Our Second Emergency Trip to the Doctor.

We've been relatively lucky with regards to emergency visits so far (knock on wood). I know a ton of kids that get sick constantly, and Ava, thankfully, isn't one of them (thank you, extended breastfeeding!). Aside from one trip to the ER back in April for suspected heat sickness, we've been blessed - well, until yesterday, that is.

So many factors conspired together for this to have happened. I wasn't originally going to go to the library, but decided to so that the mom could sleep a bit since she wasn't feeling well. Also, Ava has been obsessed with "seat drops" lately in gymnastics, where she drops onto her bottom on the trampoline. Unfortunately, so much so, that she does the outside of class - sometimes, like yesterday, on the cement. Anyhow, here's what happened, and here's how to not repeat my mistakes.

We had just checked out some books and movies, and were leaving the library. R was at home napping with his sick mama, so I had Ava, the baby, and the oldest child. We were having a nice time, discussing trees and pollution and just going about our business. I had the baby carrier in one hand, and was holding Ava's hand with my other, while the oldest walked alongside of us, old enough to know he had to stick right by me when we cross the street. We were crossing the parking lot, and at the moment, in the middle of the street, Ava decided to seat drop. Just then, a car turned in the drive (it's a very busy city library), and so - stupidly, in retrospect - I attempted to pick up Ava with my one-hand, pulling on her right arm to try to get her out of the street as quickly as possibly. My other hand had the baby carrier, and I didn't want to set that down or lose sight of the oldest child, so many things were going on at once, and I just didn't think it through.

Seconds later, the crying started. Normally when something seems amiss with Ava, I don't rush her to the doctor. She's never had an ear infection, or anything like that, so frequently the doctor isn't the first thing I think of. In this case, though, I could just tell by her cry that something was horribly wrong, and my poor baby - who almost never cries and is insanely tough for a little one - was hysterical. When I tried to hand her her book to see if she'd take it with her right hand and she refused to move it, I knew we needed the doctor immediately. I called as we pulled out of the parking lot, and he got us in ASAP.

Once I dropped the kids off at home and navigated rush hour traffic to get there, the rest was a big, sad blur. Ava was hysterical, screaming and crying the ENTIRE drive, something completely unlike her, so I knew it was going to be bad. I was terrified her wrist was broken, and so I was really careful with it, especially when I had to get her undressed. Our pediatrician is amazing, and came right in to examine her. She just laid there under her blanket, crying but being so brave, while he checked it out, and thankfully it wasn't broken. Unfortunately, however, she had what he referred to as "nursemaid's elbow" - or, a dislocated elbow! She was completely unable to move her wrist or extend her arm, and he told me that he'd have to set it. Could I feel like a worse mother?

Thankfully, it was quick. While I'd be lying to say it wasn't the worst mommy moment in history (you know how on Grey's Anatomy when Callie sets a bone you flinch? It was THAT noise...ugh!), it was over before we had time to register, and - strangely but thankfully - the second he set it, she was fine. Crying stopped, she was able to use it and reach for things with it, and by the time we left, it was like it never had happened!

For me, though, it's another story. I felt SO insanely horrible. I didn't pull on her hard or anything, and the doctor explained that this is actually an injury he sees ALL THE TIME. It can happen while swinging your child between two parents or twirling them around in circles, and it happens in really young children because their joints and bones are still so pliable. While that helps defend them against broken bones, it does make a dislocation disproportionately easy. He said he sees this every couple of weeks or so (!!!), which made me feel like less of a terrible mother, but only slightly.

Today she's 100% fine. Between the doctor visit, the balloon, chocolate and McDonalds we plied her with after, and a good night's rest, it's like brand new. Mommy, however, is scarred for life!

B vs. MRSA

Happy Monday! I don't usually welcome the start of the workweek with such vigor, but I also don't usually spend my weekends in the hospital certain I'm dying.

Let me start from the beginning. This past weekend was uneventful, but the weekend before was one of the worst in recent history. It started the same as most: I was working late Thursday night like always, mentally prepping myself for my Friday and ready for the weekend, one that was meant to be spent getting my brake maintenance done and just generally relaxing. Instead, things went entirely downhill.

I had noticed that my eye was a bit swollen under my eyebrow, but figured it was just due to the ingrown hair I had scratched earlier. I thought nothing more of it until I woke up Friday morning with my eye swollen down into my eyelid, making it difficult to fully open. I got through to my doctor's office first thing, who informed me that I had a staph infection, and subsequently shot me up with antibiotics* and sent me home with two more. He said he was treating it aggressively given that the weekend was starting, but that it probably wouldn't be a big deal. He also told me that if it started to take a turn for the worse, to go immediately to the ER.

(*I am horrified to note that I fainted after the shot. They didn't warn me that I might feel a bit of a rush after the shot - in my butt I might add - and I went to stand out and passed out. This is the same doctor's office where I threw up on a nurse when I had rotavirus. Any suggestions for local PCPs are welcome LOL)

Anyhow, I took the rest of the day off, seeing as how I was still feeling a bit woozy, and went home to rest. The rest of the day passed by uneventfully compared to the morning, aside from the redness and pain in my eye causing a bit of an inconvenience. I was hopeful the antibiotics would kick in by morning, and so I called it an early night and hoped for the best!

Fast forward to 2AM, and I woke up with a raging fever and an eye that was swollen completely shut. Wanting to err on the side of caution for the sake of preserving my eyesight, I woke up David and together we carted all three of us off to the ER.

The one good thing about the ER at 2:30AM is that there isn't much of a wait. Instead, or perhaps because I looked like the hunchback and was scaring small children, they took me directly back. I'm the type of person who always wonders if they're overreacting, but I knew immediately I wasn't when they hooked me up to an IV, explaining that they'd be giving me a morphine drip for the pain (it was intense) and would be giving me three separate antibiotics over the course of several hours. I also had to be taken in for a CAT scan to make sure that only the eye socket and surrounding tissue were involved, and that my actual eyeball was not infected - an infection that could lead quickly to blindness. Holy scary! David took the baby home to rest, since they said I would likely be either admitted or there at least until morning, and I got dosed up on all kinds of drugs. Note to self: do not update Facebook status on morphine, or take the chance your grandmother will be able to quote you as saying you're "high as a kite". Oops.

I'd love to say that's the end of the story, but it's not. Not even close. To make a long story a bit shorter, though, here's the abbreviated version. I was discharged around 9AM, sent home with painkillers and three new antibiotics, and went home to rest. I slept basically until 3:30pm, while D took Ava to a birthday party (what an angel!) on a mere few hours or sleep, but was woken up by intense nausea and a migraine so intense I could barely function. With the swelling in my eye increasing and the pain enough to make me scream, back to the ER we went, the entire time me telling David that I was certain the infection had spread to my brain and giving him instructions on Ava. I was THAT convinced I was going to die. It may be humorous now in retrospect, but I have never, ever, ever felt that bad in my entire life. Scary.

Once we were back at the ER, the news was grim, but the prognosis was good. I wasn't dying, I was just suffering from an intense and severe case of MRSA, the terrifying, antibiotic-resistant strain of staph that has circulated through the news for it's severity. Noting the increased swelling (which was the reason behind the intense pain in my head), the doctor on duty notified me that he'd be cutting into and draining the abscess on my eye in order to clean out the infection, and inserting antibiotic gauze that would have to be removed the following day, with a third trip to the ER. Super duper. They came in and gave me a shot of morphine, then inserted a liquid nerve block into my eye to do the procedure. It didn't take more than ten minutes, but nothing like "don't move, or I may end up sticking the needle into your eye" to make ten minutes feel like an eternity.

Though the worst was over, I then started to throw up repeatedly. Over, and over, and over. Mrs. D had come to be with me at the hospital so David and Ava could have a break for dinner and so I wouldn't have to be alone, and she then proceeded to drive me home, only for me to throw up in her car. Awesome. The weekend just kept on getting better.

I am happy to say that I'm better now, though it wasn't an easy journey. My future FIL had to come and stay with us to help out since I was completely out of commission, and we existed on take out and a slightly lesser version of clean for several days. Even now, I'm just starting to get my energy back, and the nausea didn't subside until they changed my antibiotics yet again.

The one thing I can say, though, is that Mondays are pretty damn awesome. Any day that's not spent in an ER or mentally preparing my will or one in which I'm able to find the energy to play with my daughter is now the best day ever!

Ava's First Trip to...the ER.

Well this was a "first" I was hardly looking forward to.

I've always been a heat sensitive individual. Which, when you think about it, is ironic, because I ultimately prefer warmer climates. Still, when the temps start reaching towards 100, I start feeling the effects, with my body unable to regulate it's temp well. Seriously, I could run two miles in the heat and barely break a sweat. And it's not because I'm in amazing shape (I'm not). It's because I just hold on to my heat for whatever reason, and it seems little A has inherited this horrible trait.

Yesterday was a normal day, between a few hours at work and some mommy/Ava playtime. I got off work slightly early, and so since I was able to take the main highway home since traffic was still minimal, we stopped off at a park to celebrate the great weather and early release from work. Apparently, this was our downfall.

We played at the park 20 minutes, 25 max. We played on the swings, went down the slide four times after climbing up the playscape repeatedly, and then we went home. Sounds simple and harmless enough, right? WRONG. Bad mommy.

When we got home, it was getting close to dinner time, so we played for a bit, and then I gave her some of her favorite things for dinner - black beans, strawberries, etc. She wouldn't eat a thing. In fact, she seemed a bit irritable, but I passed it off as being her temper lately, and muttered some nonsense about the terrible twos arriving early to our house. Yes, I feel like an asshole now.

Then, to make matter worse, we went to play in the backyard like we do every night after dinner. She got into her car, and D was running her around, pushing her like usual. But instead of squealing with delight, she looked totally wrong to me, and I instantly knew something was seriously wrong. I scooped her up, took her inside, and felt her scorching hot little body against me. Her temp? 103.3.

Knowing that she'd exhibited no signs of illness all day and that it came on so quickly, I immediately thought it was heat-related. Her skin was dry to the point of feeling like sandpaper, and we popped her into a cool bath to try to bring her temp down. No luck. She was starting to fall asleep on and off, despite it being 6:30, and alarm bells were sounding all over the place in this mama's head.

Scared as hell of a heat stroke, we loaded her up and took her to the ER.

Several hours and a multitude of tests later ruling out flu, strep, a UTI, etc, we are now certain she had an episode of severe heat exhaustion. When we got there, her fever was topping out at a horrifying 104 degrees. Two hours and two doses of motrin and Tylenol later, it was 98.2. Just as quickly as it came on, it went away when she was finally able to cool herself.

The one victory I can claim, especially given how guilty I feel over taking her to play outside on a hot day, is that the nursing staff wanted to cath my baby (!!!!!) to get a urine sample. Now I'm not expert but I know that a.) that hurts like hell, and b.) there has to be a better way. So I bargained with the nurses, noting our early potty training efforts, and they brought in a bedside commode - and Ava peed in it!!!!! She gave a urine sample, and we avoided the cath since I had put my foot down. It was a shining moment of parenting for D and I - I'll give myself that. Unfortunately it's not enough to offset the extreme remorse I feel about having caused this :(

We're home now, and A seems fine, if a bit tired. But how on God's green Earth do I manage to prevent this, when it is only April, and it's going to climb to significantly higher temps? I didn't feel like we were outside an excessive amount, but now I'm afraid to go out at all. Help!

All Good Things Come to an End.

Let's see if I can get through this post without entering a state of complete mental collapse.

My job. You all should know by now how much I love it. How I consider the D's my very own family. How very, very much they - and of course the girls - mean to not only me, but to David and Ava. I secretly pray they'll end up accidentally having another baby so I can stay on forever.

That was the news I was secretly praying for, but here's the news I actually got: With S in school 3/4 time, and P in actual school full-time, my hours will be getting cut from the forty they were prior to this school year and the thirty they are now to roughly 10-20 as of the fall. Whereas we've found a way to rework our budget with the previous cut and I've been able to supplement with babysitting and my writing gigs, there is no way I'll be able to get by on those things alone if I'm only working ten hours or so per week. Not only that, but I'll only work a couple of days per week as opposed to a few hours a day, which - while great for the ol' gas mileage - makes me insanely sad. I'm not entirely convinced Ava doesn't think that the girls are actually a part of our immediate family, and while it's heartbreaking for me, I feel like it will be hard for her also.

Aside from the emotional stress of this change, I'll also have to find a second job, one that will pay well enough and coordinate with my new, reduced schedule. Oh, and that will allow me to bring A, because adding the expense of daycare is just not going to compute.

Any ideas? Suggestions? Know anyone in Austin looking for a kick ass nanny and will allow me to bring my super sweet and charming - despite her food-throwing haha - toddler with me?

I'm all ears.

Something's Gotta Give.

I apologize friends because, honestly, this is going to be one long, FURIOUS rant.

Something has to give. I feel like I'm about a day away from running away and never coming back. And I know that those are not thoughts of a sane woman. But to be honest - as sleep-deprived as I am, I'm probably quickly slipping into crazy.

It's not Ava's fault, though. It's David's.

He's making me crazy. CRAZY. As in, I'm really starting to resent him, and resentment breeds nothing good. Trust me. Hence why I'm sitting out here on the futon (The futon I fucking hate by the way. I HATE IT.) sobbing, eating cereal (I know, but this is my passive way of saying, "Yes I CAN do what I want", yet another thing I'll feel guilty for later) and reevaluating my life. Or more honestly, my relationship.

I'm just SO tired. And I swear to God if he tells me one more time that my insomnia is "weird" and how he "doesn't know anyone else who can't sleep" I'm going to lose my mind. Really? Do you think people sit around at work or at bars or wherever and talk about how they can't sleep at night. Uh, no. They blog about it. Duh.

And really?

REALLY?

Is it surprising or weird or even not totally normal that after NINE MONTHS of being the only damn person to wake up with her at night and most nights more than once, is it REALLY any wonder that my sleep cycle is all over the map? Even tonight, while he went out with some of our friends (and had the audacity to complain about feeling obligated to go, as if I wouldn't a.) kill for a night out and b.) rather him be home with me helping me out for a change) it's almost 5AM, and I've slept two hours.

Let me tell you buddy. There's a difference between being awake half the night caring for a baby and trying desperately to carve out a weeeee bit of time for oneself after virtually never having any, and being awake half the night because you were out socializing until 3AM. OK? So if you're tired and think you deserve to sleep through her wakings or sleep in in the morning, you've got another thing coming.

Except, naturally, he'll say what he always does.

"She only wants you."

Yeah, no shit. Because you've been passing nighttime daddy duty off on me since the day we came home from the hospital, and I'm her source of comfort. I'm the one that takes care of her, so I'm the one she wants to take care of her.

But you know what? MAN UP. I cannot do it all. I am not superwoman. I cannot care for our baby nonstop, work part-time out of the home and part-time at home writing (which reminds me, when I calm down I have great news to share!), care for our home and buy sympathy cards for YOUR dad when YOUR grandpa dies and be the one to look into the pest control or whatever Godforsaken thing you're asking me to do that should be delegated to someone with MORE time and MORE sleep.

If she wants me and is crying, comfort her. Build up her confidence in you. FIGURE IT THE HELL OUT AND LEAVE ME ALONE.

Should I stop breastfeeding? Is that the solution? So I can say, no actually she wants anyone with food? So she won't smell me and want me? I don't want to, obviously, because I love it and she loves it. But right now a little bit I hate him, and I resent being the only person awake and the only person giving up dairy (except five minutes ago) and the ONLY PERSON MAKING SACRIFICES.

I'm officially a stark-raving lunatic, and I, for a change, do not care. I don't think I need to up my PPD meds - which he might suggest if I was yelling this at him instead of internally - and I don't think this is all sleep-deprivation fueled. I just cannot understand why one person, who is so negative and toxic and life-sucking lately, can be so useless and just sit back and watch another person struggle to stay above water while doing absolutely everything.

Right now, a little bit, I hate him.

Break.

I am in need of a break. Not from blogging per se, though I'll probably take the rest of the weekend off while I search for some much needed me time, but from the rigors of daily life with a teething infant and a 2010 full of absolutely zero down time. I mean, seriously, my version of "me time" is D taking Ava so I can just be with two kids. AT WORK. That's not "me time" folks.

Today was rough. Partially A is teething hardcore, and while some babies are easy teethers whose teeth just pop through without announcing themselves for weeks prior, A is not one of those babies. The other part of it is that she's fighting sleep in a major way lately, and whereas the effort to get her to nurse to sleep at nap/bed isn't too extreme, today I spent FOUR FREAKIN' HOURS between trying to get her to sleep at naps and at bed. I'm a nutjob right now.

Another part of it may be that in an attempt to ease the insomnia I've been going through lately, I've cut my dosage of my PPD meds in half. Could it be a coincidence that the week I've started that I've also started to lose my shit and feel overwhelmed and exhausted and just emotionally drained? Doubtful. Looks like I'll be trading hard to fall/stay asleep for sanity. It's a worthy trade, though.

Anyhow, I'll be back after the weekend. I just need some time off from life.

Manic Monday? Try Monstrous Monday.

Today has been a seriously bad day. And yes, I'm aware that I was complaining in my last post as well, so I'm sorry for all the recent negativity. But to be fair, today sucks.

First, and most importantly, my grandma was hospitalized this morning after having a stroke. I'm only just now able to post about this because prior to a couple hours ago, I spent the majority of the day crying. Thankfully the EKG, CT scan and ultrasounds all showed that there is no lasting damage, and she's gone from being disoriented and confused to being her normal self. Or at least as normal as you can be after having a stroke only hours prior.

I am so thankful that she's OK. My grandma and I are very close, much more like a mother and daughter than your typical grandparent relationship, and she means the world to me. She's by far one of the most formative figures in my life, both as a child and now as an adult, and while I sometimes playfully taunt her for her spunky ways, she's an inspiration to us all. She's the strongest woman I've ever met, having lost her first husband at just 19 years old in a tragic car accident, being left to raise their two-year-old daughter (my mom) on her own. She's survived many tragedies, some of which I will not write about here, and yet reemerged from them unscathed. I adore her. The fact that I couldn't be with her today and the thought of her scared and undergoing testing had me hysterical all day long.

This has been a bad week for grandparents all around, as D's grandpa (who turned 100 in March as you'll remember) was admitted to the hospital Thursday, more or less incoherent. While we've been expecting it more or less for a while now, seeing as how he's 100, it's still horribly sad to think of losing a family member, particularly in relation to A. I'm just so glad she got to meet him at all :) We're so lucky. Please keep both in your prayers, if you don't mind.

Other reasons today sucked?

-A's been in a HORRID mood. Like, Satan's baby. Hopefully it's teeth, and not her newfound take on life.

-A pulled over the baker's rack while sitting in her high chair today. While I'm infinitely thankful that it didn't get near her, it landed on my hand and arm, which are now swollen beyond belief. At the risk of sounding like a drama queen, there was a good five minutes there where I felt certain it must be broken. It's not. Hurts like hell, though.

-I just pumped, like I do about 50% of the time after A goes to bed. Then, in a great display of clumsiness, I tripped in the kitchen and spilled 4 ounces of milk (!!!!). FOUR OUNCES OF BREASTMILK. WASTED.

And on that note, it's quite possibly time for me to go to bed. Tomorrow's a new day, right???

Not Gonna Lie...

...yesterday was rough. I'm talking, worst day since Ava was born (with the exception of the day Ava was burned and also when I had to hold her down for lab work when she had measles) type of rough.

First, Ava went from crawling a few feet in a matter of several minutes to crawling quicker, farther. In fact, bad mama that I am I sat her down in the living room at the D's while I made lunch for everyone, and next thing I know, someone had their hand on my ankle. Besides scaring the bejesus out of me, I was pretty floored she'd come that far. Baby-proofing this weekend, apparently...

Also, many things went wrong. Not only was I insanely busy juggling three kiddos between Lowe's (for seeds and soil to grow pumpkins for Halloween), the craft store (I swear I make at least two trips here a week between my household and theirs) and the library, as well as making breakfast and lunch for all of us and packing a bag for them for an impromptu weekend at the beach, I also had some terrible luck. I was feeling more than a little stressed most of the day, and then, with A having been a crawler for less than 24 hours, she moved off the carpet onto the hardwoods and face planted. She wasn't hurt, but she sure was pissed! Can't say I blame her!

Then, having recently opened a savings account for little A's college fund, I went to make a deposit for both myself and for her, and the ATM went haywire. As in, gave me a receipt stating I had deposited SEVERAL HUNDRED DOLLARS LESS than I actually did, noting on the bottom of the receipt, "Sorry, there were funds in this transaction that could neither be processed nor returned." W.T.F.?!?!!? Where the hell is my money then? Perhaps ATM limbo? I then had to take my grouchy, refusing-to-nap-all-day baby inside the bank and try to explain what happened, getting "yeah right" glances from the tellers inside. Let me tell you now, bank. If you think I won't withdrawal every last cent and close my accounts over something like this, you've got another thing coming. When the inside manager couldn't help me, citing that their ATM's are on a different system than the inside bank (seriously???), I then had to spend my drive home in traffic with a crying baby on the phone with the world's biggest idiot, who basically, thirty minutes later, gave me this advice: Wait it out to see if it processes overnight. Really? THIRTY MINUTES TO TELL ME THAT??? Geeeeez. Unfortunately that didn't work, so I spent the morning filing a claim with the bank while they search for nearly $500 missing dollars that I don't exactly have to fork over to a machine. Sonofabitch.

The day continued to go downhill from there. D had a farewell happy hour after work, so it was just A and I, and I was...a bit stressed. I fed A dinner and ran her bath, looking oh-so-forward to my own girl's night of drinks and dinner at Vivo a few hours later, when A reached out and grabbed the leg of the over-the-toilet bathroom shelf in her bathroom, bringing it toppling over on me. Thankfully she was spared, but I managed to get knocked in the head by a glass shelf, and then, while cleaning up the broken glass from some of her little containers that broke, sliced my hand open and bled profusely while the water overflowed in her bathtub. If Ava's first words are profane, I'll trace it back to this very moment.

For this, and a few other, reasons, we had to postpone girl's night :( Once D got home and A went to sleep, I passed out at 9PM, not wanting to be awake (and therefore a target for more mishaps) any longer. Thankfully today was much better!

A post on first birthday parties (Ava went to her first today) and babyproofing (how I'll spend tomorrow) forthcoming!

May I Cry On Your Shoulder??

This week, and actually month if you want to be technical, has been hard so far. I normally look forward to June, since I get a week of free vacation while the D's head to Florida, but so far June isn't living up to the hype.

Ava is still sick. Yesterday we took her back in to Dr. H, after watching her fever climb back up past 100 and her rash worsen. The exam showed that her throat is still raw, and her rash has progressed significantly from Saturday (or even from Monday evening), so Dr. H sent us to the lab for a CBC (Complete Blood Count) to rule out any serious bacterial or other illnesses.

Hands down, the lab was the absolute worst experience I've had as a mother thus far. Far worse than any sleep deprivation, any immunizations, anything we've gone through. While immunizations are a quick prick and it's over, lab work is anything but quick. I had to sit in the chair with her on my lap as they tied a tourniquet around her little left arm to get the vein ready. She was hysterical from the second we sat down, almost as if she instinctively knew what was coming, and I was growing increasingly upset as I held my babies flailing body as her face reddened and she wailed. I just kept whispering, "Mommy loves you. I'm so sorry, baby bear." I felt HORRIBLE.

Then, the nurse couldn't get blood out of her arm, thanks to her inherited crappy veins from David. UGH. She then proceeded to stick her heel (SERIOUSLY?? You couldn't have done that to begin with?????), which incited another round of sad, sad baby (and mommy) sobs. It was the worst experience ever. I would gladly go through my failed labor, c-section, you name it every day for the rest of my life to avoid EVER having to do that again. I actually had David drive home with her so that I could use those 20 minutes to cry in my car without upsetting my little girl.

Fast forward to an hour later, post-round two of her antibiotics of the day, and A is throwing up and having diarrhea. Damn you, amoxicillin, for upsetting my baby's tummy. Has she not had a bad enough day? We've been going through about four diapers per dose, and she has to take it three times a day.

Fast forward two hours later, and I'm cleaning up cat vomit off the carpet. Apparently one of our cats is sick also, since that's the second time this week.

Fast forward another hour, and I'm running a fever of 101 and almost incapable of opening up my eyes my head hurts so bad.

The CBC came back and ruled out bacterial illness but pointed at an acute viral infection, so basically, after all that, we just wait for it to clear.

Oh yeah, and as my baby screamed out during the blood draw, I got a glimpse of two very distinct bottom teeth. They've yet to break through, but I wouldn't be surprised if they do by this time next week, since you can see their allotted spots.

Perhaps the combination of teething and being sick is the reason she's up almost hourly throughout the night?? I'm sure it is, but I'm EXHAUSTED. I finally caved at 5AM and put her in bed with me, and she slept an hour and a half then. It might not sound like much, but I'll take it.

Another Bad Day.

Last night was another rough night at our house (partially because I do indeed have strep and a double ear infection), with me waking up at 3AM and being unable to go back to sleep until 6:45. What does one do for four hours in the middle of the night, you ask? Ponder whether or not their doctor is likely to go through with the induction we've been planning since June, of course. And then, panicking that he won't, check my finances repeatedly to figure out how to make a few thousand dollars not matter. And plotting ways to kill D in his sleep while he snores obliviously inches away. Must be nice. If that wasn't bad enough, the 45 minutes I snagged before the alarm went off at 7:30 were riddled with sleep deprivation-induced nightmares, all centering about the baby being forcefully yanked from my abdomen. Apparently this prospective c-section is really stressing me out.

I managed to only have two hysterical crying fits before 8AM despite my completely exhausted state, but two is enough, so I called the doctor to say, "Look here - something isn't right. I shouldn't be awake all night, all the time, crying about 50% of my waking hours. Please do something." They wanted me to come in, but seeing as how I am with S from 8:30am-midnight today (thank you holiday parties! NOT), he agreed to call something in for me, and see me Tuesday morning at my appointment. Hmm...not the solution I had in mind. If my continuously elevating hormones due to my pregnancy are the reason for my depression, which they clearly are, isn't taking the baby out a better idea than prescribing me medication I am opposed to taking while pregnant, and that likely will take two weeks to help at all anyhow?! If she's not out in two weeks, it's going to take a lot more than medication to calm me down. I'm just saying. So that was how my morning went....

As much as I'd like to forge ahead with all the reasons I'm upset with the world and the circumstances of the last few weeks of my pregnancy, I'm going to choose to go a different route, and remind myself why I'm very fortunate, and all the things I have to be grateful for. In case I lose sight of these things over the next few days, it'll be nice to have them written down to remind me of how things are generally wonderful, despite the rough patch I'm currently experiencing. Here goes:

1.) I am fortunate enough to be able to conceive and carry my own child, which I have seen so many families have to fight for. It's a privilege and an honor to know that this child is the product of my love for D.

2.) It's a beautiful, healthy little girl. Had you asked me twenty years ago what I wanted more than anything in the world, I would've responded that I wanted to be a mother and have a daughter. Same goes for ten years ago. Now, more than ever, I feel fulfilled knowing that I have a daughter, and I am a mother. And also, I will never feel compelled to have to try for a second child just to have a chance at a girl...I got what I wanted the first time :)

3.) We have a beautiful home that we own to bring the baby home to, and she has a beautiful, meaningful nursery.

4.) There are so many people anxiously awaiting her arrival, who already love her and us so much.

5.) D is a wonderful, supportive boyfriend, and will be an amazing father, even if he doesn't know it yet. I am so blessed to not have to do this alone.

6.) So many people have given us things to help offset the expense of a newborn, such as changing tables, strollers, car seats, clothing and bottles. We've been so fortunate in this regard, and I am so thankful to all of you/them :)

7.) I had fifth disease early on in my pregnancy, which could've had devastating effects on Baby B's development, possibly causing either a miscarriage or the need for a serious transfusion to save her life. The survival rate of the procedure is only 20%. She has suffered no ill effects, and is perfectly healthy the best they can tell.

8.) I have had a relatively uncomplicated pregnancy until late, and even now, my problems seem to be merely emotional. I am very blessed in this regard, as I've seen women go through a range of pregnancy complications, all of which are terrifying.

9.) IT'S ALMOST OVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hmm...I really do feel better now :) Baby B, I cannot wait to meet you!