batting us away with her hands.) We call the lactation consultant, only this time, my mother, heaven forbid, gets on the phone with her (as I am crying.) First the lactation consultant reprimands my husband and mother for letting them talk me into giving her formula. Then my mom tells her a thing or two about the kind of week we just had and sort of demands that the consultant inform us when my milk was going to let down (like the consultant knows this.) Anyway, we basically got a chipper "Keep trying! Go get some cabbage leaves!"

I decided to give it one more college try. Well, that college must have been instituted in hell, because that latching attempt was so awful that I decided it was the final straw.

Therefore, an executive decision was made yesterday that I am pumping, and Anna is bottlefeeding. I have been doing it since Friday night, and she is a completely different child. I keep feeling slightly guilty, knowing that I won't have that sweet 1970's dayglow mother and child breast-bonding experience. But then I look at her happy and sleeping. Pumping, here I come.

However, here is my other problem. My milk STILL will not let down. I am doing hot compresses, cold green pea bags, cabbage leaves (Hey! A salad!), massaging and pumping every hour and a half. I manage to barely pump out enough to keep up with her feedings...but is there some trick I don't know? I'm definitely clogged up. I have little weird cloggy pockets pooching out and I am still as hard as a rock. Any advice is greatly appreciated, moms.

I Now Have A Baby. Wow.

2005-02-09T21:04:00.000-06:00

Hi! I am managing to grab a few moments to write, since my dear dear husband is rocking the baby. Thank you for all your sweet comments. It meant a lot to me.

We are all doing really well. I couldn't have asked for a better experience, and I thank everyone who prayed for us. We went in at 7:30am on Sunday, and the nurses quickly got me hooked up to the Pitocen and off we went. The epidural was put in around 9:00am, just as the contractions were beginning. The epidural is HIGHLY recommended by Ellen. Love the epidural. I truly feel like I actually enjoyed labor and delivery. Every time I looked up at that screen, I felt a huge sense of thankfulness that I was not feeling those wavey lines.

My mom, sister and brother-in-law showed up late morning, and we all hung out reading trashy gossip magazines. My mother was amazed by the whole experience-- she gave birth to me in an Army hospital in Germany, no drugs, no pampering, and even had to change her own sheets every day.

The baby was really low and dropped, apparently, so when I was dilated to 9 around 6:00pm that night, it was time to start pushing. Believe it or not, it was actually a pretty laid-back experience. We actually kept the Super Bowl on in the background (And the nurse said I was an awesome pusher!) I probably pushed through about 15 contractions or so, and there she was! Jason cut the cord, and they put her on my chest. I'm not sure what I thought she'd look like, but she looked perfect. When I saw her, I thought, "Yes, exactly."

I am such a planner in life. I planned for feeling like I had been hit by a Mac Truck (which I do), feeling exhausted and a little down (which I certainly do) feeling like I am doing everything wrong (which I really do) and feeling frustrated at breastfeeding (which I really really do.) But I guess I didn't count on loving her so much. She's just perfect, and has the sweetest, cuddliest little personality. She has perfect little ears and big round eyes. I even love her when she is wailing. She is beautiful (and yes, I may be biased, but the nurses told me that she was a favorite in the nursery. so there. hee hee)

I am also overwhelmed with gratefulness to my family and my husband. I do not know what I would do without my mother here. Seriously. I would be laying on the floor in sobs, probably.

Right now, I am praying for my milk to come in, my butt to feel like normal again and maybe two hours of sleep tonight. Keep praying for me, I need it.

My husband, the photo hound, added a bunch of pictures to Anna's site. Some are sticky and gross, but enjoy.

Anna Marie

2005-02-07T13:19:00.000-06:00

Hello everyone, this is Jason, Ellen's husband writing to let you know that Anna Marie was born on Sunday February 6th, 2005 at 6:39 pm. Weight: 7lbs 3oz, Length: 19 1/2 inches. Ellen is currently recovering and will be back soon to give you all the details. She was amazing during the birth of Anna, and pushed her out in under 40 min.

Tomorrow

2005-02-05T15:36:00.000-06:00

Looks like we're inducing Sunday morning, 7:30am!

I went and had my blood pressure checked yesterday afternoon, and it had gone up more. I had two options: induce Sunday or come back Monday morning for another check. If it hadn't gone down, he would want to induce then. I chose Sunday. My body seems like it is primed up anyway and ready for a small push over the edge.

We thought about not telling anyone that we were going to induce. Just "Surprise!" afterwards. I mean, that's how it would be if I went into labor on my own. But we went ahead and called the ole' parental units. After each of us got off the phone, we looked at each other and knew we should have just waited. Are all parents this way? What I want as an adult "child" is a "Hooray! We're so excited! We'll be praying for you!" Not "Are you sure that's the right decision? What did the doctor say?" (Um, he suggested it.) "Have you checked your insurance to make sure your hospital stay is covered?" (Um, that's usually why you have insurance...) "Well, you need to be lying down until then." (Aye aye, capt'n.)

I know that parents do this second-guessing, nagging, half-scolding thing because they love us. I know this. It is firmly planted in my head. But when is it time to let go? Not stop the loving, just stop the parenting. I'm already worried about this with my own child. Thirty years from now, I don't want her rolling her eyes, phone propped up under her chin, saying, "I know, Mom..."

I will hand it to my father that he has done a really good job separating himself from his former "daddy" role. He actually made a point of it after I became an adult. I remember he once told me that he saw his parenting job as successful when I didn't need him anymore and could see him as a friend. I guess that has quietly happened. And the thing is, I am more apt to ask him for his advice now. Maybe because the emotional parent aspect of it isn't there. The "Do this or you will deeply regret it!" aspect. When my dad gives his advice, that's really all it is. Just advice.

I know it's probably tougher for mothers, though. You've spent a good part of your life fiercely protecting your brood and wiping dirt off their faces with your own spit. Sort of like a mother bear. But even mother bears have to run their cubs up the tree when Cub Independence Day finally comes.

All this being said, my "mommy" is coming to help for the week. She was actually begging to come today and go grocery shopping and bathroom cleaning. And I know it was purely out of love because she even offered to come make sure my cats got enough attention while we're at the hospital. (She humors me about my animal obsession, though has never really understood it.) And I'm sure I will be begging for the baby advice very shortly.

Anyway, everyone, we'll keep you posted. Pray for me! (And pray I don't poop on the delivery room table...)

Bring It On

2005-02-04T10:30:00.000-06:00

I'm still here. I swear, I don't think this child is ever coming out. What else is she waiting for? I am dilated to 3 (maybe 4 by now, who knows), sans mucus plug, have constant random contractions and she has moved so far down, I don't even think I have a bladder anymore. Maybe she's waiting for the Super Bowl to start (side note: my new nursing bras eerily smack of Janet Jackson's "wardrobe malfunction.") Or Valentine's Day. Or, heaven forbid, St. Patrick's Day.

I am trying to just appreciate the last few days (weeks?! months?!) of non-parenthood. I have been really blessed to not have sleep problems throughout this pregnancy, so I have been savoring my pillow. I have been laying on the couch watching "C.S.I." on Spike TV. I got my hair trimmed. I have been having lunch with the girls and loudly singing Destiny's Child songs by myself in the car.

The thing is, I'm mentally BORED. Maybe that's what waiting does to you. In the evening, I wander around the house looking for something to do, yet not wanting to do anything. In a weird way, I'm like, "Bring on the sleeplessness! Bring on the sore boobs! Rough me up! Come on, I can take it!" Two weeks ago, I did not feel this way. Maybe God set up the 40 week timeline for a purpose. By that point, the waiting and uncomfortability has become like Chinese water torture on your forehead. Drip. Drip. Drip. Okay! Okay! Just give me that baby! That screaming, stinky, demanding baby! I cannot eat bonbons and watch Spike TV for one more minute...

I'm sure that I will be begging for the bonbons again soon enough.

(I get my blood pressure checked again today. We'll see how that goes.)

A Better Day

2005-02-01T10:23:00.000-06:00

Went to see the doc today. I am now dilated to three. Which probably explains why it feels like a baby is going to fall out of my vagina when I walk. My blood pressure also spiked, so they are going to check it again on Friday. If it spikes more, he'll probably just go ahead and induce this weekend. I'm fine with that. However, he said that it wouldn't surprise him if I just go into labor on my own this week.

I think I finally got through to my boss. Actually, my cankles did. Yesterday, he was ruminating over my "What's Left To Do" list and said, "Oh... this is doable. I can do THIS." I think he thought I was possibly leaving him with the List From Hell. So then he caught a look at my cankles and did a double-take. "Wow! Those are like logs!" Yes, sir, thank you very much.

So this morning, when I came in, he told me that he'd had a nightmare that my husband tried to attack him because work stress had caused my ankles to explode. He then propped my trashcan under my legs and told me to take it easy and roll my socks down if I needed to. It was very sweet.

Warning: Complaining

2005-01-30T11:32:00.000-06:00

It's 11am Sunday morning, I am 38 weeks pregnant and at work. Working. I am uncomfortable, not particularly happy and my ankles are now cankles. And I am working. On a Sunday morning. Hrmph.

This stupid project. My boss keeps asking me if it's going to be out to overseas before I have the baby. I have worked my big pregnant ASS off for the past month and a half, getting more frantic and uncomfortable by the day. I haven't had any time to "nest" at home because of this damn work project. After working all weekend, I decided NO MORE. I will do my overtime today, but after this, I am not wasting any non-scheduled work time thinking about it. And if he asks, I already have my answer prepared: "I have done all I can. I am about to pop. Deal with it."

Besides, I really don't think it's going to be much longer. "Stuff" is happening. (IF YOU DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT FEMALE STUFF, STOP READING NOW.) I lost my mucus plug last Thursday, and since then, it's been a pantie parade of all sorts of goo. Is a bloody show the same thing as losing your mucus plug? Because I had something happen on Friday that "bloody show" would probably describe accurately. I'm calling it the Bloody Horror Picture Show. ("It's just a drip to the left, and then a gush to the ri-i-i-i-i-ight. Put your hands on your hips, and pull your panties up tight! Let's lose the mucus plug again!!!")

The only person truly interested in my bodily fluids is my sister. And I haven't the faintest idea why. She's been reading "What To Expect When You Are Expecting" so she asks me to describe the consistency and color and volume of my goo, then tries to determine when Anna will make her appearance. She thinks my labor will start tonight; my brother-in-law thinks Monday night. I am actually thinking maybe Tuesday night. Jason doesn't really care. He's done his "job"-- he installed the car seat. As long as he doesn't have to hear any more Goo Stories, he is fine whenever she decides to make her entrance.

I'll keep everyone posted.

Party Down South

2005-01-25T09:35:00.000-06:00

Went into the doc today and I am dilated to 2. I told Jason afterwards and he said, "Is that a lot?" and I said, "Well, I push her out at 10." So the doctor said my cervix is looking very favorable.

He also did an ultrasound and he said it appeared that she was around 6 1/2 pounds. I said, "As long as she isn't 17 pounds like that baby from Brazil." Or Columbia. Well, it was someplace in South America recently.

And the internal exam was not half as bad as I had prepared myself for. No bed of roses, but not the agony that it apparently was for my friend.

Well, I'm not sure I'm totally prepared, but things are happening.

Boob Talk

2005-01-24T09:08:00.000-06:00

A confession to make... I am not a fan of the pregnancy boobs. I thought I was a fan at first, probably because they were such a novelty. Two weeks after the double lines appeared, I marched myself into Wal-Mart and bought some "C" bras. Wow! Me! In a "C"! Whoo hoo! But now those same bras are way too tight, I've got the ugly blue veins going on and the boobs just keep getting in the way. I keep spilling beverages on them. And the top of my tummy touches the bottom of my boobs. I've decided that I don't like that.

I know, I know...just get thee back to Wal-Mart (I'm not going Vickie's Secret on bras that I will only wear for nine months) and get some good supportive "D"s. No. No no no. I already bought the ugly "D" nursing bras, I am NOT spending any more extra money on my poofy boobs.

I miss my wee "B"s.

The Scolder

2005-01-20T09:05:00.000-06:00

I work with a Scolder. She’s only a few years older than me, but in the five years that I’ve known her, she’s always struck me as an old woman. She only recently, in the past few months, began working in my department. In those months, I’ve been “scolded,” like a child, more times than I can count.

She scolded me a few months ago for saying that I was coming back to work after the baby was born. (“After you have that baby in your arms, you’ll feel differently.”) She scolded me for not showing enough (“You know, Ellen, you are supposed to GAIN weight while pregnant. Ha ha.”) She scolded me the other day for saying that I was planning on being here for three more weeks, to try to finish my enormous work project (“That’s silly. You don’t know that. You might only be here two weeks.”)

It drives me nuts and it makes me want to tweak her on her nose. But I realized that almost all of her “scolding” has had to do with my pregnancy. And she used to be that way about marriage, before she got married last summer. For four years, she scolded my married friends left and right about their marriages. (“You wouldn’t feel that way if you were single.” “If you only knew how hard it is to still be looking for a good man…” “Well, some of us WISH we had that problem. You don’t know how happy you should be.”) Anyway, I realized that her marriage scolding has turned to baby scolding.

Maybe it has to do with having an idealized view of how life is supposed to be. Maybe it’s just obsessing over that next goal in life. Maybe it’s not being able to see life from another’s point of view. But it made me think about the times that I do the same thing. I spent so long focusing on getting pregnant and having a baby that I hope that, even through the tough sleepless nights and cracked nipples, I can still savor and enjoy it. And not go obsessing on the next big life step.

Nausea

2005-01-17T11:22:00.000-06:00

The morning sickness has definitely returned. Bleh. This morning, I am trying very hard not to run to the bathroom to puke. I guess it's just a new late pregnancy surge of hormones or something.

(Thank you guys for all the great advice, by the way.)

Friday Ruminations

2005-01-14T10:03:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I decided screw it. I left work at 5pm on the dot. I decided that I was 36 weeks pregnant and 10 hours of overtime in one week was quite enough for me, thank you very much. It helped to take the evening off and watch a fairly gruesome "C.S.I." I'm feeling a bit more creative today.

I had a doctor's appointment yesterday. He asked me if I wanted to be "checked." I said, "Do I have to?" He said, "No. Some women are just curious to see their cervix's progress." I told him that my cervix was welcome to it's own life, and I didn't really want to pry. I just hear such mixed things about the internal exams. One friend said that it was on par with a yearly. Another said it was as bad as labor. I guess next week, I'll suck it up and have him check it out. I'm having some Braxton Hicks every night, but nothing else has been going down, pain or mucus-wise, so I wasn't even a bit curious this week.

Last night, I also demanded to be taken out on a date Saturday night. We are usually deadbeats on the weekends, watching DVDs and shuffling off to Wal-Mart periodically. But by golly, I'm going to be a human cow in less than four weeks, so I want to be pampered this weekend. I want dinner and I want a movie.

So, all you moms out there, do you have any motherly advice for me? Anything that you wish someone had warned you about...any product that saved your butt...anything that took you by surprise. Any advice is most welcome.

Thoughts from "Garden State"

2005-01-12T08:59:00.000-06:00

So we also watched the movie "Garden State" this past weekend. I swear, I must've had like 6 people tell me that I, of all people, HAD to watch this movie. Some of them repeatedly. One coworker mentioned it every time I saw him.

I finally watched it, and yes, it was a good movie and I liked it. But my question is, what must people think of me if this movie reminds them so much of me? For instance, take the first scene. It's a dream sequence of a crashing plane. As the passengers scream and panic, the main character calmly reaches up and adjusts his air vent.

But I guess I can kind of see it. It's a sort of meloncholy movie with sparks of random humorous oddness. Which is a bit like me. Or so I've been told. A college friend once told me, "You're like Tim Burton, with a happy childhood." I see humor in the darkness of life... but then some things aren't to be laughed at. Like this one scene in "Garden State," where they go to bury Natalie Portman's gerbil. Zach Braff begins to make a funny eulogy, but Natalie stops him. "That's not funny," she says, and quietly apologizes to the gerbil for leaving his wheel in his cage, when it was widely known that the said gerbil was not good with the wheel.

The only thing that I didn't like about the movie was that Zach Braff (you know, I never remember character's names, just the actor's) decides to go off his anti-depressants so he can "feel" again, and this is viewed as a liberating good thing. My therapist husband and I both raised our eyebrows and looked at each other. Alarm bells immediately went off in our heads. Ding ding ding! First of all, I hope this movie doesn't inspire bipolars to suddenly stop taking their much-needed lithium. Jason has admitted way too many patients to the psych hospital for this very reason. Second of all, if he was so numb, perhaps he's just on the wrong medication. Although, I will admit that the circumstances of his original medicating were suspect from the onset, AND I have no idea why a psychiatrist would prescribe Zoloft, Paxil, Prozac and Lithium all at the same time. (BUT it's the first time in a movie that I've ever seen referance to the "electric dizzies"-- those weird shock-like sensations-- that you get when stopping anti-depressants.)

Finally, one thing that Zach Braff's character says, that I really liked, was when he finally confronts his father about their estrangement. He says, "You want things to be back to 'happy' again...but I don't remember our family ever being happy. We aren't going to be perfect. Let's just be what we are and imperfect. I think that's better anyway." AMEN to that. Maybe as a survivor/recoverer of codependency this just hit me particularly hard, but I've found it to be so true. Life is so much better when you aren't trying to be something you aren't. When you aren't desperately trying to hold on to a false dream and ideal picture-perfect life. Sometimes it's better to just start over and be where you are and WHAT you are. Then good things can start to happen. God can't use us when we are pretending and clutching to emptiness. We've got to get back down to the dirty ole' us, and then He can start sculpting our lives.

Quite a lot of thoughts from one movie.

Fear and Zombies

2005-01-10T17:44:00.000-06:00

I came to a realization this weekend. Not really a profound one, but a realization, none the less. And it is this: Zombie movies are freakin' scary. It doesn't even matter if it is a parody of a zombie movie; if there is a zombie, it's scary.

We watched "Shaun of the Dead," a humorous British zombie flick, and I swear, I had bad zombie dreams for two nights. I just don't like the "we're trapped in this building, there are thousands of inhuman flesh-eaters stratching to get in, they may be slow-moving, but eventually there will too many to escape from, so we can keep pounding their brains in with cricket bats, but there's no real hope and oh yes, someone in our group might be turning into one" concept. It gives me the heebie jeebies.

A REALLY freakin' scary one is "28 Days Later." That one adds a new dimension to the zombie genre-- what if the zombies were fast-moving rage-filled maniacs? And you were in a coma when the whole thing went down, so when you woke up, the streets of London were deserted ? (except, of course, for the lightening speed zombies.) Bwa-hoo-hoo (that's the sound of a shiver running up my spine.)

Besides the heebie jeebies, not much else to report. Anna is still a wiggle worm in the evenings. On Saturday, I think that I actually saw a foot protruding from my stomach. Five weeks, people, five weeks. Yee-ark (that's the sound of excitement mixed with mind-numbing fear.)

I told my friend, Shelley, yesterday that I think every pregnant woman has a fear fixation on some part of the labor and delivery experience. For some, it's the pain. For some, it's the possibility of a c-section. One girl in my Childbirth class seemed fixated on not having an episiotomoy. She kept bringing it up over and over in class. The instructor finally told her that it was better than tearing, and she might welcome it when the time came. The girl did not look so sure. And I read this Jenny McCarthy pregnancy book a month or two ago (very funny, thank you, Jenny McCarthy) and her fear fixation was on accidentally pooping on the delivery table.

I think my fear fixation is the pushing element. ...but more than that, even. It's that I am going to be the only person in that room pushing a baby out. That sounds kind of dumb, but it's sort of like going up to solve a math problem on the school board (one of my worst childhood fears). I'm going to be the only person in that room sweating, pushing, grunting, tearing, crying, dripping, swearing, what have you. And there will be a small audience gathered around to watch/help. It will like solving the biggest fattest slimiest algebra equation of my life.

Yee-ark.

Just Say No To Crank

2005-01-07T08:49:00.000-06:00

Well, I was a world class crank yesterday. Our car is still in the shop, work is swamping me, and everything was rubbing me the wrong way. I even called the mechanic and griped him out (which I am now mortified about and am going to call and apologize). Yesterday afternoon, I announced that I was NOT going to the waste-of-time meeting about gift catalogs. So there. My boss saw the look in my eye, took a step back and said I was welcome to skip it.

When everyone got back, it turned out that it had been a party to say thanks for working so hard. I was quite humbled. My boss brought me back a hot cocoa and a light-up pen, and my friend Melissa brought me a pair of pink glitter wings and a fairy wand (it was a bit of a goofy party, me thinks.) And apparently some others had asked where I was and my other co-worker friend announced that I was being a big ole' cranky preggo. But here's the nice part. Apparently several people stuck up for me and said to lay off, I was allowed to be cranky at this point. Yes, I was quite humbled.

Name

2005-01-04T09:06:00.000-06:00

I realized that we have never told anyone our child's name. It is Anna Marie. It was funny, because before we found out that she was a girl, I had about ten boy's names picked out and no girl's names. We went through about three baby books but nada. But a few days before we found out, "Anna" appeared out of the blue and bingo. That's the name.

My friend (who just had her baby) asked me a few weeks ago if I was positive that we'd picked the right name. She was having second thoughts about their daughter's chosen name. But truthfully, we haven't thought twice about it. Not only do we only have "good" Annas from our past (no evil ex-girlfriends or bullies from the playground), the name "Anna" means "God's Grace." And that's what I believe that she is-- God showed His grace by giving her to me. I don't deserve her; she is a gift.

So anyway, my husband created a little Anna Marie website awhile back. I hope you like it. [A few notes: a) I DID NOT buy all those little baby clothes hanging in her closet. That was my mother's doing. b) In that first picture, I am holding a jar of Christmas ornaments, not a glass of whiskey. c) I hope everyone has a good laugh when they see the "Watch Ellen Grow" page. Every month I said "I bet this month I'll be huge!" Well, ha ha.]

Hittin' the Wall

2005-01-03T09:02:00.000-06:00

I believe that I have hit That Point in pregnancy. I have been very fortunate to have had a really good pregnancy (with the exception riding the Vomit Comet the first 20 weeks, but I was so happy to be pregnant, I didn't care.) But I think that over the holidays, I hit That Point. You can tell the women who have hit it. They are the uncomfortable women who are waddling around Wal-Mart with a glazed-over look in their eye, holding a bag of flour and a pack of Sharpies because they can't remember what they came in for.

Here are the signs that I've hit That Point:

1) Heartburn. I never have really had heartburn much. Once, after eating White Castle for the first time. It was after my future sister-in-law's wedding, and my future father-in-law decided that if I wanted to be accepted into the brood, I needed to digest about ten sliders before we headed back to the hotel. I laid in my hotel bed that night, feeling as though my chest was a volcano of acid. I would say that pregnancy heartburn might be in the same realm as White Castle heartburn.

2) Insomnia. Between worrying about work, worrying about labor, peeing every two hours and general uncomfortability, I am not sleeping well. On the whole, I've slept great for the past eight months, so I'm counting my blessings.

3) Crabbiness. My husband got new speakers for the TV this weekend. Since he is a gadget addict, he was giddy with excitement for two days straight. Speakers do nothing for me (I couldn't even tell sound quality difference with the switch from tapes to CDs), but it usually makes me smile to see him happy. But not this weekend. I hate loud noise of any kind (another reason why I don't vaccuum) and every time he fired up a movie or turned on the stereo, it wore on my last nerve. I probably said, "TURN IT DOWN" about twenty times this weekend. Then we'd get in the car and he'd have this sad sack alternative sensitive man music on. Damien Rice or Travis or whatever. "...I can't take my eyyyyyyyyyyes off of yooooooou..." I wanted to puke and it weren't no morning sickness.

4) On that note, Morning Sickness. Yep, it's back. I don't know why or how, but it is. And it sucks.

5) Pointy stomach. My stomach is no longer just round. It has waves and points and little baby parts poking out. Sometimes my tummy will go all lopsided and hard, and suddenly a wee baby butt will be protuding out. It's very odd.

6) Braxton Hicks. I've been having these sporadically for months now, but definitely more lately. Sometimes my stomach will tighten up so much, I can't quite stand up straight. Not from pain, really. I'm just sort of a human accordion.

The Start of a New Year

2005-01-02T15:53:00.000-06:00

The holidays are officially over. Kinda hard to believe, but a bit of a relief. Family wore me out this past week. I love my family. I really do. But two days worth of worrywarting mothers, opinionated fathers, touchy sisters and crabby relatives is enough for me.

I am swamped. My mind is swamped. Some people thrive under stress, but I do not believe that I am one of them. Jason even declared me a grump this week. To my OB, no less. ("And how are we doing this week?" "She's a grump." Scowl from Ellen, but no rebuttal.) When my coworker buddy ended up on maternity leave two weeks before planned, a very large (and overdue) project ended up as my responsibility (and to be completed before my baby makes her appearance within the next four to seven weeks.) The task is enormous, and I've been working non-stop on it, even at home. Even on New Year's Eve. And I am stressed. I am having dreams about the project at night, and having slight nausea whenever thinking about it (although that might be the return of my morning sickness. BLEH.) I keep thinking that maybe God placed this project in my lap to keep me from fretting and worrying about childbirth.

I did take a break last night and watched "The Manchurian Candidate" and "Super Size Me." We also tried to watch "Fahrenheit 911" but we both got so pissed off, we turned it off an hour in. I found "The Manchurian Candidate" very disturbing. Good movie, but disturbing. One of those stories that is so bleak, there really isn't a plausible positive outcome.

But I loved "Super Size Me." We want to buy it and watch it once a month to keep ourselves away from fast food. I know that I eat fast food way way too much. I don't even like the crap, honestly. But the main problem is that I hate cooking. Er...not even that I hate it, but it just requires so much thought and time. I'm just not a big eater. Not a food lover. I've always, since I can remember, wished that there was a daily magic pill that took care of all my dietary, nutrition and hunger needs. I'd be all over that. Eating is such... a waste of time to me. There's so many other things I could be doing. And don't even get me started on food preparation and clean-up. There's half your evening right there.

And I guess I learned all the food pyramid and nutrition stuff in school. But when it comes to making a grocery list every week, my mind goes blank. I end up coming home with milk, bread, peanut butter, soup, coffee and apples. There's never the makings for a gourmet meal in my kitchen.

That's why I end up eating out half the week. It's easier on my brain. But terrible on my body. After watching "Super Size Me," I was so convicted. So today, we went to Subway instead of McDonald's. It's a start.

Ho Ho Ho

2004-12-24T11:13:00.000-06:00

Merry Day Before Christmas! I am having a lovely day already... it's 11am, I'm still in my pajamas and my husband has spoiled me rotten yet again. He can never wait to give me my presents until Christmas so I got to open them this morning. I love gettin' stuff. I got Futurama Season 4, Simpsons Season 5, perfume and a whole bunch of fun stuff in a bag, including a weird Japanese toy called a NoHoHon that bobs it's head by solar power. Don't ask me.

I'm officially 33 weeks today. Next week, I go in for a final ultrasound to make sure my placenta migrated north for the winter. The appointment after that, the "internal" exams begin. Bleh. Not looking forward to that. I've heard mixed reviews. One person told me they were worse than labor, another person said it w as no worse than a yearly exam. So who knows.

I can't believe that I only have 7 weeks to go. It seems like just yesterday, I was puking into the toilet. My friend Rebekah just had her baby the day before yesterday. She was due only five weeks before me. We work together, so for eight months now, the babies have just been wiggling bumps on our stomachs. Now her bump has come out to play. It's strange to imagine her no longer pregnant, with a baby to boot.

It's also strange because there is someone in my life who has still been dealing with infertility throughout this whole time. I wanted so badly for her to be able to be pregnant with me. Not for some cutsie "Oh let's be pregnant together" reason...I've just wanted her to be able to get pregnant period. I think that I truly expected that we would both be decorating nursery rooms together at this point. I'm still a prayin' though. (And if you guys wanted to pray for her also, I'm sure that she would greatly appreciate it.)

Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you to all of you out there in cyberland who actually find my drivel interesting. I have really enjoyed writing on it for the past year and a half, and receiving all your opinions and advice about my wee life.

Even you, Wade.

Maintenance

2004-12-22T16:09:00.001-06:00

I am not good with the cappuccino maker yet. This was my second morning to use it, and granted, I made less of a mess and spent less time than the morrning before, I still suck at it. Jason now knows that I can use it without blowing up the kitchen, so he won't make them for me anymore. (That happened with changing my tires, too. I need to stay more inept, I guess.) It's made me late for work, too. This morning, I hopped up and down, watching it let out steam, and yelled, "Hurry hurry hurry!" like Parker Posey in "You've Got Mail."

My boss called me "low maintenance" today. He was actually referring to my pregnancy and saying that he appreciated me being "low maintenance" during it. It's a compliment, but sometimes I wonder if it doesn't actually serve a person well to be low maintenance in life. You get overlooked. I would've liked to have been fussed over a bit more these past eight months, but people mainly just forgot that I was pregnant at all. My friend Mindy was a very low maintenance pregnant woman. This past July, she was out mowing the lawn while nine months preggers, with a toddler strapped to her back. Honorable, I suppose, but....oh come on.

It would've made a good beatitude: "Blessed are the low maintenance, for they shall be fussed over."

Expectations

2004-12-21T14:29:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I wonder if it is better to have high expectations, low expectations or no expectations.

When you have high expectations of an event, most of the time you will be terribly disappointed. However, there are the few times when an event will actually live up to your dreams. And on the upside, you generally spend the time leading up to the event in good spirits because you are looking forward to it so much. Even if the event sucks, at least you had the time proceeding it to savor.

When you have low expectations, you are almost certain to be pleasantly surprised. I generally approach most situations this way. I was a High Expectations kid, so somewhere around college time (probably after I studied abroad for a year), I learned to change my position to protect my heart a little. The downside to this is that people tend to think of you as a pessimist, or at least unexcitable about life. And you also miss out on some of the giddiness that High Expectation people seem to experience. However, Low Expectations people are easier to deal with than High Expectations people...maybe because they expect less out of others. High Expectation brides are the worst. They spend months planning every tiny detail of their wedding, and expect everyone to perform up to task. When the cake leans too far to the right or the lingerie shower is lame, everyone pays the price.

And then there are the no expectation events. I am learning that these are perhaps the scariest. This is how I am feeling about childbirth and impending motherhood. I just don't know what it's going to be like or what the circumstances will be. I have a few "plans"-- good hospital, comforting husband, favorite doctor, epidural, vaginal delivery, healthy baby. But you never know. I might have the baby in the car, or my doctor might be stuck in Cleveland, or my husband might hyperventilate, or I might have a c-section, or my epidural might only work on the right half of my body. And still, even if everything goes according to plan, I still don't really know what it's going to be like. I have found myself envying my c-section friends, Stephanie and Mindy. Stephanie has a small pelvis and a huge husband. She will always have c-sections. She's had one, she knows what it's like. Mindy has a weird uterus resulting in breech babies. She's had two c-sections, and will always have them. They know the drill.

Not that I want a planned c-section, but at least then I'd KNOW.

And actually, for motherhood, I think I'm in the low expectations camp. No sleep, sore boobs, crying baby, crazy hormones. I'm not expecting much, at least for the first few months.

And I feel kind of alone in all of this. When I tell people how I honestly feel (i.e. fearful), I get a nice pat on the back and a "Oh, you'll do just fine." The shower I attended on Saturday was full of newly registered nurses, two of them the guests of honor. I am due before both of them, and everyone asked how I felt. I said, "Physically fine, but really scared of pushing a baby out of my vagina." Most of them had just finished an OB rotation. More back pats. "Oh, you'll do just fine." But there's another bit that all the nurses added:

"Get the epidural."

Showers

2004-12-21T09:10:00.000-06:00

Yes, I am a blogging slacker right now. Apologies.

We visited my folks this weekend. My husband had to take his final exam to be an Official Therapist (which he passed, with 100% answers correct--the lady said that was the first time she'd seen that) so we stayed with my parents beforehand. My chihuahua, Squirrel, has now transferred all allegiances to my parents. A few months ago, when we went to visit, he still preferred to sit on my lap. Well, no more. He follows my mother around to make sure he knows where she is at all times (as he used to do to me), and his favorite spot is sitting on my father's lap, buried inside his red hooded sweatshirt. My feelings aren't hurt. On the contrary, it is a huge relief that I did the right thing. He is still an annoyingly exasperating creature, but my parents both seem to find him highly amusing.

Last week would have been absolute hell for me if I hadn't ever gotten pregnant. I had three baby showers to attend, none my own. Infertility dies hard, though. At one shower, I kept having the urge to flee. Part of it was that I didn't know the girl all that well (work shower) and several other people had brought their babies to show off. (I always wonder if that annoys the guest of honor. Bringing new babies to occasions always steals the thunder from the main event. It probably depends on the event. There were three babies at my shower several weeks ago, and it was totally fine. They actually just seemed like smaller guests who drooled a bit more.) But this particular shower wasn't really my sort of shower anyway. It was one of those showers that extreme extroverts had been in charge of throwing, so there were loud games where blind-folded contestants taste melted food items in diapers to determine the origin (don't worry, mostly chocolate.) When the second newborn entered the room to loud "oooo"s and "ahhhh"s, my gut reflex kicked in and my eyes searched for the fastest way out. Interestingly, a single co-worker friend (also an introvert, also an INFP) had the same reaction, so maybe it's wasn't infertility residue after all.

Another shower I attended was completely different. It was a joint shower (didn't know the other girl) at a very well-to-do house. My sister and I went. We realized that we are an excellent shower duo. That could be our secret superhero identity. The AMAZING SHOWER DUO! They can activate a conversation with a single topic! Make pleasantries with evil relatives! Detonate an uncomfortable silence! Conquer a registry with matching gift wrap! Anyway, I think it's because I am an introvert and she an extrovert. I sense the need for conversation, and she pounces. Plus, even if nobody else is talking, we can always manage to entertain ourselves ("Where did you get those ugly shoes?" Commence mock argument.) and people usually jump all over that.

One funny (not really ha-ha, more like offensive) incident happened at that shower. There was a Hispanic lady there who was obviously the housekeeper. While the big-haired Southern (rich) host babbled away, the lady quietly cut the cake, served punch and straightened up. No mention as to who she was (but we all knew.) Later, as the lady was walking up the stairs-- HOLDING A WINDEX BOTTLE-- the host said loudly, "Oh everyone! Did you meet my friend, Maria? Say hello to my friend, Maria!" Everyone mumbles hello. If I were Maria, I would've thrown the Windex bottle at the host's head and said, "I'm your HOUSEKEEPER, you dolt! You PAY ME." There's nothing wrong with being a housekeeper. But I'm sure it made her feel like crap to not have Miss Hoitie Toitie acknowlege her profession.

It just seemed offensive to me. Am I wrong?

War Path

2004-12-16T16:29:00.000-06:00

Boy, am I ever on the war path today. I just got my "wellness" check. I participate in a stupid program at work so my deductibles will stay minimal, and I get a wee bonus at the end of the year. I completed all their stupid modules, sat through their dumbass "How To Get Fit" educational meetings, and got myself jabbed with needles twice. And SOMEHOW I missed some goal along the way and my check was puny.

I'm not letting it go. I've been calling the Wellness People all afternoon to get a straight answer. Actually, I'm only settling for one answer from them: "Oops. Sorry. We screwed up. Here is your money." I am usually not one to fight da man, but I am pissed and rarin' to go. I am going to Shawshank that poor Wellness man until he calls me back and has to deal with me. And our HR is playing the "We don't know anything" card, despite being completely bombarded with calls from all over the company. Dumbasses.

And then our parent company does not seem to know how to work a computer, or does not own Photoshop, because they keep requesting the same darn logo file over and over again. Dumbasses.

Oh, and we were informed that our insurance is going up again. Real smart, HR, to send everyone that sweet little memo the day you screw up the Wellness checks. Just to add more fuel to the fire.

RAWRRRRRRRRRR. (that's the sound of Ellen standing on her desk and shaking her fist at da man.)

Branson

2004-12-14T18:36:00.000-06:00

I said this last year, but I'll say it again this year: My boss is awesome. He bought me a cappuccino maker for Christmas! He is always so generous. My co-workers received, among other gifts, a mitre saw, a pack-n-play, a World Atlas and a Cuisinart. The problem is, there is no possible way to return the generosity. The man has everything he could ever want. He wants to buy himself a backhoe, but sorry, I don't happen to have $25,000 lying around.

Jason and I spent the weekend in Branson, MO, with some friends of ours and their 20 month old and newborn sons. And here's what I learned: Everything, whatever action it may be, takes twice as long with a child involved. Add a newborn, and you can triple that. It's a good thing that I'm pregnant and have to stop to pee every hour anyway. I used every lag as an opportunity to either find a restroom or prop my feet up on nearby objects.

Branson is always interesting to me. It astonishes me that it is such a mecca for some people. People actually drive from as far away New York or Montana to go to Branson. I have grown up in the Ozark mountain area, so I've been going to Branson since it was just Silver Dollar City, a lake and the Baldknobbers show, which was good for a weekend family jaunt when you were seven years old. I was away at college
when it turned into the Redneck Las Vegas. I went back for the first time a couple of years ago and couldn't believe my eyes. Gone was the little mountain town with a couple of good barbeque restaurants and a quaint little crafts and entertainment park. It was replaced by flashing "Ripley's Believe It Or Not" billboards, Yakov Smirnov, Andy Williams and many many country buffets attended by retirees. It's so unhip and cheesy, Jason and I actually find it mildly cool.

So it was fun. Cold, crowded, cheesy, but fun. And I still secretly want to be a saloon girl at Silver Dollar City.

Boobie Class

2004-12-09T13:22:00.000-06:00

Thank you guys for your encouraging comments yesterday. They definitely helped me feel like I'm not alone and/or crazy.

Well, I went to Breastfeeding Class yesterday evening. Let me start by saying that I am not an easily embarrassed person or particularly shy about talking about bodily functions. My mother was always mortified when I would talk about getting my period (which explains why I did not realize until well into adulthood that I had endometriosis. I was assured by my mother that my periods were normal and I should just suck it up like every other woman. It wasn't until I was talking to my OBGyn years later that I learned that periods generally are NOT eight heavy days long, and accompanied by a hot flashes, vomit-inducing cramps and a pre-week's worth of spotting.) I love watching bloody medical shows on TV. I talk with my girlfriends about sex on a fairly regular basis, and can say the words "cervical mucus" out loud without cringing.

So when the instructor asked if I wanted to be in an all-female class or one that husbands can attend, I said I honestly didn't care, so I ended up in the co-ed one. I went, sans husband (who was working), and I was surprised to find myself uncomfortable with the co-ed situation the entire evening. For one thing, I was the only one to ask questions. And I KNOW, by the looks on everyone's faces, that we all had many questions about this breastfeeding thing. I mean, for Pete's sake, only one other woman besides me picked up the fake baby to practice the football hold. Also, the nurse would demonstrate different massaging techniques on her own breasts, and having the men there suddenly made me uncomfortable. At one point, she talked about inverted nipples and other shapes and bumps and such. I really really wanted to look down my bra and check out my boobs (and I have a sneaking suspicion that other women wanted to as well) but I stopped myself for fear of looking like a self-peeping tom.

Other than that, the class was fine. I get the feeling breastfeeding is one of those "trial and error" type of things. It really is bizarre, when you start thinking about it. There is going to be a creature sucking milk out of my boobs. The very boobs which have really only been decorative until this point. And my body knows when to produce milk, how much to produce and can actually adjust itself to the baby's feeding schedule.

My biggest stress has actually been revolving around the breastfeeding aspect of motherhood. Well, two big stresses. The first is the initial breastfeeding learning. So this baby just gets born, attaches herself to my breast and my body just turns on the juice? And what if I forget to wake her up for feedings in the beginning? Shelley had to drip ice over Sadie to get her to wake up for the first few weeks. What if I am so dead asleep that I just sleep through an eight hour feeding schedule and my baby loses five pounds? Stupid worry, but it's in my head.

The second stress is the returning to work, pumping thing. Having a creature sucking milk out of my boobs is one thing, but a machine?! Even more bizarre. And I've got to pump like three times during worktime. And where I am going to do this at? I guess I need to go scouting all the secret bathrooms in the building....

I know it will all work out and women have been doing it for many many years. It's just weird to ponder right now.

Overload

2004-12-07T13:08:00.001-06:00

I'm feeling a bit down today. When I was at home for lunch, I found myself nearly crying while eating my McDonald's cheeseburger. I'm glad that I stayed on my anti-depressants during the pregnancy, or I'm sure that I would be ten times more emotional than I already am.

I'm not sure what it is. I feel scared, for one thing. I can't even place my finger on what I am scared of. All the changes, I guess. And everyone keeps "warning" me about this and that. Not all the warnings are necessarily bad. Just warnings about labor pain, babies being breech, not getting any sleep, breasts hurting and bleeding. Warnings about not being emotionally able to leave my baby in daycare. Warnings about my milk drying up if I return to work and have to pump. Warnings about making sure I wash all the baby clothes in Dreft. Or not taking the tags off my pink baby clothes until she's officially here to prove that she's a girl. I've also heard a lot of vague judgements on my choices... like choosing an epidural, allowing the nurses take the baby to the hospital nursery while I try to get some post-partum sleep or putting her to sleep in her crib from day one.

My brain is tired. It's like my mind has taken in all it can handle for the time being.

Catching Up

2004-12-06T19:19:00.000-06:00

It seems like my life is flying by so fast right now, my brain doesn't have time to catch up in processing it all. Writing it out always helps me, so here goes.

The Subject of Bitterness...
I have decided that I am tired of exposing myself to bitterness. In life in general, but especially in the blog world. Don't get me wrong. I am all about exploring your feelings, and sadness and anger are just as valid as happiness and joy. Sometimes, it feels like they are actually more valid and real. However, there is a big difference between expressing those feelings to get them out and reveling and/or wallowing in them. It can get addictive reading a bitter person's blog. Let's face it, "I hate all you bastards" is a lot more interesting than "Isn't life grand?" or even "I went to Walmart today and bought some double-stick tape." And bitter people seem to cause a fair amount of blog "trolls" to come out of the woodwork, usually starting a heated comment engine firestorm, which is always good to get your blood boiling for a half hour's worth of reading. (And some trolls aren't actually trolls, just people presenting a different point of view, which always frustrates me when other commenters are so quick to jump on the "Fuck You, Trollie" bandwagon.) So yes, the bitterness is interesting. But do I really need that hatred and venom in my life? I've decided...no. I don't. Sort of like watching "Fear Factor." Do I really need to watch someone ingest squid testicles? It may be out there for me to "enjoy" but it's probably best for me to avoid it.

The thing about bitterness is that it is entirely avoidable. Life can be crap. Life can be hard. You don't always get the thing you want, and sometimes the person next to you gets it without even asking. Then they win the lottery and get to move to Aruba. But you always have a choice in life on how to handle it. Just counseling and medication are great bitterness fighters. I have an aunt who is bitter. For her, the glass is half empty and filled with poison. I tried for years to be sympathetic and a listening ear. But after listening to a rant about the evils of me registering for baby gifts at the dark empire, Wal-Mart, then laughing at my daughter's chosen middle name, I decided enough was enough. Go ahead and be mad at life and God...but don't drag me down with you.

The Subject of Working vs. Staying At Home-
I went in to talk to HR this past week. I found out the grand total of how much I will make while out on maternity leave, including all the half pay, deductions and insurance increase and whatnot. I actually laughed out loud when I saw the amount on paper. The HR lady even apologized. "I know it's a small amount...at least we get maternity leave pay, even half. I remember back when you had a baby, you just went without pay for five weeks then hurried back to work." I know. I wasn't mad at her. But I'd just been turned down for a small raise a few days prior (apparently, I was on a salary "track" that I didn't realize I was on) and I've been weighing the cost of daycare greatly. I've been very open to working after the baby comes, and still am, but I guess I was hoping from a large neon blinking sign from God that I am doing the right thing. I haven't really gotten that. Instead, I've gotten more and more of my stay-at-home mom friends begging me to stay home with them, so we could go to the park with our children and eat sack lunches.

The Subject of Control-
I've been trying a little experiment lately. I've been attempting to trust my husband more. When he says, "We've got enough money. Stop worrying," I am trying to do just that. When he says, "Everything is going to be okay," I have been deciding to believe him and just go read or fold laundry. I figure that if he's willing to be in charge of all those things that stress me out, I should take him up on it. So far, it's working out pretty well.

Minor Irritations

2004-11-30T13:00:00.000-06:00

1. Public toilets with handles too high up to flush with your foot.
2. Toilet seats that are lower than expected and the added downwards momentum causes you to almost fall into the bowl.
3. Husbands that listen ahead on the book on tape that the two of you have spent 20 hours listening to together.
4. Nose bleeds (pregnancy related.)
5. Being "jellyfished" (A term from the second Bridget Jones novel in which a person verbally stings you out of the blue. You usually don't realize that you've been jellyfished until it is too late to retaliate. I haven't seen the movie yet, but I'm assuming that it is discussed there as well.)
6. Running out of peanut butter.
7. Those stupid stupid holiday Old Navy commercials.
8. Getting up to pee five times a night (also pregnancy related.)
9. Waiters that refill your water glass without asking, and ruin the perfect blend of lemon, water and ice that you had going.
10. Trying to decorate your Christmas tree without constantly poking your hand with needles.

One More Thing

2004-11-29T14:16:00.000-06:00

I also felt the baby hiccup for the first time. Very cool.

Family Differences

2004-11-29T13:22:00.000-06:00

Jason and I went to Chicago for Thanksgiving and had a delightful time. I really love spending time with his side of the family. They are all so...normal. On the way home, I asked him, "What is it about your extended family that's so different than mine?" He said, "They are happy." Bingo. He pinned his finger on it. I grew up thinking that I was from the All-American Family Clan. As I got older, something started not sitting well at family gatherings and visits. Then I went through a few years of counseling, medication and deep probing into my family history. I came to realize that when alcoholism and depression sink their teeth into a family system, they really sink their teeth into a couple generations of family systems. I guess the Bible is right about the sins of the father being visited on the son.

It's just weird being with a family who say what they mean and mean what they say. I grew so adept at "reading between the lines" my whole life, it still throws me for a loop. Like, for instance, Jason's family had a big family reunion this summer in Colorado. Jason and I were pretty much the only ones that didn't come (although I drew a huge cartoon family portrait for the event, which kinda redeemed us.) I was just so morning sick, and I couldn't have gone horseback riding or whitewater rafting anyway. We just stayed home. At Thanksgiving, his grandma said, "We wish you could have come to the reunion. You were the only ones not there, and we missed you." So immediately, my brain jumps into Read Between The Lines mode. What did Grandma mean? Is she trying to make me feel guilty? Are we awful grandchildren? Were people talking about us?

Then I realized that she was simply saying, "We missed you." That was it. Hmmmmm. Guess I still have some more inner work to do.

We went bowling on Thanksgiving Day, which I thought was cool. Jason was anxious because of the weight of the bowling ball, but I assured him I was fine. He was still skeptical and made me get one of the lightest balls, which, as any bowler knows, suck. Jason is already slipping into a protective parent state. He's always been that way about our animals, and usually decides they need to go to the vet before I do. I'm sure there will be many many trips to the pediatrician.

He might have been right this time, though. I have had a really great pregnancy so far. (In fact, Jason said, "You're going to be one of those women who likes being pregnant all the time, aren't you?" Probably, but with my history, we'll see about that.) The only downside has been morning sickness, but I have gained minimal extra pounds, had no backaches, slept well and kept my energy level up. But over the holiday, my legs started to hurt. I started propping them up whenever I could, and I don't think bowling helped. (They are okay now.)

I have also started feeling very vulnerable. On the way to Chicago, I had some Braxton Hicks. We got stuck in many traffic jams buried in snow all through Illinois. Several times, I felt panicked. What if I went into preterm labor? What if we are stuck in the snow? What if an ambulance can't get me to the hospital? I have also started really thinking about pushing this baby out. Out a very small hole. What if I'm not strong enough or her head is too big? It's not pain that I fear, it's the unknown. (I've decided that I am definitely getting an enema beforehand, though. I can at least prevent myself from pooping during labor. Sorry for the graphic imagery.)

Hmmmm. A bit of a long post. Oh well. Suck it up.

Elaborations

2004-11-22T13:45:00.000-06:00

Someone asked me to elaborate on my 190,000 mile car. It's a 1991 Honda EX and it's the best car ever (knock on wood.) It was our family car, then my dad sold it to me for $1 after college. My sister, who owns a 1996 model Honda, still envies mine. She says that after 1991, they threw out the mold because they realized that they had built TOO good a car, and nobody would ever need to buy another one.

If it were a person, it would be like a retiree. Still active and dependable, yet a little creaky and cranky from time to time. I'm not looking forward to it's elderly, senile years. The guys at my car repair shop (who I also give thanks for) keep telling me that they think I might make it to 300,000 miles.

My fear is that Jason will start driving it more after the baby is born (alas, my car is a two-door) and will decide that we need to sell it and get a new car. Or a freaking truck. (Jason is of the "bigger and better" mentality, so I'm sure that it's only a matter of time before the Great War over my Honda begins.)

Someone also asked about my El Boogie Playlist. It includes: Jimmy Eat World, ABBA, Green Day, Everclear, Everything But The Girl, Arrested Development, Weezer, Barenaked Ladies, Radiohead, Edie Brickell (but only with the New Bohemians), The Allman Brothers, Johnny Cash, Liz Phair, Blur, Joni Mitchell, Neil Diamond, Louis Prima, The Police, The Offspring and Colin Hay.

I also have my own personal one hit wonders...meaning artists who only have one song that I like. Examples: "Obsession Tango" by Shakira, "Don't Stop" by Michael Jackson, "Panama" by Van Halen, "September" by Earth, Wind and Fire, "Weapon of Choice" by Fatboy Slim, "Beyond the Sea" by Bobby Darin, "The Weight" by The Band, "Crazy in Love" by Beyonce and one of my all time favorites, "Wannabe" by The Spice Girls.

Hope that answers some questions.

Duh

2004-11-18T13:58:00.000-06:00

So there's a new addition to the "Ellen Is Not Bright" book. I bought a little nightstand for the baby's room from Target. Last night, I got it in my head that I, Ellen, should put it together myself and not have to rely on my handy husband, as is the case 90% of the time. I got my little Phillips screwdriver, read the directions, reread the directions, tossed aside the directions and put the thing together. I noticed that it was not incredibly sturdy, but I figured what do you expect from a Target nightstand?

This morning, Jason picked it up to move it and the entire thing fell apart. Apparently, I skipped a major step, which was tightening the "case screws" that I just figured were simply weird magic screws that I had never seen before. I have too much faith in my own ignorance, I think. I usually assume that if something doesn't seem quite right, it's only because of my lack of knowledge and/or skill. It'll probably work out okay, I figure. The nightstand knows itself better than I.

Also, I built it while "Blazing Saddles" was on the television in the background, so now whenever I look at my baby's nightstand, all I can think of is, "Excuse me while I whip this out..."

A Thanksgiving "Things I Am Thankful For" List

2004-11-17T16:03:00.000-06:00

1. Hot cocoa, mint-flavored.
2. The color pink.
3. My OBGYN, who always walks me to the front desk at the end of an appointment, pats my back and tells me that he likes me. He also gives out his home phone number.
3. iTunes and it's boost to my self-esteem. (Recently, a co-worker came around looking to see who owned the playlist, "El Boogie", on our shared network. I raised my hand and he said, "That's my favorite playlist!" I felt very proud indeed.)
4. My baby.
5. My husband, who helped in the creation of the aforementioned baby.
6. "Sex in the City" on WTBS, Tuesday nights. (a.k.a. "The Toned-Down Version")
7. Gala apples, cut in perfect slices with my apple wedger.
8. Greta Van Susteran, who makes gossip seem like real news.
9. Lime flavored lip gloss from Target.
10. Corndogs.
11. Forgiveness.
12. Having a shower thrown for me by my friends.
13. My friends.
14. Fuzzy cat tummies.
15. Charlie Brown Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas television specials.
16. My handheld computer solitaire game.
17. A husband who is neater and cleaner than I am, but who has learned to just accept it.
18. In-laws that don't suck.
19. Anti-depressants and epidurals.
20. The little short cartoons before the Pixar movies.
21. Wet wipes and ketchup packets in the glove compartment.
22. Taking communion, accidentally spilling the grape juice down my shirt and knowing that Jesus is probably having a little chuckle at me trying to nonchalantly cover the stain up with my church bulletin.
23. The brillancy of "Everybody Loves Raymond."
24. A car that still runs pretty well with 190,000 miles on it.
25. No more morning sickness.

Childbirth Class

2004-11-14T17:38:00.000-06:00

Well, we conquered "Prepared Childbirth" yesterday. It was actually pretty good. Learning all the stages of labor, preparing the husbands for their wives' cursing, seeing the tube they are going to insert into my spine. I enjoyed everything except for the breathing exercises. We laid on the floor and breathed "Hee Hee Hee Hoo." I wasn't embarrassed or anything, but I guess I'm a realist. I told Jason, "Does she actually believe that people remember this stuff in the throws of labor?" I think that I'd probably just do whatever I had to--throw chairs, squat on the floor, sing "Baby Got Back" at the top of my lungs. I also don't like people telling me how long my breaths have to be. I've never liked that. One of the reasons why I quit yoga. I will let out my air when I darn well please.

I've been thinking about Amie's comment from my last post. She's right...I know that I'll look back on this pregnancy and wonder why I got so upset at such silly stuff. When I looked around our childbirth class, everyone looked fairly similiar to me. Happy, with a little fear in their eyes, jumping up every hour to go pee. I even met a girl due 2 days after me (who got preggers through IVF) and we were very much the same size. I think that I'm going to do okay at this childbirth thing, and motherhood too.

I just get so focused on the most trivial issues. I've never dealt with jealousy and second-guessing myself as much as I have these past six months. Is my baby kicking enough? (YES) Am I just a wussy for wanting an epidural? (NO) Is Jason using a "tone" with me? (PROBABLY NOT BUT HE'D BETTER APOLOGIZE ANYWAY)

My dear, giving friend Shelley (thank you again!!!!) came over today with a huge tub of baby clothes and toys to loan to me. She pulled out each little baby outfit fondly, patted it tenderly and knew where every one of them had come from. Now, I remember her first baby year (as does she) and it was very difficult. But it was nice to see that the bad memories were fading and the good ones were staying. That's probably how pregancy will be also.

Weak Spots

2004-11-12T20:24:00.000-06:00

I think that Satan and his minions use electronic machines to try to undo me. I'm actually serious. I've thought this for years now. Big problems, crises, catastrophes--I actually do pretty well, considering, in those circumstances. One Thanksgiving, my father almost chopped his finger off with a carving knife. The entire household, especially my mother, were running around frantically. I was searching through the turkey to make sure there wasn't a large chunk of finger in it. My father finally held his bloody hand up in the air and yelled, "STOP! Ellen is going to take me to the hospital." So I calmly drove him to the hospital. I still sometimes wonder if I should have been a nurse.

However, the little irritations and roadblocks will eventually wear me down to tears. This week was a prime example. My computer crashed more times than I can count. I've been in a spiraling approval war with our parent company through email because of a little tiny worm on a logo (literally a worm, like as in earthworm, not computer virus.) It took me two full days to print out one document because my design program was refusing to speak to my operating system. Then the printer problems started. It jammed so many times today, I finally just sat on the floor in front of it, pleading with it for cooperation. There were font problems and frozen screens. This evening put me over the Tears Edge. I came home and tried to download some pictures from our digital camera and... nothing. I felt so hopeless. I just gave up and cried.

This afternoon, after my fifth computer crash, I wailed, "Why? Why why why?!" and buried my face in my hands. My boss thought about it and said, "You know...you have a lot of machine problems, don't you?" "Well, duh." I said. "I mean you have more than a normal person." It's really true. The copier jams if I even walk by. The Help Desk knows my voice. But it's not just at my present job. It's always been this way, at every job. Every machine.

I think Satan discovered one of my weak spots early on, and knows the days to sock it to me. He tries to wear me down, little by little, paper jam by paper jam. Until everything, not just the machines, feels like it is out to get me.

For instance, I'd been feeling okay about "not looking pregnant." But today, after my awful week, I found myself at a coworker's Going Away party with three other pregnant women, all due within a month as me. They are all really showing, even the girl due two weeks behind me, and I'm just not. I have a few outfits that might make a stranger stop and try to decide if I was with child or not. But I guess I wasn't wearing "pregnant pants" today, because a coworker was admiring one of the other pregnant tummies and then pointed at me and said, "And then you've got Ellen, who doesn't look pregnant at all." Then at Walmart this evening, an old family friend blinked in disbelief when I said I was 27 weeks. On another week, I would've blown it off, but not today. I'd been worn down too far.

I'm praying that next week is better.

Flexibility

2004-11-12T16:13:00.000-06:00

Well, I guess that they just found Scott Peterson guilty. I gave him the benefit of the doubt for awhile, but then I went online and read the transcripts from his phone calls with Amber Frey. That was the only circumstantial evidence that I needed. No innocent man would call his mistress on the night of his missing wife and child's candlelight vigil, pretending to be in Paris. I just really feel sorry for both families. Who would want to deal with their son murdering their daughter-in-law?

Tomorrow we have Prepared Childbirth class all day. Someone asked me, "What do you learn in those classes anyway? Lamaze?" I said, "I don't know. I guess childbirth preparation." The thing is, I'm not really nervous at all about it. The baby will come out one way or another. I would like an epidural, and wouldn't even mind being induced, frankly. But if it doesn't happen for some reason, either the baby comes too fast for drugs, or I end up in a c-section (which may be the case, due to my placenta currently hanging out down south), I'm okay with that also. Healthy Baby is my goal, not neccesarily a certain kind of birth experience. The only thing that I am actually anxious about, with this whole baby thing, is the exhaustion that I am sure to face from lack of sleep after the baby arrives. I am expecting it, and expecting to cry a lot, and walk around pathetically in breastmilk-stained pajamas for a couple of weeks. But honestly, I'm not looking forward to it. I know that the first month or two of motherhood is not pretty.

It's been interesting to discover the stuff that I am actually pretty flexible about. I always pictured myself as a stay-at-home mom. Eventually, I still think that is what I will be. But when I got pregnant, I found that I was okay with the idea of working. Which has horrified some people in my life, but that's okay. I'm going to work 32 hours a week, and we've found a really great daycare provider. (It's a certified lady who watches four children under the age of two, in her home.) Deep down, I still would rather be at home with my child, but this isn't a perfect world, and being at home has many challenges as well. So, much to my husband's relief, I am planning on working.

I had a coworker (no children, recently married) recently tell me, "Oh, you'll see. You are going to feel differently once you have that baby in your arms. There's no way you'll want to come back to work." Since my days of therapy, it greatly irritates me when someone tells me how to feel. Greatly. First of all, this has been a difficult decision for me and I resent her callousness, as if I have been approaching motherhood hillynilly. Second of all, I know very well that the rose-colored picture of sitting on the floor (immaculately cleaned, of course) playing educational games with your smiling, cherub-faced child all day long is...well, a delusion. Thirdly, I am a person to whom post-partum depression is a very real threat. I wonder if isolation at home with a newborn is actually in the best interest of my daughter or me.

So that's where I am.

Workplace Ruminations

2004-11-10T15:51:00.000-06:00

Our office building has two really gross, but addictive, machines.

The first is an old movie theater popcorn maker from like 1965, that has not been cleaned in twenty years. I'm totally serious. This one guy, Leon, who has worked here for about twenty years, bought the stupid thing when the town drive-in went out of business in the early 80's. Leon refuses to clean it because he said that the popcorn will taste weird without the old butter funk. But it's really good popcorn. They fire it up every couple of days.

The other machine is a coke machine from the 1970's that dispenses soda pop into a little plastic cup for 35 cents. It is so old and cheesy but the Cokes are SO good. They are the absolute perfect mix of syrup and carbonation. Plus, the ice comes out in cute little nuggets. But this is how gross and addictive it is--we have a gnat problem in the building. One day, a co-worker got a Coke from the machine. When the cup popped down, swarm of gnats flew out of the machine. We were all totally grossed out... BUT WE STILL DRINK THEM.

Office Survivor seems to have blown over. Everyone is making eye contact again. I'm sure that it will probably happen again at some point. But this girl has learned her lesson. If I get a secret, I am vaulting it and throwing away the Schnapps.