Life on the other side meant something else

When I started this blog the title referred to me learning about life postpartum as a mom...today it means something totally different.

Today. Today it means something totally different. Today, it is the opposite of all the joyful reasons I began this blog.  Today, it refers to me, a mom who lost my mom.
 
Every time I talk or write about "it," I find myself not able to say the word...I always say something like "when we lost mom" or "she passed" but the reality is...the reality is that I made it just that far before I balled my eyes out.  The reality is that I just tried and I couldn't write it.

So, let me try this another way.  This post is about my grief, it's about how tired I am of being sad, it's about how the thought of how tired I am of being sad just makes me cry more (like now).  I am just hoping that trying to dump out everything in my brain might just make room for healing.

On August 12th at 7:30PM I got a text that Mom was on her way to the hospital via Ambulance.  She never left.

That night, somehow, in hindsight I think she "knew."  It was the first time I think she was scared...she couldn't breathe and I now know that she begged dad not to let her die.  I can only begin to imagine how scared he was, too. I didn't go home until midnight, there were no answers as to what was wrong, but they'd stabilized her and decided to admit her.  I left only because she told me to, "you have work tomorrow, and the babies (that's what she called the kids) need you at home." So, I listened to my mom and I went home.  I can't remember the ride home, but I remember crawling in the bed that night worrying about my mom.  I somehow knew that despite all other trips to the hospital, this one was different and I needed to find a way to be back the next day and as much as possible until she came home. 

You cannot imagine the thoughts that go through your head when you begin to think you are going to loose a parent.  I wanted to ask her questions...but I didn't want her to think I thought she was going to - there it is, that word I can't say.  I thought of a million things to say and nothing to say...I though about even more things I wanted to discuss but I couldn't find words to say them that sounded right. I finally blurted out how sorry I was if I was a shit to raise. I told her I loved her more than I have in a while and with more sincerity...the sincerity I should have been using all along.

Losing Time

I remember watching "Everyone Loves Raymond" (back when a new episode was aired weekly) and thinking how weird the episode was that centered around Frank "sniffing" the kids' heads and saying something to the effect of "I'm sucking in the youth."  Weird, it was weird....right? 

Nope. It wasn't weird, I just didn't understand.

Maisie is now 2 and Logan will be 4 next week...4!  When did I get here?  I have a 4 year old.  We are talking about kindergarten and private v/s public school.  I thought there would be more time before this happened. 

More Time.  That is quite a notion if you really think about it. I just need more time to finish my homework. If I'd just had more time to study. I wish I'd had more time to play/hang out/chat.  There need to be more hours in the day.  I've uttered these phrases and others like them a million times and every time I've said them it's related to work...school work, house work, working on a friendships and work work.  Rarely have I ever said them and really meant them.

What is a more realistic thought/statement/notion is that I'm losing time.  I'm losing valuable growing moments with my kids while I'm worrying about catching up on laundry or

The Ugly Truth

PrePost Disclaimer: I've had about 2.5 hours of sleep in the last 32 hours and I don't get to sleep again for another 8+ hours, so don't judge my spelling and grammar in this post, please.

I'm about to dump some real truth on you, so if you're not ready for hard core veracity, leave now.

I love my kids, I do, I swear I love them more than anything else in my life, ever...but right now, I don't like one of them very much, at all. 

My full contact sport of a life has gone from the things we have to do and the accidental bumps/bruises that result (on both kids and us) to living in a constant state of being hit, kicked, pushed, scratched and one attempt at biting. 

More truth -  it is hard as hell to keep your cool.  I mean really, really, grind your teeth, hold your breath, clench your fists and count to like a million, HARD to keep your cool.  And I'm here to tell you that lately, I've lost my 'S' a couple of times...which leads to immediate post-yelling guilt and self deprecating crying.  How could I yell at a little person, you ask?  Well, clearly you don't have one.  They are like brilliant little ninjas...they figure out exactly which of your buttons to push at what time and know exactly how long you can tolerate it and then, they push some more.

I am vehement disbeliever in the term "terrible two's."  They do not exist...(I reserve the right to rescind this statement in about a year) What does exist is something of almost Biblical Proportion.  I have tried to find some quippy little rhyming term or alliteration to use for the 4th year of my child's life (Age 3), but nothing lives up to the actual experience. 

I never ever want to wish time away, especially not when my kids are so little.  But really, if I just had a cage to put him in...I jest, well, mostly.

I'd love to babble on further about how this impacts spousal relationships, but frankly, I've used up all the cognitive energy I have for today...and tomorrow.

But before I totally bring this stream of thought to a close I want to note that whether you love it, hate it or have never heard of it, I have to say I'm kind of glad to have the "power of facebook" at my fingertips.  Through the last few weeks of hell, I've posted asking for advice and support and I've really been pleasantly surprised by the outpouring of support I've received.  Glad to know that A)I'm not alone, B) there is lots of alcohol waiting for me in various parts of the state & country and C) I have some really really great friends...and that's not just because they'll make sure the beer's on ice when I arrive.

Parenting is harder than Pro Football

In football, during the playoffs, teams get "Bye weeks."  In parenting, during the screamfest tournament, I get only a bye day...I think that is today.

Last night, more of the same.  We thought we'd give everyone a change of scenery and go out to dinner...BIG MISTAKE.  Maisie didn't want to eat and thus proceeded in one swift motion to create a 15+ foot splatter zone around her and our table.  The wait staff at La Hacienda seemed abundantly thrilled with this.  THEN, Logan began to melt down and not tell us what was wrong.  After 5 minutes of telling him that there were other people here who "didn't want to hear his mouth," (channeling my inner Bob May, I think) he finally caved and told me that his issue was that he wanted to be in a seat like Maisie.  So we sat, in a booth, with two kids crammed in high chairs at the end of the table...[enter pomp and circumstance that starts the circus H E R E]

This meant that we got to spend dinner saying, things like, "don't push her chair or you'll flip it over." "keep your feet off the table," "she can't get any closer/farther away because you're both in high chairs."  This culminated in my asking the waiter if he wanted either/both children.  Up until this point, he didn't speak great English (think of Rob using sign language for "Cheese Deep" and "small cerveza"), but that translated well enough that he picked up Maisie, in highchair, and walked away.  In parenting, there is a nanosecond where anything and everything makes you panic...he took just a hair longer than that nanosecond and I almost went after the dude.  But, he brought her right back (with a slightly less than panic look *note to self - start talking to Maisie now about stranger danger*), walked away and came back with a ring pop.  Yes folks, ONE ring pop...and 2 kids.  For the second time during dinner, I almost killed the waiter.  $1.50 later at check out we thwarted the single ring pop issue with Logan's first piece of gum (the giant ball of gum), a ring pop and 2 york patties. 

We will not be going out to eat with the kids again any time soon.

So, my "Bye day."  This morning, Logan was an angel...really an angel, almost better than his normal good self.  He got up happy, ate breakfast without incident, allowed me to dress him without a fight, went potty willingly... and then the Pièce de résistance, he said, "Mommy, I love you."  It was then I realized that today we both get a bye.  With any luck, it will last all weekend.  In all likelihood, it will last for 24-36 hours with only a few hiccups.  Either way, I'll take it. 

Pro Football players train, practice, play an entire Preseason and a Season of full contact football before they enter the playoffs and receive their "bye week."  Parents get 9 months to joyfully plan for the next 18 years, at best they trained as teenagers while baby sitting or watching a younger sibling.  Parenting is a full contact sport, if you don't believe me, just try to trim the fingernails/toenails of a toddler, or attempt to politely suck boogers out of their nose with one of those bulb things...it's full contact people, take my word for it. So, today I will gladly take a bye and use it to find perspective.

I am glad that parenting is my sport, I would choose it any day over pro football.  The rewards are far greater and much longer lasting... Everything about parenting is better than pro football...well, except for the pay.

The Sport of ScreamCrying & who are you people?

If scream-crying was a sport, then I'd say we've had a monumental "game" at our house...nay a tournament lately. If you don't know what scream-crying is, then I suggest putting on the music you hated the most in high school, on repeat, as loud as your Bose system will go, for as long as you can stand it...that will irritate a fraction of the nerve that scream-crying attacks. 

I don't know if it's age, lack of sleep, hormones (mine or theirs) or what, but for the past 3 days E V E R Y T H I N G sets my kids off.  This morning I put the toothpaste on Logan's toothbrush and 30 minutes later, after Rob held him for 10 minutes, it was like a switch.  The "Game" was over- he fell silent and ate breakfast.   In what I will refer to as "tournament games," (you know, those that really count) over the past few days it only takes one kid starting the scream cry and with in minutes the other one chimes in.  I've tried my best, WE've tried our best to do what the pediatrician recommends and ignore the behavior but we can't.  I've tried time out, for me and the kids and nothing works. 

H E L P

You know the phrase, Life's a journey, well Parenting is more like a Marine Corps mud run except everything is dirty and you don't know why, the obstacles are harder because you don't understand them and the people who are "winning" are literally half your size.  I suggest you plan your attack one step at a time...

Step one - WINE and lots of it.  That's really as far as I've gotten into the "step" process, so really if you know step two and beyond, please share.

In a totally separate and random stream of thought...

I like to tell stories; real ones, not fiction.  I'd never be good at writing a book because everyone I know would sue me for telling on them...really, I'm not a great writer, I just know a bunch of kooks who do fun/funny stuff and give me "material."

With that said, I've gotten several notes about how much folks are enjoying my blog.  "That is great," I say, "Please continue to follow me."  I have 4 followers.   I don't care if I have 1 or 700, but what I do wonder is how in the world I have 4 followers and yet 70+ people have read several of my blog posts.  Who are you people and why am I so interesting?  Follow me for Pete sake, I want to know who you are! 

 

The Plan & The Ketchup.

I am so far behind with I want to write that I've decided I need a plan of attack.  Rather than irregular lengthy posts, I am striving for regular more concise updates on life.  I know, lofty expectations, but if I don't plan it - it won't happen.

So, in the spirit of the "ketchup," (ketchup because last year was messy and ketchup is messier than catch up) here is 2012 the overview:

January 2012 - I was so right! (I love saying that) Maisie arrived and she is just the spunky, vivacious, Giant Personality we expected, but I couldn't possibly have asked for anything different. Logan adjusted well and quickly to having Maisie in the house. 

February 2012 - Mom had what we thought was a heart attack and turned out to be an extreme case of Anxiety...AKA a blessing in disguise.  While in the hospital the Dr's found that she had lung cancer.  Logically, this shouldn't have been a surprise as we all know she's smoked since she was a teen, but realistically it scared the shit out of everyone.

March brought Logan's second Birthday and a round of Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease for Logan, Maisie and myself.  That was less than enjoyable.  I returned to work from Maternity leave and though it was easier than the first time, it was still super hard to leave Miss M! 

April, May and June are a Crazy blur...Rob traveled A LOT! I had a huge work "Thing" going on that caused a great deal of stress (but ended VERY well).  Mom started radiation, Maisie started eating, Chrissy was in the throws of wedding planning and I had to pick out a bridesmaid's dress while also working on losing baby weight-not the combo I wanted, but hey, ya do what ya can and let the chips fall where they may.

Summer brought a fresh new outlook on work, the completion of Mom's radiation, Chrissy's Wedding Dress, more travel for Rob.   We never took the boat out and only took a few days for vacation.  All in all, more than half of 2012 blew by and mostly I just tried to keep up.

In October, Chrissy was married and is now Mrs Matt Long.  In November, I became an aunt to the sweetest little peanut...Ryan and Casey's son, Declan.  Logan declares regularly that Declan is his buddy and he gets to teach him big boy stuff.  Maisie adores him, and I think she thinks he's her live baby doll. 

Holidays were another crazy mess as well ALL, and I do mean all, got the noro virus.  complete with all the puke, etc you can imagine.  12 of us in all...Chrissy even spent Christmas in the bed at home while we kept her involved via facetime.  Barely recovered from that and had Maisie's first birthday followed almost immediately by Logan's 3rd. 

So, in a messy nutshell with complete lack of descriptive detail, that was my "ketchup."  Now, cross your fingers and wiggle your nose and throw some good luck my way and maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to keep up with this thing a little more.

She's here...and I'm still alive.

10 weeks and 1 day after her arrival, I can grab a moment to catch up on thoughts.

She is amazing! Maisie is sooo much different than Logan! Who knew that eat/sleep/poop/start over could be so different.  He would eat and sleep, she eats and if we are lucky, she sleeps.  He slept through the night at 6.5 weeks...she sleeps most of the night, but wakes up about 4AM and I have to put her next to me to get her to sleep until a reasonable 5-6AM.  He would poop, she has these ridiculously epic bowel movements that require loud and long preparation on her part.  Different as night and day!

I was so worried about loving her, but I do love her! I love her just as much as I love Logan...

The Countdown

I have 35.5 days left before I meet my baby girl...who finally has a name! Margaret Elizabeth, we will call her Maisie.  Margaret and Elizabeth are both family names, and more directly each is a part of mine and Chrissy's given name.  So, why this name? Mostly, because I love Maisie...but also because I can tell in-utero that she is going to have all the fire, spunk and drive that Chrissy and I have...God Help Me.

But, enough about her name.

I have just over a month to prepare for Maisie.  The house isn't ready, her stuff isn't washed, my stuff isn't washed, she currenlty has nowhere to sleep...AND Christmas is just over a week away.  But mostly, I am not ready.  I know God will give me all the tools I need for her, just as he did with Logan, but I find myself asking Him how there is enough Love in the world for me to love her the way I do Logan.  I know I will. I KNOW I will...but that is because I tell myself I will.  He is my angel, my baby and the tiny human who made my heart grow exponentially.  How and wehre can more of that kind of love come from??  I am not sure if I am ready to share me with two kids, because I love being 100% Logan's. 

But, God has already given this ability to love to my sweet child...he runs around hollering his sisters name.  He calls her name at my belly in the morning to wake her up (which is cute now, but won't be when she learns to sleep), and "knocks" on my belly to tell her that he is out there.  If that isn't God-like, I don't know what is.

So, it is with great trepidation t hat I say, I am not going to worry.  I am just going to countdown to her arrival and anxiously await the Tornado we will call Maisie...

Every Day I'm Shufflin'

So I'm not that good at titles...shoot me.

I am a working mom.

I wanted that statement to stand alone so everyone has the opportunity to think about what that means...which thus far, is a matter of opinion.  Now, I am going to tell you what it really means.

Being a working mommy means that I rarely stop.  I get up before the rest of the house and most nights I go to sleep after everyone else.  It means that from 8AM-5PM I am expected to act like I am not a mother and from 5PM-8AM, I do my best to act like I don't have responsibilities hanging over my head from work.  Being a working mom means that I don't get to see my child's teachers, because we chose a good school over a convenient location, so Daddy drops him off and Grandparents pick him up so, at best, I get the translated version of how my baby is progressing.  Being a working mom means that I snap at my husband way to often for not doing his part, when in reality, he does more than other men by leaps and bounds.  It means that I resent my stay at home friends, but know that I am a better mommy because I work...that is not to say I am better than them, but that I am a better mommy than I would be if I stayed home...but I still want to stay home. 

It also means that I worry...I worry exponentially more than I did before. I worry about all the normal things, will he out live me, when will we have our first broken bone, did we lock the front door/baby gate/fence/freezer/toilet/etc, is the breathing (I still check at least twice a night), the list goes on forever.  But, I also have to worry about how he is cared for while I am working...this is particularly cumbersome when he's sick.

Today, my baby might have pink eye, I am not there listening to either A) the soothing words of an MD telling me it's nothing, or B)the specific directions the MD is giving regarding how to handle pink eye (again, I rely on translation).  No, today  I am sitting at my desk waiting on a conference call, because I am a working mommy.

But at 5 O'clock I will change hats and love and care for my angel in every way possible until the cows come home...or until my alarm goes off tomorrow morning when I start the whole process over and I have to trust someone else to care for him while I work for his future.

...and in between all of these things, I might do laundry, feed the dogs, make a bed, clean the dishes...

April 21, 2011 - David "Dampa" Burr is 90 today

I love Spring! It is my favorite time of year! And Easter is my favorite holiday. Everything has a new beginning.

Today is Dampa's 90th birthday...I can't believe he's 90!  He is a big part of the reason I feel so connected to Spring time.  Growing up Dampa took Chrissy and I on walks around the WFU campus, and every time we passed a vine of morning glories he would say, "Morning, Glory!" and mean it!  Every one of God's creations deserves a heartfelt greeting in the morning, and that is just what they got.  To this day, when I see a morning glory, I tell her hello, and I think she smiles back at me. 

Dampa is a retired Presbyterian minister.  He never pushed us to do more at church, but he always made sure we knew our bible stories and that we took time to think about God.  I am a Christian, I believe in God, Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit, but on a day-to-day basis I find myself to be more faithful than religious.  I find more inspiration from God's earthly creations than I do from a church pew.  What better time of year to be Faithful than Easter...it's easy to believe in God, and to believe in the birth of Jesus...but to believe he was crucified to death and 3 days later was Risen from the dead...that, my friends, takes FAITH! 

Every day I wake up and have Faith that God watched over my son during the night so that I could sleep.  (believe you me, without faith, no parent would ever sleep...we would hover over a crib all night watching to make sure our child took one breath right after the next) Every day I have Faith that God will see me safely to work and home again.  Every day I have Faith that God will help me be the best parent I can be. Every day I have Faith.

Our parents, grandparents, siblings and friends all shape us into the people we become.  Dampa played the biggest role in shaping my life as a Christian.  Today is his 90th birthday.  Today I will celebrate Dampa, this weekend I will celebrate the Rise of Jesus Christ from the dead.  All the while, I have Faith that my son will have some of these same influences in his life and grow up to be a strong and Faithful Christian with amazing people to look up to just as I have.

Frustration-my short but deep thought for the day

I am a talker, and I sense that my child will be too.  Logan loves to babble.  When he wakes up from a nap, and before we go get him from his crib, he will lay in there forever just talking to his bunny or pointing at things in the room and discussing them with himself...it's so great to listen to!

Lately, he has taken to sudden and seemingly unexplainable meltdowns...a lot of them happen with Rob, who I know is easily discouraged and thinks his son hates him.  As a high anxiety person myself, I try to stay calm during these episodes, though internally that doesn't always happen.  And then one day it dawned on me...he's frustrated.  Try as he might to tell us something, we just aren't getting his message.  Ball, banana, baby, balloon...all items he is familiar with and all words that currently sound the same coming out of his mouth.  He wants something, he tells us, and we do nothing...or it seems like nothing to him...and then the screaming begins.  I am not talking about a loud cry, I am talking about a scream that affords me a better look inside of his mouth than any Dr is ever going to get during a routine exam.  I think I can see China in there!  And his tongue just quivers as hard as it possibly can.  I feel so bad for the little booger!

So here I am, in a house with two frustrated boys.  One frustrated because I can't understand him and the other frustrated because he takes the meltdown personally.  Who ever said men aren't sensitive?

the year in review

In the years, days or even moments before Logan was born you couldn't have made me believe how different I would feel/be when he got here.  It's as though Margaret Mitchell wrote my life's story until the moment he arrived, and then some other author booted her ass out and took over the storyline! To anyone without children, I want so desperately to tell you what it's like...but there are no words, no descriptions and no other life experiences that I can use to fill you in.  I can say that I hope, one day, everyone gets to experience it.  For those with children, you know, and so it requires no explanation.

The first weeks home with Logan were tough, but I am blessed to have the most amazing man I've ever met right by my side every step of the way.   Rob got up EVERY SINGLE TIME Logan cried at night...he really did, every time!  Rob would change Logan, swaddle him and bring him to me to nurse...I never got out of bed.  When I would wake up (yes, I fell asleep a lot while nursing), Logan was always done nursing and I would just slide him back into the bassinette and go back to bed. 

Days were tougher as I thought I needed to be superwoman...I tried to do all the things Logan related plus, shower myself, clean house, maybe even do something about dinner.  This meant that I totally ignored the whole "sleep when the baby sleeps" mantra.  Ignoring that sage advice was a mistake...I had meltdowns and lots of them.  I sent emails to friends asking how they got through it...those emails were barely coherent, and written through tears.  Becky told me to stick with nursing for 2 weeks, "Come hell or high water, do it for two weeks and it's all downhill from there," she said.   I am so glad I made that promise to myself before I started or I would have surely given up at the start.  Nursing, in and of itself, isn't terribly hard, after all babies already know what to do, but the time and commitment it takes is harder than hard.

In my 3rd week  I FINALLY made it out of the house (excluding Logan's 5 day old Dr's appt that Rob took us to) and headed to Mommy and Me at the hospital.  I was sweating and exhausted by the time I made it to the class, but I was out! YAY me!  If I could have stomached the alcohol, I would have had a celebratory glass of wine right then and there.  Alas, no alcohol in the women's center (perhaps I should put that in the suggestion box).

As hard as it was those first few weeks, it was even more wonderful. Sometimes I cried because I loved this little boy so much.  Sometimes I rejoiced because God had picked me to be a mommy.  I prayed a lot.  I prayed that God take care of this precious little life he'd afforded me.  I prayed every time Rob left the house...I loved him more than ever and every time he left I was terrified of anything happening to him.  I know that some of this was me coming down off the 9-month hormone kick I'd been riding, but mostly it was me learning about Love.  It's not what I thought it was...I mean, I love my parents, sister, husband, family, etc...But, my God in Heaven! This! This kind of Love trumps those a million times over and then some.  Every tear, every exhausted email, every fear, ever prayer, all of it came from this brand new place inside of me...a place I didn't know existed. (so in my head, despite how touching this might be, I see the Grinch's heart growing 3 sizes that day-LOL)

After the first month I really copped a groove. I think that's because at 4 weeks Logan went from needing to feel like he was still in the womb to all of a sudden "arriving."  He wanted to look at me and smile and coo.  I know the books say babies develop a lot in the first year but I had no idea how fast it really is.  I wish I had written more milestones down, but such is life.  Logan hated Tummy Time, hated it! But by 3 months, he had mastered that task and was pushing up on his arms to look around.  In his 4th month he was rolling...once he figured that out, there was no keeping him still.  Rob and I spent our first night away from Logan on August 21st, when we came home Sunday, Logan was sitting up.  I looked at Rob and said, "That's it. I'm never leaving again."  Of course, I was joking, well mostly. 

By 7.5 month Logan was crawling and the dogs were ticked!  He was everywhere and they couldn't get away! (Rob and I didn't baby proof, and we don't really plan to. Logan understands 'No' and has since at least 6 months.  We've run into some snags, and he likes to test us, but for the most part he listens.)  In addition to mastering the crawl, Logan could also clap, wave, point and identify the nose on other people (and the dogs).   

By 9 months Logan was standing on his own and during the 9th month he started walking a little behind those push toys and along the couch. I realized that he'd been out as long as he'd been in...9 months of incubating and 9 months of loving and he was up and about. At 11 months he said his first word, Puppy!  We consider that the first word because it's the first with any real meaning.  He's said mamamama and some form of dadad for a while, but not necessarily associating it with us.  But one Thursday night in February, I was holding him and letting the dogs in when he looked right at Abby, pointed and said pahp-hee!  "OMG, Rob! Did you hear that!?!?"  We'd both heard it clear as a bell...and for the rest of the night we made him say it over and over and over and over...

Logan's first Christmas was wonderful! It snowed all day!  Rob and I carried him and toys from high point to Winston and back again...twice.  We spent ample time with both families, and boy oh boy did that kid rack up!  We were very fortunate that Logan has spent time this year with his great grandparents; Grandpa Miller, Dampa Burr and Granny May.  As of today, he is just past his 1st birthday and is walking a few steps at a time on his own, identifying body parts, saying ba-yaya (banana), puppy, mama, dadad, baby and working on a few others.

We've had quite a year!  And this is only the beginning...

 

what an entrance!

March 5, 2010 was a Friday. I woke up feeling a little like I had to go to the bathroom (yes, I started with this).  But, pregnant and late for work, I jumped on through my morning routine and headed into work at 7:30.  3 minutes into my drive down 311 I felt the worst muscle cramp/pinched nerve I have ever felt in my back. I almost pulled the car over on the shoulder!  But it eased up and I finished my drive to the great big city of Archdale where I have worked for the past 10 (holy crap it's been that long) years.  Upon pulling into the lot and seeing my boss walk out the door, that damn nerve shot some more pain across my lower back.  It wasn't until my boss said, "So, you havin' a baby today or what?" that it hit me.  This is labor, I've gone into labor!  I threw him a pleasantry, walked in the door and hit a quick pace to my desk with my head down so as not to be spoken to.

(Baby Logan was going to be just like his mama...create a schedule and stick to it!  Doctors said his due date would be March 5th and by golly he was johnny on the spot)

I spent the next 3.5 hours timing my contractions and telling myself that I didn't need to go home. (if anyone watches The Office, I pulled a Pam) In hind sight, that was sooo dumb. At 11:30, with contractions about 6 minutes apart, I told the girls at work that I would go with them to lunch, but would need to take my sub to go.  We/I eat at Archdale Sub on pretty regular basis...they know me by name and had been tracking my pregnancy as they regularly fed my baby.  After scaring the pants off the kid taking my order who asked how I was just as I had a contraction (yeah, he might never have sex again), I grabbed my sub and headed for home (yes home, not the hospital).  I called Rob to apprise him of the situation...pretty sure he yelled at me for waiting so long...and started to drive.

For those of you that don't know; laboring and driving is right up there with drinking and driving...DANGEROUS!  I made it home, & tried to eat my sandwich (knowing I wasn't going to eat again until after this baby arrived) as Rob began to show me the stopwatch proving that I was contracting at just under 2 minutes apart! YIKES.  We were at the OB's office at 2PM only to find that I was not quite 3cm. So they sent me home to walk.  I walked, 3 steps at a time because that is a far as I could get before the next tingle turned to boulder crushing pressure (otherwise known as a contraction) hit me...I did this for 2 hours.  At 4:30 we returned to the OB for another barely changing measurement and it was time to be admitted.

Something everyone should know is that it's hard enough to pee in a cup on a normal basis, it is harder to pee in a cup when you are pregnant, but it is damn near impossible to do it while you are pregnant and contracting!  BUT, I did it...3 times that day.  Why my pee was so valuable, I will never understand, but the OB needed it and so did the admitting nurse.  So, I managed to collect a specimen and turn it over to them all while begging for drugs.  Rob parked the car and arrived just in time to see NASA hook me up to every monitor known to man.

It is about this time that I really lose track of time. Rob called family to tell them I was in labor.  (Chrissy arrived first...no surprise there as she was the 3rd most excited about Logan's arrival).  Sometime around 6 O'clock a tall, beautiful, black man floated into my room to make me the happiest woman on earth...you see he was the anesthesiologist!  I was so scared of the big needle he was going to put in my back, but I am here to tell you that I felt pressure and NOTHING more.  After the epidural kicked in, I told Rob we could stop lying to the family about the hospital rules that required they stay in the waiting area and let them back one at a time for no more than 5 minutes each.  I love my family, but I am easily annoyed on a good day, so we had decided ahead of time that the best thing for everyone was to not poke the bear :).

The epidural was great, but it slowed everything down a lot.  I think it was about 8PM when Dr White broke my water and we learned that Logan had passed meconium. At 11PM I was still only 6 cm dilated and having lots of IV pitocin...enough in fact that my contractions were only 45 seconds apart and not giving Logan enough recovery time.  A little after 11 a nurse came in to "flip me."  She watch the monitors and flipped me again about 60 second later...it was at that point that I felt like a cartoon character watching my own strip being written...Everything seemed foggy and muffled, there were words coming out of her mouth but nothing was computing...I was beginning to panic.  She yelled something across me aimed at the nurse in the hall way.  A second nurse came into the room and with one on each side grabbing a hold of the pee pad they tossed be from one side to another quickly and aggressively for several minutes.  Despite the fog, the panic and the drugs, I understood what was happening when they said, Call Dr White and get her in here now.  I made eye contact with Rob who mouthed the words, "it's ok..."  How I didn't start crying at that moment is beyond me.  The nurses wouldn't tell me much, Rob said he knew something was up because the heart rate monitor on Logan had slowed and become erratic.  OH MY GOD SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH MY BABY!!!!!!!!

Waiting for Dr White was the longest wait of my life, it was longer than the 9 months I'd spent incubating, it was longer than eternity...it was too long to wait to find out what was happening.  FINALLY, she walked in the room, looked and the print outs, "checked my oil," and said, "the baby is in some distress."  I began to cry.  A million thoughts slammed into my head like a train without breaks, one slamming into the next without stop.  She saw the look, I am sure I wasn't the first woman to have a full blown melt down in that room.  She said we could either do a semi-emergency C-section now, or wait a little while to see if he improved.  But knowing he'd already passed some meconium and that I was only at 6cm, if we did wait and there was no improvement then we'd have a full blown Emergency C-section...that meant I might be knocked out, Rob might not be in there in time and some other stuff, but I had stopped listening.  I had never considered having a c-section.  I am not a small woman, I knew I could have a baby.  It never occurred to me that I might not have to have a c-section because of me, but rather Logan would need the C-section so that he would be ok.  I looked at Rob, he said that a C-section wasn't a bad thing and I would be fine.  I think we talked about it, but mostly I remember saying, do whatever is the best for the baby, I don't want to take any chances.

She told me what would happen next, though I didn't hear a word and they started to prep me.  I was shaking and crying.  I was shaking to the point that the entire bed was shaking...I couldn't stop.  I was terrified.  More scared in that moment then I had ever been in my entire life.  I've never had surgery before in my life, and now we are having an emergency surgery because my baby needs help.  What if it's worse than they are telling me?  What if they need me to stay calm to control my vitals...what if he's not ok? In that moment, I would like to say that I prayed...but I don't remember.  All I remember is the feeling of terror.

They wheeled me to the OR,  strapped me to the table, put up a curtain and started working. I don't know what time they started, but at 1:06 AM on Saturday, March 6th, 2010 Rob said, "I see him."  For the second longest eternity of my life, I held my breath waiting.  And then he screamed.  A big, beautiful, lungs full of air and life and love and everything scream.  He was crying and cold and...he was ok!  Logan was in the world and he was perfect... 7lbs 15oz and 20.5inches of perfection.

I am a mommy.

Logan was cleaned up, a few pictures were snapped and he and Rob were whisked away to the nursery so the pediatrician could check him out. 

I was, still, shaking.  But, I was much more calm, cool and collected then I had been.  That is when I threw up...all over myself!  When you are strapped to a table, there isn't much you can do but turn your head and hope someone will clean you up.  So, that is exactly what I did.

It didn't matter what I looked like, or how I felt or what was happening in the world.  I was a mommy...and I could feel the difference.

so much to say

I used to write.  I used to write a lot.  Just ask anyone who knew me growing up.  I think I was 7...maybe 8 years old when I got my first diary.  Somewhere locked away in my parents' house are scads of journals covering a decade of thoughts.  But, I went to college, met a boy, got married...well, basically life happened and I stopped writting. I wanted to write, I just never found the time. 

Recently, I've found myself reading the blogs of a couple of friends and not only enjoying their writing styles, but also their stories.  The more I read the more thoughts I have about my own experiences and the more I think maybe I should give this a shot.

So, here I am writing again. But before I really launch into this, I want to throw out a disclaimer - one I am really throwing at myself as I haven't decided if I will even share this blog with anyone or not.  But, in case I do share it; my spelling has become terrible, my grammar is off the mark and Lord God Leelah my punctuation needs work.  I mostly say this for my Salem girls who will all laugh at me, know that I am typing the way I would speak these thoughts, and still throw a correction or two my way via comments.  So with that said, off I go!

I have so much to say and such a lack of knowing where to start! But then again, I don't really need to know where to start because I have the most obvious and God given start to my story...March 5, 2010, the last day before I arrived on "the other side."