Coming Around

The thing about miscarrying that is hurting me the most is that it wasn't really a biological fluke, per se, but that there is something medically wrong with me which has most likely caused my miscarriages, and which causes my preterm labor (a luteal phase defect, and then, if I don't miscarry, subsequent low progesterone levels throughout pregnancy.)

Having children has been something I've dreamed about forever, and I just always assumed that it would be smooth sailing. I mean, look at these childbearing hips! Observe this maternal instinct! You should have seen all the baby dolls I nurtured! The bratty kids I babysat! The staggering number of A Baby Story episodes I have watched! I appear MADE to have babies, right?! Basically my mind is stomping its foot in fury- my body has betrayed me, and it's not FAIR! It shouldn't have to be HARD for me! I fluctuate between grief and a kind of petulance.

Friday night, though, I finally got a chance to talk to a friend of mine about my current state of mind. I knew she has had three miscarriages, and might understand. Talking with her helped me enormously, and she gave me very wise counsel for dealing with my emotions. It was incredibly PAINFUL counsel (that I allow myself to grieve for a baby, for the baby girl I had been certain it was even before I got a positive pregnancy test. I had forced this idea from my mind so far, wanting only to think of it only as a failed pregnancy and nothing more. But letting myself feel it has actually helped enormously. I now remember that it was the same last time. It was only the night when I first addressed the baby I had lost that I was able to release some of the disappointment.)

So in conclusion, I think I am maybe starting to round the bend of this thing. I'm not ready to face another pregnancy yet (especially since Eli's bedtime routine now consists of screaming his fool head off for a good hour) but I am able to enjoy my children fully, without constantly seeing in their faces what another baby might have looked like. I am able to receive birth announcements and feel sincere joy for them, and only afterwards a twinge of sadness for what I lost. I am able to deal with the idea that I WILL need some assistance next time in order to carry to term, and that this is just another bodily weakness, to which we are all randomly subjected, and that it does not speak to my ability as a mother.

Coping

You may have noticed that my last few posts have been more like paragraphs. I've just been feeling a little blah, a little down. Also, a little sick, still, and therefore a bit out of it (thank you, NyQuil!) I have more days lately where I don't get sad, thanks in large part, I think, to the fact that I've been exercising again. But my emotional coping threshold is much lower than usual. I can be perfectly happy and then a tiny slight, the wrong tone of voice, or an unusually cranky child can put me completely over the edge. There have been a few nights where I had to abandon one of the kids' baths or feedings to Jim and go outside to breathe in the cool night air just to keep from exploding.

I think doctors should really warn you that postpartum depression is just as likely after a miscarriage as after birth. They never say anything like, "You might feel randomly sad for quite a while afterwards, so don't be surprised if you leak tears all the time about stupid stuff." At least, mine never have. They're just always on you about what method of birth control you're using, when you want to try again, and whether you've had that all-important Pap test recently.

No medical professional has ever asked me, "Do pregnant women make you stare and then have to choke down a bitter lump in your throat?" or "Do you frequently get out your children's birth stories and newborn pictures and obsess over them, desperate to relive the feelings of pregnancy and birth just in case you never experience them again?" And I guess that's not really their job. They are there to assess physical health. But it seems a little sensitivity might be in order.

You're already in a somewhat undignified position, laying on your back with your knees in the air. After FOUR pregnancies, I've gotten over feeling actual, physical pangs of discomfort about this part, but mentally it still feels vulnerable. And even when that's over, you're clutching a tiny robe around you, trying to reclaim a bit of modesty while you finish answering their questions.

So couldn't just ONE of those questions be about my mental or emotional state? Maybe "Are you handling your feelings okay?" Just something, so that I might feel less like a faceless breeding machine brought in for routine maintenance.

Currently...

...Drinking wine at three in the afternoon while grimly ironing about two thousand yards of heavily wrinkled, one hundred percent cotton curtains, washed in a fit of smug housewifely virtue. Do not recommend. From now on, dusty curtains get shaken out. If that.

Man. I forgot how much I hate ironing.

Blech

Guess what I asked for (and received) for my birthday? A gym membership. Which includes free, on site babysitting. A win win, no? If I weren't feeling so CRAPPY still. I went today, and, as an inexperienced newbie who hasn't even had her initial Nautilus orientation training (wha? There IS such a thing?) I stuck with fifteen minutes on a bike and fifteen minutes of brisk walking on the track. We're talking mild, Silver Sneakers-type exercise here. And I am so shaky and exhausted and in pain now! I'm either hopelessly out of shape again already or I am still too sick and pathetic to be jumping back into exercise. In which case, I should probably not have paid for this month's membership...

Etiquette

It is birthday season in our family. It is kicked off in August, when my sister has hers, then my nephew has his, followed shortly by Eli's. Then comes my BIL's, then mine and my MIL's (we share the date) and then Adelay's followed shortly by my SIL. Before my grandpa passed away, his was sandwiched in between my BIL's and mine and MIL's. All of this leads to lots of fun, of course, but LOTS of parties and food and gifts.

So... I have a question regarding the gift part of this. Do you send thank you notes, like real, live licked-and-stamped thank you notes? Do you send them just for random, above and beyond acts of niceness, or for ANY gift received by any of your family members, even if it is Christmas and each family member received about a gazillion apiece?

A Birthday Reflection

Today I am a woman. Well, twenty four years old, anyway. I have a husband, two children, a house, a dog, a minivan, and I own at least two pairs of mom jeans. I have chronically dry hands from doing dishes and antibacterial-izing after diaper changes.

But on the other hand, I still only iron about once a year. I watch The Office. I just bought a Further Seems Forever cd. I secretly think it's funny when my daughter turns into a sassy pants. I text. I sometimes skip meals and just eat giant desserts. AND.... I officially weigh the same as I did when we got married (this announcement brought to you by Weird Presumably Non Fatal Illness which is still lingering on a bit.)

So, on the whole I am a balanced person, yes?

I Need A "Frequent Weird Health Problems" Punch Card

Throw me a frickin' bone here, mother nature. Two weeks following my miscarriage, I now apparently have either a sinus infection, mono, or West Nile fever. My symptoms are presenting much more like the latter two (extreme neck pain and stiffness, headache/dizziness, body aches, low grade fever, nausea, fatigue,) but when I finally drug myself to the doctor today, she said that I also have lots of fluid behind my ears, which could explain the dizziness, and that my sinus tissues are really inflamed. Also, apparently there is "drainage" going on in my throat, which could explain the nausea. She then pointed out how puffy my eye area was, and was appropriately embarassed when I informed her that my eyes ALWAYS look like that, thanks very much. Note to self: start being a little more religious with the Lancome night cream.

So I have a prescription for amoxocillin in the hopes that its a sinus infection here, but if I don't feel better by Monday I have to go get blood work done to test for mono.

The only silver lining in all this (besides the five pounds I've dropped) is that I had a bunch of Vicodin left over from the surgery, and it has been saving my life the last few days. My neck ache is so intense that ibuprofin wears off after about an hour, whereas the Vicodin sticks with me for at least three or four. The downside, of course, is that I feel like a sleepy, drugged up zombie most of the time, that the drug intensifies my nausea, and that I can't drive anywhere if I take it. But still. The pain relief is worth it. And yes, I admitted to the doctor that I've been taking it, and she said it was fine. Which is a relief, as I was beginning to feel slightly worried that I was turning into one of those suburban moms hooked on pain killers and vodka tonics.

I have to say, I really like the practice we go to for general health care stuff. All the doctors are so nice and down to earth, and very honest, though sometimes depressingly so (example: the doctor today said that it could very well be West Nile fever, as it has been found in our area recently, but that if it is, there is literally nothing they could do for me short of hospitalization. But she did pat my knee sympathetically as she said it.) Also, Addy loves it there, what with the (no doubt germ covered) play area and the fascinating digital scale and the jar full of dum-dums. She pranced around me today while I waited on the exam table, explaining excitedly, "It's YOUR turn at the doctor, Mommy, ok? Today it's YOUR turn, right? It's MOMMY'S turn!"

Indeed. I think it's been Mommy's turn in the doctor's office way too often lately. LET ME OUT!

Twinges

Standing in the baby aisle at the grocery store choosing new sippee cups next to a very pregnant woman. She is discussing with the woman next to her how soon she is due and how excited she is and how HUGE she is, etc. I abandon the sippee cup train of thought and leave, unable to listen to more, and unable to stay WITHOUT listening a little too intently.

Passing a pro-life billboard with a picture of a baby and the caption, "Eighteen days from conception, my heart was beating." Doing mental math to figure out that if the pregnancy stopped developing at five weeks, which means the BABY was actually three weeks old, and three weeks is twenty-one days, then... Sinking feeling.

Running into someone who had heard that I was pregnant, and having to tell her I am not any more. Hearing her first words: "Oh... Are you so relieved?" Feeling the heat rush into my face, unsure if it is from anger or shame.

Seeing Eli standing at the table, running his cars back and forth and looking so much like a toddler and so little like a baby. Trying to figure out how long it might feasibly be before there will be a tiny baby around here again. Trying to figure out how long it will be until I will feel ready to wish for that scenario.

Thinking about the step by step process of trying again. This time there will be medical supervision and hormone supplements, and probably Clomid as well, to correct my luteal phase and boost my progesterone. It seemed to work with Eli, after the first miscarriage, so why mess with success? Then there will be more supplements, and if those work, weekly shots until the baby is born to hopefully prevent preterm labor. All of this leads to the depressing and admittedly self-pitying conclusion that I am not nearly as good at having babies as I once assumed I would be. The actual birth seems to be the only thing I can successfully handle on my own.

I KNOW how lucky I am. I have two healthy kids. This is all anyone could reasonably wish for, and I know wanting more kids, more luck, is almost greedy. There are people who have NEVER carried a baby to term. Any sadness I feel, any sense of failure or anger I may have towards my body for not doing its job pales in comparison to the pain of unresolved infertility, and I am aware of that. But I can't feel that. All I can feel is this.

My Baby

Dear Eli,

Today you took five steps in a row before bending neatly at the waist and returning to your signature bear crawl. You looked at me nonchalantly when I squealed your name, then went back to playing. It's no big thing, Mom, was the general sense I got from you.

You also ate grapes for the first time today, cut painstakingly into fourths with the plastic McDonalds fork which was given to me along with my fruit and walnut salad. You scarfed them down, exhibiting a more deft pincer grasp than I remembered you having the last time I checked.

You are growing up in leaps and bounds, little man. Thank goodness your babyhood still pokes its head out every now and then. Like today, when you fell asleep in your carseat on the way to the grocery store. I was loathe to wake you from one your increasingly infrequent naps, so I carried you carefully into the store, then toted your drooling self around on my shoulder until I got to the baby aisle, where I padded the child seat of the cart with soft receiving blankets and tucked you in. You looked like a kind of Baby Jesus, nestled snugly in your modern day manger, your cheeks flushed with sleep and your thumb hanging loosely from your pursed lips.

I hope you know that a part of me will always see you this way, even if you get bigger and smarter than me (and I hope you do.) I will always remember the way your face looks, crinkled with glee as I tickle your cheeks with my hair. I will always remember the smell of your head. I'll remember, no doubt with longing, the way I sometimes hold you close when I'm feeling sad, just for the reassuring pleasure of inhaling that achingly sweet scent.

From Canada With Love

Eli's birthday party was a huge success- I didn't forget anything vital, and the birthday boy took all his naps and was therefore cheerful and smiling all day long. Also, almost everyone I invited showed up, and I just felt so surrounded by love.

You know, one of the things I always wished for growing up was a bigger extended family, with plenty of aunts and cousins and just PEOPLE to go around. My mom was an only child, though, and my dad had just one sister, so there wasn't too much in the way of giant family get togethers. As a result, our immediate family is very close, which is of course lucky enough right there, but I am so grateful that in marrying Jim, I also got the big Walton family thing that I always wanted, too. I know all of you out there who have icky in-laws and strained relationships want to slap me right now, but there is honestly not a single person in either of our families that I don't genuinely like. I am not unaware of the incredible luckiness of this.

Ok, enough sentiment. Shake it off, people! And now on to pictures- but not birthday pictures, because I still haven't found the cord to download them. What I CAN offer you is pictures of last weekend, in Canada, which MIL emailed me from her Treo. Why were they on her Treo? Because all FOUR adults managed to forget their cameras. One of the drawbacks of truly impromptu getaways is forgetting to pack certain important items.


The first two days were gorgeous, sunny and warm. Keep in mind that all of this is private beach area, which my MIL and her siblings have been playing on since THEY were little kids. They know pretty much everyone else who has cottages on this stretch of beach, so there are no obnoxious strangers ruining your day. Everyone knows each other from way back. Also, lots of people bring their dogs, and watching them swim is so fun. I wished I could have taken Fonzie along.



From L to R: my MIL, Addy (who these days does not enjoy posing for the camera,) my SIL, Aunt Nancy, and of course, me, the bra-less wonder.



This is one of the only pictures of me with a good smile. Not coincidentally, I am filling my plate.




Long days in the sun are apparently the trick to getting Adelay to nap again.



I love this one. Addy with her cousin Rachel.



Collecting shells.




This was honestly one of the best weekends I've ever had. It was truly relaxing in every sense, without the usual chaos and expense of normal vacations. It was utterly peaceful and beautiful. Being beside the lake the last morning, watching the whitecaps roll endlessly up and down, made me feel so small but so very peaceful.

Are You There, Percocet? It's Me, Sarah.

All went well with the d and c. We even got into the operating room ahead of schedule, by some miracle, and the most (physically) uncomfortable part of the whole ordeal was the IV placement and blood taking. In the end I opted for heavy sedation rather than general anesthesia, thanks in no small part to my pre-op nurse, who, upon hearing my offhand comment that I was feeling a little tense, replied, "Well, sure! I would be too, if they were going to put me under! I mean, when you're a nurse, when you know the things we know..." And then she SHOOK HER HEAD GRIMLY! Way to instill confidence in the medical process, Nurse Ratchet.

Let me just say, though, that was SOME heavy sedation. I remember absolutely nothing beyond my questioning the nurse, "Is that stuff in the IV going in already? I feel a little weird..." The next thing I knew I was back in my room, and abruptly began sobbing when I remembered what I had just woken up from. Then the nurse arrived, and I stopped crying, had some toast and Sprite, and slowly began to feel normal again.

Actually, I am now feeling remarkably cheerful, thanks to many little graces, not the least of which, I am sure, is the cocktail of pharmaceuticals currently in my veins.

Firstly, a massage gift certificate, complete with an offer for babysitting, from my perfect, thoughtful friend Jess (and completely incidentally, I have in my lifetime had THREE best friends named Jessica. I now tend to instinctively trust that someone named Jessica will be thoughtful and funny and loyal. Thoughts?)

Secondly, the fact that my house is pretty darn clean despite the flurry of the last few days. This is because my SIL and, of course, Jess, took turns babysitting my kids pretty much all day Wednesday so that I could get the pre-party scrubbing and fussing over and done with before the procedure. My mom offered to do it FOR me, but I quickly reminded her that I much prefer to do my own cleaning. Also, for me, there is no better therapy for conflicted emotions and frayed nerves than the smell of cleaning products wafting through my house.

Thirdly, my mom and MIL. Our family, I think, could not survive without them. My mom picked the kids up around ten this morning, and until about seven o' clock tonight, which is when I finally woke up and felt normal again, I could relax and trust that they were happy and cared for. They even got baths! And when I DID awake, and stumble out of my room to get hugs and kisses from my babies, there was waiting for me a perfect chicken casserole from my MIL, the kind with Velveeta, cream of mushroom, and French's onions baked to a crisp on top. This isn't always my kind of thing, but when you're feeling wobbly and pathetic, there are few things more comforting than a good casserole. Er, hotdish. Sorry, Tessie.

Resigned. Also, Drunk (Ha Ha, Just Kidding! Kind Of!)

After lots of waffling, I ended up calling the doctor's office first thing this morning and begging for another blood draw, just to reassure me that my hcg hadn't, like, leveled off or somehow gone back up or something. I knew this was a remote possibility at best, but I had to know. You can't go in for a procedure like that unless you're completely at rest in your mind, I think.

The doctor got the results rushed, and she called me this afternoon and said that my levels have slowed their descent a bit, but they're still going in the opposite direction that a healthy pregnancy would be. I said in a tiny voice, "But if they're slowing down, does that mean maybe...?" And she said, very kindly, that no, it just meant my hormones were taking their sweet time getting the message to my body to abort, and that if I let things go naturally she guessed it would be another two to four weeks before I'd lose the pregnancy on my own. She was very very kind. I just want to emphasize that. She kept saying things like, "You don't have to do anything at all yet if you're not ready."

But I think I am, now. I just want it done with, so that we can start moving on. My mind is finally coming to grips with the fact that, despite my sore breasts and my fatigue and my irritability, there is in fact no baby causing these symptoms. Just a cruel trick of nature, urging my uterus to cling to something that is no longer there.

So. I will see you on the other side, my friends. After I enjoy this rum and coke, which I've been craving for three solid weeks. (There's always a silver lining, I guess.) Thank you again for all your advise, which was very helpful. I had been planning not to get put out, just ask for a sedative, but after reading some of the comments I think I'm going with general anesthesia. I don't know if I want to be aware of the whole process, anyways, painful or not.

Well. Painful is such a relative term, isn't it?

Torn

Thank you all so very much for all your comments. I didn't even know I HAD forty-some readers! I feel humbled that so many people are, in some small way, sharing and carrying my sadness with me. It helps more than you know.

And now I need some more help, this time in the form of advise. At first I was all set to have the d and c, be done with it, and move on. Today, I'm feeling less certain. I called the office back to get my EXACT numbers and see just how much my hcg had dropped. It went from 3,000-something to 2,000-something in the course of four days. The doctor said this was a drastic enough drop that she felt sure there wasn't a chance of this being a viable pregnancy. Does that sound right to you guys? Is that a pretty big drop? Because I remember with my last miscarriage my hcg had gone down to 150 before I started bleeding.

Also, even if she's right and there's definitely no chance of this pregnancy continuing, should I maybe just let nature take its course? I'm really dreading the process of miscarrying on my own, but I also don't want to go through any surgery, no matter how minor, nor do I want to be put under anesthesia unnecessarily. And, not to be mercenary, but there is also the cost of our deductible to consider.

On the other hand, I know that often (such as was the case with my last m/c) even if your body expels the pregnancy on its own, there is often tissue or blood left in your uterus and they end up having to do a d and c anyways later on. So should I just get it over with now? And how long until I feel back to normal- I don't want to be dragging around on pain pills at Eli's party, but neither do I want to be doubled over with contractions caused by a natural miscarriage.

Sigh. It's really a bunch of crap that I have to make this decision on top of the general shittiness of realizing that for two weeks my body has only been pretending to be pregnant.

Empty

Sorry it's been so long. I was in Canada over the weekend, on an impromptu girls' weekend with my MIL, SIL, niece, aunt in law, and Adelay. It was really fun; we stayed in my MIl's family cottage on Lake Huron and enjoyed the secluded beach area. Then when it got dark we would have popcorn and watch girly movies until everyone crashed from the long days of playing in the water. I wished we could have stayed longer.

~~~


This morning I had an ultrasound. A gestational dating ultrasound, to be exact. I got a positive pregnancy test about two weeks ago, but since I conceived while I was breastfeeding, they wanted to check on the dates. I should have been seven weeks along today, according to my last period, but what we saw this morning was just a tiny, empty gestational sac, measuring at five weeks. Also, my hormone levels from my initial blood draw weren't where they should have been. They tried to be optimistic, to reassure us that maybe my dates were way off and that I was, in fact, just barely five weeks and it was too early to see an embryo, but I knew as soon as I heard the ultrasound tech's voice.

They did a second blood draw this morning, and called me with the results this afternoon. I was down on my knees, viciously scrubbing behind the toilet to keep my emotions at bay, as they told me that my hcg levels had dropped instead of doubled, and that it seemed I had experienced a missed miscarriage. I could schedule a D and C, or wait to see what happened. I opted for the D and C, since Eli's first birthday party is Sunday. I don't want to risk having to be in the middle of a miscarriage as I cut the cake and take pictures, you know? So I'll go in Friday, and the "products of conception" will be removed. So neat and tidy.


It could have been worse. This is my second miscarriage, but at least both times I never even saw a heartbeat, let alone an embryo. Things always seem to fail very early on. It should be somewhat less wrenching this way. A failed pregnancy, rather than a lost baby. Medically speaking, anyways. But for me, there is always the baby. Looking at the two lines on the positive test, what I see is tiny whorls of dark newborn hair, the fragile, ruddy newborn skin, the tiny bowed legs all curled in their hospital swaddling blanket. What I feel is the weight of its head cradled in my elbow.

And Furthermore

I realized today, belatedly, that I left out two other, very significant milestones in our little family. Firstly, there is the fact that this very week we are in the process of purchasing a minivan- how is this upon us already?!- and there is also the absolutely wrenching conclusion that the pattern of over a week now appears no longer to be just a phase, but a fact: Addy has given up napping.

The worst of it is that I can't get her to stay quietly in her room and read books or play, either. Instead, she stands at the baby gate barring her in, shaking it pitifully and calling over and over, her voice somehow both chirpy and plaintive, "Mama, I AWAKE!" If I let this go on too long, her younger brother one wall away will soon become AWAKE as well, so the past week or so I have spent my afternoons out on the deck, playing with my not even remotely sleepy girl. And you all will understand that when I say playing, I mostly mean sitting on the bench with a book and a glass of water, half-reading and half conversing while Addy whips me up invisible ice cream and pizza and coffee in her playhouse, right?

The Times, They Are A-Changin'

It has been a week for milestones in our house. I say this in a whisper, nay, I am mouthing the words, lest I offend the fates and turn my luck again, but Eli has slept through the night the past two evenings. Because he is weaned, which is a bit of a weepy and wistful milestone, as opposed to the marvel of a full night's sleep, which merits cartwheels across the bedroom when I wake up in the morning and realize it's for the FIRST time in seven hours.

I couldn't believe how easy it was (knocking frantically on all wood in knuckle range.) A few nights ago, he woke up fussing, but not full on SCREAMING as is usually the case, so I decided to just lay there and see how it panned out. He fussed a little more, a little more, and had NEARLY broken me when... It stopped. Or I fell back to sleep. Or something. He had been down to only nursing in the middle of the night at that point, but that day was the first time in his life that he went over twenty four hours without needing my breasts! So I decided to roll with it, and lo, the following two nights, he didn't even wake up once. Uncomfortable chestal region aside, I am feelin' goo-ood, my friends.

In other milestone-related news, a heart-rending hair trimming ceremony occurred this morning after Adelay's bath, when I realized her not quite three year old hair was nearly down to her butt. It was getting to be a lot to manage, and was always in her face. It's also not exactly a picnic to wash. I naturally trimmed off more than I meant to in my efforts to "even it out," but before anyone (and by anyone I mean relatives!) faults me, I would like to point out how difficult it is to neatly trim the hair of a child who does not understand the concept of holding her head straight and still. I think it looks adorable, pangs of guilt aside, and she was remarkably excited about the whole thing. She even pranced around the house with her little baggie of baby curls, which I marked as "Addy's First Trim!" and later tucked weepily into her keepsake box.

I'd love to post photographic evidence (and I'd also like to show you pictures from the zoo) but I cannot find the proper cord in the refuse pile that is this desk, so it will have to wait. When dry though, her hair is about to her shoulders now, and kind of flips and curls out. It also looks darn cute in some pigtails, where before it had been getting a little long and straggly (think less corkscrew curls and more frizzy streamers.)

And now for something entirely unrelated but at LEAST as important, I have discovered a method of eating copious amounts of brownie batter without that icky knowledge that you are ingesting quite a bit of raw egg! I've been mixing all the ingredients EXCEPT the eggs first, then spooning out a portion for non baking enjoyment, then proceeding to add the eggs to the remainder. The part left out will be a little bit grainier in texture than regular batter, but fluff in a little coconut and it goes down pretty easy...

Long Distance

So I was watching some of the Olympic races last night, and it occurred to me that Jim and I, as co parents, are a lot like a sprinter and a marathon runner. Sprinters explode with energy, giving a hundred percent every second that they're on the track, and keep an amazing pace. Marathon runners, on the other hand, must pace themselves. They ration their energy, deciding when to speed up and when to hang back, conserving strength for when they will need it most.

Which parent are you?

Lions and Tigers and Birthing, Oh My!

Huh, I am really being a slacker lately about posting. What can I say... Summer. For the first time I can remember, it is August and I am still not sick of the season. This is a real breakthrough, as I am usually someone who is holed up in the AC pining for crisp autumn air and the advent of sweater season by about July fourth. But this summer hasn't felt unbearably humid, nor have I had to drag around a thirty pound belly following knee surgery as was the case last summer. I've really been having a lot of fun doing the occasional outdoor activity! Go me.

Yesterday, I even took the kids to the zoo for the first time. Well, with my mom and my sister. I wouldn't brave it alone under any circumstances, let's be clear, but with adults outnumbering kids, it wasn't bad at all. Eli was a little fussy, as he's coming off of a high fever last weekend (he has roseola) so we spent a lot of time passing around his twenty one pound bulk between us while pushing an empty stroller. But other than that, they were both amazingly well behaved, and Addy made all the appropriate facial expressions and gestures (jaw dropped in awe! wild pointing!) of a toddler witnessing Nature for the first time. It was gratifying enough to make up for eating overpriced faux nacho cheese product at the zoo cafe for dinner.

Earlier this week, I finally got to watch The Business of Being Born, that documentary Ricki Lake produced about birth and obstetric care in the U.S. It was really interesting, and even though I wasn't fully convinced that a home birth is the way to go, at least for me, it still definitely confirmed in my mind that the basic system of care in place for pregnant women and their babies in this country is totally backwards- it's much more DOCTOR oriented than it is WOMAN oriented, and far too many decisions are made for reasons of legal liability and simple convenience rather than what's truly in the baby and mom's best interest. I don't know what the answer is in every case, but I do know that as women we really have to be proactive about making sure we do our research, look into all options, and really take responsibility and ownership of our own birthing experiences. I would really recommend watching this film if you get a chance; it'll definitely make you think.

And in another paragraph completely absent of a decent segue attempt, I think we are going with a loose "jungle animal" theme for Eli's birthday party. It seems to fit his personality better than any of the other ideas, for, despite his angelic smiles in the portraits of the previous post, he can honestly resemble a wild baby animal sometimes (think screaming howler monkeys.)

Also, I am going to pick up Eli's pictures today, and I still haven't decided which poses I want to get. I think I may just go with the three I had chosen originally ( # 4 and 6, and also another one I forgot to post) and then see what they offer me as a "last minute deal!" You know how they always print up a couple extra of what the photographer thought were cute poses and offer you the whole bunch for an extra twenty bucks or whatever? I'm thinking whatever it is, I'll probably say, "Sure, throw 'em in there!" But I do want to make sure I get one of pose number seven. At first I loved it, but then I thought maybe it was a little... Big or something. Too in your face, and kind of a weird angle. But then I saw it again and was all, "But look at his EYES!" And you all seemed to favor that one, so I'm going back to my initial instinct. If that's not in the last minute batch, I'll just bite the bullet and order it.

Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful Boy

This is an abundance of riches, here. Help me! I originally chose three poses, stoically and with resolve not to be suckered into unplanned purchases, but now that I can view the whole lot of them online, I am going CRAZY, thinking that surely I need ALL of these. Consider them numbered one through seven, and tell me which YOU would want, if it were you. Also feel sorry for the little handsome: he is running a hundred and three degree fever tonight.

[Edit: Had dream last night that I was hanging out at Swistle's house. Mysteriously, Slynnro was also there, inexplicably speaking in the Texas drawl which she does not in real life posess. Best of all, Swistle revealed to me her kids' REAL NAMES!]

The Big One

I had Eli's pictures taken at JCPenney's last night, and for that half hour he was the dream child incarnate. He smiled toothily, he tilted his head beguilingly, he batted his eyelashes coyly... Just pretty much hammed it up like some sort of infant royalty who was accustomed to paparazzi adoration on a daily basis. It was very hard, come decision time, to keep from throwing my wallet at the woman and saying, "I'll take an eight by ten of every single pose, thanks very much!"

I had these photos done because the monumental first birthday is approaching, and I wanted to have wallets for the out of town relatives who might deign to make the drive for the party. Kind of a compensatory party favor in exchange for the crazy gas prices.

So about that PARTY though, I need your help. And not just because I am physically incapable of blowing up balloons, although that IS both factual and tragic. No, I am at a loss for a THEME for this little boy's first birthday. With Addy we did Care Bears, as she had displayed a certain preference for them by the time she was a year old. Eli as yet doesn't seem to show a definite and specific interest in any one thing (besides eating) so I'm kind of floundering. Here are some themes I've thought of so far, so please leave your vote, or add a suggestion of your own. (Or, you know, just make fun of me for feeling the impulse to hand out pictures of my son to everyone and to have a big, themed party for a baby. Both are mockable, I acknowledge this.)

So, ideas are:

*Cowboy

*Underwater... stuff? Like dolphins and tropical fish? So we'll call the theme "Aquatic."

*Trucks, of course. Yawn. But he does LIKE them.

*Dinosaurs

*Sporty stuff

*Legos. I'm reaching here, I know, but the kid loves him some Duplo blocks.

Any further ideas or suggestions for cake, decor, etc. are welcome!