Atomic Tonic

Niclas is totally beating me, though. I'm only dilated to a 2. He was dilated to at least 7 this morning, and that was before the eye drops.

We went to the ER last night, not because of the pregnant lady, but because at 10pm, Niclas returned from the bathroom, sat on the couch and said "I can't see. No vision." and I laughed hysterically like isn't that just The Funniest Thing. Except he couldn't see and because we have the internet at our disposal, I was able to type "sudden vision loss" into google and FREAK OURSELVES OUT. Retinal Detachment. Glaucoma. RETINAL DETACHMENT.

So we went to the ER to see about his vision loss and ice-pick headache. It was a wash, basically, except the Doctor on call told him to go see a man about his eyes in the morning. Which brings us up to this morning and the 3 hours we spent in the Eye Doctor's office and the little chart we found in the office while waiting (so much waiting) that had the handy dilation chart on the bottom. It showed that his pupils were dilated to 7 and didn't show that the headache was OUT OF CONTROL. Then the eye doctor put some drops in to dilate him even more and flashed a lot of lights around the place.

Turns out, he's got a migraine and we're now sitting around in the dark. No, I mean literally. All the shades are drawn, lights are off. The headache is possibly a side-effect of the bus accident we were in three years ago, most certainly incredibly painful. But at least his retina is attached. RIGHT?

Got a bit of snow here. It dwarfs even me at 37 weeks and 1 day pregnant. No kidding, THAT'S A LOT OF SNOW.

Of note, apparently: That is indeed a bird feeder behind me, and the above are all links to full images.

February 1, 2005:

2:45am: Wide awake. *tap tap tap* Lying in bed *sigh* another night of not sleeping. I am weary of the not sleeping.

3am: Up to pee.

3:05am: Back to bed. *tap tap tap*

3:55am: Up to pee.

4am: Back to bed....wait. What? I just went to the bathroom. Can't have to pee again WHY AM I WETTING MYSELF. OMG I'M INCONTINENT. *pause* No. Wait. NO WAY.

4:02am: Back to bathroom with mirror.

4:03am: OMG NOT INCONTINENT. (Note: was a trickle and not a deluge and not in bed, not even on the floor.)

4:05am: "Niclas? Wake up. My water broke. It broke! WATER BROKE!"
*blank stare*
Niclas: "Gna?"
Me: "Gna. Right."

4:10am: Manage to figure out how to work my cell phone to call OB's office:

"Hi, this is Duane."
"Hi. My water broke."
"Who's your attending?"
"Dr. Weaver."
"And why are you calling?"
"Well Duane, because my water broke."
"And how far along are you?"
"Almost 39 weeks."
"And your attending?"
"You hate your job, don't you, Duane? DR. WEAVER."

*tap tap tap*

4:15am: Phone rings. "Water broke! I wasn't sure I mean I thought I had just gone incontinent but I'm not incontinent! Also, not in labor! ...Yet!"

4:16 - 6:30am: Lather, rinse. No really, took a shower and experienced my first real, not practice, contraction. Had breakfast, a few more contractions, one a Whopper With Cheese, and headed off to the hospital with three bags, one yoga ball, two books, a Wired magazine, one camera, two lenses and one giant flash.

6:31 - 9am: Random contractions, three walks around the L&D floor, one blue Italian ice, visit from Dr. Weaver and her 4 year-old daughter. "Hi Grace!" *hides behind mother's legs* Contemplate turning on the TV, bored, come on come on, bounce on yoga ball to speed things up. Niclas gets some food. Omelette, egg and cheese sandwich, pear, Diet Pepsi.

9:01 - 9:29am: Visit from Dr. Weaver. 4 cm. dilated, 100% effaced and once she's done with me, probably more like 5 cm. dilated. She tells me the 2 to 4 cm. dilating is the worse. I don't believe her. She also tells me we'll be done by dinner time. Want to believe her. Have to lie in bed long enough for the check, a fetal monitoring and the insertion of the Lego IV drip.

9:30 - 9:59am: One more walk around the L&D floor, IV on squeaky useless pole that Niclas tries to dismantle but the ceiling height won't let him.

10 - 2:29pm: THINGS SPEED UP. Contractions go from random to two and three minutes apart. Some are doubles which certainly last three times as long. Discover that the yoga ball is my friend. Want to marry yoga ball. Will do anything to avoid having to lie in the bed.

2:30 - 2:59pm: Niclas gets a roast beef sandwich and a bowl of strawberry ice cream which he eats from the side of the bed while I heave out contractions on the yoga ball from the foot of the bed. No photo of that meal are you kidding CONTRACTIONS ARE NOT MESSING AROUND.

3 - 3:09pm: The contractions start in at a minute apart and WHERE IS THE MAN WITH THE EPIDURAL. Shaking, not calm, can't get it together between contractions. Anesthesiologist makes Niclas wait outside and has me sign the consent form after the needle is in place. Smart.

3:10 - 3:50pm: Take a nap.

3:51 - 6:29pm: Contractions I can't feel. *yawn* Bored.

6:30 - 6:44pm: Dr. Weaver comes in to check my progress. 8cm. Guess we won't be making the Early Bird Special for dinner. Dr. Weaver says it's time to pull out the pit drip. I am hooked up.

6:45 - 7:44pm: Contractions. I can feel the pressure but not the pain. They feel like the Braxton-Hicks contractions all over again.

7:45 - 8pm: Feeling sort of sick. Tell nurse I'm not going to, but I feel like I could vomit. Know what this means.

8:01 - 9pm: Start pushing. Niclas has to hold my right leg as it feels like a pork loin to me. So much for him staying above my waist. Nurse has the other leg. Dr. Weaver arrives to check things between contractions and INSERTS A CATHETER. The indignity of it all and Niclas is watching over her shoulder "So that's where that is!" I welcome him to the one part of my anatomy he was not previously acquainted with. Also, tell someone to close the armoire doors on the TV at the foot of the bed my god the surface IT'S REFLECTIVE. Conversations between contractions with nurse, such as:

"Do a lot of women come in here with Birth Plans?"
"Some, sure. They all end up having c-sections."

9:01 - 10:45: Pushing. Dr. Weaver is in and out to check progress. When not with us, she's down the hall with her kids. Have to snap fingers to get attention of Niclas and nurse to hold my legs. *snap snap* "Contraction coming." "I don't see it on the monitor," Niclas says. "BUT I CAN FEEL IT HOLD MY LEGS." Nurse is all "Push! Push harder! Come on Michelle, you can do it!" Niclas counts to ten on each push. "One, two, three, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten." And I'm thinking, YOU'RE BOTH SO BUSTED.

10:46pm: Dr. Weaver lays down the law. I've got 14 minutes to get this kid out or she's going to use other measures. (Other measures: vacuum or c-section NO PLEASE NO I'll push the Chrysler Building out of my vagina to avoid a c-section.)

10:47 - - 11:10pm: *PUSHING* Dr. Weaver leaves the room and for the first time since I met her back in June, I don't want to see her again.

11:11 - 11:20pm: *SWEARWORD* She is back and all business. She should consider coaching weight lifters. "Push. HARDER." Calls in the troops and all of a sudden there are 5 other people in the room. "Do you think we need one more?" "I think we need one more." One more nurse comes in and grabs the suction end of the vacuum while Dr. Weaver attaches the cup to the top of the baby's head. *PUSHING* Legs over head, hollywood light on private parts, Pediatrician in the corner with bed-head. I can feel her head IT IS RIGHT THERE and then I hear "I need to cut" and then, THEN, *SNIP SNIP* and pop, the head is out, then the body, 11:20pm.

11:21 - 11:30pm: Nose and mouth get suctioned and we hear the first sounds from the Fist of Fury as she's whisked across the room to the Dr. with bed-head. Niclas follows and tells her our story in Swedish over the Pediatrician's shoulder.

11:31 - 11:50pm: Dr. Weaver pulls out the placenta like she's playing tug-o-war and shows it to me -- the sac membrane feels thin and sturdy. Then she sews me up. The sewing takes forever. "You're going to have to tell me later how bad things are down there." "Oh, it's not that bad, I'm a perfectionist." Want to believe her.

11:51: Fist of Fury is in my arms, Dr. Weaver is out the door. Bright lights are shut down, crew departs. "It's a wrap!"

Next Installment: I try to walk on Dead Legs.

What a difference a year makes. New Year's Day 2005, Niclas and I were at Jesse and Allison's house. I was hugely pregnant and grossly fat. Allison was nursing a newborn 23 hours a day and none on us had managed to stay up till midnight the night before:

New Year's Day 2006, Niclas and I were at Jesse and Allison's house. I was no longer pregnant or fat and while Allison is still nursing Sam, she's down to three times a day. We all managed to stay up past midnight the night before. Just barely:

If we manage to spend the night at their place next New Year's, we'll start calling it a tradition. Clearly, shoving the Christmas tree out the window is the highlight of such a tradition.

Today Matilda is 11 months old. This afternoon she snapped two Lego pieces together. She's walking all over the place, although she still looks like Frankenstein's monster. Arms out, legs stiff, tongue lolling around on her bottom lip. She pants like a puppy when she crawls, walks or is generally excited. One day this past week, she said Papa and then a few hours later, Mama. She can spend hours putting the cap on my water bottle. Has discovered how to pick her nose. Currently loves asparagus, pasta, Thai coconut chicken soup and blue cheese. Is off pears. Her hair is getting so long she needs barrettes.

She's an insanely good time. Climbs all over us. Hugs all her stuffed animals. LOVES the doll our neighbors gave her.

Almost doesn't need to nurse to go down for naps and bedtime. Sleeps from 7pm till at least 4am. She loves her nightly bath and stands outside the tub watching the water level rise on her tiptoes. Lifts one foot and then the other so we can take her clothes off. Once in the tub, she's up down stand around pat her on the head. She's started to throw a leg over the side -- checking to see if she can get out on her own. She goes absolutely mental when Niclas lifts her out of the tub and sits her on the mat because she knows he's about to cover her with a towel and dry her off and THAT IS SUCH A GOOD TIME YOU SHOULD TOTALLY TRY IT.

A month from today, she's going to be a year old.

She's number one.

Can't write. Too sick.

I have no idea how to jump in here, after the bouts of silence and site removal. We've had a hectic year. We've been in court. It was four years in coming. It was miserable. We felt exposed and it was not our fault. We were in a bus accident. Niclas was hurt. We live with that pain everyday. And we still got reamed, pretty much.

So we took the site down for a bit to breathe. But now we're back. I wish it was because everything is great. Things are currently holding, and under the circumstances, that's as much as we can ask for.

I requested an internal exam at my last OB appointment for this pregnancy. I was 31 weeks and 5 days pregnant. There is no reason for an internal at that time. Turns out, however, that I was 1cm dliated and my cervix was soft. Lab tests came back positive for impending labor. I was given a round of steriod shots 24 hours apart. Monitored. Sent home to bedrest. Started having organized contractions at 32 weeks exactly. More monitoring. Discovered that I was 3cm dilated, 80% effaced. Was given drugs to stop labor and sent to Boston via ambulance as our local hospital is not equipped to handle the respiratory requirements of a 32 weeker.

I'm still here. 32 weeks, 3 days. On bedrest, holding pattern. Still 3cm and 80% effaced. My short-term goal is to still be pregnant at 34 weeks. Then I will let them transfer me back home. Either to the hospital I started at or our couch. I'll deal with that when we get there.

I'll continue posting hopefully terribly boring shots of the insides of a hospital room here with updates.

Merry Christmas.

Also, home. Got home on Thursday. A week after this whole thing started. It's very nice to be home, although it's hard to look around at all the things that need to get done and know I can't do any of it. But Matilda is endlessly funny and tantrum-prone (welcome to Two), which makes the days much easier to pass.

33 weeks 1 day today and it's New Year's Eve. Looking like I'm going to enter 2007 pregnant. Kind of amazed by that. Also kind of amazed that I managed to get a 15-second camera phone video of the new kid rolling under Matilda's new tea set. (Probably best watched with the sound off as the background noise of dishwasher and Monsters, Inc. isn't exactly an appropriate soundtrack.)

We had Kerry, Dan and Jack and Allison, Jesse and Sam over last night for New Year's Eve. We ordered Indian food.

The toddlers had some fierce naked time that resulted in the night peaking, excitement-wise, around 7. They were having a blast with the jumping and screeching and running. But then Sam took a dump on the couch and things got REAL fun for a bit. He did it all stealth-like and not one of us noticed. But then he told his mother he pooped just as Matilda jumped up onto the couch and missed sliding face-first into it by about 2 inches. And this was no small event. It was a steaming pile (with corn). We all put our hands to our mouths in shock. And then Niclas stepped on a wine glass (broke the glass, red wine all over the floor and Sam's clothes) when they were rushing to clean it up. It was hazmat material. Up in arms for a good 20 minutes.

Then things settled down. Sam went to bed around 10. Jack soon followed by falling asleep on Dan. Matilda, however, is made of nuclear powered non-pants and almost made it to midnight. I took her to bed at 11:30 and that was the end for both of us. But apparently the rest of the adults made it well past midnight (high fives, guys) and by the time Niclas got in bed, he even smelled like a distillery. Success!

I'm 33w2d today and still pregnant, so so far, 2007 is shaping up. Our living room, however, has seen better days.

We're well into the toddler body obsession over here. It's Naked Time all the time and lately we've been discussing how everyone poops. Mama poops! Papa poops! Dampa poops! (Sorry Dampa.)

The hippos poop. The meow poops. Yup.

Toddlers are not for the squimish.

In other news, I'm 34 weeks pregnant tomorrow. This pleases me greatly as 34 weeks is a milestone in terms of preemies. 34 weeks sees less respiratory and sucking/eating problems and even better chances of survival. It's still premature. Its still got a list of problems and hurdles and I'm still hell-bent on making it to 37 weeks, but 34 weeks let's us breathe a tiny bit easier.

I'm usually a glass half empty kind of person, but in this situation, I can't bellieve how lucky we got. If I hadn't had contractions one night during week 31 that made me call the doctor on call and if I hadn't requested that the midwife give me an internal at 31w5d and if she hadn't given me the fFn swab test, I wouldn't have known I was in danger of going into labor and I wouldn't have had the steroid shots. And I probably wouldn't have paid so much attention to the contractions that sent me to the hospital.

If I hadn't paid attention to those early contractions, by the time it became impossible to ignore them, it would have been too late. We could have a 32 weeker right now that would not have had the benefit of steroids. And she probably would have been born at our local hospital that does not have a NICU capable of handling a 32 weeker.

Things could be very different right now.

But everything lined up just right and tomorrow I am 34 weeks. And we're not safe, not entirely, until I hit 37 weeks. And 37 is really only considered term for twins. She is not. But we made it two more weeks. That's something.

I've joked with a couple of people over the last two weeks that men would be much better at bedrest than women. They tend to take it easier in general so being "forced" to lie around on the couch wouldn't be so far from what they like to do anyway.

Haha.

The reality is, this is hard. It's depressing. It's only been two weeks. I know I'm lucky across the board here. We caught things in time and avoided full-blown labor at 32 weeks. The longest I could be on bedrest is another three weeks, five in total. I'm already 34 weeks and if I go back into labor now, we've managed to avoid the really bad statistics and the worst of the possible preemie issues.

But it's still getting to me. I have no idea what's going on in my house. I haven't seen the insides of our fridge since the night before I had the contractions. The majority of our Christmas decorations are still up. I don't know if we've got more toilet paper in the basement or not. My mother is here on the weekdays to help and clean and cook. She's put her own life on hold to manage mine. She's the reason why a portion of our Christmas stuff has been put away. She bought more toilet paper. She cleaned out the old food in the fridge. She's doing double time everything. I hate that I need that help. I hate that when she asks me where something is, I now have to say I have no idea.

I had Niclas go to IKEA yesterday to pick up the remaining stuff we need to finish the new kid's room. He managed to get some of it but not all (Why? Why is it impossible to get everything on your list in one trip to that place? Maddening). He showed me his purchases last night, including a rug and drawer pulls. I had to fight the urge to go upstairs and set things up. I can't even see the drawer pulls in place, assuming he gets around to putting them on the dresser today, until I go upstairs to bed tonight. I spent a lot of time in the first and second trimesters getting the new kid's room together as much I could. It's still not finished. At this stage, I need to accept that it's not going to get finished. That is hard for me.

I can't finish packing my hospital bag. I can't get myself a bottle of water. I can't pick Matilda up. She hardly ever asks me anymore. She didn't want to get in the shower with me this morning because she knew I would not pick her up and hold her in the stream. She choose to wait and get in the shower with Niclas.

Lying all day is uncomfortable. My backside hurts. I'm getting towards the end of pregnancy so I'm big and unwieldy and prone to getting stuck if I roll onto my back anyway, but I spend my days lying down or at least propped up. Moving requires more effort that I care to admit. Getting up to go to the bathroom is slow and calculated and I hate feeling the weight of myself. I'm going to end up heavier at the end of this pregnancy than I was with Matilda. I was lighter at the start of this one than I was with her. I'm not going to be able to walk around the block, nevermind join my running club for 8 miles on a Saturday. I am, quite literally, a human incubator and nothing else.

I'm not a superstitious person. I'll walk under ladders or step on sidewalk cracks or do nothing more than shrug if I break a mirror, but I'm hesitant to admit that I just don't like being pregnant this time around. I didn't mind it with Matilda. It was all new and exciting and I had time to read weekly pregnancy growth charts. I had time to sleep. But this pregnancy has just been kicking me in the face from the start. I felt like I had the flu for weeks. I never had a second-wind or a rush of energy in the second trimester. I've just felt run-down from about week seven. I've bitched a lot about pregnancy this time around. I am looking forward to the day when I'm not pregnant anymore. There is not one inch of me that wants that day to come before at least January 27th, but I am looking forward to the end and my recovery like a kid looks forward to Christmas morning.

Which, speaking of, is something I didn't get to see this year. I did not see Matilda on Christmas. It was my choice as I didn't want to drag the poor kid into a hospital on Christmas. She spent the day and night at my parent's house. She had a great time and I am glad, but I'm sad for myself. This was the first year where she got the concept at all and I didn't get to see the culmination of it.

She's out with Niclas right now, running around Target or going to the museum. The weather is Spring-like and lovely (which does not bode well for the future of humanity). I am lying on the couch like Jabba the Hut. I am sick of myself.

35 weeks, 2 days pregnant and winter is finally showing some leg around here.

My parents arrived this morning to pick Matilda up for the day and girlfriend could not get out of the house fast enough. The second my mother put Matilda's bag down by the door the child was all, "BYEE!" "...BYEE!" "...BYEE ALREADY COME ON!!"

The kid, she loves to leave. Always up for a short good-bye and see you later alligator. All smiles and big waves and one foot out the door before she's even got her shoes on. I can't blame her as our living room currently looks like, well, a hospital room.

And what fun is a parent that can't chase her around the kitchen or get down on the floor and throw Smurfs off her barn or, you know, get off her fat ass at all? It's getting to her, this sentence of bedrest. Much like it's getting to me. I'd have been just as excited as she was to say bye and run out the door this morning.

I won't go that far, but I will admit that I've been planning my bathroom trips around other things I can pick up/put away/grab from the fruit bowl. On my way to the bathroom for a shower this morning, I stopped in the doorway of the new kid's room to check out the progress. While I was waiting for the water to heat up, I cleaned the toilet. Yesterday, Matilda and I were downstairs alone for a bit while Niclas got some stuff done upstairs and took a shower. Matilda wanted a yogurt and instead of calling up for help, I got up and got it for her myself. And then I went to the bathroom. But then I sat right back down. I promise.

January 23, 2005 - pregnant with Matilda:

January 23, 2007 - pregnant with the new kid:

I'm officially off bedrest as of midnight. Unofficially, I got off bedrest two days ago as it was driving me up a tree and right back down again. All that resting was working a little too well. Not only had the real contractions stopped ages ago, but the Braxton Hicks ones had pretty much called it off as well and seeing as I'm hugely pregnant and also just plain huge, I didn't want to take it so easy I'd end up being pregnant for another 6 weeks.

So I had my 37 week check-up today where I had to request to be checked. Niclas and I both decided beforehand that there would be no change (see above re: all contractions coming to a full stop) and we were right. 37 weeks pregnant, 3 cm dilated, 80% effaced and given the greenlight to resume normal living, including exercise. Aside from the smallish human being I'm carrying around doing a number on my back, the idea of exercising actually sounds great. Wonderful, even. I've been having pretty elaborate fantasies about running. I see the streets and the corners and the turns I used to make on my runs flip through my brain like flash cards. I can almost taste the end of a run. The endorphins and my body at peace. How deserved some stretching and a shower feels.

Unfortunately, the reality is that walking up and down the aisles of a drugstore makes my back sore and my inner thighs throb with pain. And because I can hardly waddle up down the candy aisle, my muscles are tense and wound-up and restless. Because I am 9 months pregnant, I cannot sleep. Going for a run would help all of these problems immensely. And therein lies the rub. I'm not physically capable of running right now. I haven't been capable of it since sometime around week 25.

I've been on bedrest for 5 weeks. I am very grateful that I did not give birth at week 32. I'd be even more grateful to give birth now, soon, very soon, before next weekend, ANY DAY NOW, now that I'm in week 37.

The very end of pregnancy can bring with it a host of things signaling upcoming labor. The first time I did this, the bodily signs went right over my head. I wasn't even 40 weeks. I wasn't that uncomfortable. It was my first pregnancy. I assumed I'd go over my due date so when my body started to empty itself, I didn't pay attention. The night before labor started, my back hurt but I didn't think anything of it. I was nearly 10 months pregnant. Of course my back hurt.

One thing that was absent from the days leading up to my labor was the nesting. We'd gotten all of that out of the way in the first and second trimesters as we'd moved into our house just as I was missing my period. Since we were painting and moving anyway, we continued on and did Matilda's room at the same time. The walls were painted and the furniture was assembled. The tiny clothes were washed and folded away in her dresser months in advance. The hospital bag was packed. We were set. We spent the last month of that pregnancy watching Law & Order re-runs.

This time, I did the majority of the new kid's room early on. But now, in week 37, it's still not complete. It requires yet another trip to IKEA.

My hospital bag is packed for the most part, I guess. The tiny clothes are folded into the new dresser but that's only because this kid is a girl so we already had the clothes. I'd say we're 85% ready, house-wise, for this kid to make an appearance. I'm 110% ready to not be pregnant anymore, but my body, the very one that was so anxious to expel this kid at 32 weeks, is now holding tight. No bodily signs aside from the aching back, but then again my entire body aches.

I have the desire to nest. My brain thinks another trip to IKEA sounds fine. It's all for cleaning the kitchen floor and vacuuming the living room and making skor bar for the L&D nurses but I can't seem to drag myself into a standing position to accomplish any of this. The insomnia is doing a number on what should be my waking hours. I feel like I'm wearing a suit made of lead. I sit on the couch and glare at the toast crumbs on the floor and the piles of laundry. Looks like labor is nowhere near.

Matilda has her first cold of the season. I'm annoyed as she's clearly uncomfortable - runny nose, red eyes, mouth-breathing - and I'm sure I'm next, but I can't complain, not really, as this time last year we were well into months solid of sick and cranky and ear infections and antibiotics. This kid was so sick for so long I forgot what it was like when she wasn't sick. We'd finish one round of antibiotics, wait a day and head back to the pediatrician for another round. Her ears gave her a break once every week and a half for about 12 hours. It's a wonder this kid has any language skills at all, considering how much time she spent not being able to hear. (But boy does she have language. Two of them.)

Speaking of two. Tomorrow she is two years old. She's gone from 5 lbs. 13 ounces of screaming crank to 23-ish pounds of jumping running nipple-twisting naked-loving poached egg-eating comedy gold.

She makes jokes. She tells stories. She loves the water and doing things herself. "All by self." She needs everything. "I need that." The spoon and the coffee beans and the laptop and my cell phone. She needs that. She currently needs the paints a lot. She'll start off with brushes on paper but sometimes a stretched skin canvas is too much. "Paint tummy?"

(37 weeks, 4 days pregnant)

Sometimes going blue in the tub feels right.

She's getting more self-suficient. We went to a Toddler Brunch last weekend and I realized that 5 mothers of toddlers were sitting around the table having an actual conversation. The toddlers were in the kitchen chasing the cat and in the playroom reading books and in the living room taking apart a train track. They were, for the most part, visible. Mostly near each other as apposed to interacting with each other, as toddlers do, but they were breaking off from their parents for periods of time to do their own thing.

Two is sort of a relief. Sure, she can bawl her eyes out at a moment's notice if she doesn't get what she "needs," but I'd take two over one anyday. Two is "I naked!" and "Jump! Bounce!" and "No jump with baby" and "Nap on face?"

Two is "Help?" - either she needs it or wants to offer her services. She helps me make dinner and requests that we bake cakes and demands we sit right *here* while she bakes ice cream in her oven and fish in the frying pan and adds more soy sauce for taste. She teases her Dampa with crackers. "Can I have one?" And she grins and shakes her head. Eats the cracker herself. She takes over the bedtime stories and reads them to us. She currently wants the potty in the middle of the living room floor. Earlier today she propped her baby up on it and wrapped it in a blanket. She laughs when she farts. She's been sleeping till 7. She's been wearing her "cow boots" everywhere as they are good for stomping.

She just woke up for the second time tonight (head cold, coughing) and after lying with her for a minute, I asked if she wanted to come sleep with us. "Ya." I told her I needed to go downstairs for a minute but then I'd come back and get her and we'd all go to bed together. "Okay?" "Ya."

She's two. She's lying in bed waiting for me to come back and get her.

Matilda had pudding for breakfast along with some red sprinkles and cold medicine.

Since then, she's eaten two candy bracelets, one bowl of ice cream, half a coconut fruit popsicle and three Pedialytes. She's not barfing, but she likes the Pedialyte enough to drink it and today that's all that matters.

She's two and her eyes are running more than her nose. We've watched one of her new birthday DVDs, Matilda, three times. She's spent 98% of the day affixed to one of us. The other 2% of the day she's spent running around the house in search of things to photograph with her new Fisher Price camera.

Papa! Good morning!

(I had an OB appointment today. 37 weeks, 5 days. Still 3 cm and 80% effaced. Gave a nurse practitioner in training a thrill by letting her feel the baby's head. Looks like Matilda and her sister will not be sharing a birthday, but I'd be willing to say I won't make it to 38 weeks, 5 days. Just a guess.)

Knock it off. I know you're just trying to practice and all, but frankly the Braxton Hicks are wearing me out. If you're not serious, please just leave me alone. I'm tired. My back hurts. My joints hurt. My whole body hurts. I'm puffy and swollen and I drop everything I pick up. I can't type anymore. Keep missing the keys. I'm spending a good two hours awake each night. The time I spend asleep finds my hip bones eating through my flesh to meet the mattress. My thighs rub together when I waddle. None of my maternity clothes fit anymore. The pants roll down and the tops ride up. I lost my belly botton months ago and I fear I'm going to need reconstructive surgery if I ever want to see it again. Matilda is back to waking up closer to 6 than 7. The naturally clingly child ("Uppee uppee uppee uppee uppee uppee") has the needy cranked to 11 with a head cold.

I really don't need you coming on all strong with a rash of contractions or some decent cramping only to back off just when I think it might be time to use this. So thanks but no thanks. If you're just kidding around, go find someone else to tease.

38 weeks. Stick a fork in me.

My kid keeps using my stomach as a canvas. I can see the appeal. It's only a marginally smaller spread then the wall.

I broke down and bought (fake) Crocs because hey! They are padded and comfortable and a welcome slab of cushion between my swollen, sore feet and the cold, hard floor.

I am glad, for once, that I did not purge a nearly useless household item we've had since 2002. I remember arguing with myself over whether to toss it in the Goodwill pile at least once in the last year. I'm guessing I didn't because I thought Niclas might suddenly decide he wanted to use it and I'd have a hard time explaining why he could not find it.

(I do that a lot, toss things in the Goodwill pile.)

What was that I was saying about two?

I posted the night before Matilda's birthday expressing my enjoyment of two. The language and joking and the jumping, bouncing, pint-sized crazy. Then she went and actually turned two. It's like a switch was flipped and now the crazy is deaf. Half a week ago, she'd listen to me. 80% of the time, I could reason with her. Now, days into the actual third year, I can't even get a *blank stare* from her. She just carries on with whatever she was doing.

This afternoon, what she was doing was screaming "no no no no no," tears and snot running down her face demanding...hell if I know, actually. We were in a Marshall's. I tried to carry her down one of the toy aisles "Look Matilda, books!" and she lost it. Dropped the plot, arched her back and bawled her eyes out. I asked her what the problem was. Where would she rather go? Back here? Over here? Another aisle? What? Did she want to see the teacups again?

Nothing. Just hiccuping hysterics and tears until she finally put her head down on my chest and requested we go home for a nap. (She'd already had her nap. It was longer than usual.)

We came home. She did not nap. She was happy and full of beans. Made Niclas lie down on the floor so she could jump over his legs. One and then the other. Over and over. Used her new Bingo paint dots on my stomach. Ate 5 clementines. I'm guessing the easiest way to deal with two is to assume nothing. Her past actions have no bearing on any future actions.

We have a two-year old. We know nothing.

The last two days have been full of Braxton-Hicks contractions. More than normal for me which is saying something as normal for me is all the live long day. The last two days, they've been almost organized in their timing. They have gone from uncomfortable to painful. Last night they woke me up twice. The pain made me suck in my breath as it caught me off guard, mid-dream.

This morning I vacuumed and mopped the downstairs and oiled the kitchen island. 'Course, then I went and spilled orange juice all over the coffee table and rug. This has prompted me to decide, finally, that we're no longer bringing food into the living room. I am one step away from covering all the furniture with plastic, except not at all. I'm just sick to death of the food and spills all over the living room and aggravated that the biggest spills seem to be my doing and not Matilda's. The fact that moving Matilda and her juice into the dining room only meant that then she spilled juice, this time all over the table and my laptop, made me grit my teeth.

A lot of things have been making my grit my teeth the last few days. Juice boxes that squirt juice when picked up by small hands. My fat hands that fumble and drop everything I try to grasp. I have anger towards my maternity clothes as none of them cover my belly. The pants, all of them, every last pair, roll down when I have a contraction. The shirts stop three inches past my belly button. My stomach marches on. It's too cold to go out. Our cat drags kitty litter into our bed. Won't stop howling. My laptop battery lasts all of 15 minutes if it's not plugged in. I've been losing my mucus plug for over a week now. The woman reading books during storytime at the library yesterday was the personification of nails on a chalkboard. The grandmother sitting next to me asked when my son was due. "But you're carrying all in front! That has to be a boy!" Yes. Actually. It's not. "Well. When are you due?" "Any minute." *gritting off the enamal*

The contractions, they march on. I'm oddly less annoyed with them than any of the above as they seem to be gearing up to a point. However, if I'm still here in a week, I'm going to feel very different towards them.

My water broke with Matilda 10 days before her due date. A broken bag of waters is a pretty clear-cut start to labor. My first real contraction, after a call to my OB, a shower and some breakfast, about made my eyes pop out of my head. The ones that followed were not quite as outrageous, not for a few hours at least.

This time my water is intact but I'm pretty sure things have started. Today, day three of the stronger BH contractions, I'd be willing to say they are no longer Braxton Hicks and are indeed early labor. They've continued all day regardless of my activity. They are too far apart to bother timing. They are painful but workable. I don't have to stop what I'm doing. They've slowed down for periods but they've never conked out altogether. My mucus plug continues its disgusting southbound travel. Things are emptying out. There's a bag of snack-sized Twix in the kitchen. I've only eaten one (instead of the entire bag, which is how that would have played out last week).

I've put a call in to my mother in case things pick up and we need her to come over in the middle of the night. I don't think it will come to that, though. I think things are going to remain at this level through the night. But I don't think I have a chance in hell of avoiding birthing this kid by day's end tomorrow. 10 days early. Just like Matilda.

(Watch. Now that I've written it down, the contractions will curl back up and not show their face again for a week. Will serve me right.)

Water broke at 11. Freezing cold by the time Niclas returned with my cell to call the OB. Contractions right behind them. Too many to count in the span of a shower. Matilda awake and screaming. Will post what we can here.

We're home. We're all fine. Matilda loves her sister to the point of jumping, literally, for joy.

Linnea Beatrix Rose. 6 pounds, 13 ounces. 19.5 inches long. Born 12:14am, February 7th.

The birth story, it's a good one. Stick around.

Of note before we begin: My labor with Matilda lasted 20 hours. I went into labor with her open to a non-medicated birth. I got an epidural 12 hours into it which most certainly slowed things down. The epidural was so strong I never felt the urge to push and could not feel anything when I was pushing. It took just over three hours to get her out.

I went into this labor knowing it'd probably go a little faster. I also wanted to try a little harder to go drug-free.

Tuesday morning, February 6th, I wake up thinking "That's it! Today's the day!" Get up with Matilda, have breakfast. Vacuum the downstairs, mop the kitchen floor, oil the butcher block island. Clean up the toys and books and magazines. Plump the pillows on the couch. Then I sit around while something but nothing happens all day. Go to bed at 10 assuming things are *thisclose* but not quite.

Twice contractions wake me up. I wonder if I'll be able to get much sleep.

Wake up gushing water. Jump out of bed and note the clock -- few minutes before 11. By the time I return from the bathroom, I am freezing. Shivering uncontrollably. Goosebumps on my legs. Call my OB who asks if I'm ok as I sound paniced. I say I am fine but taken by surprise. She reminds me that contractions don't start just because your water breaks. I tell her I know that but seeing as I've already had three since I dialed her number, it's safe to assume I'm in labor. She suggests I time them and she'll call back in half an hour. Hang up with her and call my mother who lives half an hour away. Tell her to get a move on. Get in the shower as we have 30 minutes to kill and I am still freezing. Give up counting contractions in the shower once I hit double digits. At this point, they are significantly more painful than they'd been all day. I tell Niclas that the difference between before and after your water breaks is the width of an ocean.

I put some clothes on and post to the blog on the laptop Niclas has perched on the bathroom sink. Then I fall to the floor with a contraction. And another. And another. And they just. kept. coming. and I am roller coaster. Not on a roller coaster. I am the roller coaster. Screaming through them like a triple loop amusement park ride. My hair is wet I didn't have time to comb it it's falling in my face and I'm sweating. Matilda comes into the bathroom wide-eyed and scared. I tell her I'm ok. In pain but it's ok. I'm going to have a baby. OB calls back. Niclas relays to me her question. How far apart are the contractions? "Are you kidding?" Another one hits and I'm on all fours on the floor rocking forward and back and I can't bend my arms but resting on my elbows might be better than my hands but I can't move them can't do it howling through a loop and I can feel my body pushing. I don't push back but it's happening anyway. I'm screaming that I want an epidural as soon as we get to the hospital. "Niclas tell the OB that tell her to get that set up I can't do this." Matilda is screaming back at me. Niclas is running up and down the stairs getting ready to go. Matilda chases after him. Comes back in and I'm still howling and now she's wearing socks. Niclas is trying to decide if we're waiting for my mother or if we're taking Matilda with us. Yes. No. I don't know and another one hits and I'm screaming and she's screaming back and I think for a second that I might feel better if I got on the yoga ball and another and another and my mother arrives. Niclas is back upstairs can I get downstairs? I do. Somehow I do. Fall to the floor in the living room for another loop, banging the floor with my fist. The car is on the bags are in it and I get down the stairs without a contraction. Get it the car, front seat facing backwards, kneeling.

We live three minutes from the hospital. Somehow the ride is ok. I get into the lobby at L&D and drop back to the floor. On all fours. Niclas tells the woman behind the desk that I'm in labor. She says yes, a little, huh? White clogs come out, ask if I want a wheelchair. No. No, can't sit, let's go. I get up and walk till another contraction hits. Then I drop back to the floor. On all fours in the hallway of L&D, screaming for an epidural. White clogs takes us to the first room, up and down the whole way, it finally occurs to me that Niclas needs to push on my lower back as hard as he can HARD HARD HARDER. Up and down, into a room. HARDER. On all fours on the floor at the foot of the bed, now there's another pair of shoes, crocs, but where's the epidural. They need me on the bed. I wait for a pause and climb up, still on all fours. They can't get the monitor on to check the baby's heartbeat I can't stop looping I hear the nurses discussing the whereabouts of my OB (not there yet) and I see crocs pull out a glove and some lube and no way can you check me, don't you dare. White clogs tells me she has to, I know this but I AM A ROLLER COASTER. She checks me "She's complete. Head's right there." White clogs tells me there's no time for drugs. I know this too but there's nothing? Nothing I can have? The roller coaster, it's blowing my mind and it loops again and I'm lying on my side howling and clogs is trying to get me to breathe and not push, no pushing and I'm not, not really, but I am I can't help it and then the OB arrives, she's putting on a mask and they're turning me over and the baby monitor, it's resting on my belly they didn't even have time to fasten it but at least they have the heartbeat. They break down the bed and raise it up and they're telling me to lift my butt and then I get to push really and the head, it's crowning just like that and it hurts oh my god that hurts. I reach my hand down between pushs and feel her there, just like that, she's right there, her head. I'm begging them to help me (how?) and pushing as hard as I can because I know the pain is going to get worse before it gets better and it has to get better and help me! Do something. OB tells me she's going to give me a shot of novacaine and it's just like at the dentist, the needle stays in too long and she wiggles it around and then I can feel slightly less and I see her pick up the scissors but I can't feel it and then the pressure releases and the head is out.

OB tells me to push slower, not so fast and I feel her pull down and then a body, an entire body, arms and torso and legs falls out of me.

An entire baby. OB puts her on my stomach. A baby. An hour and 15 minutes after my water breaks, a baby, crying, pink, blonder than Matilda was. Niclas cuts the cord and there's a real live person on the outside of my stomach who was just on the inside. She's bubbling and needs a few hits of the bulb syringe as she came out so fast, her lungs didn't have a chance to get squeezed empty. But she's perfect and out and I'm fine. Totally fine and now I can see the faces of clogs and crocs and we're all laughing and my OB is giving me a hug and I'm thanking her for showing up on time and Niclas pulls out the bag of skor bar I made for the staff and crocs is eating it but she's allergic to peanuts and the skor bar, its got almonds not peanuts but still, where's the key to her locker in case we need her epi pen?

Linnea Beatrix Rose
6 pounds, 13 ounces
19.5 inches long
February 7, 2007, 12:14am

Yesterday, 11 days postpartum and one day past Linnea's actual due date, I went for a run. Well. I put on my running shoes and I left the house. I traveled 2.6 miles but according to the time it took me to do so, I don't think I can really call it a "run." The first two blocks had me feeling like Rocky and then reality hit a little. A pregnancy, extra weight, 5 weeks of bedrest. Neither my legs nor my lungs were really up for a full-out run so it was a walk/run affair.

I knew it wasn't going to be pretty before I even started out so unlike a normal run gone bad, it was ok. At least I was prepared. And at least I've started because I've got a long way to go.

That stomach, it is soft. It does not resemble much the stomach I had between pregnancies.

The bellybutton looks familiar, though.

Pregnancy really does take some time

Matilda and I were hanging out in her playroom/storage closet yesterday, throwing a plastic scoop of ice cream around and jumping on a giant ant. I glanced up at the photo strips on the wall and noticed this photo:

It was taken at the end of May. I was not feeling great that weekend. I was sure I'd caught a bug. My friends and Niclas had both been bugging me to take a pregnancy test "You are PREGNANT, fool," for a few days. I think mentioning that my child's garlic breath was making me gag was a pretty big tip-off to them if not to me.

For bodily reasons, it just didn't seem possible even though we had actually started trying again that very month. The day following this picture, I finally broke down and wasted money on a box of sticks to pee on. I bought a "buy two get one free" box because who ever, ever needs to pee on just one stick when trying to get pregnant? No one, that's who. No one except, it turns out, me. Turns out, I didn't have a stomach bug. I had a pregnancy, about 7 weeks along. Who knew?

The pregnancy took forever and flew by but looking at this picture it's obvious that pregnancy takes some time. Nearly a year. Because at week 7, Matilda looked like a baby. Now, 2 weeks after the pregnancy is over, she's a kid. There is no baby left in her, not a glimmer.

I ran four 5k's during my pregnancy with Linnea. I didn't know I was pregnant for the first three and the first doesn't really count as I was all of 48 hours pregnant. For that race, not even my uterus knew I was pregnant. For the second, I was coming up on week five. My time was abysmal and I didn't understand why. Yes it was hot and I got hungry waiting for the race to start, but it was only a 5k. I should have been able to at least run the whole course.

The third was barely a week after the second one. I was determined to make up for my crappy time. I ended up with my best 5k time to date. For the fourth one, I was 23 weeks pregnant. Time did not matter. The fact that there was a hotel with a bathroom halfway through the course did matter.

I'm three weeks postpartum tomorrow and I've been out for a run 4 times. It's still miserable but I've been shaving a minute off my time every run. However, that's not saying much considering my time today was just over 12 minute miles.

I'm feeling pretty discouraged and physically messy these days. Big. Carrying all this extra weight. None of my normal clothes fit. Some of my early stages maternity clothes don't even fit. I'm currently a D cup after starting out as an A. My gigantic nursing bras grab all manner of extra flesh on my back. My belly is, understandably, still soft and loose. The feel-good birthing hormones have petered out. There's nothing left but increasing waves of tired and overwhelming nursing hunger.

It's just me and the kids now. The whining insistance of the two-year old and the fact that the three-week old has finally discovered the difference between lying in a laundry basket and being held. Naturally, she prefers the latter. My back is out of wack and carrying her in the pouch hurts. Constantly having to bend down to pick things up off the floor makes me feel creaky. Not being able to put my feet up while I nurse Linnea and instead having to get Matilda a snack/markers/book/cup/whatever she currently needs but won't want as soon as I give it to her is making my patience run short. I feel old.

The crashing hormones have me convinced that I will never recover from this pregnancy. That I will always have this belly and hint of celulite on my ribs. That I'll never manage to lose this weight. I'll always be tired. Feel run-down. Be incapable of running one full mile without stopping.

I know this is not true. I know it gets better. Well. I assume it gets better. I'm going to continue running and not eating entire cakes in one sitting on the assumption that this has to get better. I'm just going to close my eyes and keep running. I have to keep going. It has to get better. I'm really, really sick of my maternity clothes.

Went for a run this morning. Three miles. No walking. I'm still slower than usual, but it's progress. According to the scale yesterday, I'm down another half a pound. According to it today, I'm up two. I will feign optimism and go with yesterday's number. I managed to get one of my wedding bands on the other day but wiggled it off last night because it was too tight. I broke down and bought three shirts at Target because my clothes still don't fit and I'm still sick of my maternity clothes.

Pretty sure Linnea has started smiling. Even when it's not gas.

Having a sweet tooth is a new thing for me. Used to be, I went for the salt. Sugar was nice but I never ordered dessert. If I had cake I'd cut the frosting off. I'd eat a brownie but wash it down with pretzels and then the salt in the bottom of the bag once the pretzels were gone. I put salt on my pizza and salt in everything I cooked. I had me a love affair with sodium. Then I got pregnant with Matilda and the whoopie pies started looking real good. I was wrapping up lunch with giant m&m cookies. Burgers out were followed by ice cream or a brownie or a brownie with ice cream on top.

Since I was already eating the sugar, I decided to finally get a KitchenAid. I'd put one on our wedding registry, just like everyone else, but we didn't get it. I'd been dreaming of a KitchenAid for as long as I can remember but I didn't bake so it seemed a waste. But then! Pregnant! Gleefully shoving cookies into my pie hole hand over fist. So I bought a KitchenAid and started baking in earnest. Cookies and brownies and a lot of cakes. Marzipan tortes and ginger cakes. Carrot layer cakes and vanilla bundt cakes. For Matilda's first birthday I tested 4 chocolate cake recipes before settling on an old standard.

The sweet tooth has quieted down a little since my pregnancy with Matilda but the baking bug is so far up my ass I don't know how to get through a week without baking something. I bake a cake anytime someone threatens to come over. Matilda gets up from a nap? Time to make cookies! Going to the grocery store? Hey! I'll buy some raspberry extract for no good reason. I'm sure I can think up something to bake with it. Playdate? Let's make a cake! Rainy Tuesday afteroon? Great! Cupcakes!

It's a problem. It's a problem because I lack the ability to control my intake. If there's a bundt cake sitting in my kitchen, I eat it. I eat it all up yum. It's a problem because I'm trying to lose weight and at my current rate of loss, I won't fit into my pants until Thanksgiving. I need to stop baking because the baby weight is depressing me and the vanilla cupcakes with raspberry glaze are not helping (and the glaze wasn't even that great).

So today is day one of my Bake Off. Baking is off. No more baking. Internet, it's up to you to keep me accountable.

Now I need to go cultivate my sewing obsession.