Choices

Everytime I prop up a bottle to feed my baby instead of holding it myself I feel guilty.

Then today I thought "You know, if I was breastfeeding, I wouldn't be obsessively holding my boob to her face."

I feel better now.

First Day Back

This is really the first day the kids and I have had alone since...Christmas break? The last few months have been a whirlwind of broken schedules and water heaters. We've gotten a new car and a new baby. Bedtimes and naptimes are whenever we unearth a bed and make sure someone hasn't peed on it. There have been so many doctor appointments and emergency visits that I really should have my own parking spot with a glitter banner and litter carriers waiting there with Starbucks. (We actually have another doctor appointment tomorrow!) We've had to scramble to spend days at my mother's, my grandmother's and my sister's because something went wrong again. Sometimes it was the whole family and sometimes it was one or more of the kids. I've had to call my husband home from work more times than I like. (Which is "zero" by the way.)

If there is one thing in my life that is constant, it is that I don't like to be a burden to those around me. I feel guilty if I have to ask for help with my kids and I feel even guiltier if I have to ask for help for myself. Basically, I can ask from God. He's the most powerful being in the universe. Heck, He created the universe. I don't feel bad asking Him for help. Plus He tells me over and over in the Bible to ask for help.

Unfortunately, He also has this hang-up about "humility" and keeps insisting on using people in my life to help me causing me to swallow what I thought was "consideration for others" but is actually "pride". It seems He also has a thing about "pride" as well.

We're easing into it today. The kids are watching Sesame and Movers while eating Cheerios and bananas. The baby has had two bottles and two diapers. Gideon has already found his talking Elmo doll and Sophie is singing the birthday song at the top of her tone deaf / Japanese exchange student accented voice. I've done 2 loads of laundry and 2 loads of dishes and I'm about to start making schedules that I'm sure I'll write "BE FLEXIBLE" across the top in an attempt to remind myself that kids rarely stick to mother's schedules.

Milly's Tale

So! Milly had a good time messing with us. Around midnight on the 2nd, she sent me to the hospital with contractions and dehydration. I was dialated to a three but the nurses got the contractions stopped. I was sent home with terbutaline and instructions to drink more water than 4 camels with cotton mouth. A week later, she did it again. This time it was around midnight (always in the middle of the night) the night before my baby shower. I stayed in the hospital for 2 days waiting to see if she would come. The doctor didn't want to give her any help because I was just shy of 36 weeks. So after two agonizing days of "will-she or won't-she" we went home with instructions to continue the terbutaline and some pain meds.

Fast forward another week. I'm 37 weeks and I'm tired. Milly has dropped into my pelvic bone and is REALLY heavy. She's laying all on the right side of my body and it's making my right foot/ankle swell up. (Just the right leg. SO ANNOYING.) I'm still having sporadic contractions that bring me to tears but never get consistent enough to be called Real Labor. The terbutaline makes me tremble and shake.

This kid better be seriously cute.

On Tuesday the 18th, I have a bad day. I'm tired and I just feel like laying around. I want everyone to go away. I put the kids down for their nap at 12:00 and climb into the tub to try to relax. I begin to pray, asking God for guidance and strength. The prayer turns to sobbing as I cry out to the Lord. I no longer know what I want or what I need. I then remember Matthew 6:8.

"The Father knows what you need before you ask."

Trusting in this, I simply cry and let my Heavenly Father comfort me. Peace rushes over me in waves. I am able to calm down. God brings other people to the front of my mind and I am able to really pray over them. I get out of the tub refreshed and peaceful about the whole situation. God will bring Milly when it's time. He'll take care of everything. That night, I went to what I thought was my Ladies Bible Study. Instead, they surprised me with a baby shower! I had a wonderful evening of fellowship and laughter that just made me feel even better. I came home with a full heart. I shared my day with Ben who laughed and cuddled me. We fell asleep easily that night.

Around 1:45, I got up for one of my nightly trips to the bathroom when I felt something familiar. My foot hit the tile and GUSH. (Ref: http://www.kittencrush.com/?p=189 ) Luckily, Ben was only half asleep and got up pretty quick. We grinned at the similarities between Milly and Sophie and called the necessary people. Once at the hospital, I got hooked up to the monitors and settled in to labor. It was nice not to be hooked up to a million things to make the labor stop but to have everyone encouraging me to keep going. We ended up watching Star Trek TNG and breathing through contractions. Finally I got uncomfortable enough to ask for the epidural. The doctor also wanted to hook me up to some Pitocin to make my contractions a little more effective at dialating me. (I was still just at a three.) Since Milly is my third child and I was being encouraged by medicine I really thought it would go faster than the last time. Alas, no.

After hours and HOURS of increasing pressure and then pain that even slipped past the epidural, I was exhausted. Ben held me when I cried, he fetched about 938 cups of ice, updated family and friends, rubbed my half numb feet, reminded me to breathe and reassured me that this would end. Good Lord, I love that man! The epidural was working but kept settling into whatever side I was laying on. I kept having to call the nurse to turn me like a hot dog.

Finally, FINALLY, we arrived at full dialation and my doctor said it was time. With a nurse on one side and Ben on the other, I concentrated all of my might and Millicent Mei Dyer came into the world at 2:41 PM. She gurgled and gasped a bit too much so they whisked her to the warmer to get the gunk out of her mouth. After she was clean, they wrapped her and brought her to me. Gazing down at that little mummy-burrito baby with giant alert eyes, I again felt tears coming again. This time it wasn't because of pain, fatigue, anxiety or anger. These were tears of love and gratitude. I thanked my Heavenly Father for giving me such an amazing gift in His perfect timing. I thanked Him for reminding me the day before that He was always in charge and that He would never put me down. I thanked Him for answering the hundreds of prayers from the last nine months and giving us a healthy full term baby.

I thanked Him for Milly.

You're Doing it Wrong

Sophie's tantrums are getting scary and I think I'm handling them wrong.

First I tried putting her in her empty crib for Time Out. Once the screams died down, I would go in there and have a one sided conversation about why she shouldn't scream/throw things/hit people/cause destruction/etc. This didn't seem to do anything and she would usually get angry about 3 seconds after getting out of the crib. So then I started holding her and letting her fight against me. She screams and struggles until she gets it out of her system. When she starts to calm down, I ask her if she wants her baby. She gets her baby when she stops yelling. Once she stops yelling and has her baby in her arms, I talk to her about why she can't tell/hit/throw/destroy/etc. This seems to work a little better. She wouldn't be angry afterwards.

However, twice in the last few weeks there have been actual meltdowns where I had to restrain her from hitting me and herself. It really scares me. I've already been arguing with myself for over a year about autism. (Why doesn't she talk? Why doesn't she cuddle? Why does she get so FREAKING ANGRY?) Aren't meltdowns a part of all of that?

It doesn't help that everyone else's kids seem to be freaking geniuses. They're all speaking in complete sentences by 4 months old and giving guest lectures on quantum physics by 2 years old. They not only eat with silverware but have perfect manners. Some have eschewed potty training and just reabsorb everything back into their bodies. It's more green, you know. Meanwhile, my 3 year old is dangling from my arms, diaper soaking through her pants and onto my shirt, screaming nonsense at the top of her lungs because I handed her a blue crayon.

I know it's my fault. She was early. Maybe I did something. Maybe I'm doing something now. Maybe I'm not doing something now. Maybe I didn't get the First Kid Handbook that everyone else seems to have. I'm taking this beautiful little blue-grey eyed girl from God and just ruining her.

Maybe I should mention this to my psychiatrist. It might be time for better meds.

Motherhood

Being a SAHM is one of the most isolating jobs on the planet. Alright, there's probably some sonar technician in the Arctic that might argue with me.

Look, my life revolves around my family. I'm in charge of finances, doctor appointments, laundry, cleaning, cooking, etc. I make sure that every day my family has clean clothes and food on the table. I make sure that everyone is going to the doctor to get their shots. I'm the one who knows exactly when each of my children last pooped and I can usually estimate when the next load will drop. I research recipes, track down deals, go shopping, cook the food, serve the food and clean the dishes. I'm the one that notices when shoes get too small and I'm the one who replaces them.

Since we have just one car that my husband takes to work 6 days a week, I am left at home with three kids under three. Alone. 6 days a week for at least 5-12 hours a day. Since my husband works outside of the home, I am the one that gets up with the infant during the night. I have with every child. The first few weeks are excruciating and it's getting worse with each kid. I have no time to nap during the day so my sleep bank is always in the red. I have no way of taking them to a park to run off energy and I have no way of getting to play dates. We are hermetically sealed in this house for days at a time, emerging on Sundays for church.

My world has become very small. I don't know a lot about current events. I don't get to discuss the latest TV shows with coworkers. I don't get together with girlfriends to shop and lunch. Every other Tuesday I do attend a women's Bible study and I am grateful for this small break. However, I feel dull. Uninteresting. The biggest project I've been working on is a cookbook binder for all of my most used recipes. Yep. That's going to catch my husband's attention!

I dream of going back to school. I yearn for history classes and math tests. I want to take geography classes and Bible classes at the same time to better get an understanding of where big Biblical events took place. I want to come home and have my husband eagerly ask me what I did today and get to tell him about all of the fascinating things I'm learning.

Instead, I'll stay up with the infant tonight. I'll get the two older kids up tomorrow morning, make breakfast and turn on Play With Me Sesame. I'll ask the husband about how the projects at work are turning out. I'll do a few loads of laundry and make dinner. If I'm lucky then I'll shower.

I'll be a mom.