The Not Terribly Gory Details- Part Two!

Where was I? Ready to go to the hospital?

After hours and hours of inconsistency, labor had suddenly reached an entirely new level. I wandered around my living room while Phillip sat glued to his computer trying to finish up some work stuff. I felt like a freight train was slamming into me every couple of minutes, and I was STILL nervous that I might be sent home. And I was so tired. SO UNBELIEVABLY TIRED. I told myself to snap out of it, because I hadn't been laboring nearly as long as I had with Jack, and I had I been exhausted then? Not like this! I seriously just wanted to lie down on the hardwood floor and go to sleep. And that's what finally sent me to the hospital- maybe I could rest.

I said Hail Marys all the way there. I said them over and over and at lightning speed. I think Phillip was a little weirded out.

"Are you all right?"

"...fullofgracetheLordiswiththee I NEED TO FOCUS!"

"Okay..."

"...holyMarymotherofGodprayforussinners THIS HELPS ME FOCUS!"

"Okay! Okay!"

I was just afraid of having contractions in the car. Not only are you being hit by a freight train, you are trapped inside a tin can with nowhere to go. I only had three or four contractions in the car (we live very close to the hospital) and after each one I would congratulate myself on not dying.

DRAMATIC MUCH?

Phillip helped me hobble from the parking garage to the maternity floor and the nurses are sitting at the nurses station looking at me like, "What are you here for?" and I am looking at them like, "WHERE THE %&$#  ARE MY DRUGS?" and finally one of them shows us into a room.

And this is the part where I am in complete and total sympathy with all my yay natural birth friends who scrunch up their noses and go, "I just HATE hospitals."

You are already in pain (see: freight train) and not wanting to be confined to one place, but you are told to put on a very attractive backless gown, get into a most uncomfortable bed and wait patiently while a nurse takes her sweet sweet time strapping monitors around your middle and clucking about paperwork. GAH.

Then finally- FINALLY!- she checked me and said, "Oh, you're at six!" and I exclaimed, a little louder than I usually am in front of strangers, "THANK YOU JESUS." Oh yes I did. Because you know who was not going to have to go home? ME.

Around this time the nurse who'd seen me the night before waltzed into the room all, "I was expecting to see you earlier!" and she should be thankful I didn't bite her face off.

They asked me if I wanted an epidural and I was all, "Yes please," so then they started the hunt for the Elusive Vein In My Tender Little Left Arm to plug in the IV. I really try to be a Big Girl about these things, but I am totally neurotic about needles. While the nurses worked on finding a vein I gripped Phillip's wrist with my other hand, shut my eyes and started saying Hail Marys again. The whole experience is just horrible- the cutting off of your circulation with the rubber band, the conversation about where to stick it in, the sound of the needle packages being opened- UGH! But you know what's worse? When the nurses can't find an acceptable vein and end up sticking you four separate times, and, coincidentally, right when you are having a contraction. Two weeks later I STILL have bruises on my wrist.

But it gets better!

THEN the epidural lady arrived and hey! It's the same lady who yelled at me LAST time! Whee!

Everything was so much more intense. SO MUCH MORE. With Jack I'd had a few really bad contractions in the hospital and had a hard time with the epidural (see: threats from the anesthesiologist), but it went so fast and wasn't TOO scary. I now know that this time went quickly as well, but I was really scared the whole time. I wasn't getting much of a break in between contractions, I was already sort of traumatized from the IV thing and now the epidural lady was going to yell at me again.

I had Phillip holding one hand and a nurse holding my other hand. She was telling me how to sit and focus and breathe and relax and can I just say how completely pointless it is telling me to relax? But she let me hold a pillow, she told me I didn't have to sit completely still- I could move my feet (this actually helped!)- and when I decided to repeat, over and over, "I can do this, I can do this," she said it with me and talked me through the entire thing.

Which was good because the epidural lady DID yell at me again, DID ask me if I knew what a spinal headache felt like, and DID call me Margaret over and over in a stern headmistressy sort of way that scared the absolute BEJESUS out of me. Knowing a giant needle is being inserted into my back causes some involuntary FLINCHING. I'm SORRY. Oh, and while I'm concentrating on not flinching? The epidural lady was all, "Are you SURE she's at six? She seems farther along to ME." The nurses assured her I was at six when I arrived, that I was an excellent epidural candidate, blah blah blah and the epidural lady kept saying, "ARE YOU SURE?" and I kept thinking, "Oh my GOD if she doesn't give me the freaking epidural I am QUITTING."

But then? She placed the epidural and things slowly and gradually began to calm down. Ten minutes later I remembered why I think the hospital is the bee's knees, why I subjected myself to the mean anesthesiologist a second time: GOD BLESS THE EPIDURAL.

Me and the IV pole: friends at last.

And here you are thinking, "DUDE, my hair is now gray, how much longer does this go on?" and this is where I say, "Oh! But now? NOTHING HAPPENS."

I really wanted to sleep. REALLY REALLY REALLY wanted to sleep. But due to the blood pressure cuff and the still-painful IV and the constant in and out of the nurses (who kept telling me to sleep) and my husband and sister and sister's boyfriend who decided to eat dinner in front of me even though I was starving

EVIDENCE OF THE EATING

sleep was impossible. Also? They checked me after all the epidural drama and I was at 8. "You'll probably have this baby by midnight!" the nurses chirped. "Labor Day baby! HA HA!"

Would you believe that I did not want to have the baby that soon? They said this and I could only think, "But this is the first time in WEEKS that I can just lie here and REST! I WANT MORE!"

The next time they checked me I was at 10. The on call doctor (who I liked very much) moseyed into the room and had a very difficult to decipher conversation with the nurse regarding the monitor readouts. It sounded like things weren't matching up right (heart rates? I don't know.) But no one seemed particularly worried and my epidural was going full blast so I wasn't worried either. (Quick Review! With Jack they were VERY worried and insisted I stop upping the epidural medicine and let's just say I was NOT INTERESTED IN DOING THAT AGAIN.)

The doctor sat down next to me to remind me how to push. I wanted to say, "Lady, I REMEMBER," but I didn't, because I am nice, and because I'd been complimented on still having a sense of humor and, you know, maybe it was going to be totally different this time with a still working epidural.

But I definitely knew when to do what, only this time I wasn't thinking that the watermelon jammed inside my pelvis was going to split me in two. After my first push the doctor said to the nurse, "Well! This won't take long!" and everyone started bustling around getting things ready while I am all, "HELLO, I WOULD LIKE TO GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME, COULDN'T YOU HAVE DONE THIS EARLIER?"

I pushed through two more contractions and she was out. They put my shrieky slimy baby on my chest and it was amazing.

I don't remember that part with Jack. I was so worried about just getting him out (for my benefit as well as his!) and I know they handed him to me and it was wonderful, but it wasn't like this. This was calm and sweet and relaxed and easy. I know it's not really supposed to be easy, but wow. With Jack I felt like a superhero who had just won a gold medal, fought a war and cured cancer all at the same time. With Molly I just felt happy.

Our hospital stay was just as uneventful, since "SECOND TIME MOTHER" must have been stamped at the top of my file. No one was busting in every two minutes to contradict the previous nurse about breastfeeding, or show me how to use the pump, or how to change a diaper, or what to do about this and that. It was quiet and boring and we were dying to get home and spend some time with our other baby.

Now you can see Molly.

***There ends the longest post EVER. Come back tomorrow for our regularly scheduled complaining about The Whiniest Boy and intermittent raves about his sister, the Champion Eater.***

The Not Terribly Gory Details- Part One!

*Note! This is going to be SUPER LONG. And NOTHING HAPPENS. Least eventful birth story EVER! And yet! SUPER LONG! Just a little heads up in case you have something better to do...*

Early Sunday morning, the last day of August, I woke up with contractions. Real ones. I thought, "This is probably it."

I got up and wandered downstairs. I wondered if I should go to church. I wrote a blog post. I thought about what it would be like to have a baby that night. After all, this was my second. Everyone says it goes faster.

(A Quick Review: There were forty-seven hours between my first contraction with Jack and his actual birth. I swear, I did actual math to come up with that number. Most of those hours would be characterized as Early Labor and while I managed them just fine, I ripped out and burned all the sections in the pregnancy books that recommend going shopping and getting a pedicure during Early Labor. Because WHAT ARE THEY SMOKING?)

The contractions went away, so I made it through church without having to hunch over and catch my breath in front of Strangers, but picked up again that afternoon. Big time. I worried about things going quickly. I worried about needing a babysitter for Jack. I called my sister and said I might need her to stay the night, we might be going to the hospital.

And around six o'clock that night I started to feel pretty rotten and we decided to go. But first, we took a picture.

Molly's in this picture, you just can't see her yet.

At the hospital I could already tell the nurse wasn't impressed with me. She was talking about what would happen if I needed to go home before she even checked me. I really didn't want to go home. I REALLY REALLY didn't want to go home. Things were too painful and I'd already spent most of the day hunched over the arm of my couch, rocking through contractions. Surely I was far enough along to stay!

She checked me and I was at 1 cm.

THAT was humiliating.

She humored us and let us hang out another hour so she could see if I was making any progress. I spent that whole hour inspecting the monitor read outs, trying to figure out if I was laboring sufficiently. When the nurse came back nothing had changed. She offered me Ambien or morphine, saying, "Lots of people get this shot of morphine, sleep a few hours and come back to the hospital all ready to go! I bet you'll be back here in the middle of the night, morning at the latest." I opted for the morphine because I knew I wasn't going to sleep through contractions (seriously? Ambien?) and at least the morphine sounded like some good stuff.

And oh, it was.

Thinking we might be going back to the hospital in the middle of the night, my sister graciously agreed to keep sleeping on the couch, even though I was now home and camped out in the living room with my television and my laptop. Phillip went upstairs to sleep and suddenly that morphine was totally kicking in. I slept all right- in between every contraction I was completely zonked out on the couch. And every time a contraction started up I jolted awake, but not so awake as to lurch off the couch like I'd been doing. Instead I just sort of acknowledged the pain with a "Duuuude, this suuuucks", held my breath waiting for it to be over, and then fell back asleep. I think that's what they call "taking the edge off."

Completely chastened by my hospital rejection, I was absolutely determined not to have it happen again. I measured every contraction for some sign of Unbearableness, but every time I'd think to myself: oh, I can definitely last through another one. So there was no going to the hospital in the middle of the night, OR the morning, OR the afternoon. My sister went home and my parents showed up, which had been the plan the day before, only with all of us thinking they'd be going to the hospital to see the new baby.

I hadn't wanted Jack to stay overnight at the grandparents' house. I felt like he had enough change and drama happening in his little life- the least I could do was make sure he was sleeping in his own bed. (To read about how Jack is coping with the actual Change and Drama, check out The Parenting Post.) My dad suggested they just take Jack home and I was all, "No! Must stick to plan!" But then I started to actually use my brain. I was super preoccupied with what everyone was doing in my house, I didn't even know what to do with myself. And news flash: labor is not fun in front of other people. I mean, I know some people get all stoked about the blow up tub in the living room and inviting your nearest and dearest to witness the blessed event, but that is so not my style. My style is not even telling people what's going on until the baby has had her post-birth bath.

(Well, unless they are blog readers. I keep those people pretty on top of things.)

 

Eventually I sent my parents home with my boy. I didn't like it, but it was easier on everyone. And, wouldn't you know, the contractions totally got going after I wasn't thinking about everyone in my house. I was free to distract my own self.

Items of Distraction: Laptop, excellent sequel to one of my favorite books, work project, church committee project, list of thank you notes to write, stack of ancient Xbox games to burn sell, peach milk bubble tea. MMMM.

My folks left after lunch and I still had no idea when I'd get to go back to the hospital and HAVE THE BABY ALREADY. I'd given up on the "babies come faster the second time" theory and also the "I won't get there in time for the blessed drugs" paranoia. At this point I was operating about where I'd been operating with Jack- stay home as long as I possibly can, then make my husband run all the red lights on the way to the hospital.

Around 3 things got decidedly more painful. I waited a little bit and then called the hospital. "Oh," they fretted, "we really like you to wait until the contractions are five minutes apart." Whatever, I thought, because with Jack my contractions were NEVER that consistent. I called the doctor on call and she was a little more helpful with the decision-making, while still making it clear that I was the only one who could decide. (I HATE THAT.) I decided to stick it out a bit longer, but around 5 things were not only getting excruciating, but five honest-to-God minutes apart. At which point I informed Phillip we were leaving NOW.

And look, Jack was doing just fine at my folks' house.

He has superb taste in blogs.

One week old

All righty then! I'll let you know when I've got a new space. I'm not sure when I'm going to get serious about this (read: I am eating a brownie as I type) but most likely in the next week or two. My mom read my post this weekend and was all, "I can't believe you're even THINKING about that right now" but I don't know. I was thinking about it through the whole pregnancy. Call me shallow!

I stepped on the scale this morning for the first time in at least a month or two- I stopped keeping track somewhere in the third trimester and refused to look at the scale in the doctor's office (which is old and decrepit and WRONG ANYWAY.) I am positive I gained as much weight as I did with Jack (45 pounds) if not more. (Probably more.) But as of this morning I have 34 pounds to lose to get back to pre-Molly weight. Which, incidentally, would also be my pre-Jack weight. I got pregnant again at the same exact moment I could start wearing all my old clothes. Lucky me! So. 34 pounds. I can do it.

AAAAAAND that is the last you'll read about THAT. Unless you are into the whole weight loss kick thing and wander over to check out my not-yet-published new digs.

IN OTHER NEWS: Phillip turns 30 today. I hate to say it, but the only thoughts I've had re: Phillip's birthday are: Please don't let the baby be born on Phillip's birthday. And with that taken care of, it really hasn't been on my radar. ROTTEN WIFE. So my parents got him a weed whacker and my sister bought him a human-sized bag of gummi bears and my other sister made him cupcakes and I... did nothing. I held Molly up and said, "Look! I made this for you!"

I asked him what he wanted to do today and he said, "Buy something." Do you have a husband like this? Mine likes to buy expensive things. He's all about retail therapy. The reason I own shoes from stores other than Payless is because Phillip gives me lectures about Quality and Things That Last. So I asked him where he wanted to spend money and he said, "At this point even the grocery store would suffice." SAD.

We were all going to go to Costco until it got sort of late in the morning and we started thinking about the production it is getting two kids in and out of the car. So Phillip took Jack to the bank and the playground and I am home with the little one, who is hanging out in her Peanut Shell (LOVE. LOVE. LOVE.) and learning how to get all cranky about Mommy typing on the laptop. She learns quick, this one.

I'm working on The Gory Details and also Molly: Quite Possibly An Even Easier Baby Than Her Brother (I Shall Now Duck While You Throw Rotten Vegetables). But for now you get more pictures.

That would be her Suspicious Look.

This would be how she looks 99% of the day. I told you. EASY BABY.

Can't think of a caption because my entire self has turned to mush.

So far so good

This morning, while Phillip was at the grocery store with Jack, I went upstairs to take a shower. I put Molly in the crib, popped a pacifier in her mouth and turned on the water. I did not grab Jack's baby monitor and reinstall it in my room so I could hear Molly, or roll the crib into the bathroom, although I did leave the door open. And when I had tons of shampoo in my hair and I heard her start crying, I simply washed out the shampoo, stepped out of the shower, put the pacifier back in her mouth and got back into my hot steamy beautiful shower.

I am way- like 100,000,000 times WAY- more relaxed about this baby.

Not about everything. I suffered wave after wave of anxiety yesterday after we got home from the hospital. The first time it had to do with the hearing test, which one ear failed to pass by, like, 3 points or something, and Phillip bringing up that study about how hearing loss in one ear is a correlating factor with SIDS. Then it was while I was feeding Molly and Phillip was giving Jack his lunch and I started to freak out about how I was going to feed two babies when Phillip goes back to work. Then it was at night when I realized I wasn't going to sleep and probably wasn't going to sleep ever again.

But other things! Other things I am the picture of Calm Cool and Collected. Putting the baby down, the squawking, dressing her, bathing her, not freaking out about the newborn skin weirdnesses, the schedule- OH MY GOD THE SCHEDULE. I didn't really have a schedule with Jack. I wasn't purposefully doing the feeding on demand thing, it's just what worked for my sleep deprived brain and it never really occurred to me to get him on a schedule until he was 3 or 4 months old. But yesterday I was all "Every two hours!" except if it wasn't exactly two hours I didn't really care, I wasn't writing it down and if she didn't eat when she was supposed to, no big deal we tried again a little bit later. Later this afternoon we have to take her to the pediatrician and I have not spent one minute of time wondering how and when I will feed her before (or after!) the 3pm appointment. This is where you start wondering if I have been kidnapped by aliens and replaced with some mutant anything-goes version of myself.

I have written one line of the How Molly Arrived On Earth story, but then I start to feel guilty about Liz pushing for forty-seven hours and Manda having back labor (and a TEN POUNDER). I have nothing to complain about, but since I fully intend to complain, I might have to wait a bit to get over this guilt complex thing.

Anyway. On to pictures!

The first sniff.

The first outfit. Also: evidence of pudge.

(Maggie's Mom: Let's put on an outfit!
Maggie's Dad: She's not a PAPER DOLL.
Maggie and Maggie's Mom: You be quiet. WHERE ARE THE OUTFITS?)

Almost ready to go home.

Someone forgot to bring the infant headrest...

Oops! I forgot my Contractually Obligated Link: Go read the birth announcement at Parenting and see yet ANOTHER picture. 

The comparisons begin

We're sitting around waiting for the hearing test people, which is killing me because my other baby is at home and hasn't seen me in days (okay, maybe not DAYS) and I MISS HIM. He's been shuffled through various family members since Sunday and I can't believe he's not sort of annoyed by that. Or wondering what's going on, at the very least. My parents brought him to the hospital yesterday morning and he was not particularly impressed by the new baby. He wasn't too interested in me either. But if my MOM was holding Molly then THAT WAS NOT ACCEPTABLE. He's such a Grandma's boy.

So we're sitting here wondering what it's going to be like when we get home. Jack will actually be napping, I hope, by the time we get there (although I wanted so badly to get home this morning. STUPID HEARING TEST.) And then what? I'm doing the Every Two Hours thing so it's not like I'm going to be much fun for Jack. (OH WAIT! THEY'RE HERE! YIPPEE!) Way back when Jack was being a horrible no good napper I was super worried about how in the world I was going to manage two babies. Now I can say that Jack is on an awesome schedule and going to bed and taking his naps like a Sleep Rock Star, so I'm a little more hopeful. I know not to expect him to be business as usual, but I do feel better having him on a more consistent schedule for the last couple months. So there's that, right?

Last night was hard and I know both of us were thinking: crying baby, both of us up all night, is Jack going to wake up too, we're going to be so tired the next day, HOW DO PEOPLE DO THIS? But I know that they do. And we will too. And it will be okay.

Poor Molly- all we've done since her birth is compare her to Jack. The curse of not being first, I guess. But I can say that she excels in some areas. For one thing, she is WAY CUTER. Jack is my darling boy and is, as you know, the handsomest boy on Earth, but he did not start out that way. At six pounds he was a scrawny old man-looking thing with velociraptor fingers and icky peeling skin. Molly is more than a pound heavier and MY that makes a difference. There's some actual pudge in those cheeks and I think she is ADORABLE. Also! I've decided that being more than a pound heavier has made a huge difference in breastfeeding as well. Imagine my utter shock at attempting to feed a baby who knows what to DO! I don't think Jack figured out the suck/swallow thing till he was two weeks old, at best. (Two weeks I do not care to repeat. Ever. Ugh.) While I can't say that I am enjoying the feeding thing this time around (OWWWWW) it's a frillion times easier, a gazillion times less stressful, a bajillion times better. Of course, a lot of that has to do with the fact that I have done this before. Not well, mind you, but it's SOME experience and that helps. Like, I know how to HOLD THE BABY.

On the other hand, she's done a bit more crying than Jack did in his first couple of days, so, BOO.

I am super excited to dress her in her exceedingly girly going home outfit, strap her into the carseat and get out of this joint. We've had an excellent experience (more on that later, although I will say GOD BLESS THE EPIDURAL) and it's been nice to just kind of hibernate with Molly for a bit, but we're ready to go home and start Life With Two Babies.

*Note!* There would be pictures attached to this post if it weren't for the fact that I am typing on Phillip's MacBook and I am Apple Stupid and have no idea where to find the new pictures. And I am suspecting he hasn't uploaded them anyway. Like he has anything better to do. Harrumph.

This is what's going on

So! I am in the hospital watching my husband and my sister eat in front of me AGAIN. And this time I am starving!

We held out most of the day because both od us were so paranoid about being sent home from the hospital again. Around 4 things got bad. I thought they were bad before, but no. This was bad. I finally insisted on the hospital with the intention of begging on my hands and knees if I wasn't far enough along. When we got here and they checked me and I was 6 cm, I let out a very loud THANK YOU JESUS.

In the next hour I got an IV and an epidural from the same lady who yelled at me last time (and didn't really yell at me this time, but kept saying, "MARGARET. YOU CANNOT MOVE. MARGARET. STOP PLEASE." And I'm all I'M HAVING CONTRACTIONS WOMAN!)

And all of that was just as whirlwindy and adrenaline rushy as it was the first time. But now I've calmed down a bit (at least my teeth have stopped chattering) and we are watching CNN and eating our Burger King. Well, SOME of us. I am 8 cm and the nurse says she thinks I'll have the baby by 11. I told her I'm not ready for that. I need some sleep and also some Coming Down Off The Scary Labor Ledge. I never updated Twitter today because I couldn't decide what to say. Either "TWO IS ENOUGH" or "I'M LIKING THE IDEA OF A SCHEDULED C-SECTION."

Anyway. I'll let you know. Like you aren't sitting in your pjs eating popcorn and refreshing my website every five minutes.

This post brought to you by morphine

They sent me home from the hospital.

Phillip is napping upstairs and my poor sister is sleeping on the couch, except she's not really sleeping because I'm down here with the TV on mute and the lamp on and I'm typing an angsty blog post about how the worst happened and I was sent home from the hospital.

Okay, not the WORST.

Also, if any of this post happens to make sense, you should be super impressed because I am all hopped up on a shot of morphine mixed with something that is making me verrrrrry sleepy.

I had 3 hours of pretty regular though very manageable contractions starting at 5 in the morning. And then... nothing. Maybe 2 or 3 per hour all day. Around 5 in the evening they picked up again, big time, or at least it felt that way to me. I started to get nervous. They were manageable, but getting closer and closer together. After about an hour and a half of that we went to the hospital, because everyone was of the opinion that we should go. And at the hospital things sort of calmed down. And they checked me. And told me I was barely 2 cm dilated. And if there wasn't a change when they came back to check me in an hour, I'd be going home.

So here I am.

It's as horrible a feeling as I thought it would be. A big chunk of Failure mixed with Embarrassment and a large helping of Wuss. When I showed up at the hospital with Jack I was 5-6 cm dilated. Which is no big thing, but a whole lot more progress than Barely 2. But I was worried, you know? Things seemed to be happening much faster this time and I had all the Baby Born 10 Minutes After Arriving At Hospital stories floating around in my brain.

But now I'm home. I was told to sleep, but even though whatever they gave me is lovely and drowsy, when a contraction does hit I have to open my eyes and deal. Perhaps it's taking the edge off, I'm not sure, but I don't see how I'm going to sleep through those. I'm trying not to worry too much about when I am supposed to go back. I think with Jack I assumed it was going to take forever and I would stay at home as long as I could. I don't have that mindset this time- I'm all about knowing when to go to the hospital. So I jumped the gun. How is it possible that I did a better job of handling this the first time?

What if the contractions totally go away and I am not really in labor at all?

While I'm eating my Cheerios

Earlier this morning I thought I might be in Real Live Actual Labor. It's slowed down considerably, so maybe not. Who knows. (Note to God: SICK OF THIS.) But anyway. Earlier, when things were hurting more, I was up watching Meet the Press and wondering if I wanted to have contractions in church and thinking, "Nah! That doesn't sound fun!" But then one of the journalists mentioned that when Sarah Palin went into labor she just finished out a meeting, got on a plane and went back to Alaska. So then I was all, "Well SHOOT."

So I'm going to church. Where I shall be (I can't believe I'm typing this) praying that things kick up again because seriously: SICK OF THIS.

*updated! lucky you!*

It's taken all fricking day, but I do believe there is some kicking up. Maybe? I am still not convinced. If I am up all night with contractions I am going to be Annoyed, and also Totally Irritated that it is happening on LABOR DAY. HAR HAR HAR.

A few unrelated totally random thoughts

The last two nights I haven't had any contractions. On one hand: gee, it's so much nicer going to bed without curling up in pain for an hour before you can fall asleep. On the other: I AM GOING TO BE PREGNANT FOREVER.

Jack woke up an hour and a half earlier than usual and was, as you may guess, a royal pain the entire morning. Phillip even apologized for having to go to work. (I'm not alone!) We managed until lunchtime and then, when I turned around from the stove with a nice hot grilled cheese sandwich, he was asleep in the high chair. He looked like he'd had a little too much to drink. I managed to stuff half the sandwich into him before the puppy dog eyes and fluttering eyelashes did me in and I put him to bed a full hour and a half earlier than usual. Obviously he needs some sleep, but if this nap isn't appropriately long enough he's going to be dealing with one exceptionally grouchy mother.

Of course he was an absolute angel yesterday, when his grandparents were here. Grandparents=Magic.

My old office is having a big party next week. I'm invited. I don't really want to catch up with the boss or anything, and I'm overly self-conscious of my rotundity (see: PREGNANT FOREVER), but it might be fun to be a fly on the wall. The one and only coworker I've ever managed to be friends with has promised to be my "wing girl". What would you do?

I have somehow neglected to stock up on ice cream. I do, however, have three watermelons in my refrigerator.

My mom brought over some pictures of my baby shower. There I am, filling up the entirety of my sister's huge armchair, my arms looking like mutton shanks and the top I thought was as-flattering-as-possible was decidedly, ah, NOT. I thought about weighing myself this morning and couldn't do it. I'm pretty sure I've gained more weight with this baby and I would like to rationalize that by saying I am measuring on track this time and obviously the baby is bigger and THAT must be the reason for the weight gain, but I am getting really depressed about it. I am remembering how long it took me to lose any weight at all, how I didn't lose the the last ten until I stopped breastfeeding, how unhappy I was in that body... I know there are more important (and exciting! and fun!) things to be thinking about and YES IT'S TOTALLY WORTH IT but I am still feeling huge and bummed out. I've decided that one check in the Having A Baby In September Pros Column (and there aren't many, when you are the kind of person who sits in front of light boxes and plots to get her vitamin D levels checked) is that I won't have to fit summer clothes over a post-partum body. Long sleeves! Bulky sweaters! Works for me.

Jack better sleep long enough for MY nap. I now require at least an hour in the afternoons...

I've become addicted to Mad Men.

The right deezignerr went home Wednesday night. Could not stand that guy. Hated his stuff. And still totally cried when he cried at the end. And: how much do you think Korto's coat weighed? I was surprised her little stick model made it down the runway without collapsing.

What am I going to do with Jack this afternoon? Not only am I too tired to do pretty much everything, I don't have any clothes I can wear in public. DILEMMAS.

I like to kick off my week with a little paranoia

Did we have a weekend? I'm not sure. Seems like one of us never came home from work and the other was totally worn out from taking care of the boy and suffering numerous meltdowns about IS THE BABY COMING NOW? NOW? WHAT ABOUT NOW?

I've mentioned Phillip and his revolting work ethic before, but this weekend takes the cake. He went to work at 9 on Thursday morning and did not return until 11 on Friday morning. I KNOW. He slept all afternoon AND THEN WENT BACK TO WORK that night. I think he got home around midnight. Yesterday seemed like things were mostly fixed, but he WENT TO THE OFFICE AGAIN that afternoon to help make sure and oh man you guys. I may be okay doing the stay at home mom thing during the week, but I sure look forward to the weekends when there are two of us to manage the whining. He was back that evening because I was going to my Not A Baby Shower (phad thai, Starbucks, chick flick, Red Mango, totally forgetting where we parked the car in the parking garage and telling everyone that if I went into labor in a parking garage and had my baby IN A PARKING GARAGE we were so not going to be friends anymore) and he was required to be at home. Even today he spent an hour on the phone with a coworker and sending a few emails. I'm sure he glad he likes to be the one who pays the mortgage and I have to say I'm a lot better at being an IT Widow (A LOT) but we've both had a rough couple of days and OH MY GOD TOMORROW IS MONDAY.

Last night, the first night we were both actually in bed at the same time, I had my biggest meltdown. I'm still having contractions every night and even though it only lasts about an hour and obviously isn't requiring a trip to the hospital, it's taking a psychological toll. Every night I have to go through my whole, "Okay, if this is labor, what do I do next" plan of attack and it is STRESSING ME OUT. I don't know whether we'll call my parents or Phillip's parents to watch Jack, because I think it will totally depend on the time of day we need to leave. And even though I finally asked my sister to be on call and a friend of mine volunteered to do back up duty if we can't get in touch with my sister for some reason, I feel so unsettled. I think if I wasn't having Fake Contractions every night I could give myself a break with the strategic thinking, but it's hard not to go there when your entire midsection is cramping up.

Even though I'm still not sure what Braxton Hicks contractions are, I would guess a lot of what I'm feeling are BH contractions. I am also sure that some of them are NOT BH contractions. Some of them are painful, super long and make me catch my breath. This isn't at all what going into labor felt like with Jack, but I've been talking to lots of Experienced Moms who tell me that labor with their second was really different from their first. So half of my brain is all, "Would you CALM DOWN, for the love of GOD, these are BRAXTON HICKS you BIG FAT WEENIE" and the other half is all "OMG OMG AM I HAVING THE BABY TONIGHT?"

You see where it would be beneficial for my type of pregnant woman to indulge in the occasional glass of wine.

Anyway, I was telling Phillip all of this last night, how stressed out and tired and WEARY I am of this whole thing and then I realized that a lot of my meltdowniness is there because I haven't exactly opened myself up for input. There's Phillip speaking very rationally about what we'll do when we really have to go to the hospital and my mom is on the phone reminding me how many people are around to help and how it will all work out and suddenly it seems okay. I should not stew for too long in my own brain. (Quoth the Internet: GEE, YA THINK?)

With Jack it was just sort of exciting. Is that a twinge? This could be it! And with this baby... it's not exciting, it's stressful. Compounded by the fact that it's taken me this long to realize Jack is no longer going to be my one and only and while I am guilty of rolling my eyes at everyone who's ever moped about that sort of thing- WAH, MY BAYYYYBYYYYY.

It's time for me to go to bed. OBVIOUSLY. In other news: the portable crib bedding arrived! I like it! And when Liz returned my tupperware today it was filled with YUMMY CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES and what I and the rest of the world would like to know is: how does the mother of a 2-week-old baby have time to make COOKIES?  I think she's just trying to make me look bad.