May we introduce our love...

James Porter LeRoy Stout was born Friday, Sept. 21st, at 3:38pm.  He weighed 8lbs 8oz, and is 21" long.  

Here is our story...

Thursday afternoon at a *very* pregnant 39weeks, 5 days, I went to my regular doctor's appointment hoping for some progress in the dilation department, only to find there was none.  So, the resident who checked me offered to "Sweep my membranes", which if you don't know, means to separate the cervix from the amniotic sac, this can sometimes kick-start labor, and I thought, "Sure what can it hurt?"

So she did.

Later that evening I started having the "crampiness" that comes with having that procedure done, but didn't think anything off it seeing as it was nothing time-able or breath-taking, so I went about my business and prepared myself to go to work in the morning.  I went to bed that night thinking too myself "Damnit, I'm going to wake up pregnant tomorrow" but also thinking that I had reached my goal of finishing out my entire pregnancy and working the entire time at school, and was pretty proud of myself.  Little did I know that JP was gearing up to let me know he was ready to come out and greet the world.

At 1:30 Friday morning, I was woken up by Buck for our regular get up and pee time.  For the past week or so I had been waking up at that time having incredible pressure before and after using the restroom.  I'd usually shift around in bed for a bit and then fall back asleep afterwards, no big deal.  This time the pressure came back after about 20minutes...then around 215am, the pressure started coming back every 10minutes...and I thought "Hmmmm...that's interesting".  So about 3am I finally couldn't handle laying down anymore and decided to get up, have some coffee, and walk around to figure out what was happening.  I mean, I've never done this before...is this it?  Is this just false labor or unbearable gas? *laugh*  All I know is that at 3am the pressure started coming 5-6 minutes apart and by the time I called the after hours doctor's number at 3:45 or so, they were anywhere from 4-6 minutes apart.

I was in labor, and I knew it.

So I talked with the doctor and after asking me how far apart the contractions were, she asked me how far along I was.  My reply "He's due tomorrow" brought about an "Oh!  Well then, yes you need to come in.  You're in labor!" 

So up the stairs I went, stopping every now and then to let some "Owie, owie, owie, owie!"'s out, and deep breath a bit.  I made it too the bedroom and shook Tim awake.  "Peter, this is *not* a drill".  "Huh? What?!" as he sat straight up from a deep sleep.  "This is not a drill honey, we need to go to the hospital, I'm in labor."

And away we went. 

We arrived about 5am and got checked in.  At this point I had been experiencing pretty darn intense contractions for 3 and a half hours.  I can honestly say, now, that I'd had *plenty* of time with those mothertruckers and was MORE than ready for that blessed epidural.  More than ready...but alas we still had some time to wait in triage to be assessed & whatnot.  Tim was amazing during that time.  I vaguely remember him brushing my forehead & kissing my hand as I gripped the railing of the bed as a contraction ripped through me and left me breathless, exhausted & wanting to puke from the pain.  Then he figured out how to read the contractions waves on the monitor & would talk me through each one telling me when the worst was over then squeezing my hand and whispering "You're doing good babe, you're doing good".  

Finally at 715am we were admitted, we met our two nurses (who were *ah-may-zing!* by the way), and then were taken up too a birthing room but I barely remember the ride as I rode out wave after wave of contraction, gripping the rails of the bed the entire time.  They got me in bed & hooked me up too the monitors for contractions & JP's heartbeat.  That sound was one of the only things I was able to focus on for the next few hours as I progressed through more contractions anxiously awaiting the arrival of the magic men with the magic drug.  Contractions are absolutely NO fun at all and I give *major* props to ALL of the women out there who do the entire labor & delivery drug free.  I bow in humbleness to your womanly prowress.  7 & 1/2 hours of contractions was MORE than enough for me.  Hell, who am I kidding; the first *hour* was enough. *sheepish laughter*

Finally the magic man arrived, explained everything and I remember in the midst of a "puker" contraction as I was squeezing Tim's fingers so hard I was afraid I was hurting him telling the magic man that "I just don't care about that I just want the drugs please!" (at least I said please ;)  He chuckled, explained the rest, had me sign, then called his attending to get the ball rolling.  A short while later & one almost passed out Tim (thanks again Marcia for taking care of him and thanks to Amber & Jordan for talking me through the epidural procedure & the 4 mind-blowing contractions during it), I was pain free, coherent, able too open my eyes, and smile for the first time since I woke up that morning.

Thank you magic-men...

From there on out, everything progressed in a fairly normal manner for a FTM in labor.  I progressed from a 3 to a 5 fairly quickly, then they broke my water to help things along cause I had stalled for a while.  We both napped for a bit after that, then after checking me again, they decided to start a pitocin drip to help my contractions pick up & therefore my progress to stop stalling.  Then the first scary moment.  JP didn't like that pitocin at all.  As Marcia said too me, "He's not enjoying being squeezed so frequently and is letting us know with his heartbeat, but don't worry he's just fine."  This was after what seemed like a hundred people swooped into the room & started flipping me from one position to the other, then leaving me on hands & knees with my head down for 5 minutes.  Marcia was my angel as I kneeled there, scared & crying cause I thought something terrible had happened.  After 5 minutes, everything was fine.  I was fine, JP was fine, and I had progressed to an 8.

So we relaxed & visited with family & my bestie, Mischa.  *So* stinkin' glad she was there, she entertained Tim and calmed me down.  I can't imagine my life without my bestest friend of some 19 years < 3 ya girl. 

They came back in to check me & I was complete & ready to go but then JP decided to scare us all again & drop his heartbeat again.  "This side! That side! Hands & knees!" oof it was scary but also incredibly frustrating because not only was I hooked up with so many wires that I was getting tangled, but I couldn't really move my left leg without assistance & there was one nurse in particular who wasn't very nice but hey, I survived, and so did he.

At this point, the delivering doctor (not one of my OB's) was convinced I wasn't going to be able to deliver JP the "natural" way.  She was convinced he was over 9lbs with really huge shoulders and she didn't feel comfortable using forceps or a vacuum in getting him out so we may be looking at a c-section.  At that point, on my hands and knees, I didn't care, I just wanted him to be okay.  Then Marcia was there whispering to me that everything was okay and he'd be coming out the natural way.  God bless her.
 
They flipped me too my right side & the delivering doctor was back to talk too me again.  Sheassured me everything was fine for the moment & that she had called in Dr. Lee, one of my OB's too assess me, the "situation" and assist if needed.  So in strolled Dr. Lee and he assessed me, JP, and the sitch.  His response?  "Emily, you're going to be just fine, you can do this."  And so I did.  The charge nurse wanted to do "just a couple practice pushes" to help not only JP descend just a little lower but to make sure I was pushing correctly, and I did so well with those that we just kept going!  45 exhausting minutes later with Amber & Marcia at my legs and Tim holding me up from the shoulders, our son emerged into this world, happy, healthy & none the worse for wear *except* for  a bit of a cone-head that I take *full* responsibility for.  It took me a while to get that big ol' thing out! *laugh* 

He was born at 3:38pm on Sept. 21st, one day shy of his full term due date.  He weighed 8lbs 8oz at birth and is 21" long.  He is perfect, and we are perfectly in love with him.  I can't wait to get him home and start living our new reality every single day.  Welcome to the world JP, welcome too the world < 3 

39weeks/1day!

Sitting at 39weeks/1day pregnant and Mr. JP is snug as a bug in a rug inside my tummy.  Yes, there is some dialation, and yes there is a lot of effacement, but he's content to keep hanging out in the mommy hotel (never mind the fact that the eviction notice HAS BEEN SERVED by the owner of the hotel herself ;), so I guess we'll let him *laugh* cause we don't really have much choice do we?

It's been interesting, though, too say the least.  Especially at this stage where everybody from family to friends to coworkers are watching me like I'm some sort of science experiment about ready to explode; which I guess in a way I am! ha!

Tim's about ready to freak out I think, and everyone's on guard.  I feel as if I'm the only one just sitting around like "doop-dee-doop, whatever", but I will admit I'll be one ticked off pregnant lady if I have to get up and go to work on Monday, so come on JP, let's hit it!  And let me acknowledge that I *fully* understand that technically he has one more week to go before his actual "due date", but when you're at the doctor and he puts his money on Sunday & the resident who checked you puts hers on Monday because they're both impressed by your level of effacement as a first time mom, you kinda get excited, especially when they follow it with "You won't make it too your due date".  

Soooo...we'll just sit around and wait till he decides to make his grand appearance into this world!  In the meantime I'll keep cleaning, Tim will keep doing house projects & hunting, and everyone will continue to watch me like I'm a ticking time bomb.

We're ready when you are, JP.  Come on out and greet the world.


 

 

You got an 8lb bowling ball in there? "Nesting", and other end of pregnancy thoughts...

38weeks, 8lb bowling ball

So we had our growth ultrasound last Thursday and everything is right on track.  He is "guesstimated" to be 8lbs right now and everyone looks at me with raised eyebrows and a "Oof" or a "Sheesh! That's one big baby!" when they hear that.  

Really?





Since when did an 8lb baby become BIG?  Is this like a size 4 woman being obese?  I mean

38weeks

really people.  For starters, the sonogram tech could be off.  I've had girlfriends who were told they were going to have an 8lb baby only to pop out a 5lber.  Then there are the women I've read about on the discussion board I frequent who are told their baby is a 6lber, only to pop out a large Thanksgiving turkey!  He will be whatever size he's going to be and I'm going to do my best to get him out the "old fashioned" way. *laugh*

Other than that we're just playing the waiting game.  I have 13 days to go until his anticipated arrival, and am hoping for him to come out in about 8 because my sister, Julie, is going to be here during that time and I just think it'd be *really* neat if she were able to be here for his birth.  Plus we'd get some really wicked cool newborn photos of him with her fancy schmancy camera ;) 

Then, yes, there is the whole comfort-level thing.  While I am uncomfortable as all get out right now, I will admit that the past couple of days haven't been that bad.  I've been feeling good, and gettin' around pretty well.  Sure, there's still the hip twinges down into my legs, the heartburn (which has lessened thank goodness), the heaviness in my nether-regions, and the overall "I'm ready to get him out!" sensation, but I'm good.  
 
I have taken some steps the past couple of days to make these last few weeks easier on me.  Namely going into Granite City on Friday to tell my manager's "It's been a pleasure; I'll see ya'll in November!"  *laugh*.  I REALLY thought I could make it to the 16th, but I just really think, instead, that stopping now is the better thing to do.  It's been wearing on me, deciding on what to do, and it just hit me on Friday.  "I don't want to work Sunday night at 38weeks, 2days pregnant".  Immediately proceeded by the thought of "I don't want to work the following Sunday at 39weeks, 2days pregnant, *especially* when my sister is in town specifically too see ME".  So, I went in and talked with Angie and just told her I couldn't do it, and she said basically not to worry about it, that she was impressed I'd made it this long, and to let them know when I was ready to come back.  So...yay!  Feels weird sitting here knowing I don't have to go to work this afternoon and that means I have the whole day spread out in front of me to get some more things done around the house :)

Speaking of that...I realize the "Nesting" instinct has kicked in, but for some reason that term really, and I mean *REALLY* irritates me.  I'm a naturally OCD personality when it comes to keeping my house clean & organized anyways, so *why* is it that ANY farking action I do right now has people simpering at me and using that term?  Some of the things I've done are crazy, I grant you that (organizing the recycling bins anyone?), and other things bring up the thought of "It's been sitting there for months so why move it now?", but the thing is that YES, I am trying to get all the last bits of organizing, de-cluttering, cleaning, and whatnot done before JP arrives.  Let's just think of a different term shall we?

The list for today...

Dog blankets washed
DOGS FURMINATED AND WASHED
Whole house swept fully and steam-mopped
All furniture rubbed down w/almond oil
Soft furniture Febreezed down
Bed stripped, both sets of sheets washed, bed remade
MY bathroom deep cleaned (Tim can take care of his own)
Plants re-potted (this is only a twice a year thing and it's time cause Fall is around the corner)
Laundry that has accumulated through the week washed, dried, and put away
Good-will drop off

I think that's it besides practicing w/the Moby wrap again, a nap, a hot bath and maybe some yoga or P57.  And while some people are looking at that and simpering at me saying "Oooo look!  She's nesting" *vomit*, I look at that list and say, "Yup, that's pretty much standard for a weekend/Sunday's worth of cleaning".  So, let's just say I'm getting ready for the baby and keeping my house at the same level of clean that I always do.

Now Tim?  He's getting some "get ready for baby" projects done as well and it's quite impressive.  He made an *executive decision* yesterday to rip the front porch apart and put it back together.  We've been dealing with it pulling apart and bouncing up, for lack of a better description, for a while now.  He tore it all up to find that the people who lived here before us had tried to anchor wood to CONCRETE, and as is evidenced by a lot of other half-a$$ed projects they did around our house, this one took the cake.  There is absolutely nothing wrong with that concrete pad.  It's in perfect condition and once it's power-washed will look like new!  So now we have a great half concrete-pad, half wood deck in front of our house instead of what was a dilapated looking all wood deck half-a$$ed anchored to concrete.  He's also set up our laundry corner, moved tools out to the garage where they belong, straightened up his garage, and is going to help me install the car mirror and sun shades in my car today.  Plus, and he doesn't know this quite yet, he's going to wash the doggies for me this evening *laugh*.

So, all in all, we're getting ready for Mr. JP to make his arrival into our world and change our life forever.  We just need to buy his swing later this week, wait for Aunt Julie to get here, take some pictures, and relax as best as we can!  Whoop! Whoop!

37weeks and not a cloud in the sky,

Nor a sign from our little guy and quite frankly I'm okay with that!  I don't just "vent" on here much, but I have to with this one.  So, if you don't want to read it, I suggest you STOP and visit someone else's blog.

Vent #1:  "Haven't you had that baby yet?!" 

Yup, we have now entered the realm of *that* comment coming from everyone under the sun, strangers included.  Sometimes I want to punch them in the face, sometimes I just stare at them, and sometimes I fall to the bait and comment back.  Don't get me wrong, I'm ready for him to be out of me and in our arms, I'm ready to start getting my body back and all that fun stuff, but I also realize two very important things...

1: HE will come when HE is ready, and only HE knows when that will be

and

2: I fully realize he still has some time to bake and I'm okay with that.

SO...do me a favor, do *all* of us pregnant ladies who are close to our date a favor and STOP ASKING THAT QUESTION!  Also, stop the whole "Just be patient, he'll come when he's ready" malarky.  That's just as annoying because I have no choice *but* to be patient.

Vent #2: "Oh look at her!  She's *nesting*".  *VOMIT* 

I absolutely HATE this comment.  I've been getting it a LOT from colleagues, and it's driving me CRAZY!!!  I am simply trying to get my substitute and student teacher set up for success while I'm gone.  Even when I was gone for just two weeks during my mastectomy, I did the same thing.  The only difference between *that* time and this one is that I'm going to be gone for EIGHT WEEKS so there is a LOT more material I need to have covered and a LOT more material to make sure they have to work on with the kids.  I'm not a simple classroom teacher where everything is contained within one classroom and I have a co-teacher in the next room who can help out.  I travel to FIVE different buildings for crying out loud, covering grades 5-12, Band & Orchestra.  Three of those buildings are elementary and my sub is going to be starting them from square ONE.  One of those is 8th grade where my student teacher has to prepare them for their CONCERT.  Another is the middle school where helping the new, first year Orchestra teacher there, is really important, and finally the easiest, Drum Line at the high school.  The travel schedule, the hectic pace of the day, logging attendance, calling parents, powerpoints, music selection, posting grades...there's a LOT they both need to know.  

Then there's the "home" side of the *nesting* comment.  No matter which way I go, if I spent the weekend cleaning up the house because it got covered in dog hair during the week and the dishes piled up because we were too busy to stay on top of them, or the laundry got out of control, OR if I spent the weekend with my feet up and relaxing because I got all the aforementioned done during the week, I'm *nesting*.  Sheesh-a-me people!  I'm compulsive about my house!  Always have been, always WILL be!  Cripes, I woke up this morning on my day off and as soon as I got my coffee & the dogs outside, I grabbed the broom and swept the basement, straightened the dog blankets and picked up the trash because it was pretty gross.  I'm going to do the same upstairs because the tumbling tumbleweeds of dog hair are blowin' in the wind and need to be corralled.  I may or may not get around to dusting and steam mopping today, although both desperately need to be done.  Last on my list is to finish the laundry.  Both of us had a MOUNTAIN to get through, and after two days I am *almost* done with it all.  That's success in and of itself, and has absolutely nothing to do with nesting.

Now, I will admit that a few of the things we did this weekend could be classified as *nesting*, and the fact that I want Tim to finish up some *almost done* projects around the house could fall within that realm as well, and I'm fine with that.  So, *please* if you don't want to be stared down by a very pregnant woman, or possibly have her go "pregnant postal" on you, STOP WITH THE NESTING COMMENTS!  

Vent #3: "Oh look, she's dropped!"  "She's carrying so low!"  "She looks like she could topple over at any minute!" and other pregnant body comments...

Really?  Please stop commenting on my body unless it's to tell me I look pretty today.  I don't fully understand why pregnant women seem to be a free target when it comes to body comments.  People don't normally walk down the street commenting on strangers bodies, so why mine?  Yes I know my belly is big, yes I know my feet are starting to swell a bit, yes I know I'm "ALL belly" (although the other weight gain areas are just cleverly hidden), but it's still hurtful when you're commenting on how my body has changed *especially* when you don't know me.  So, unless you have something nice to say to me, shut your trap! Because, *again* a majority of these comments come from women who have been pregnant, and I'm sure it was just as annoying to you as it is to me, so stop and think for a second before you make that comment next time, mmmmkay?

Vent #4: "You better get all the sleep you can now, cause when that baby comes you're never going to sleep again!"

Okay, okay.  I understand this one.  I understand that *long* stretches of sleep will be few and far between for quite a while, but COME ON people.  Everyone makes it seem like you can "bank" sleep in some magical place to pull out when the time is needed for extra energy.  If that were the case then ALL of us would sleep our weekends away to fill up our reserve for the following week of work, and we all know *that* ain't gonna happen.  Regardless, I'm a champion power-napper, have been for probably about the past ten years.  My husband on the other hand?  This may be the roughest reality of all for him.  That boy could sleep 24/7 if given the chance, but that will be his adjustment, not mine ;)  I guess it just irritates me when people say this too me because they don't know who I am and what I do.  I already operate on snatches of sleep through the night.  Sometimes I go to sleep early if I can manage it and sleep hard through the night, but more often than not, I fall exhausted into bed at a late hour, only to be awoken two or three hours later by a Buck-dog needing to go out, or a Lilly-butt grumbling at the foot of the bed to be helped up, or a smack to the face by Tim's arm, or the startled jerk awake "What time is it?!" only too see that I have 30 precious minutes left to sleep before my 4am alarm goes off.  

To top it all off, I am incredibly busy in my work life.  Being a marching band teacher/Drum Line instructor ain't no walk in the park and my friends *finally* figured it out last year when I saw them all on July 4th and said in way of parting "I'll see you all at the end of October", and that's exactly when I saw them.  Tuesday after-school rehearsals till 430, Thursdays after school till 430, then band from 6-9.  Friday night football games, 14 hour Saturdays, then work on Sunday evenings.  It's an exhausting cycle, one of which many people couldn't do, but I can.

The one saving grace I have, which is quite odd, is that since I was the winner of a double mastectomy about two years ago, I do not have to worry about the whole breast feeding thing, which means that I can drink my 5-hour energies again to help bust through the exhaustion when JP is here.  With the help of those and knowing how to power nap, I have a feeling I'll be just fine.  Tired?  Sure.  Exhausted beyond belief?  Probably.  But I'll be just fine.

Vent #5: "You know, it's going to take a while for that baby weight to come off, and you may not get it done", or my absolute favorite "I just love seeing skinny girls get fat."

Um, excuse you?  For starters, I'm PREGNANT, *not* fat, and may I remind you to STOP making comments about my body.  Also, I have been through many periods of my life where I have been in something other than my ideal shape, and I have always gotten it back.  Freshman 20?  Cancer weakness?  Being lazy?  Yeah.  I will get it back after this as well.  Once we find our new routine, our new reality, I WILL find my new times to workout and I will succeed.  It's not an option.  I want to set a good example for my son, besides, working out is part of my sanity and it's essential to EVERYONE'S well-being, so maybe you should look at what you're not doing for your body and change your ways.



Okay, I think I'm done.  Pregnancy hormones?  Probably, but seeing as most of the people who these comments are coming from are women, stop for a second and remember when YOU were at this stage in your pregnancy.  You were probably *just* as annoyed by those questions and comments, so realize we are as well, and right now all we want to hear are nice, *positive* things, "You're so beautiful", "Here let me rub your tired feet for you because you've been working so hard", "I can't wait to see you be a mom", "I can't wait to meet your baby!", etc, etc...because I can promise you this much, I won't make these aggravating comments to YOU, my dear pregnant sisters because I understand right where you're at.  So instead I tell you that you are beautiful, you're wonderful, and we'll all be holding our beautiful babies who we have carted around and watched change our bodies in ways we never thought possible in a few short weeks (or months depending upon where you're at), and it's going to be a glorious thing.

The journey is coming to a close...but is far from over.

35w4d, one month exactly to go

Wednesday marked one month exactly until our little boy is anticipated to arrive, and today marks 36weeks of pregnancy, with four more to go till the magical 40.  Sure, sure, he could come early or late, but just go with me on this one since NONE OF US know for sure when he's going to decide to come into this world, but I'm sure he'll send me a text or Facebook me when he's ready to check out of his uterine hotel *laugh*.






It's so crazy to sit back and think that we've actually hit the final home stretch of this journey and are about to go from watching him bonk around inside of me, to holding him in our arms, feeding him, changing him, snuggling him, loving him, and staring at him with wide-eyed wonder as we think "We made *that?!*"  

Top two originals, bottom two "Just to make sure"

Sometimes it just seems like yesterday that Dana was squealing with joy and hugging me in the beer cooler as I stood in shock of what had just happened to driving home on that cold January evening from work, with two positive pregnancy tests in my coat pocket and my best friend on the phone screaming "Oh mah gawd! What the...?!?!?! What is TIM going to say?!" *shakes head*  Crazy.  But never-the-less, here we are.  Four weeks to go (give or take) until Mr. James Porter LeRoy Stout enters our lives for realizies and we take on the greatest challenge of our adult lives...becoming parents.

The first time we met, 8weeks

It really still strikes me and Tim as surreal.  I don't know if either of us have really, truly wrapped our brains around this whole business of bringing a child into the world.  People at work ask me all the time "Are you excited?!" and my answer is always the same "Well...yeah, of course, but..." and then I'm not sure what to say.  Of course I'm excited, it's a grand new adventure we are about to embark on and one that is going to shape the course of our lives forever, but there's also a lot of nervousness because I, we, have *nothing* to compare it too.  Sure, we can look at our friends who have gone through the newborn, infant, toddler stages and now have walking, talking, fairly self-sufficient children and know that they survived, they didn't do any permanent damage, they made it through...but...logically we know that everyone's situation is different, and we didn't see it ALL.  We didn't see the late nights, the "Oh my gawd, what do we do?!" moments, the scares, the private cries, the pure exhaustion and moments of "Did we really want to do this?"  Yet, on the other hand, we're excited to join this rite of passage and experience every high and low parenthood has to offer. 

15weeks

I know there will be exhaustion on a level I have never experienced (THAT is something I can't wait to see Tim experience but that is a whole 'nother blog for a whole 'nother day *laugh*), but I also know that we will survive, all parents do and besides, I'm a public school teacher & marching band instructor too boot, some of you don't know the meaning of the term exhaustion until you've experience *that* gem of life ;).  I know there are going to be super scary moments, but I also know that the good moments will most definitely out weigh the bad.  I know that Tim and I will most definitely butt heads as we go about navigating the business of raising our son, but I look forward to those times because they are opportunities to grow and change.
  
I'm not scared of labor, although I am anxious of the first major signal that JP will give that he's getting ready to move out, mostly because I really truly don't want it to happen at school or the restaurant.  I'm not scared of the pain, I've been through a lot of that in my life, *we've* been through a lot of my pain, and if we survived that, we'll be able to survive this.  I'm not worried about the exhaustion, the fear, or the doubt, because I know we'll make it through.  Instead, I'm looking forward to seeing this little life that has been created inside of me out in the world and in our arms for the first time, and especially the look on Tim's face when he holds his son for the first time.  

Big Brother & Sister

I'm looking forward to the feedings, the diaper changes, the bathings and snuggles.  The readings, the crawling, the teething, and the swaddles.  The wide-eyed wonder of JP as he discovers his world, us, and the dogs for the first time.  Being able to *see* the world through his eyes and discover the delight of it all again in ours.  To see Tim's parents discover the joys of being grandparents for the first time, and my parents getting another grandson.  To watch Thomas discover the wonder of his cousin, and my big sister getting to be an aunt for the first time.  I also am looking forward to the changes this life event is going to bring about inside of me.  I've already felt my priorities change, along with my body (oof...don't remind me), and am ready to find out what lessons my son has to teach me as we journey through life together.  So, if I could say just one thing to our son as we anticipate his arrival, it would be this...

We're ready when you are JP.

 All our love, Mom and Dad. 

I wonder if they know...

 I wonder if they know how hard it is for me right now to walk away and let go.  I wonder if they know how hard I struggle everyday to make the right decisions for them, *and* for me & the life I am carrying inside me.  I wonder if they can appreciate the inner dialogue I have with myself on a daily basis that pertains exactly to what our T-shirt says this year.  "Never Let Good Enough, BE Enough."  I wonder if they know I shed a tear every time they go out for parade block and I'm not right there with them calling out cadences and reminding them to step on their "Left! Left! Left!"  I wonder if they fully comprehend how incredibly frustrating it is for me to not be able to teach them the drill and do the counts like I always do.  To explain to them the *big* picture they are making on the field and how it fits in with the rest of the band.  I wonder if they know how truly irritating it is that we don't have a cool space to rehearse in, inside because it's making me wear out faster than I would like.  I wonder if they know how much I hate feeling weak.

I just hope they know that I am trying very hard to find the balance, to be in the present moment with them, to teach them the best I can, and to last as long as I can before my world shifts forever.  I hope they know how much I care...

Dear Mayor Bloomberg, got formula?

So an old friend of mine facebooked me today asking if we have decided on what variety of formula we are going to use to feed JP because she has some "formula checks" that she'd like to mail me.  She is what, in the pregnant/mom world, is called an "EBF mom".  EBF stands for "Exclusively Breast Feeding".  I, on the other hand am an "EFF mom", which stands for "Exclusively Formula Feeding".  

For the sake of igniting any controversy for those of you who aren't aware, I can NOT breast feed.  Notice I did not say "I don't want too".  I mean it when I say I.Can.Not.  I battled Triple Negative Breast Cancer from May of 2010 through October of 2010 in which the end result was a double mastectomy where *ALL* of my breast tissue was removed and replaced with silicone implants.  And when I say all, I mean ALL, nipples included.  So, unless my child can puncture himself a hole in my boob & ingest silicone, which I find *highly* unlikely, breast feeding ain't gonna happen for this mommy-to-be.

But I digress...

 I'm on facebook responding to her post when the idea strikes me to toodle on over to the pregnancy discussion board I frequent and put it out there..."EBF moms; got formula checks?"  I have received numerous responses so far in the positive, and one gal mentioned the whole NYC/Mayor Bloomberg "Latch on NYC" debaucle, er, debate.  While I don't think me writing a letter directly to him, seeing as I live in the Midwest, would do a darn thing, I did think that putting my thoughts about *that* ridiculousness down here could be...interesting.

So here it is...my thoughts on the "Banning of Formula in NYC hospitals"...


On behalf of all cancer survivors who also survived a double mastectomy, thus having their ability to breast feed taken away from them, and also on behalf of ALL the women out there who for one reason or another can not or choose not to breast feed, I write this for you, for me, and for us.  

Dear Mayor Bloomberg,


With what little information I have read about this "campaign", and from what I understand it is *completely* and *utterly* despicable that a MAN, sitting in an ivory tower should be dictating what WE, as women, should do with our breasts when it comes to the feeding of the child WE CARRIED FOR NINE MONTHS IN OUR BODIES.  

Our boy, 31weeks

I ask you, Mayor Bloomberg, did you create one of life's greatest miracles inside of you?  Did you carry this child for 9 months of "bliss" (let's get real ladies, it's not all peaches and cream is it), then push it out an opening that can't seem to *possibly* be big enough and is usually accompanied with great pain before, during, and after?  Did you gain 20-50lbs of extra weight growing this miracle, and watch your once familiar body turn into something out of an alien syfy movie?  I don't think so.

Our boy, 30weeks

Did you, Mayor Bloomberg, worry and obsess over every little thing you ate or drank, the air you breathed, the medicine you took, or the product you put on your body for 9 months?  Did you give up a beloved glass of wine in order to make sure this little miracle got the best start possible?  Did you research all the different types of bottles, pumps, diapers, wipes, pacifiers, toys, teethers, carseats, strollers, creams, ointments, boppy's, bumbo's, sound machines, bassinet's, and pack 'n plays till you were so cross-eyed you didn't know which way was up?  Somehow I doubt it.

Our boy, 21weeks

Did you then, Mayor Bloomberg, struggle with the decision of whether or not to breast feed?  Did you do the countless hours of research on the subject, then spend countless hours researching formula?  Did you spend sleepless nights worrying about whether or not you'd be able too, and if you couldn't produce enough milk for your child would everyone think you were a failure?  Would you think that of yourself?  Did you spend your days enduring the Spanish Inquisition from women in all areas of your life "Are you gonna breast feed?  Are you gonna breast feed?  Huh?Huh?Huh?!?!", then goodness forbid you say *No* because then the question turns into "Why not? WHY?WHY?WHY?!"

Send off party for the girls

*Or*, here's another one for you to ponder oh great and wonderful Mayor of NYC.  Did you battle breast cancer, endure chemo, lose your hair, lose your sense of self, and take a genetic test that came back to tell you that you were going to have to undergo a double mastectomy, which in case you aren't in the know means the *total* removal of both of your breasts.  And when I say *total removal* I mean it.  Everything.  Done.  Gone.  All milk ducts, all breast tissue, even your nipples.  So not only have you now undergone a massive life changing sickness, and a complete and total body-altering surgery, you have now had the choice of whether or not to breast feed completely and totally taken away from you.  You no longer HAVE a choice.  You HAVE to formula feed.

At chemo

Do you know, Mayor Bloomberg, what that does to a woman?  Do you know the thoughts that went through my brain the day I got the call from my Oncologists office and the words "The test came back positive" entered my brain?  Here were a few...

After the mastectomy, 10/15/10

"Will I still be a woman without breasts?"
"Will it hurt when they take them away and then give them back?"
"Will I be okay?"
"Will this ensure the cancer never comes back"
and the ever fabulous...
"Will my husband ever look at me in the same way"
and
"How am I going to bond with my baby when that time comes and ensure he or she gets the best start in life..."





and then I cried.  I cried out of fear, out of shame, and out of heartbreak for a child that wasn't even a twinkle in my eye yet.  I cried for my breasts who had already been through so much and who now were a "danger to my life" and had to be removed to save mine.  I cried over the fact that I wasn't going to be able to do the *one* basic thing that these "girls" were intended for...to nourish my child with nature's most perfect formula...Breast Milk.

5th wedding anniversary spent at Chemo

You see, Mayor Bloomberg, in my opinion, you are essentially doing the same thing to the women of your great state, that the cancer did too me.  YOU, my dear sir, are taking THEIR CHOICE away from them.  Oh I know, if they can provide a "medical reason" then the nurses can whip out their magic key, unlock the closet, and produce the formula their baby will so desperately need.  I know, also, that you are not talking about women like me who literally can NOT breastfeed, no matter how much we may want too.  It is simply a physical inability.  Yet, do you realize the message you are sending?  You are basically saying that there is something WRONG with those of us who either can not or choose not to breastfeed.  


You.  A Man.  Mmm-hmm, yeah, excuse me while I have a good chuckle at that...

Our boy, 15weeks

I mean, really.  Who are you to tell women what they can and can not do in deciding *how*
to feed their newborn?  Of course breast feeding is best, but shouldn't that be something that is decided upon by her and her significant other?  And why "lecture" the new mother on the benefits of breastfeeding before unlocking the cabinet?  Don't you think that's going to be a little harsh on the emotional psyche of a woman who has just been through 9 months of pregnancy and goodness knows how many hours of labor to push something the size of a watermelon out of a hole that's not near as big??  She may already be feeling down about not breast feeding, but seeing as you most likely don't live her life, you don't know WHY she has chosen not too.  Don't beat her over the head about it, just give her the damn formula and wish her well with her new bundle of joy.

And I ask you, what's next?  The government is already trying to regulate our uterus's and our choices regarding birth control, so what's next?  Are you going to ban epidurals because having a "natural, unmedicated birth" is better for the baby?  Riiiight...how about *you* try pushing a watermelon out your pee hole, *then* we'll talk about the benefits of an "natural birth" versus a "medicated birth". 


Look.  It's your city, you do what you want, you've already banned smoking in parks, and large sizes of sugary drinks, and I refuse to read all the particulars of your "initiative" because it would be time wasted out of my busy life that I could never regain.  I'm also in the Midwest so this, at least right now, isn't going to affect me and honestly, I eagerly anticipate the "swag bag" from my hospital that will set me and our little boy on the right path towards healthful nutrition.  I just hope you take a second to think about what message you're TRULY sending to the women of your great city because *we're* not wrong, your message is wrong.

Think about it.


Sincerely,


A Proud EFF Mom-to-be

Our little boy, 31weeks