The lack of sleep Monday night due to a crying fit that lasted from 10:30 until 2AM has not been easy to recover from this week. So, there has been a shortage of patience within our household, at times. We kind of drudged through the day yesterday - woke to the alarm at 5AM, taught all day, picked up the kids, and then had to head directly to the pediatrician only to find that the ear infection Everly had been treated for did not go away and was now a double ear infection. (Hence, the crying, I would suppose.)
So, from the doctor's office, the four of us went to Target to get the prescription filled. We got a snack while we waited, wandered around the store for a bit. Having not been home yet, still in work clothes, and getting hungry for dinner, we were far from relaxed. Then came "the incident" while getting into the car and leaving the parking lot that required a time out. But, we were in the car, so the time out would have to wait until we got home. Which meant we had the entire ride home to hear about it. During that time, there was not a sound from anyone else in the car (not even from Everly, who just stared at her brother, taking it all in)...
It was like he went through some sort of internal 5-step program on the ride home. The verbal barrage never once let up for the entire 15 minute journey. And no one else said a word.
Nooooooooooooooooo!!!! I don't waaaaaaaaannnnntttttt a time out! Repeat about 50 times.
Then:
I know better!! I reeaalllyy reaallllyy know better! I know better. No one else knows better. I know bettttttterrrrrrr! (sob, sob, repeat)
About 10 minutes into the ride, we were obviously getting closer to home, the future scene of the time out. His tune changed a little bit:
I wanna go somewhere else! Can we go somewhere else? I don't want to go home! Take me back to preschool! I want to stay at preschool! I wanna go back to schoooooooolllllllllll!!!!!! (tears, repeat)
You have to imagine this with the three-year-old accent, too. At the start of the ride, we were all irrate. That feeling was subsiding at this point within everyone but Cortlan, as John and I stifled smiles in the front seat. The drama was unbearable.
He reached a new level:
I don't want a time out! I want to laugh and smile. I want to laugh and smile! (sob, feet kick, arms flail, repeat, repeat)
As we turned onto our street, he started to put it all together.
I don't want a time out!! Take me to preschool! I want to stay at preschool! I want to laugh and smile! I know better! I really really do! Noooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Maybe you had to be there, but is it awful that John and I had to try so hard to not laugh at this point? Honestly, all he had to do was sit quietly on a green towel in the middle of the living room for three minutes.
Who needs corporal punishment?
Friday, March 26, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Changes
Those who know me well know that I am horrible at dealing with change. Really, really bad. Which is probably part of the reason that I cried for two weeks straight after having my first child. (Well, that and the awful deluge of post-pregnancy hormones.) But, the good news is that I have gotten much better. (I only cried for mere days after the birth of my second child.) Obviously, I am not "cured," by any means, but having kids has really helped me handle change with a little more grace. Because, really, I am figuring that is what raising kids is about...constant change. And dealing with it. Because everytime you think you have them figured out, they change.
Change comes swiftly with kids...so quickly, you hardly realize it is happening. Take this last month, for example: Everly, within the last three weeks, has gone from two naps to one, has gone from four bottles of formula a day to just one in the morning and one at night, now gets two sippy cups of milk and snacks instead of the other two bottles, has switched from a rear-facing car seat to a front-facing one, and has taken her first steps. No wonder she has been a little cranky.
Change with Cortlan is a little more subtle...yet, it is most definitely there. His vocabulary and thought processes amaze me every day. His enunciation is improving on a daily basis. I swear, two days ago his beginning letters all sounded like "d's," and yesterday he said, "first" as if he had been saying it right all his life. He is getting taller. I need to put another mark on the back of his door, because he very well may have grown a half inch in the last week. He is getting opinionated. He is growing up.
Last night, I went into the laundry room and Mr. Giraffe was laying on the floor. I carried him upstairs and showed him to John. This makes me a little sad. Cortlan has slept holding onto Mr. Giraffe since he was 7 months old. (Gasp. Yes, I put a stuffed animal in bed with my child at 7 months old. But I had a plan, and it worked. He got attached to that giraffe, and when he started daycare, Mr. Giraffe went with him. It was an irreplacable piece of home, and it helped my little boy sleep. If Mr. Giraffe was there, we all felt good.) So, the fact that Mr. G. was on the laundry room floor while said little boy was sleeping peacefully in his bed called attention to the change, and that made me a little sad.
I am getting better at change, but I am pretty confident that I am still going to be that mom that bawls her eyes out on the first day of kindergarden...and at every other milestone in the book. Don't even get me started about my little boy's wedding day. I have, pathetically, already cried about that one. (I have a theory about that - but I will leave that for a later post.)
I am getting better at change, and I am taking this growing-up thing all in stride. At least, the best I can. But I still tiptoed into Cortlan's room last night and snuggled Mr. Giraffe next to him in bed. Just in case.
Change comes swiftly with kids...so quickly, you hardly realize it is happening. Take this last month, for example: Everly, within the last three weeks, has gone from two naps to one, has gone from four bottles of formula a day to just one in the morning and one at night, now gets two sippy cups of milk and snacks instead of the other two bottles, has switched from a rear-facing car seat to a front-facing one, and has taken her first steps. No wonder she has been a little cranky.
Change with Cortlan is a little more subtle...yet, it is most definitely there. His vocabulary and thought processes amaze me every day. His enunciation is improving on a daily basis. I swear, two days ago his beginning letters all sounded like "d's," and yesterday he said, "first" as if he had been saying it right all his life. He is getting taller. I need to put another mark on the back of his door, because he very well may have grown a half inch in the last week. He is getting opinionated. He is growing up.
Last night, I went into the laundry room and Mr. Giraffe was laying on the floor. I carried him upstairs and showed him to John. This makes me a little sad. Cortlan has slept holding onto Mr. Giraffe since he was 7 months old. (Gasp. Yes, I put a stuffed animal in bed with my child at 7 months old. But I had a plan, and it worked. He got attached to that giraffe, and when he started daycare, Mr. Giraffe went with him. It was an irreplacable piece of home, and it helped my little boy sleep. If Mr. Giraffe was there, we all felt good.) So, the fact that Mr. G. was on the laundry room floor while said little boy was sleeping peacefully in his bed called attention to the change, and that made me a little sad.
I am getting better at change, but I am pretty confident that I am still going to be that mom that bawls her eyes out on the first day of kindergarden...and at every other milestone in the book. Don't even get me started about my little boy's wedding day. I have, pathetically, already cried about that one. (I have a theory about that - but I will leave that for a later post.)
I am getting better at change, and I am taking this growing-up thing all in stride. At least, the best I can. But I still tiptoed into Cortlan's room last night and snuggled Mr. Giraffe next to him in bed. Just in case.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Enjoying these moments
Just a few of my favorite moments from the past several days:
On the way home that day, with Everly in her forward-facing car seat for only the second day, they held hands and smiled. (Note the tie.) Then we went to the park before even going home and enjoyed every minute of the spring-like weather with some friends. Sometimes, just a change from the norm is all we need.
Thursday, I came home late after a training at school. When I got home, John was grilling burgers and the kids were playing on the deck. (Ahhh - spring!!) Cortlan came running up to me with his winter mittens on. He said, "These are my space gloves! And that is my spaceship!" I love the uninhibited 3-year-old imagination. It takes me places, too.
At dinner, Everly began the "dropping the cup on the floor to see how many times daddy will pick it up" game. As she held the cup precariously over the edge of the tray, he said to her, "If you drop it again, I am not picking it up." She dropped it. Cortlan, without a word, got out of his seat, walked over to Everly's side of the table, picked up her cup, gave it to her, and then quietly got back in his seat. We watched with our hearts swelling. And then she dropped the cup again.
On Wednesday, Everly didn't want to get out of bed. And so she cried. Until John put her hat on her. Then she was fine. She was still wearing the hat when I picked her up from school. It was 60 degrees outside.
That same day, Cortlan decided he wanted to wear his tie to school. (Why not?) When asked by his classmate why he was wearing "that thing," he simply said, "Because I like it!" Cortlan was still wearing his tie when I picked him up from school.
On the way home that day, with Everly in her forward-facing car seat for only the second day, they held hands and smiled. (Note the tie.) Then we went to the park before even going home and enjoyed every minute of the spring-like weather with some friends. Sometimes, just a change from the norm is all we need.Thursday, I came home late after a training at school. When I got home, John was grilling burgers and the kids were playing on the deck. (Ahhh - spring!!) Cortlan came running up to me with his winter mittens on. He said, "These are my space gloves! And that is my spaceship!" I love the uninhibited 3-year-old imagination. It takes me places, too.
At dinner, Everly began the "dropping the cup on the floor to see how many times daddy will pick it up" game. As she held the cup precariously over the edge of the tray, he said to her, "If you drop it again, I am not picking it up." She dropped it. Cortlan, without a word, got out of his seat, walked over to Everly's side of the table, picked up her cup, gave it to her, and then quietly got back in his seat. We watched with our hearts swelling. And then she dropped the cup again.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Success
This entry is a long time coming. Well, long in the sense that I have been thinking about it for a week or so, which is much longer than I think about most of my entries before I write them. But I have been thinking about this one and whether I actually wanted to put this in writing. Am I embarassed? Maybe. Nervous? Yes. Should I be either? Well, by the end of this entry, I at least hope not.
Time to get this out.
Here is the thing (and it has haunted me for the last 15 years): I was voted "Most Likely to Succeed" by my high school class.
(Good grief. My heart just started pumping with anxiety and nervousness as I wrote that. I might need to go to therapy. Seriously.)
Flash back to high school: When it was time to fill in the blanks on the senior superlative sheet, people commented to me that they were going to vote for me. I pleaded with those people to not vote me as most likely to succeed. I absolutely, positively, did not want that "honor." But I got it. And from the minute that I was granted the title, I felt like it was a set up for failure. I wondered if my high school classmates would look at me 15 years later and laugh..."Ha! Look at her!! Most likely to succeed?!?" Pathetic, I realize, but you don't even know how many times that thought has crossed my mind. Should I major in this or that? Well, which one would lead me to greater success? Because I can't let down my classmates. Can you believe I considered this "title" when making life decisions? Luckily, I also knew that I needed to follow my heart and that in the end, some title printed in a high school yearbook didn't really weigh all that much in my life.
But it has still bothered me.
A lot.
Well, a lot at times. Because I certainly don't think about it all the time. But I do think about it. There are some times that it bothers me more than others. (Maybe for different reasons than it used to.) Like, when my students are stressed about what classes to take during their senior year and they are all telling me that they want to be doctors, or engineers, or veterinarians...you know, those majors that scream "success." Because what bright-futured, optimistic, junior in high school doesn't want to be successful? And how do you measure success?
Yes, how do you measure success?
I didn't want to be voted "most likely to succeed." Because, even as a young, naive, and ambitious teenager I never felt like I would make a very happy doctor or lawyer or politician. I thought about engineering, but really only because I am good at that kind of thing and thought it might make me a nice paycheck. But I knew from my freshman year in college that I could never truly be happy in life with a job as an engineer. I knew I could go in whatever direction I chose, do whatever I wanted to do, but what I wanted most was to be happy. I didn't want that superlative title, because I didn't want to be judged based on it. I didn't want that title because I never thought I could change the world.
How do you measure success?
In the teenage world that I reside in for about forty hours a week, unfortunately, success is measured by what college you go to. It is measured by how much money you make. It is measured by the prestige that your career is awarded by society. I'm pretty sure I fall short in all three of those categories, if I am to be judged by the juniors and seniors that I stand in front of.
For a while, I, too, thought of my success as measured in dollar amounts and prestige. There was even a brief moment that I thought I had picked an inadequate career. I can't tell you how wrong I was. My career is perfect. It is perfect because I love it. And I can think of no better career for me. And it is perfect because I am happy. And the bottom line is that my career is no longer my greatest measure of success at all. Because I would be successful without it.
Sometimes, I view my success from the eyes of others, when really, I just need to look through my own eyes and see what I have around me. See the modest house and modest posessions that are quite enough. See what I have in my life. See my husband and my children. See the love and see the happiness. See that I have changed the world.
My friend, Danielle, recently put this quote on her facebook page, and I plan to make sure that my kids are very familiar with it throughout their lives. Though I have read it before, it just may have changed my life. Because now, 15 years later, title or not, and regardless of who judges me, there is no doubt in my mind that I have succeeded.
To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others;
To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition;
To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.
This is to have succeeded.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Time to get this out.
Here is the thing (and it has haunted me for the last 15 years): I was voted "Most Likely to Succeed" by my high school class.
(Good grief. My heart just started pumping with anxiety and nervousness as I wrote that. I might need to go to therapy. Seriously.)
Flash back to high school: When it was time to fill in the blanks on the senior superlative sheet, people commented to me that they were going to vote for me. I pleaded with those people to not vote me as most likely to succeed. I absolutely, positively, did not want that "honor." But I got it. And from the minute that I was granted the title, I felt like it was a set up for failure. I wondered if my high school classmates would look at me 15 years later and laugh..."Ha! Look at her!! Most likely to succeed?!?" Pathetic, I realize, but you don't even know how many times that thought has crossed my mind. Should I major in this or that? Well, which one would lead me to greater success? Because I can't let down my classmates. Can you believe I considered this "title" when making life decisions? Luckily, I also knew that I needed to follow my heart and that in the end, some title printed in a high school yearbook didn't really weigh all that much in my life.
But it has still bothered me.
A lot.
Well, a lot at times. Because I certainly don't think about it all the time. But I do think about it. There are some times that it bothers me more than others. (Maybe for different reasons than it used to.) Like, when my students are stressed about what classes to take during their senior year and they are all telling me that they want to be doctors, or engineers, or veterinarians...you know, those majors that scream "success." Because what bright-futured, optimistic, junior in high school doesn't want to be successful? And how do you measure success?
Yes, how do you measure success?
I didn't want to be voted "most likely to succeed." Because, even as a young, naive, and ambitious teenager I never felt like I would make a very happy doctor or lawyer or politician. I thought about engineering, but really only because I am good at that kind of thing and thought it might make me a nice paycheck. But I knew from my freshman year in college that I could never truly be happy in life with a job as an engineer. I knew I could go in whatever direction I chose, do whatever I wanted to do, but what I wanted most was to be happy. I didn't want that superlative title, because I didn't want to be judged based on it. I didn't want that title because I never thought I could change the world.
How do you measure success?
In the teenage world that I reside in for about forty hours a week, unfortunately, success is measured by what college you go to. It is measured by how much money you make. It is measured by the prestige that your career is awarded by society. I'm pretty sure I fall short in all three of those categories, if I am to be judged by the juniors and seniors that I stand in front of.
For a while, I, too, thought of my success as measured in dollar amounts and prestige. There was even a brief moment that I thought I had picked an inadequate career. I can't tell you how wrong I was. My career is perfect. It is perfect because I love it. And I can think of no better career for me. And it is perfect because I am happy. And the bottom line is that my career is no longer my greatest measure of success at all. Because I would be successful without it.
Sometimes, I view my success from the eyes of others, when really, I just need to look through my own eyes and see what I have around me. See the modest house and modest posessions that are quite enough. See what I have in my life. See my husband and my children. See the love and see the happiness. See that I have changed the world.
My friend, Danielle, recently put this quote on her facebook page, and I plan to make sure that my kids are very familiar with it throughout their lives. Though I have read it before, it just may have changed my life. Because now, 15 years later, title or not, and regardless of who judges me, there is no doubt in my mind that I have succeeded.
To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others;
To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition;
To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.
This is to have succeeded.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Sunday, March 14, 2010
My Future Teenagers
Every now and then, I see the teenagers sitting in front of me in class, or walking down the hall at school and it hits me: My children are going to be teenagers one day. The thought is quite frightening, really, on so many levels. And I look at my little cherubs (insert chuckle here) and I wonder what kind of teenagers they will be. In my classes, I see the quiet, sweet ones; the outgoing and loud ones; the ones that fade into the background; the ones that demand attention (good or bad)...and everywhere in between.
This weekend was Everly's birthday party, and today we took her to get her one year pictures taken. Both were experiences that screamed loud and clear: our girl is a strong individual. And by screamed, I mean, well...yeah, screamed. And by individual...she is her own person, through and through. And I hope for her that she will always be able to tell it like it is, make her opinion known, and show her genuine sweetness when the time is right. I think it is especially difficult to be a teenage girl in this world. She is going to need to be strong.
I wonder what kinds of teenagers my kids will be. Does the fact that Everly has an obsession for shoes, necklaces, hats, and sunglasses at one year of age give insight to her future? Will Cortlan's desire to please at three years old continue into his teenage years? Someday, I wonder if I will look back at this and say, "We should have known all along he would be this way!" or "Wow! Has Everly changed!" (or vice versa).
Today, Cortlan put on his suit and excitedly said, "This is what I am going to wear when I get married!" He was pumped to get his picture taken, even though it wasn't really about him on this day.
Today, I put Everly's dress on her and she immediately (and loudly) tried to take it off. (Though, she got sunglasses for her birthday that she refused to take off and, thus, wore throughout the mall. She got a few pictures with them on, because I knew what would happen when we took them off. I was right.) This was her day for pictures, but she was having none of it.
We (including the photographer) couldn't help but laugh through the picture experience, with Cortlan posing like a GQ model, and Everly screaming, snot and tears coating her face. We were making memories, if nothing else.
I think a lot about my kids' personalities. I try to figure out what they are going to be like. But I realize I should just enjoy what they are. And they are two distinctly different, yet completely scrumptious individuals. I have to appreciate their differences and learn how to parent them both in their own way. (And not think of those teenage years for a while.)
Yes, my kids are different from one another. But can you guess who was the one who made Everly smile for the one adorable picture we ended up buying? Her brother. (Luckily, they were able to edit out the snot. The cheerios in her hand are just a bonus memory.)
This weekend was Everly's birthday party, and today we took her to get her one year pictures taken. Both were experiences that screamed loud and clear: our girl is a strong individual. And by screamed, I mean, well...yeah, screamed. And by individual...she is her own person, through and through. And I hope for her that she will always be able to tell it like it is, make her opinion known, and show her genuine sweetness when the time is right. I think it is especially difficult to be a teenage girl in this world. She is going to need to be strong.
I wonder what kinds of teenagers my kids will be. Does the fact that Everly has an obsession for shoes, necklaces, hats, and sunglasses at one year of age give insight to her future? Will Cortlan's desire to please at three years old continue into his teenage years? Someday, I wonder if I will look back at this and say, "We should have known all along he would be this way!" or "Wow! Has Everly changed!" (or vice versa).
Today, Cortlan put on his suit and excitedly said, "This is what I am going to wear when I get married!" He was pumped to get his picture taken, even though it wasn't really about him on this day.
Today, I put Everly's dress on her and she immediately (and loudly) tried to take it off. (Though, she got sunglasses for her birthday that she refused to take off and, thus, wore throughout the mall. She got a few pictures with them on, because I knew what would happen when we took them off. I was right.) This was her day for pictures, but she was having none of it.
We (including the photographer) couldn't help but laugh through the picture experience, with Cortlan posing like a GQ model, and Everly screaming, snot and tears coating her face. We were making memories, if nothing else.
I think a lot about my kids' personalities. I try to figure out what they are going to be like. But I realize I should just enjoy what they are. And they are two distinctly different, yet completely scrumptious individuals. I have to appreciate their differences and learn how to parent them both in their own way. (And not think of those teenage years for a while.)
Yes, my kids are different from one another. But can you guess who was the one who made Everly smile for the one adorable picture we ended up buying? Her brother. (Luckily, they were able to edit out the snot. The cheerios in her hand are just a bonus memory.)
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
A Bell Ringer Day
Today is one of those days that I wish I was a stay at home mom. They are few and far between, as I have come to terms with (and am very satisfied) balancing my roles in life. But I was pulling my hair out today, banging my head against the wall, wanting to scream. I have so much on my mind, so much to do, so little time to fit it all in, I have a terrible head cold, and it was a frustrating day at work. It is easy to be positive when things are going smoothly...a little harder when they aren't.
I have been focusing a bit more these days on trying to get rid of the negativity, trying to recognize the start of a downward spiral before it gets out of hand. You know - sometimes when one things goes wrong, it just seems like everything does. Usually, I let that happen. Once it starts, I let every little thing get me down. As individual events, they really aren't that big of a deal. But when they all get thrown together, well...it is easy for that hole to get deeper and deeper.
So, today, I recognized where this was all heading. And I chose to take a different route. I knew I couldn't take it out on my students. So for all of our benefits (and quite out of character for me up to this point), I started class with a fun, irrelevant music video. (Ok, it did have a Rube Goldberg machine. A stretch, but it wasn't totally irrelevant to teaching physics.) That 3 minutes and 50 seconds of "lost" class time was SO worth it - for all of us. The next thing I did was pull out from the depths of my inbox an e-mail I received in 2006 called "The Bell Ringer." As corny as this e-mail and its accompanying video clip is, it makes me laugh EVERY time. I save it especially for days like this. (That one, I didn't share with the class.)
I felt better on this crappy day, because I forced myself to. It was by no means a perfect day. I still have tons of stuff on my mind and on my to-do list (and yet here I sit and write, because I find that this helps me feel better, too.) But it is nice to know that the hole doesn't have to get quite so deep before I jump out.
(Do you have something that you know always works to get you out of a bad mood or something that always makes you laugh? I would love to hear and maybe have something new to try on my next "bell-ringer day" or, better yet, as I attempt to finish this one out. )
I have been focusing a bit more these days on trying to get rid of the negativity, trying to recognize the start of a downward spiral before it gets out of hand. You know - sometimes when one things goes wrong, it just seems like everything does. Usually, I let that happen. Once it starts, I let every little thing get me down. As individual events, they really aren't that big of a deal. But when they all get thrown together, well...it is easy for that hole to get deeper and deeper.
So, today, I recognized where this was all heading. And I chose to take a different route. I knew I couldn't take it out on my students. So for all of our benefits (and quite out of character for me up to this point), I started class with a fun, irrelevant music video. (Ok, it did have a Rube Goldberg machine. A stretch, but it wasn't totally irrelevant to teaching physics.) That 3 minutes and 50 seconds of "lost" class time was SO worth it - for all of us. The next thing I did was pull out from the depths of my inbox an e-mail I received in 2006 called "The Bell Ringer." As corny as this e-mail and its accompanying video clip is, it makes me laugh EVERY time. I save it especially for days like this. (That one, I didn't share with the class.)
I felt better on this crappy day, because I forced myself to. It was by no means a perfect day. I still have tons of stuff on my mind and on my to-do list (and yet here I sit and write, because I find that this helps me feel better, too.) But it is nice to know that the hole doesn't have to get quite so deep before I jump out.
(Do you have something that you know always works to get you out of a bad mood or something that always makes you laugh? I would love to hear and maybe have something new to try on my next "bell-ringer day" or, better yet, as I attempt to finish this one out. )
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Everly's Birth Day
I just finished writing the following entry. As I got to the end, I realized that it was not the end at all, and that I could go on and on and on writing about our emotional stay at the hospital; the trip home that included me bawling my eyes out and stopping at the Arby's drive through for lunch with our precious cargo in the back seat, out in the world for the first time; the sleepless nights that followed our arrival home; the loving but unsettled reaction that Cortlan had to his sister's arrival; the weeks of non-stop crying due to colic or reflux; and the wonderful moments that came after we all got settled and adjusted to life as a family of four. Someday, I may come back to this post and at least add some more about the hospital stay and the things I felt and experienced at that time. But, at least for today, I had to stop somewhere. So, for my own record (and sorry to bore you), here is the relatively uneventful story of Everly's birth, one year after the fact:
I had gone to bed very stressed. At my doctor's appointment the prior Thursday, my doctor suggested that I be induced on Tuesday, March 10th. For as much as I just wanted this baby to be here, and as much as I would have liked to know exactly how and when it was going to happen, there was something that made me uneasy about the thought of getting induced. I just wanted it to happen. I wanted it to be spontaneous and unexpected. But it was so darn convenient to know that I would go to the hospital Tuesday morning and come home with a baby. I stressed about this decision like you wouldn't believe. Which, in hindsight, probably wasn't the best last couple of days for my baby in utero.
So, I woke up at 2:30 AM. And with this question of to induce or not to induce weighing on my mind, I lay there thinking, going over and over the pros and cons, knowing that I had to make a decision. I couldn't get back to sleep. In the quiet of the night, I felt the baby moving (one of the things I will forever miss about being pregnant), and I felt the contractions that I had been having for weeks. At about 3:00 AM, I realized that I was having a lot of contractions. I began to time them. I timed them until 5:00 AM, when the alarm went off to wake up and get ready for work. Whether or not I was having this baby, I was not going to go to work in this state and with no sleep, and I told John as much. For hours, the contractions had been about 5 minutes apart and about 1 minute long.
It was Monday - "grandma day" for Cortlan - the one weekday that we didn't have to scoop him out of bed, get him ready for school, and take him to daycare, because my mom and John's mom split the day watching him. I called and let my mom know what was going on and that she could take her time getting to our house. I showered and got dressed and Cortlan slept peacefully. I called my substitute, and then I called the doctor at about 7AM. She instructed us to make our way the hospital.
The drive was surreal. Knowing that your life is going to change in ways you can't possibly predict is a strange and exciting sensation. We checked in, went to the triage room in the maternity ward, and got all situated to be examined. At that point, I was about 4.5 cm dilated, and 80% effaced. The contractions were coming regularly. They decided that I should stay.
The morning was long. I reclined in the bed, was periodically checked for progress, and John and I lazily watched daytime TV...Ellen, The Doctors. I caught a cat nap or two. Late in the morning, the doctor came in and suggested that she give me a little pitocin in my IV to speed the progress along. Reluctantly, I agreed to the drip. Things still moved pretty slowly, though the contractions did intensify at that point. I was asked numerous times as to whether I was ready for an epidural. I was hoping to stay mobile for as long as I could, and kept putting it off. As the afternoon wore on, I continued to progress, but slowly. Finally, around 3:30 or 4 PM, the doctor told me that if I got the epidural, they could increase the pitocin and break my water, and things would speed up considerably. So I did, and they did.
There seemed to be an inordinate number of people making their way in and out of the room from that point on...the anesthesiologist, nurses, doctors, interns, and I don't even know who else. I was checked multiple times by multiple people, and before I knew it, I was nearly there.
At about 6:10, I was told to try a practice push. Apparently, the push was a great success, because then I was immediately told to not push, and several people came in to break down the bed and get things ready to go. It didn't take long for everyone to assume their positions, with John to my right, holding my bent leg, and a nurse to my left doing the same. (I couldn't feel or move my legs on my own at all.) After four strong pushes, maybe five, I heard the amazing sound of my baby's scream. At 6:34 PM on March 9, 2009, Everly was born at a surprising 8 pounds 3 ounces. And she was beautiful.
I had gone to bed very stressed. At my doctor's appointment the prior Thursday, my doctor suggested that I be induced on Tuesday, March 10th. For as much as I just wanted this baby to be here, and as much as I would have liked to know exactly how and when it was going to happen, there was something that made me uneasy about the thought of getting induced. I just wanted it to happen. I wanted it to be spontaneous and unexpected. But it was so darn convenient to know that I would go to the hospital Tuesday morning and come home with a baby. I stressed about this decision like you wouldn't believe. Which, in hindsight, probably wasn't the best last couple of days for my baby in utero.
So, I woke up at 2:30 AM. And with this question of to induce or not to induce weighing on my mind, I lay there thinking, going over and over the pros and cons, knowing that I had to make a decision. I couldn't get back to sleep. In the quiet of the night, I felt the baby moving (one of the things I will forever miss about being pregnant), and I felt the contractions that I had been having for weeks. At about 3:00 AM, I realized that I was having a lot of contractions. I began to time them. I timed them until 5:00 AM, when the alarm went off to wake up and get ready for work. Whether or not I was having this baby, I was not going to go to work in this state and with no sleep, and I told John as much. For hours, the contractions had been about 5 minutes apart and about 1 minute long.
It was Monday - "grandma day" for Cortlan - the one weekday that we didn't have to scoop him out of bed, get him ready for school, and take him to daycare, because my mom and John's mom split the day watching him. I called and let my mom know what was going on and that she could take her time getting to our house. I showered and got dressed and Cortlan slept peacefully. I called my substitute, and then I called the doctor at about 7AM. She instructed us to make our way the hospital.
The drive was surreal. Knowing that your life is going to change in ways you can't possibly predict is a strange and exciting sensation. We checked in, went to the triage room in the maternity ward, and got all situated to be examined. At that point, I was about 4.5 cm dilated, and 80% effaced. The contractions were coming regularly. They decided that I should stay.
The morning was long. I reclined in the bed, was periodically checked for progress, and John and I lazily watched daytime TV...Ellen, The Doctors. I caught a cat nap or two. Late in the morning, the doctor came in and suggested that she give me a little pitocin in my IV to speed the progress along. Reluctantly, I agreed to the drip. Things still moved pretty slowly, though the contractions did intensify at that point. I was asked numerous times as to whether I was ready for an epidural. I was hoping to stay mobile for as long as I could, and kept putting it off. As the afternoon wore on, I continued to progress, but slowly. Finally, around 3:30 or 4 PM, the doctor told me that if I got the epidural, they could increase the pitocin and break my water, and things would speed up considerably. So I did, and they did.
There seemed to be an inordinate number of people making their way in and out of the room from that point on...the anesthesiologist, nurses, doctors, interns, and I don't even know who else. I was checked multiple times by multiple people, and before I knew it, I was nearly there.
At about 6:10, I was told to try a practice push. Apparently, the push was a great success, because then I was immediately told to not push, and several people came in to break down the bed and get things ready to go. It didn't take long for everyone to assume their positions, with John to my right, holding my bent leg, and a nurse to my left doing the same. (I couldn't feel or move my legs on my own at all.) After four strong pushes, maybe five, I heard the amazing sound of my baby's scream. At 6:34 PM on March 9, 2009, Everly was born at a surprising 8 pounds 3 ounces. And she was beautiful.
Monday, March 8, 2010
The Target Trip
Just a little note: I am writing this one (and probably tomorrow's) just so I have a record of this memory years and years from now. It seems so clear to me right now, but I am afraid I will forget. I actually wish I would have written it last year, in case I am missing some details. So, excuse my trip down memory lane. :)
March 8th was a Sunday last year, and I remember exactly what I did that day. I woke up after a horrible night's sleep, had my decaf coffee, read the Sunday newspaper (mostly the ads, admittedly), and then decided that I needed to go to Target.
I waited until Cortlan's nap time, and went off by myself. I wandered around the store while talking on the phone to my friend, Amanda. (I even remember exactly what the conversation was about, and what aisle I was standing in at a particular point in the conversation.)
I looked at baby clothes, and, horrified, wondered what size bathing suit I would be wearing in the summer (because now is when they decide to put them in the stores...right when I am as white as the snow on the ground and certainly not in bathing suit shape...why do they do that??). I then wandered over to the food aisle.
Here is what I threw in my cart: Fererro Rocher chocolates, taco mix, salsa, a spicy Thai noodle bowl, Wasabi coated nuts, and buffalo wing flavored pretzel bits. I ate the Wasabi nuts on the way home, chased by a chocolate. We had the tacos for dinner, with a snack of buffalo pretzels not long after, and then of course, some more chocolate. The Thai was for lunch the next day.
I was convinced that there was something I could do to start my labor. Among other things (and I tried many things), I was told spicy food would help. The Fererro Rochers, well, that was because I love them, and on February 19th, I had ended up in the hospital, thinking I was in labor after eating a bunch of them. I swear those chocolates made me have the ridiculous, neatly-timed contractions that everyone could see on the monitor. That February night, I had been sent home from the hospital with what they were calling "early labor," with instructions to get some rest - "tomorrow will be the day". The days went on and on and on with those contractions, leading me to the desperate Target trip, 16 days later. Of those 16, there was not one single day that went by at work that someone (more often, multiple people) did not say to me, "You are still here?!" Yep. Still here.
I went to bed last year on March 8th as uncomfortable as ever, lying on my side, with a great big belly protruding in front of me, feeling my daughter use my insides as a punching bag.
My due date: March 13th.
March 8th was a Sunday last year, and I remember exactly what I did that day. I woke up after a horrible night's sleep, had my decaf coffee, read the Sunday newspaper (mostly the ads, admittedly), and then decided that I needed to go to Target.
I waited until Cortlan's nap time, and went off by myself. I wandered around the store while talking on the phone to my friend, Amanda. (I even remember exactly what the conversation was about, and what aisle I was standing in at a particular point in the conversation.)
I looked at baby clothes, and, horrified, wondered what size bathing suit I would be wearing in the summer (because now is when they decide to put them in the stores...right when I am as white as the snow on the ground and certainly not in bathing suit shape...why do they do that??). I then wandered over to the food aisle.
Here is what I threw in my cart: Fererro Rocher chocolates, taco mix, salsa, a spicy Thai noodle bowl, Wasabi coated nuts, and buffalo wing flavored pretzel bits. I ate the Wasabi nuts on the way home, chased by a chocolate. We had the tacos for dinner, with a snack of buffalo pretzels not long after, and then of course, some more chocolate. The Thai was for lunch the next day.
I was convinced that there was something I could do to start my labor. Among other things (and I tried many things), I was told spicy food would help. The Fererro Rochers, well, that was because I love them, and on February 19th, I had ended up in the hospital, thinking I was in labor after eating a bunch of them. I swear those chocolates made me have the ridiculous, neatly-timed contractions that everyone could see on the monitor. That February night, I had been sent home from the hospital with what they were calling "early labor," with instructions to get some rest - "tomorrow will be the day". The days went on and on and on with those contractions, leading me to the desperate Target trip, 16 days later. Of those 16, there was not one single day that went by at work that someone (more often, multiple people) did not say to me, "You are still here?!" Yep. Still here.
I went to bed last year on March 8th as uncomfortable as ever, lying on my side, with a great big belly protruding in front of me, feeling my daughter use my insides as a punching bag.
My due date: March 13th.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Appreciating
We rented The Time Traveler's Wife last night. I haven't read the book, though I hear it is outstanding, and I didn't really know what the movie was about prior to watching it. I sat there at the end, with big crocodile tears streaming down my face, attractively sobbing and blowing my nose. Can you imagine knowing when you are going to die? Seriously, I wonder how people would change their perspective, their approach to life, if they actually knew. Interesting how much that movie confirmed what I am trying to do these days: Appreciate the moments. Live each day. Love hard.
Here are the things I am appreciating right now:
I am appreciating the sunshine. The blue skies. The reminder that spring (and then summer) is around the corner. Because that means getting outside and playing, meeting friends at the playground, and swimming, and picnics, and Idlewild Park with a 3 year old and a 1 year old (I can't wait!), and flowers, and more time to spend with my family.
I am appreciating having friends that I can have over without feeling like my house has to be spotless, or even close to clean...because clean is getting harder and harder to acheive.
I am appreciating cornstarch and water and food coloring, and construction paper and tape, and good books from the library, and icing. Because all of those things together mean a really nice morning, a lot of smiles, and fond memories. (Thanks, K.)
I am appreciating conversations with three-year-olds that go something like this:
Cortlan: Mommy, what did you have?
Me: When?
Cortlan: What did you have?
Me: When?
Cortlan: When, what?
Me: What did I have, when?
Cortlan: When, pen. Those rhyme!
Cortlan: When, pen. Those rhyme!
And finally, I am appreciating all the smiling I have been doing lately.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Back to the Top of the Hill
I went about my work days on Friday, and Monday, and Tuesday just as I normally do. Getting up, taking the kids to school, going to work, teaching physics.
I walked into my classroom each of those days expecting my students to be ready to learn, ready to think. And be engaged. And focus on the "important" content that I had to share. I stood there, teaching my heart out, wishfully thinking that all minds were on me and what I had to say and that this information was going to sink in and stay there (for once?).
As a high school teacher, I am painfully aware that I am not often the priority in my students' lives, nor is my class, but I also take my job very seriously - I need to get these kids ready for the next step, be it AP Physics, or college physics. I want them to learn and understand. I want to change their lives, give them a new perspecive on the world around them, make them think differently, but better. But I sometimes take my job too seriously and forget about the lives that my students lead outside of my room. About the things they may have on their mind that are equally important, or far more important.
Tuesday afternoon, from her mother: I just wanted to let you know that her father was diagnosed with a brain tumor on Friday, and she may be missing a few days of school, as he is having emergency surgery tomorrow morning at 6:30. Please let me know what she can do to make up the work.
Make up the work??!! And then I remember that she just took a 90 minute cumulative exam on Monday...three days after finding out her father has a brain tumor. And today, the day after the surgery, she was in class. She has missed one day of class. I hesitated to ask, but did - Did everything go ok yesterday? Well, she said, they couldn't get all of the tumor without causing permanent damage. But they got some, and so now he will have to do chemotherapy, I guess.
Every person walking down the street, or hallway, or sitting on the bus, or driving in their car, or shopping at the grocery store, or sitting in my class had something happen to them yesterday. Who knows what that something was. Who knows how it affected them. I have been told many times through many sources that we have to keep this in mind with our interactions with people that we encounter in our daily lives. But living according to this idea is kind of like a hill that I keep sliding down. I need to be brought back up to the top every now again so I can see the world from that perspective.
There is a paper sitting on my desk that I got from a faculty meeting. On this paper are several quotes. Two stood out at me today: "Don't compare your life to others; You have no idea what their journey is all about," and "However good or bad a situation is...it will change."
This week a student brought me back to the top of the hill. I am hoping to stay there for a while this time.
I walked into my classroom each of those days expecting my students to be ready to learn, ready to think. And be engaged. And focus on the "important" content that I had to share. I stood there, teaching my heart out, wishfully thinking that all minds were on me and what I had to say and that this information was going to sink in and stay there (for once?).
As a high school teacher, I am painfully aware that I am not often the priority in my students' lives, nor is my class, but I also take my job very seriously - I need to get these kids ready for the next step, be it AP Physics, or college physics. I want them to learn and understand. I want to change their lives, give them a new perspecive on the world around them, make them think differently, but better. But I sometimes take my job too seriously and forget about the lives that my students lead outside of my room. About the things they may have on their mind that are equally important, or far more important.
Tuesday afternoon, from her mother: I just wanted to let you know that her father was diagnosed with a brain tumor on Friday, and she may be missing a few days of school, as he is having emergency surgery tomorrow morning at 6:30. Please let me know what she can do to make up the work.
Make up the work??!! And then I remember that she just took a 90 minute cumulative exam on Monday...three days after finding out her father has a brain tumor. And today, the day after the surgery, she was in class. She has missed one day of class. I hesitated to ask, but did - Did everything go ok yesterday? Well, she said, they couldn't get all of the tumor without causing permanent damage. But they got some, and so now he will have to do chemotherapy, I guess.
Every person walking down the street, or hallway, or sitting on the bus, or driving in their car, or shopping at the grocery store, or sitting in my class had something happen to them yesterday. Who knows what that something was. Who knows how it affected them. I have been told many times through many sources that we have to keep this in mind with our interactions with people that we encounter in our daily lives. But living according to this idea is kind of like a hill that I keep sliding down. I need to be brought back up to the top every now again so I can see the world from that perspective.
There is a paper sitting on my desk that I got from a faculty meeting. On this paper are several quotes. Two stood out at me today: "Don't compare your life to others; You have no idea what their journey is all about," and "However good or bad a situation is...it will change."
This week a student brought me back to the top of the hill. I am hoping to stay there for a while this time.
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