Holiday Cards Are Easy For Me

When Madeline started kindergarten she remarked to me one day how easy art was for her, while the other children seemed to struggle with their assignments. Geoff and I arrived at her first Parent-Teacher Conference a month later, and I found myself standing in front of the displayed artwork outside the classroom in the hall. I scanned the carefully detailed drawings the children had made of themselves until I found Madeline's self-portrait: a stick figure in pencil, with eyes, mouth, hair, two arms, two legs. Nothing else. No colors added, let alone clothing.

Art came easy to Madeline. She didn't care about it, so there was no self-imposing pressure to invest effort in elaboration. She didn't want to draw clothes or add color, so her assignment was finished and she could move on to something that interested her.

The other day I received a birthday announcement for a friend's child. The child was beautifully photographed, then the image sent to the printers with her name, the date of the big day, and carefully chosen graphics and font. It reminded me that the holiday season is approaching and I will be receiving cards from loved ones. Which brought me to a realization, much like my daughter's:

Holiday Cards Are Easy For Me. Because I have never felt pressure to send them, I never have. And I don't see that changing. One less thing to worry about.

It's quite liberating to have some things in life come so easy.

P.s. If you're reading this and have sent me cards in the past: PLEASE keep sending them...I love to get them. I'm just not so much with the reciprocation in card form. I will make you some homemade marshmallows or send some jam or preserves your way if you'd like.

Big News: Back to School

I'm headed back to school soon. Nothing major, really. I am working to become an IBCLC, that's Internationally Board Certified Lactation Consultant. Because my B.S. is in Health Science I have most of the prerequisite work completed. I just need 1,000 hours of experience, 90 credits of Human Lactation courses (online), and a few classes that weren't met through my undergraduate work.

The 1,000 hours will be met with my working as a volunteer for the Le Leche League and also as a Peer Councilor for WIC. For every year I work with these organizations I earn 500 hours. I'm hoping to meet the 1,000 hours in time to sit for the exam next July. If not, I will be ready to take the exam in 2015. (2015...that is just two years from now. Crazy, huh?)

I'm excited to be in the classroom again. Even if it is from my living room, watching a webinar. I miss school. I loved being in class with a knowledgeable professor and fellow students eager to learn. I think I will buy some school supplies...because I love shopping for school supplies. (I'm totally serious. I get a little sad every fall because my daughters' school has us pay a fee and they pick up all the supplies for the year. It saves money, but I want to buy some pencils!)

When I was in school I was planning on going to PA school eventually. With children at home, however, I haven't been able to wrap my heart and mind around any scenario that would work to do this, where my children won't have to sacrifice.

When is a good time to leave the home, anyway? Especially when it's optional. We have been blessed with a good job for Geoff, living in an area of the country where the cost of living is very low. It being an option for me to leave our nest for a few hours a week, this decision has felt both selfish and liberating. I bounce back and forth between my hunger for intellectual challenges and my traditional ideals. I'm grateful for a husband who is supportive, and for a Heavenly Father who wants me to find joy in life. In the end, I am excited about this opportunity, and am anxious to help other women, who want to nurture their babes through breastfeeding, be successful.

Hello My Friend, Hello

And I quote, "I will write soon." That is from the last sentence of my last post...last year. My daughters would say I lied since I didn't follow through. I didn't lie, I really thought I would write again soon. I have debated closing this blog or keeping it open, writing again or completely stopping. The truth is, I want to write. The reality is, I rarely go on the computer; instead I keep up with electronic correspondence and news through my phone. I don't want to blog from my phone. Events changing in my life may force me to be on the computer more often; so perhaps I will "write soon." However, if anyone out there is still reading my blog, don't hold your breath for another post.

End preamble and on to this post. As you are aware the name of my blog is Accident Prone Left Hander, though I rarely discuss my accidents. As I type this my pinkie finger is in a plastic protector and wrapped secure so it heals straight and doesn't get re-injured.

What happened? I tripped. Going upstairs. I don't know how I tripped. One minute I was grabbing some frozen broccoli from the deep freezer in the garage and attempting to walk up the three steps back inside the house, the next minute I was starring at my mishaped finger. The distal bone on that little finger took the brunt of the fall and dislocated from the joint. It was a wicked awesome X-ray and a quick fix to put the finger back together, but the healing process is one month. One week down, three weeks to go.

This happened just as the distal joint's skin on the ring finger was finally healing up from when I cut a large piece of skin on top of the joint off from a momentary lapse of attention when cutting a potato on my slicing mandolin. I believe I posted about the mandolin a few years ago. After a few hours the finger was still bleeding heavily, so I went to the doctor and he used liquid cautery to stop the bleeding. The liquid stuff? Brilliant. It was then buddy-taped to the pinkie finger for several weeks. After this Geoff forced persuaded me to give up the mandolin. I'll miss that tool; but I have to admit, with my record, it was a wise move.

End of accidents to report. Forever, I hope. (Who are we kidding though, right?)

Will I write again? I make no promises, but it feels good to let the words flow from my fingertips, even if one of those tips is injured.

I think I can, I think I can...

It's been, what, a year?

I'm thinking about writing again, and more specifically, blogging.

I've redone our master bedroom, made jam, started and maintained (note: not killed!) a vegetable container garden, and survived the first year of my son's life. So there are a few things to write about.

Last night was the first night I didn't go into Joseph's bedroom from his bedtime until morning wake up time (and to be fair, even then Geoff put him to bed and then brought him into our bed to nurse in the morning). I stopped nursing him at night a few days ago and so I believe he's learning there isn't much to cry about at night. Now if I can just go to bed at a decent time I will finally have a good night's rest. It's been a long time coming.

Well...we shall see if I write again soon. There are approximately 22 days left of summer vacation and then the blessed event of the girls returning to school happens. I am counting hours, it feels. So if I don't write for a while, be patient (if you're even still there!) I will write soon. 

Sheldon

I was just reading yesterday's paper and there is a section from the local PAWS shelter with an advertisement about a dog named Sheldon.

Let me tell you a little about Sheldon:

"He walks a little sideways and sometimes has a hard time standing..."

My initial thought regarding this: well, who doesn't?!

I do hope Sheldon finds a good home.

...and also...who names a dog "Sheldon"? Though some people name their children names more suitable for dogs. I guess it's a give and take between humans giving their children pet names and pet owners treating their animals like humans, dressing them, taking them to the store and to other people's homes. I'm cold. I know. I'm just not an animal lover...unless it is salmon or cow on my plate, smothered in delicious butter.

Joseph's Birth

I am back. Not only physically typing, but mentally thinking up more posts to type. The fog of pregnancy is lifting and I am grateful.

To start out the next string of posts I have on my mind, I thought I would share with you Joseph's birth story...and life up until now story.

A week or two before he was born, my midwife, Geoff and I looked at the calendar and picked a date for an elective induction. Studies have shown that both mother and baby do the very best when the baby is born at 39 weeks. And I do the very best when I can have a week or two less of pregnancy! So anyway, I take advantage of the studies that show that and elect to be induced.

And it worked out. Barely. The morning of the 19th at 7:30 a.m. I walked up to the family birth unit reception area to check in. I thought for sure the woman at the desk would say they couldn't do it that day and that I needed to go home. She didn't.

She probably should have. Every baby in town (term, of course) wanted to be born that day. After I was taken to my room and situated, the place got very busy. When they told me how packed they had become, I was already hooked up to an IV and grateful that my residence there was well established.

I was at a 2cm when I got there and so they started pitocin. My midwife had it started very slow and gradually built it up so that it was more like natural labor. It took a while before I felt anything. And a long time before it did anything! I was at a 3 forever. For e ver. For e ver. (Sorry. Sandlot reference.)

As the pitocin level became higher, the contractions started up. As did back labor. Yes. I now have empathy to women all over the world who've had back labor. It sucks. I should go one step further: it sucks all happiness from the world... okay, too far. It does help bring babies into the world. I should be grateful...it brought me Joseph.

It is interesting to note that the previous week I had a few contractions, though I didn't give them much credit as such at the time. Geoff and I went with another couple to see the midnight release of the last Harry Potter movie. For about twenty or thirty minutes I had what I considered horrible back spasms. They would come and go every five or so minutes... My girlfriend and I discussed them, gave a nod to labor...but since they didn't wrap around to my belly I figured it was from sitting for so long. That and my back and whole body at that point in pregnancy bothered me, so there was that too. But having gone through back labor now, I am thinking that was just my body giving me a delightful preview for what was to come. I now know that on the next baby, if I have any rhythmic back spasms...to brace myself.

So back to the story:

The back labor became progressively painful. I was planning on an epidural (like...before I ever had babies!) but we (my midwife and I) thought it best to wait until the contractions were steady and until my pain was too much for me. I was good for a while. I am thinking I carried on for a few hours like that. And then I started crying. And we knew it was time to call the anesthetist.

I was so nervous about having contractions through the epidural placement. I did; but I came through it just fine. However, the epidural didn't work.

We turned the pitocin off for the epidural. Then after the epidural the pitocin was started, but slowly again. The epidural wasn't doing its job very well. A little, but not much. He came back and added more drugs. I kept pushing the button for more. But to no relief. We tried to work with it for a few hours. It was about six hours all together when the epidural wasn't working, the pitocin was increasing, and I was doing my best to cope with the contractions. Geoff wanted the pitocin turned off. My argument to that was that if I was progressing with the dilation, I didn't want anything stopped.

A woman's ability, in labor, to not just deal with the pain, but to accept the pain as a needful positive concept, is incredible. I have a very low pain threshold. Very low. But I found myself trying to comfort Geoff through the labor (not the contractions--I didn't talk through those), convincing him that turning off the pitocin wasn't what I wanted.

I have to record this: I don't know if I have mentioned this, but my husband is an executive director, or administrator, for a group of specialty medical clinics in town. So his co-workers are also at the hospital. In my room. Yup. One of the pediatricians came into my room, sat in a chair at the foot of my bed, and proceeded to have an impromptu business meeting with Geoff. Thankfully my contractions weren't at their worst and I could breathe quietly through them. And then later in the day, when I wasn't doing so well "sinking in to the bed" with my pain, another physician called. Here I am, grasping the hospital bed rails, moaning loudly, and Geoff is on the phone. All I can think, besides 'just twenty more seconds', is...this is humiliating...and, at least his wife just had a baby last month.'

About the breathing: I didn't do the Lamaze breathing like I did with my other labors. I did whatever felt natural to me. For a lot of it, I relaxed into the contractions. I was quiet. It was nice to not have to perform some subscribed method. When the contractions became more intense, I was much more audibly demonstrative. I was grateful they were only half a minute. I would only have a minute or two between them, but I knew it wouldn't be forever. My midwives (there were two there that busy day) would check on me, and remind me to slow down with the breathing, helping me refocus. I love midwives.

So after several hours of labor that I wasn't planning on dealing with, though I did fine (because that is the only thing to do), my midwife came in and told me she was calling the anesthetist and we were redoing to the epidural. Up to that point, I really didn't want to redo it, even if it wasn't working. I fear the epidural and its possible side effects, even though I had the epidurals with the girls and all went well--I still fear that something will go wrong. I was thankful for her decisiveness, telling me what was going to happen, not asking me if I wanted them to redo it.

It was redone, I got through my contractions, once again, while they are telling me not to move or jump. It worked! Though my legs went numb and I couldn't move them, it worked. I kept having Geoff move them for me. I felt like I would fall off the bed and I wanted to lay on my side in a specific position. Geoff was able to get me situated finally and I napped. The epidural made me itchy so they gave me the antihistamine--that was what allowed me to sleep.

When I didn't sleep I shivered. I wasn't cold, but my teeth wouldn't stop chattering.

The nurse would check me every so often and finally, about three and a half hours after the second epidural was placed I was ready to push. I could feel his head and the pressure. It was difficult waiting for my midwife. But I knew it wouldn't take long for him to come out and so I best wait for her.

The pushing was lovely. With my midwife the birthing experience was a stark contrast from the previous two with doctors. No bright lights. No stirrups. No counting my pushes. It was dark in the room. I laid on my side while Geoff held one leg up. I pushed when I felt a contraction for as long as I could or wanted (except twice when she told me to stop). I think it took about four pushes. Once his head was out she said I could stop pushing and that we would just let him come out. I could feel his body twist and turn and come out. I looked down between my legs and saw my first peek at his beautiful little head.

My midwife, Helene, wiped all the "cheese" off him and then they laid him on my chest with a blanket. Helene didn't have the cord cut for a few minutes since it was still pulsing. Then she clamped it and I cut the cord.

He was eight pounds five ounces and twenty inches long. Right in the middle of the girls' weights and lengths. Well almost: The lengths of my children were 19, then 21, and now Joseph at 20. The weights were 7 lbs 1 oz, 9 lbs 11 ozs, and now Joseph at 8 lbs 5 oz. If he was one more ounce it would have placed him exactly in the middle of the girls'.

He is healthy, gorgeous and sweet. He doesn't cry much--though he does yell. He loves his mama and nursing. He doesn't like to be in a dirty diaper for long. He is very interested in his dad. He is a little nervous around his sisters...

Half Glass Full...running on empty

I am a half-glass full type person. When a challenge is in front of me, I am face-forward with a can-do attitude. When I want to accomplish something, say some kind of sewing project or recipe, even if I don't know how to do it, I jump in and figure it out. When life gets sad, I can even find humor and joy in my life.

That is why it is strange to me today, so close to the end of pregnancy, that I should be so cranky. Nobody knows I am cranky; I haven't shown it to my children, husband, friends. But I know, that today, I should stay in my room and not come out.

I am not so sure it will be any better tomorrow.

I am at that point that I am just waiting for this baby to get out of me.

Here, life hands me a most precious gift, and I am cranky. Granted the gift is the baby more than pregnancy. Pregnancy is not a cake-walk and I knew that when I signed on. It is the result, the baby, why I sign on.

I know there is an end in sight. I see it on my calendar. An appointment with my midwife on Monday to prep for my induction at the hospital on Tuesday morning at 7:30 a.m. But the end in sight isn't helping me today. You know what would help me today? Labor. Some real contractions. Water sac breakage. Get him out!!

And you know what? If everything goes well and I do get admitted on Tuesday and that baby is born (I assume early afternoon) healthy and strong and happy and I am healthy and strong and happy...I will see this day for what it is: just one bad day.

But for now...I will post this, close the computer and stare at my growing puffy feet, anticipating the day that I will put my shoes back on without needing a coat of Crisco to squeeze them in there.

And what can you do to help me? Pray, my friends, for my husband and children to endure this weekend of their labor: living with me. ...Until deliverance!