First friend

I remember my first friend. Tanys. Inseparable. We thought she would marry my brother and we would be "REAL" sisters forever. My mom sewed us identical outfits in different colours. Tanys was always yellow, me pink. Our moms coordinated birthday and Christmas gifts so we always had the same things. I was heartbroken when Tanys moved on in life to new friends and boys and schools. We called each other's parents by their first names. We played on the same softball team from t-ball until after we could drive ourselves to our games. We were both pitchers. We both played piano. We loved the Blue Jays and had posters of our favourite players up in our rooms. Our entirely pink rooms.

We are still friends, though mainly over facebook. When I became pregnant she sent me all these gifts, some of them being things that were just SO Tanys, meaning I would never have picked them out. Tanys LOVES Disneyworld. Her grandparents lived in Florida growing up so she went there a lot, and over the years I think she found different, new ways to love the experience, from sharing it with her husband, her daughter, etc. Either way, do I like Disneyland? Meh, not really! I may even be "against" Disney in what it has to offer in the way of consumer capitalism. But I love that she loves Disney. Because it was originally a way of being. A happy place where kids are forever. Innocent and joyful. Like Tanys.

When Tanys sent a huge (HUGE!) Mickey Mouse in the mail from Saskatoon to Charlie, I could only giggle. SO Tanys. I love her like a sister. Only a sister can be so different from you but not be offensive in any way. "Mickey" is one of Charlie's best pals now. He loves hugging him and biting his big nose. For a long time, Mickey was bigger than Charlie. I think it helped their relationship.
Some of my granola friends are a little surprised Charlie has a Mickey Mouse friend. But that makes me love Tanys even more. She is a nurse and so loving and giving.

This morning Charlie walked into daycare with me and his little buddy Paige came up and gave him a big hug. A couple weeks ago I learned Charlie had a friend named Riley at daycare who he was following around the slides and little plastic houses. Now Paige. Both girls (my little ladies man).

Seeing Charlie develop a friend or two makes me miss Tanys so bad it hurts my heart. In the best possible way.

birth story

When I became pregnant, I experienced extreme anxiety that I would become overdue, be induced, and end up having a c-section and a midwife could prevent the cycle of medicalization.  At five weeks pregnant I called around, even to midwives outside Calgary, but they were all booked. The advice was to tell them to write "desperate" on my file and to call every week. As weeks became months and I had a very poor GP to contend with, I finally decided to give up on the midwives idea. I was feeling as desperate as I told them I was, and the moment I chose to go with a group of female doctors at a group practise, I felt immediate relief and started to embrace my pregnancy.

In my third trimester my grandma died on the day we were to move out of our beloved, yet unheated, apartment into a condo. The stress got me ill and I spent 2 weeks with bronchitis. Then Christmas brought an excruciating dislocation of a rib. To make matters worse, I started fainting and overheating on my walks to work, so I would lie down under my desk on a daily basis to avoid fainting.

This was leading me down a road of pessimism. As I listened in my natural birthing classes to the problems with epidurals, hospital births and not holding the baby immediately after birth, I started to feel an impending sense of doom that I could not prevent a horrible birth.

At this point, an old gardener friend of mine came back into my life, sharing her nurturing and caring nature with me up to the birth. On a whim, I asked if she was interested in attending the birth, with no real intention of following through.

On the baby's due date, I very reluctantly allowed my GPs to rim my cervix. My fear of going overdue and fighting with them over inductions weakened my resolve into allowing this painful procedure. I lost the mucous plug and there was a bloody show, but nothing felt right.

Three days later I was enjoying a balmy day and I ate an uncharacteristically greasy lunch. I walked for hours around the downtown. That night, the meal caused a lot of intestinal upset, so I took a bath to help relax my body. While in the bath, unlike myself, I started to talk out loud to my baby, asking him to come soon to avoid being induced and potentially having the birth go wrong. I teared up as I asked him to come out so I could hold him and count each finger and toe. That moment I felt my water break.

In denial, I waited about a half hour before I felt it again before telling Justin. He sprang to action and against my feelings, urged us to go to the hospital because he was concerned from the bloody show arriving days before as well.

We got to the hospital around 9pm. The hospital was experiencing high volumes and immediately hooked me up to machines and cast us into a closet of a room. Meconium was in my waters, and the concerns that the baby was experiencing distress as a result was enough to warrant a planned induction as soon as possible. However, as minutes turned into hours I confronted nurses with questions and skepticism about the need for the monitors which were upsetting my stomach since it did not seem like the baby was in any distress at all. When I finally told the nurse I was leaving, and she said I couldn’t, I realized things were going to be rough. Out of desperation, the nurse paged a doctor who explained that I needed to stay to “basically avoid lawsuits” should anything happen, but she agreed it was better for me to rest at home since I was getting worked up and not resting. We packed up and left, getting home around 3am.

I checked the phone when we got home and saw that my mom had called very late at night from my dad’s cell phone. I knew that my dad’s mother was on her death bed, and I assumed the very worst.

At 6:30am a call from the hospital told us to be there in half an hour. I was so thankful for the few hours at home, but disappointed that my labour had not started on its own. The thought of a painful induction made me so nervous that adrenaline was giving me the jitters, and plenty of upset stomach issues. I was very dehydrated from diarrhea and wanted to just eat oranges.

We arrived and got a beautiful and calm room with a gorgeous view of the winter wonderland outside. I was so excited. I even got Justin to call my old friend to come to the birth, and I asked her to bring nothing but oranges. Strange enough, she had had a similar request from her friend the night before and had gone out in -40 weather to get a huge bag of organic oranges.

The induction was started and I was hooked up to IV and monitors. The baby’s heartrate was well above where it should have been. Most c-sections are done because the baby’s heartrate drops, especially during long labours and during the final stages, so I thought I had nothing to worry about. If anything, I figured the baby was distressed by all the intestinal woes I had suffered in the night.

The IV delivered the induction hormones to me, and I started having contractions. The sun came out, and I was ecstatic. I loved the rush of relief and endorphins after each contraction. I had to keep reminding Justin to help me since we were so casual and chatting with the nurse that he would forget to give me back pressure. I mainly laboured on a birthing ball with my elbows and head on the bed. We continued this way with about 3 minutes between contractions.  I then got a phone call to the room.

 My mom had assumed that I was in the hospital when I wasn’t home the night before. She found me somehow and through tears said that my other Grandma had passed away with family around her at 1:30am that day. I was so emotional, and wanted to be with my dad more than anything. I couldn’t help but keep apologizing to them that I wasn’t with them. This was the third passing during my pregnancy, the first being my Uncle Charlie, then both grandmas. Yet, this news also made me realize that my baby would be born on that day, that it would not be a long labour. I knew this more than anything else. From that moment on, my fears of a c-section absolved themselves and I was at peace.

Meanwhile, I kept eating oranges between each contraction as a sort of “reward” for myself. However, the doctors were worried about thebaby’s heightened heart rate, so they doubled the induction hormones. Almost immediately after the nurse said to stop eating oranges, I vomited them up. I apologized to my friend for wasting them. There was a lot of laughing and crying between contractions.

Then, almost suddenly, I began to have leg pains in between each contraction that I can only describe as contractions in my legs between each regular contraction. This pain was not unfamiliar to me, having had this type of pain my whole life during PMS but never to this degree. The nurse advised me in to many different positions, but I was very limited because of the IV and monitors. She gave me laughing gas, which I kept insisting wasn’t “on” because of the lack of relief. At this point I was screaming between each contraction as though someone was cutting my legs off. The nurse asked me what other pain relief I would like, but I was in too much pain to think and could only say, firmly “I am not familiar with those drugs.” Truly, I had not familiarized myself with any pain relief other than epidurals because I had honestly not intended on even considering them. So I asked for the epidural.

I still remember feeling so brave sitting through the epidural insertion. I cannot imagine any other pain greater than sitting completely still through the pain I was in so that the epidural could be inserted properly. It still makes me proud to think of getting through that.

Within 10 minutes, I experienced profound relief from the leg pain. A doctor came in who had examined me just before the epidural, and I could only laugh hysterically “meeting” her again, without screaming “my legs!!” I was only dilated 2-3 cms and had only been in labour for 4 hours.

The baby’s heartrate had been climbing the whole time, and at this point, a specialist was brought in to try and put a bolus back in that could help the baby. This specialist was very good, she, like all other female doctors I had seen, explained each step to me, and had both me and the baby’s intersts at heart. They told me this would be the only way to have a vaginal birth at that point. If the heartate didn’t come down, we would have no choice. I was so calm that I agreed to wathever they needed from me.

After 25 minutes, the specialist apologized and told me a c-section was needed immediately. She said they normally did everything possible to prevent a c-section, and I truly believe this.

I was taken into OR and Justin was told he would be able to watch from a window. When I was in the OR, I was put on a board and my arms were strapped out to my sides like the letter “T”. They then turned this board so it was on a 45 degree angle to the left. They said the baby was in extreme distress. I kept trying to explain that I was sure if I could actually be on my side rather than on my back, it would improve. They couldn’t do that. The anathesiologist came to make sure I was frozen from the earlier epidural, but I was not. In fact, they started to rub the liquid prep onto my belly, and I kept saying “I can feel that!” The doctor took one look at the baby’s heartrate and the last thing I heard her say was “tell the husband” before the nurse put one hand on my throat and the other one over my mouth holding a gas mask to it.

I came to in Recovery and opened my eyes wide. I didn’t hesitate before saying hello and asking where the baby was. My friend was there, and her eyes looked very worried. I asked where Justin was. She said he was with “Charlie”. I started to cry. The nurse came up and said what my pain was from 1 to 10. I said 8. She told me it needed to come down before I could see my baby. I cried some more. Maybe 5 minutes later she asked me again, and desperate, I said 4. She wheeled me into the NICU. Justin was there and I saw my baby. I tried to be calm, but it was the hardest moment, seeing my perfect baby alone in an incubator. Justin’s voice was trembling. I found out that they had shut the curtain so Justin couldn’t see anything, and when it was opened, they were calling Code Blue on the baby. With no one there, only my friend, she hugged him and told him it would be okay. It still hurts that I couldn’t be there for Justin, and yet I knew it hurt him to be away from me.

It turned out that because of the emergency gas, the baby would be very sluggish and that was the reason for the Code Blue.

This photo was taken by J, trying his best to take a photo for me, knowing I would want one. At the same time, no one was there telling him what was going on. After these few photos of the team "working" on brownbear, there were no more photos until we were all together. It's obvious J was distressed, and seeing him when I came to told me everything. He holds all his emotions in his big brown eyes, and what they told me made me sob.

High as a kite, both of us putting on a happy face, feigning that the end result was worth it. 

I was wheeled soon into PostPartum. However, I was alone, without the baby. I was very confused. Throughout the entire labour, I only asked that I would be able to hold the baby as soon as possible, but here I was, in a different room, still having not held him.

I was told to rest, Justin was sent home, and I waited, but I didn’t know what for. I started to call everyone to tell them the news, but the more I talked, the more hysterical I was becoming. I kept touching my belly then realizing that the baby wasn’t there. Eventually the nurse was worried enough that she wheeled me back to the NICU around midnight. I still didn’t know if I could hold him, so it became more painful to me watching someone else taking care of him. I didn’ tknow what was going on.

Justin returned in the morning and took me to the NICU. I finally held him, but I wanted to hold him against me, skin-to-skin. This was killing me. They then fed him for the first time when we left. They fed him formula. Then I broke out in cole sores and cancer sores from a reaction to the gas. By day Three I was having a nervous breakdown. I feel it must have been the same feeling when a mother loses her child. I was banned from the NICU because of my cole sores.

Gruesome, but reality. The gas and stress of separation from brownbear caused the worst outbreak of cancer and cole sores I've ever seen. If I hadn't accidentally ran into the GP who treated me through pregnancy in the middle of the night, I never would have got meds. The GP who saw me said to "get something from home" for them. And they were out of the normal antivirals for a case like this at the hospital. Then the nurse forgot to give me a dose at one point. 

Justin trying to give me moments, but I was too embarassed so I would hide. I was wearing a mask when I held Charlie to stop the spread off the sores. i felt like a monster, inside and out. Yet I tried everything to start breastfeeding. I saw 25 nurses and LC's who all tried to "help" me breastfeed. One was even a 20something male nurse wearing cologne and making us page him at 2 in the morning. Can anyone blame me for hating breastfeeding propaganda? Is it possible for anyone out there to actually consider that maybe, if I didn't have this pressure on my shoulders to keep breastfeeding, I may have actually recovered from the surgery, and maybe I would have remembered my baby and not dropped into the most miserable place I've ever been in my life for 2 solids weeks?? No? Didn't think so La Leche League. Breast is definitely best.

One week later, actually getting better (yes, this was an improvement!).

The "football" hold was recommended over and over to me to avoid putting the weight of brownbear right on the incision site. But I could never do this alone. J had to be there every time to help me. I felt so helpless at every turn. It's funny how every single thing I ate for 9 months was scrutinized and watched, but when I was taking narcotics and antibiotics and antivirals around the clock, no one mentioned that I should avoid breastfeeding. I stayed on the meds one entire week longer than is "normal" without a thought about the effects on brownbear. Apparently breastfeeding is more important than giving your child opiates. I'll never know the effects that had on him. Sniff. Nor the week of antibiotics regardless of every single test coming back negative. With the link between antibiotic use and autism growing stronger, I can't tell you the tears I have shed worrying about that week of questioning doctors yet feeling helpless to yank the IV out and run home with my baby.

Eventually we were reunited and I established breast-feeding with a lot of help. I then got thrush on my nipples and Charlie in his mouth. This stopped us from nursing but I continued pumping to feed him breastmilk. I feel a lot of failure from the birth, as though something was robbed from me, that I missed meeting my newborn baby, and he was a different baby by the time I truly got to hold him. For that, I will always greive. However, I had a big, healthy baby who adjusted great to all the needles and monitors. He is so independent and easy-going, I know he would want me to “just relax, mom”. It was an incredibly hard journey that I cannot present in a positive light. I know so few women go through a story like mine, which makes me feel so happy when a woman has a great birth story. Writing this wasn’t meant to scare others, but to share and show that we got through this, eventually.

welcome?

It's been so long...not in time, but what I've gone through seems like lifetimes ago.

Pregnancy...not so bad. How could I complain? This is much worse. I'm happy, I love my boy, just the thought of him makes me giggle and cry at the same time. When he was in the car today screaming as I paid for parking outside the Dr's office, I was so happy I have a little baby, even if he was crying and I was exhausted! It was nice outside, but I owe more of it to love.

On the other hand, the diapers? Omg, I can't wait for that to slow down, but the thought of the next stage, the bigger poops, scares the crap outta me too. I try to stay in the moment, let the moments change instead.

How was I so naive about bf'ing?? Why didn't I take classes on this? I assumed it would be easy, or a skill that required practise, not theory. But had I thought it might divide me from my mom, my friends, my own ideas, I would have looked into it earlier. Why didn't I find a family doc sooner too? Why, why why? I wasn't ready I guess. But now it's here.

He's crying, having a tough time soothing himself in his bassinet when he realizes he's not in a swing or our arms. My nerves are frayed all day from trying to respond to him, pick him up, put him back down. I can't sleep like that, or it's only 4 minutes of sleep and then wham! Back awake!

baby blues before baby is here

Last night I freaked on J to the extreme...it started with a blame game of 'you don't take me anywhere' then went to everything from his exercise plans to...everything basically. It was bad, real bad. I asked him to stay out of the bedroom so I could have space alone to sleep, I was too upset to calm down with him in the room. But of course he eventually came in to talk but then slept on the couch, guess he thought i was still mad. So around my pee break, this time 5:00am, I called out for him to come in, and he did. We cuddled and whispered, and all seemed well. Although we're both still hurt today, he feels awful, and so do I. I push away the only person who is actually helping me. Which makes me feel more lonely of course!

The weather isn't helping. We do have a bit of sun, but it's mainly overcast and hovering in the mid -20's. I have the option of going to a mall to walk around, but that seems so lonely. I tried it last week and it was exhausting, which is good in a way, but it doesn't hold ground against having spring come and being able to walk each day and grab a jo by myself. That wouldn't exhaust me, it would be good work. But in -25 C, I'm not walking anywhere.

Today I am getting my hair cut. This should perk me up as I'm feeling like the ugliest woman on earth. It makes sense since my whole body looks ridiculous, and the drab clothes don't do it any help. When I calm down and think that the baby could come anytime, it seems ridiculous to complain about this wait, but in my mind, I know the baby is going to bide his time and wait until the very end, so it makes 14-21 days feel like the longest period of my life, and rightly so. I'm sitting at home doing nothing! Even being sick seems better as I can sleep longer (well, maybe not, I'm probably exagerating that). I just want out of this, and my mind can't help me. In yoga they say to give it up, but I don't know where to go after giving up. Where would I send myself? I can't do 12 hours of yoga a day. Even a hobby, like knitting, would be silly as sitting on the couch doing ANYthing (even blogging) is annoying, as I don't want to sit here. I'm a horrible buddha.

I can't wait for the weather to warm up again. I need it, more than anything. Please god.

One month left!

As I ran across 11th Avenue jaywalking to Sunterra this morning on my break, I realized I was almost full term, and still running to meet Justin for coffee. Of course, this came after an excruciating walk to work 2 hours earlier where I thought I might vomit or faint, holding Justin's hand as though it were my lifeline. But still, I'm not doing so badly!

Linda came over last night to consult about a painting for us. That's so exciting, both seeing her and talking about putting our beautiful photo of Waskesiu into a living painting by a friend. It will be hard to put up in the living room rather than our boy's room, but I'm sure it will be beautiful so I'll want to see it!

With one month left, that means I have only 13 shifts at the library left until June oh my! Which also means I need to use my time effectively (writing blog on break is okay though?). I'm really starting to appreciate that pregnancy is just year one of having kids, that it will be no harder or easier after this, just a different type of work. So I've been trying, with improved weather and moods lately, to just go with it, not to worry. I've really started to let go of Childless Me. Seeing photos of a former friend in Cuba didn't spur jealousy, but made me thankful I have this coming change, or that I've changed. I didn't pity her, I was happy she could enjoy her life, but that was never my life to begin with before this. So I start to see the divides clearly, rather than our commonalities, and then yearning for those commonalities that I miss, like the bikini body, the career, the travels. Instead I don't miss them and I see how this fork in the road is exactly what I've wanted all along, even though I'm complaining about it so much. I had to come this way, for it was the more difficult path and 'that has made all the difference'.

new lifestyle, new me???

I keep wishing for the body I used to have, the lifestyle I used to have...and I continually reassure myself that these changes are temporary. That delivering this baby will result in a reduction of crazy hormones (eventually, that might take another month), an increased immune system, and the freedom physically to move around, twist, sleep, etc.

What I haven't considered is that the person I used to be will forever be changed by these hormones and this body. I worry today that I might never want to wake up on a Saturday at 7am to go for a jog, or I might not want coffee again, that I might be too tired to join activities or see friends. It's hard for me not to dwell on the past, so I'm tightly holding on to it right now, thinking that nothing could be worse than not being able to have those things I just mentioned. It seems I should remind myself that at each point in my life, when things got "better", I had to let go of the things I thought I so thoroughly enjoyed. Some of those things now seem ridiculous, like drinking all night, working at the gym, old friendships... If I hadn't given up my addiction to the gym, with its rituals of post-gym lattes and brownies, writing in my journal, reflecting on life, etc, I never would have found yoga, a new body, a new lifestyle and all theh things I feel I'm giving up now.

Truly I have to realize that things are changing, and new loves will enter. Maybe I will become a 'walker' who loves to go walking with baby and will miss that someday. But meanwhile, I'm truly grieving those things I lost so quickly. There's this stagnant area right now where I've lost them, and nothing has replaced them. Between reading and crossword puzzles, I have a lot of time to mourn! On a positive note, painting ceramics with Bre last weekend was the best time I've had in so long that I felt old urges of addiction rising up, to capture that moment and never let go, or recreate it over and over. So there's hope that I can be happy, I just have to remember it won't come from a particular activity, drink, body size...it will come from happiness, from just loving the moment. This seems very impratical, but I can't sort out the specifics on what I mean right now.

Scared?

I haven't posted anything for awhile...maybe because my every thought and emotion is consumed by the fear around having the baby. It probably didn't help to dwell on it over the 8 days I was sick at home, watching "the Baby Story", "I didn't know I was Pregnant", "16 and Pregnant", etc, etc. But on the other hand, I know I'm avoiding some major fears, but I'm having a lot of trouble putting my finger on it.

One huge worry is my health. I know I'll recover from the childbirth, I know we'll both be healthy, but until then, I worry about having to take a day off, and I worry about baby/kid germs afterwards too. Seeing Ailish post on her Facebook about her kids who are sick vomitting with diarrhea certainly hasn't helped. I barely make it to the doctor when I'm sick due to long lines, outrageous conditions in the medi-clinics (dirty and unsanitary, rude staff), so it's hard to think of all the things I'll have to do afterwards like finding a family doctor for me and the babe.

In terms of my exercise, I feel like a big old bear sometimes, unable to do anything without some incontinence or that feeling of having to go, but not being able to. Jogging has become really uncomfortable. My jacket doesn't fit. I am scared to x-ski in case I fall. I don't want to swim because of my weak immune system and dry eyes...the list goes on. It's so hard to focus "on the positive" because frankly I don't see anything positive right now.

Going to the home of loved one but knowing they are smoking in the house (but opening the window, which has the effect of driving the smoke IN to the house) has caused more stress as I won't be leaving myself or the baby at their house if they're doing that. Seriously! I wish I was more like my cousin Jessica, able to shrug off difficulty so easily. Yet I read in a book that worrying is sometimes good for having a baby. But I am having trouble putting that worry into things I can fix, or even understand.

The only positive thigns are news I might have a ft job afterwards, and Justin could stay home for 3-6 months. but again, this scares me because I hate to put Justin in the position of running himself ragged once more. And I feel like a bad mom! And I'm not even a mom yet :(
Also, I've been doing a lot of baking/prep for baking. At least this is something I can "lose myself" in, and see a tangible outcome (well, for a while until it's all eaten up!).

With Justin home over the holidays, hopefully my mind is more at ease when we have cleaned up the baby's room, bought some 2nd hand stuff, and learned a little more about what we need for the baby. And starting our birthing classes should help too. In the meantime...stressball.

kicker

the little guy started kicking last Monday while I was sitting at the desk. He's been kicking pretty strong since then, J can even feel it.

In other news, the election results made me feel better about life here, even though the mayor now strongly ressembles an ex boyfriend who is deranged....

Last night we went to Forces of Nature, a doc about David Suzuki. In one scene David quotes someone by saying that "the most revolutionary words you can say are 'I'm staying'". He meant that deciding to protect and love the land you are on is a huge revolutionary step. I don't know about this, but it keeps going over in my head that neither me nor Justin can say this. I might google this quote to find out more about the meaning.

Lately I've been eating a lot of Good Earth Cafe's "Seed Rolls", an organic flour cinnamon (sticky) bun that is rolled in poppy seeds, pumpkin seeds and sunflower seeds. I have no idea if it's good for me, but I think it's the seeds I've been craving. And having them in a sticky sugary mixture makes them easy to swallow.


As for aches and pains, my right ribs are killing me (google says this is normal). So I'm being proactive by getting back into regular exercise with push-ups, chin-ups, lunges and most recently, I added wall-sitting. Damn, it kills my quads! Right in the middle, which is really hard to stretch in any saddle variation. I really gave it my all teaching yesterday and felt incredible from stretching and doing core. I also ran to teach and home although there was a lot of walking. Later in the night I felt a little 'funny' but sometimes this is just gas causing discomfort. Either way, it followed my headstand attempt, which felt bad at the time too!

First kicks

Yesterday morning I felt the baby's very first kicks. I felt something in the morning, as me and Justin snuggled and refused to get up, but I didn't want to jinx it by telling him. Then, as I sat in the office reading about baby's development at 21 weeks, I clearly felt 3 kicks right in the centreline of my body, just above my pubic bone!

Last night as we settled down on the couch, the baby got active again and we tried to see if Justin could feel it. He couldn't, but we tried again in bed, as he kept kicking, and Justin could tell each time the baby kicked! It was so amazing to share that with Justin, and to have it happen.

I did wake up at 2am with bad congestion, and it seemed the baby was doing some jui-jitsu on me too, but my irritable state might have exaggerated that. Either way, nothing really this morning. I miss it when it's gone, but find it a little "instrusive" when it happens. So cool. Either way, I'm so darned tired from last night's bad sleep that I can barely muster the excitement I felt yesterday. Can't wait for bed tonight.

Off to Banff with J tomorrow for another of his Eco conference thingies. Not sure what I'll do, I don't think my massage lady does prenatal. Maybe some yoga and shopping for more tights/dresses now that I have my kickass boots to wear with those ensembles.

Happiness

Starting my second book into happiness...funny I feel I'm re-reading a lot, which makes me think Gretchin took a lot of the same resources this new guy is using in his book.
Last night, while J was away and I had the most lethargic evening of my life, i read before bed about the 3 ways to get over an unfortunate cortical gene...by using meditation, cognitive therapy and prozac (under the umbrella of all ssri's). Even the author had used Prozac and had to stop because of the side-effects, but was a firm believer in it's aesthetic improvements to a person's potential. He compared it to breast implants or contact lenses, for the brain. Being one of those unlucky draws in the cortex area, it made me reconsider my use of ssri's, or the decision to stop using them actually. I've had such horrible experiences in the last year with friends, that I've either repressed these experiences, and managed to relive them exactly each time I do that, or I've been distressed for weeks due to the experience. I admit to feeling hopeless, and cognitive therapy did nothing, as the teacher is the limiting factor, and my therapists have been sub-par in providing any way for me to work on the areas at home besides just believing I'm okay (this is not a legitimate tool for working on a problem).

Anyways, I'm coming to terms with the baby, or becoming a mother. I looked up au pairs today, to see what that is all about, and although we don't really have a space for one in our new place, I was just happy that there is the option of bringing more people into our lives as a result of the baby. The chance to try new things, and to experience new people is encouraging.

Craving Coke

Oh little one, I promised not to indulge in the outmost of food sins so that you would not have the same guilt I have when my mom tells me of her own pregnancy sins. But alas, with coffee firmly disgusting to me at this point, I have reluctantly, or rather, embracingly, started to drink Coke. I know it's bad for me, but I'm guessing the caffeine I crave is so entrenched in my body that here I am guzzling this pop that I honestly have drank maybe 3 times in my whole life. Well, give me some credit, I drank more than my share in the form of rum and Coke at certain occassions, but never alone. Not that I despise the idea of Coke, although I despise the idea of addictions, I despise the fizziness, the sugar, and the complete gut rot that results. But I can't stop. it's day Three of this madness, so let's hope mamma gets back onto tea and coffee soon, the latter being something you won't understand why until you go to college.

In the meantime, my nausea has receeded somewhat, I made A meal the other night consisting of sweet and sour pineapple chicken, a recipe from deep within the Puff family archives, I guess I was returning to comfort foods. Oh, i made a stew on the weekend, well, half. I got sick chopping and was in the bathroom too long to continue. But your pops finished it up as usual. I did do a few fruit crisps, something I hope you will love as much as me when you're older. Your dad doesn't understand my obsession with fruit crisps, but i think you will. It's like a cookie with fruit, who doesn't love that?

We're going on a vacation/honeymoon in 5 days and ohboy am I excited. I'm more excited for you to be honest (I never thought I would say that, considering the complete fear I have of you at this point), but I'm still pretty stoked to spend a week with your dad hanging at the lake, reading books, going to a yoga class in hippieville Nelson, and lolling about with coffees, er, cokes.

Much love to you little one. You passed your first test, the down's syndrome marker test, with flying colours. They measured you and you're one day bigger than you should be for your age haha! Kay, let's not get too big now though kay? And you are 53 mm. When you get to grade 2 I'll show you how big that is and maybe you'll understand. Small. Yet we were deliriously happy to see you on the ultrasound. The next u/s is in 6 weeks and we'll hopefully know if you're a boy or girl. Considering I'm writing to you, I think a girl would want to read this more, but who knows? I am going to be hapy either way, never thought I'd say that either.

5 weeks 3 days

Today I went to Dr. Nandi, the half-ass doctor downtown, in the sketchy mission medical clinic. They formally tested my pee, what little I could give, for a formal prognosis of pregnancy. I never thought I would allow this test, but after twice halfing bleeding, including last night, any confirmation of pregnancy was a relief. But it also freaked the hell out of me. I was terrified too.

Watched a ted talk on happiness from the one self, the experiencing self, and the other self, the recalling self. Would you go back and do a vacation based only on the experience, having amenesia and no photos? I wonder about the "trip" of pregnancy, not saying it has to top the radar. Also wondering about having kids, whether THIS is something that you experience as happiness, or if it is the promise of memories. I'm so embarassed to say it has mainly been the promise of memories, like I'm planning a freaking trip to Africa. How embarassing. But without knowing whether I will enjoy the experience, I can't say yet. I know I wanted the experience of being pregnant, as I desired the opportunity to indulge in yoga, sleep, healthy food, time with Justin.

In a similar vein, I'm really wanting to do yoga, even though the doc said to have bedrest. Unfortunately I won't follow that order, I will stay active, I know my body. Sex IS out of the question very, very sadly. Good thing Justin got hit in the nuts at soccer tonight.

Livid

This morning there was blood, and I immediately went into a bit of shock. Am I having a miscarriage? Does it hurt? I was numb.
I didn't say anything until halfway to work and then I very abruptly and off-topic said "well, I'm worried that the blood this morning was not good. Not good at all."

There wasn't much J could do as we were riding bikes, which I think i wanted, as if he had hugged me, I might have started crying, and never made it in to work.

But now I don't know, but I no longer "feel" pregnant. It's like I convinced myself I was, and now I'm convinced I'm not. And while neither of these things are realistic, I was and maybe I still am, I think it stems from blaming myself for a possible loss. If I could cause everything from just thinking about it, that confirms to me that I am to blame for any loss. Huh?

Even though i immediately took the steps to accomodate a new life in my body, I feel now like I didn't do enough. I should have stopped everything risky at the start, before I knew. I should have this and that.

I just want to go home, test again, go pee, make sure there is no more blood, that it was "normal". I want a normal doctor, a regular walk-in clinic, I want to feel safe and in charge of my own health! I know I could handle this much better if I had the assurance of good doctors or midwives, etc. Going to the voodoo type walk ins downtown causes anxiety as I may as well being under an inquisition.

Day 3 Continue to unravel!

I shouldn't exaggerate, but today actually started as yesterday ended ah!
I wake up to the alarm and then I guess I wasn't wanting to deal with life. I slept until 20 to 8:00. But without a shower or brekkie, I made it just after 8 and it was a great thing! We had an assignment that I finished with just enough time to literally sprint to the train and teach yoga. Which also went great. So pretty much everything could have sucked, but I loved today! Even after I took the wrong train and had to walk in the downpour back 5 blocks ah! Crazy.

So no jogging, but it was downpouring. Yoga, yes. 45 minutes, interrupted about 5 times by a friend, J's mom, J in Victoria, dinner, laundry, etc. But I did it. Then I cleaned up the place for J's return. It's late, I'm relaxed, feeling good ...but tired!

Day 2 Life unravels

I can't believe the trauma of yesterday. I promised all these "stress-free" activities, but I guess I was a day late. There was this thing with the neighbours. My mistake was going to the cops, when I should have made the original witnesses. Mistake Two was giving the chick a heads up about the cops contacting her. Apparently that constitutes harassment, in the words of her father, to our Property Manager. So after a breakdown, I called my support circle, J's mom, my mom, Jeff....I guess I handled it well, calling everyone. My mom just kept talking to me until I was happy, so I'm very grateful to her right now.

Did I jog for 15 and yoga for 15? Yep! I jogged at lunch, so no worries there. It started raining at the end, but I felt great, work was great, really happy. Yoga went well too, although I was interrupted, but I got my 15 in.

So my solution is to keep up the practise, no matter the trauma that occurs. I can't let traumatic neighbour crap knock me off the gameplan. Glad I made the commitment.

Day 1

I'm excited for the next week.

I want to make all the efforts I can to reduce stress and stay relaxed.
Some of these efforts:
Everyday:
1. Water my garden, at least once a day.
2. Go for a light jog, at least 15 minutes, walk home if need be!
3. Do at least 15 minutes of yoga.
4. Drink more water, one glass before morning coffee, one in the afternoon, and one before bed at least.
5. Stop saying yes to going away, doing things, volunteering. Life is busy, take time to be with Justin.
6. Tell Justin I love him, and show him I love him in little, special ways. Instead of spreading myself so thin so that Justin comes last, I want to spend time putting him first. I love him, he is gone to the West Coast right now, and I miss him. Time apart makes me realize how valuable he is, just walking down the street with him makes me happy and I want him to know that.

Stuck in the middle

After extensive reading on the subject, I've deemed having a baby to be ridiculous for people like me. if you are someone who enjoys the type of work involved with having a baby/infant, like repetitive, hands-on work, I think having a baby would satisfy the urge to procreate but also the feeling of doing some meaningful work. I don't mean to look down on those who like this type of work, for the other work, the abstract, ever-changing type of work that others prefer is no better in that it can be just as mundane, just as meaningless in the grand scheme of life.

For me, I can't handle the daily chores of cleaning, tying shoes, doing dishes and preparing food. I enjoy each of these things in moderation, but I feel bored and worthless doing too much of any of these tasks. Of course, we should consider the fact that this work is helping to raise another human, but that argument doesn't fly with me, as little as it does when you tell an employee that they are doing this or that to help the world function. It is the work itself, the physical work, of raising a baby that I am not sure I can handle.

So that brings me to the current occupation, and I am deeply unsatisfied here in this occupation. The only upside is the paycheck is brings, but I feel alone, purposeless and completely uninspired. I think the problem is that i love motherhood. I love taking on a project from the start, raising it, nurturing it, stressing over it, as much as a mother would fuss over her newborn. I am a natural mother in this way, but i am not so convinced that this mother would do well with a baby. Teenagers I'm excited about, but babies, not so much....

The reading I did on this said that mothers become virtual slaves to the child, and the rich, at every opportunity, get hired help to make up for the enormity of work a mother to a baby must do. So I have recently convinced myself that until I have the cash for a full time nanny (let's say 4 years to assume I would be better at the stuff once they've hit school), I'm convinced I can't have a baby.

the other problem is that, as a burgeoning mother, I want to be pregnant. I want not only the respect it brings, that wisdom assumed to a woman with belly, but I want to actually experience large breasts, freedom in an enlargening belly, and I want 10 months with an excuse to do little exercise. I am glamourizing the experience, but at least I am not glamorizing what follows the pregnancy, the exhausting work of a mom.

So I feel stuck in existential angst, that feeling of knowing too much about the decisions available, and not knowing which way to turn. i also realize that too much angst means I will delay a decision, perhaps until it is too late, though realistically I can't forsee myself waiting 12 year until trying.

Doing a lookover on this post makes me see how many times I used "I" in this post. I feel guilty using it, from some ridiculous talk we had at yoga training on avoiding it, and some book based on this. I (hehe) am not convinced "I" is a bad thing, but the perspective that I'm completely wrapped up in my own life is interesting. With perhaps only this one life to live, that shouldn't be a bad thing, but the religious among me are good at getting me to feel that guilt!