The Elijah Cannon: Part 1, Early Labor

Today's probably not the best day to be writing this.  I think I'm fighting the blues, but I'm not sure what else to do at the moment.  Throughout the weekend of the 9th, I was getting lots of Braxton Hicks (BH) activity, which was really exciting.  I'd gotten some during my first two pregnancies, but I don't recall having them with this frequency.  All day Saturday, with fair regularity, I was getting a mix of BH and mild contractions.  It felt so good to see my body at work, doing what it was supposed to do.  Sunday seemed like a "break" day, with only the occasional BH.  That felt a little disappointing, even though it was still only my 39th week.  I was excited to get this thing going.

Sunday night I went to bed with mild, regular contractions.  Monday morning, about the time Brian gets up for work, I was having more painful contractions that had been keeping me up for a couple hours.  I told Brian they seemed very regular and close, so I got in a warm bath and we started timing, as he got ready for work.  They were right around 3 or 4 minutes apart, sometimes two minutes.  I sent Brian to work, knowing that if this was the 'real deal' it could very well go on for hours or days.  I finished out a full hour of timing to be sure.  The contractions required a fair degree of focus, but I could still talk through them. As per my instructions, I called Dr. Tate to inform him.  To my dismay,  he wanted me to go into the hospital to get checked out, and make sure the baby was doing well.  I called my doula, Kim, and told her I'd let her know what the hospital said. She set my mind at ease about the visit, reminding me that after triage, it was still my choice whether to check in or go home.  I also gave my parents the heads-up that something might be happening.  Since we had to get the boys together, packs some bags just in case, and arrange for a sitter, Brian turned around and headed back home.

I was glad Brian was there, because it would have taken me forever to get everything together, stopping every 3 minutes to crumple over in pain.  Brian called our friend, Emily, who answered the phone with, "Is it baby time?"  We got the boys up and took them over to Emily's so they could play with their friend Luke, and headed to the hospital, making sure to eat on the way.  We arrived at Emory University Hospital Midtown around noon.  Dr. Tate has an outstanding reputation and record with VBACs (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean) and difficult deliveries, and although EUHM has to stick to its policies, many of the nurses respect him and seem to give his patients as much slack as they feel permitted.  I was not real keen on the internal exam this time because I'd come to the notion that it really didn't tell me anything.  My body wasn't telling me I was anywhere close to the finish line, so I knew that it would be just a number.  If I was 2 cm, I could be that way for days or minutes.  Regardless, I made my official prediction of 2cm, 80% effaced.  That seems to be my magic number.  It's where my body was with the last two pregnancies when it seemed to be the beginning of the end. To our nurse's amusement, I was spot-on. I kept my own clothes on after the exam. It helped to mentally bolster my feelings that I was in control of my body and that I wasn't going to be tied down there yet.  The nurse ( I wish I'd remembered her name - she was so awesome), hooked me up to the monitors. I noticed that as soon as I was on my back in bed, the contractions began to fizzle.  It's just like taking your car to the mechanic and it fails to show the problem when you get there.  The nurse started talking about the baby looking sleepy and she wanted to get him to look better so I'd have a better shot at being able to walk around.  I sat up a bit and asked for a drink.  She made me promise not to need an emergency c-section and slipped me a few cups of apple juice.  I chugged those and got out of bed, and the baby responded positively.  She thought the readings looked great and called Tate to let him know.  She reminded us of EUHM's policy for VBAC patients, and practically told us it would be wise to leave, since I would have to be on continuous monitoring and would be stuck in or beside the bed, possibly end up needing augmentation with Pitocin, and on down that track to another C-Section.  We high-tailed it out of there as soon as we could and headed over to IKEA to do some walking.

IKEA turned out to be an ideal place to do the labor walk - chairs, bathrooms and drink fountains around every corner. It was getting late in the day, and I was feeling like this time could be better spent playing with the boys, so when I could walk no more, we decided to head back to Emily's house to pick up the boys. By the time we got there, my contractions seemed to be fizzling down to 10 minutes, then 15 minutes, then I quit counting. Emily has some magic perfume or something that puts children under a spell.  Her house is about the only place I can show up and have my kids tell me to "Go away. I want to stay with Luke." We lingered there for a while, delaying the war that would erupt when we ripped them out of their place of contentment to head home.

The evening ended in an entirely unexpected and confusing way - with nothing.  I never realized early labor could behave that that with such regularity and intensity and not progress with continuity to more labor and a baby.  I reasoned it out that I was in a pattern of contraction day, rest day, worse contraction day, and figured the next day would be a rest day, hopefully followed by a real nasty real-deal baby-pushing day. Tuesday was in fact, a far more comfortable day than I cared to have. When someone asked me how I was feeling, my response was "unfortunately great." Wednesday came and to my dismay, it was also far too painless.  I was tired.  So tired. We curled up in bed and plodded on through "just one more story" with the boys. The last book was about to be snapped shut when  I said, "Uh oh, I think I'm leaking. Yep. Definitely leaking. Brian, my water just broke."

What's another word for hindsight?

I know, I know.  I'm slacking.  I'm also typing with a crippled keyboard, which is part of the reason I'm slacking, so if I miss a G, H, or ', it's not that I can't spell.  My superduper awesome sister is my laptop supplier.  I'm so stoked about this recent addition.  I looks really slick, but is a little alphabetically challenged. So, while I await my new keyboard delivery, I meticulously copy and paste "G"s, "H"s and  """s into my compositions.  I also engage in Elmer Fudd-ish exercises of thesaurus-fishing for non-G and -H-containing synonyms.

My second excuse for my blog tardiness is I'm simply trying to remain conscious.  This third-trimester stuff is exhausting.  I'm about 2.5 weeks out from my due date.  I feel like I could turn just a certain way and my legs would fall out of my hip sockets and collapse to the floor.  I pour Maalox on my cereal each morning. My meals and breaths could fit in a shot glass together. I keep reminding myself this is the easy part.

Ian's really quite an empathetic fella'. At my last prenatal visit, the office was unusually crowded and Ian and another boy ended up frequently vying for use of a particular truck.  At one point, the other boy became distracted with another toy, then got put in 'time out' by his mother for something while Ian enthusiastically enjoyed some peace with 'his' favorite truck.  He was crying on the floor next to a couch.  Ian observed the boy for a moment & came over to Brian and I and started talking about the boy being sad, and why he thought he was sad. Then he walked over to the boy, crouched down, and handed him the prized truck, trying fairly successfully to help the boy feel happy again. I was pretty impressed.

He frequently asks me "What's the matter?" or gently requests that I not feel mad.  He likes to play games with making faces or pretending to express a certain emotion.  He's lately gotten into defending his little brother.  He will say to us, "Igick doesn't want his teeth brushed. Don't make baby sad." He's pretty good, for a little guy, about using "I feel" statements.

Ian is apparently also a Discovery Channel junkie. Yesterday, he told me he wanted to watch Adam and Jamie (Mythbusters).  I didn't know he knew them.  This evening as I was cooking, he was singing the Boom-da-yada song Discovery had on its commercials.

I may have mentioned this before, but Ian has a perpetual Christmas spirit. He always has a song in his heart - mainly Jingle Bells, and loves any occasion for celebration. Isaac jumps right in on it too.  I could learn a lot from these guys.  They fill any room with such joy and enthusiasm and infectious laughter.

Isaac is a little mimicker.  He repeats what he hears with astonishing accuracy and clarity.  I think he has remarkable diction at times.  He's taking full advantage of having an older brother to learn all sorts of mischief from.

I'm so curious to see how the dynamics change with #3.  I can't imagine a more fun world than raising these little boys.

Eureka! I've found my floor!

Here we are, home again, with three merry iterations of Christmas sadly behind us. I've finally found enough of my floor to justify stopping to update the blog. It was so fantastic to be around family again for a week. We wish we could always be a part of our 'village.' Perhaps some day, everything will line up so that we can live near family again. Ian seemed to remember and be almost immediately comfortable with most everyone. Isaac too a little warming-up, as expected.

Poor Isaac. He will leap off of nearly any cliff, but is afraid of anything cute:  puppies, kittens, bunnies. It took him a hard part of the week to re-acclimate to my parents' dogs.  They were particularly scary (i.e. cute, cuddly, friendly).  Both boys surprised me with their self-control around the Christmas trees. For the most part they left them alone and otherwise remembered their 'one-finger touching' rule. It was rather hard to get to the trees in the first place with all those tantalizing presents in the way, but they restrained themselves there too.

A couple days before Christmas was my husband's niece's birthday dinner/party at his parents' house.  Ian has a particular love of all things party.  Any reason to celebrate, really.  He knew what was going on, and we could tell by the way he wasn't eating his dinner that he was saving plenty of room for cake.  Brian requested of him that he take one bite of his dinner.  Ian refused the many attempts, until Brian finally made it clear that no bite, no cake.  Ian's mouth shot open to accept the spoon.

I'm not sure the boys quite knew what to make of Christmas.  It was like a toy wonderland.  They were so fascinated with each thing they got, they didn't quite want to stop checking it out to open the next one. My family has always celebrated Christmas Eve night and Brian's family does Christmas morning, so it works out great. Some of the toys, we knew we'd better keep boxed up and our precious little boys wanted in so badly, but were very patient. When the car-packing day arrived, we truly thought it would take a miracle to fit everything in.  We did leave a couple old ride-on cars and Brian's new globe (to be shipped or brought up later), but somehow everything else made it.  It was like super-mega Tetris.

Ever since we've been home, it's like the boys' imaginations have been unleashed, surrounded by their new trains, puppets, a gourmet kitchen, ride-ons, a wooden castle, etc. I get such pleasure out of watching them work at playing and how they combine toys from one set with another.

The boys quickly transitioned back to our normal 'schedule', if you can call it a schedule.  The other night, after a bath, Isaac was crying about something. Ian, with his shirt still off, squeezed his 'breast' and said, "It's O.K., Baby, you can drink my milk." As I mentioned before, Ian has been weaned since about 2 1/2, but since he's figured out about the new baby on the way, he keeps reminding me that "Baby is making more milk for me." Finally it came out different this morning.  Ian woke up and said, "Mom. Baby is making more milk for...Baby. I'm going to have a new baby soon!"

Brian came home the other day and Ian approached him about a snack.  Ian said, "How about pizza?" Brian replied, "How about yogurt?" "How about s'ghetti?" "We only have yogurt." In his final attempt, Ian cheerfully proclaims, "We only have birthday cake!"

I ought to get back to unveiling more floor space.  I got an amazing Dyson vac for Christmas.  Before we left, I did an aggressive clean on the floor with our old vac.  I tested a strip of hallway with the Dyson and had to stare in amazement, excitement and disgust at all the stuff it sucked out of our "clean" floor! Vacuuming never sounded so fun - I'm actually looking forward to doing more. Is that the depths to which SAHM-hood has brought me? Hi ho, a derry-o, a vac-ing I will go!

Christmas Be-cation

Friday evening started our Christmas "be-cation," as Ian calls it.  I had the car ready to go when Brian arrived home early from work, so we hit the road.  That's one of Ian's favorite new phrases, by the way.  He'll tell me, "No, I do not want to go home.  I just want to hit the road." We drove until 8 or 9 and chose a Hampton Inn, predominantly for the free breakfast and inside doors.

Isaac thought the room was "yooper" (super). Ian was impressed too. They tried all the doors and drawers and buttons they could find. I started a bath for the boys while Brian dashed to the car for a few things. As I collected the boys' pajamas, they tossed two of our four towels into the tub and thrashed the bathwater with them. Brian returned and helped restore order as I milled around in a state of near-zombification. We each grabbed a hyperchild and melted into our respective Queen beds.

The next morning, I went downstairs and assembled an embarrassingly tall stack of scrumptious Belgian waffles and loaded my hoodie pockets with peanut butter and syrup. From the looks (and personal space) I was getting, it seemed no one wanted to be in the path of a very pregnant woman on a breakfast rampage. One person was brave enough to comment on how many people I must be feeding. Nevermind them, I thought.  My boys will love me for this. I sent Brian down for the fruit and drinks as the boys awakened and donned their syrupy grins. They kicked back like little princes with their catered mini-buffet.

Isaac pointed to the "yi-yoar" (dinosaur) on his shirt and roared. That apparently triggered a recollection of Ian's dream because he told me a dinosaur chomped him, but "Mommy fwat (swat) his tail and the dinosaur ran away."

Back on the freeway, we were slowly passing a semi truck. Isaac observed, saying in his toughest voice, "Big truck. Big truck. Big...where? (as it rolled out of sight)" One of their snacks was little natural fruit bits.  I asked Ian if he wanted some Fruit Nuggets and halfway through his bag he told me he likes his "chicken fruit."  Ok, no more Happy Meals.  Somehow, he also decided that the blueberry mini-muffins I brought were called "muffin dogs."

For what felt like the 20th time, we pulled into a rest stop with my bladder in a panic. I was hoping Brian would pull up and off-road for a bit for a smooth door-to-door potty transfer, but instead parked withing binocular distance of the restrooms. I chastised him and his reply was, "I thought I'd encourage you to walk a bit." The guy was just trying to be compliant with my Dr.'s orders that I stop every couple hours to stretch my legs, but in my urine-laden delirium,  I griped all the painful way to the ladies' room about him wanting to encourage me to unleash my burden all across the parking lot. Once again, the bladder muscles prevailed without incident and I returned to my human form.

The trip, as far as how the boys handled it, was extremely easy. They've become great little road-trippers. About and hour from our destination, we started hyping them up for our arrival at Grammy's house. I knew Ian remembered her when he proclaimed, "Grammy has a muffin for me!" My toddler-nutrition alarms cringed a little, but I settled back in my heated seat, grateful to not be picking up toys all day, and thought to myself, 'Tis the season!

Independence Days

My little guys are growing more independent every day. Ian wants to assemble the turkey sandwiches and cut his own food.  A dozen times a day, we forget some little task he can accomplish himself and he reminds us in panicked staccato, "I want to do it all by myself!" He doesn't even like to be reminded of anything. For instance, last night during prayers (which Isaac always reminds us to do), Ian started to interrupt Brian, with his usual request, and Brian said, "I know, you want us to pray for Thomas the Tank Engine." Ian furiously responded, "You may not tell me!!" Trying to correct himself, Brian suggested, "Oh, sorry, you go ahead and say it, Ian." Pouting, Ian replied, "I can't say it anymore. [making his voice creaky] I can't hear my voice." Finally he gave up the facade and placed his request for blessings on Thomas, along with Isaac's request to "pray. track." So Thomas and his track were well-blessed.

I've enjoyed Isaac's beverage preferences. Somehow he's come to the conclusion, during my pregnancy-induced ice cravings, that anything with ice is "num-nade" (lemonade).  If he sees we have something carbonated he wants "yoda."  Bubbly in your throat it is.

Brian starts his vacation time today - woo hoo!!  Time to go do more Christmas vacation prep!

A Side Note About Dishes

I am sooo tempted to go primitive and fill my dishwasher with only metal spatulas and steel mixing bowls.  The Shlinnngs and Wahwahwwaaaws of taking them out of the washer are OH. SO. REWARDING.

Oh The Places You'll Go!

A couple nights ago, Ian was wrestling with Brian. At one point Ian's hand lands on Brian's backside and Ian stands, frozen. "Oh no Dad, you have poop!" he blurts as he squeezes something.  I glance over and giggle, "No, Ian, that's just Daddy's tail bone." Brian points out that Ian has a tail bone, too.  For the next 2 days, Ian would approach me bun-side first asking if I'd like to see his tail bone, and he pulls down his underwear a bit, saying, "See?" "Yes, I see it," I reply each time with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. "Yep, that's my tail bone," he replies and proudly swaggers off.

Last night we did our Georgia Christmas, so the boys have some time to play before we drive to the grandparents' for real Christmas. I was a little concerned that it would be a puny event for them, since in my memory it didn't seem like I'd gotten them many toys.  But, I think it turned out just right.  For instance, Ian gave the set of "castle people" hardly a pause before moving to the next gift.  However, when they opened their castle, Ian decided he needed a "Princess Fiona" (someone has been watching too much Shrek) to put in the tower and we reminded him about the castle people.  They've had nonstop fun with it since then. We got Ian a toy guitar and Isaac a not-so-toy drum.  All the toy drums were kind of lame and this floor drum was awesome and about the same price. Ian was hilarious rockin' out on the toy guitar. He had his eyes all scrunched closed and his head bobbing as he shouted, "Rock and roll!" Isaac got a basketball hoop, which Ian pulled over and nearly beaned his brother with (note to self: fill it with sand sooner than later). Ian also got a viewmaster. I LOVED those as a kid, and I think I still do. Ian is quite enthralled as well.  The most interesting/unique toy has to be the Kid-O Bilibo. It's even hard to describe. It's a plastic shell shaped like a flared-out helmet...sort of. It's made for open-ended play. It can be a seat to spin in, a helmet, a bowl, a turtle shell, a whatever. Isaac was scared to sit in it at first, so we put it on my head and sat under it while Ian opened his next gift.

This morning, we're sitting up in bed and Isaac pats his head and says, "Gaigick hair." Ian looks over at the bed-head and laments, "Oh no. Igick's hair is ruined!"  I've thought that about my hair some days.

Ian's philosophy is: Celebrate your victories, first; Deal with the details later.  I just heard, "Yayyyyy!  I peed on the potty!" Then, like an interesting bit of trivia, "Mom, I made a little 'plash on the wall." Sometimes he chooses to sit for the task and forgets about the aiming part. I think the puddle in the potty was incidental.