Halloween

I'd had this fantastic plan for MONTHS that for Halloween this year, we would go as the Incredibles. How cool would that be?! We even have the right number of people now, and Amy & David are at least in the right order. No one would care that "JackJack" was a girl!

I was totally geared up for it. Until about 2 weeks before Halloween, when Amy suddenly threw a fit about the idea and staunchly refused to participate. Now, in many cases, I tell her to suck it up (not in so many words). But Halloween is magical, especially for little kids, and I don't want to take that away by imposing my (albeit Incredibly awesome) ideas on her. Since she's old enough to express an opinion, I (grudgingly) accept that. I WANT her to have a say over her body and what she does with it.

So, when she told me she wanted to be Merida for Halloween, I figured, eh, what the heck. She already had the dress, bow, and arrows thanks to her birthday being Merida-themed this year. But...that left me with 4 costumes to figure out in 2 weeks.

I quickly decided David and Olivia would be bears. Easy, I could buy them on Amazon for dirt cheap, and I could layer them to keep them both (especially Livvie) warm. Brett and I, of course, would be Fergus and Elinor.

Brett's costume was also fairly easy. He already had the chain mail and sword. We bought him a super cheap kilt. I made a bear-fur cape and a leather shirt (which, I'm proud to say, I did completely off the top of my head and with only an old t-shirt for a guide).

I had a cloak I intended to wear that I'd made YEARS ago when Brett and I were first married for a different costume. That just left the dress. It turned out well, and I'm satisfied, although it's not quite what I wanted because they were out of a specific color of material. Still, it worked just fine.

Kids at Home (Livvie Edition)

I've been otherwise occupied for a while. After my last post, I got re-infected with strep, then had cavities filled, my wisdom teeth out, and another cavity filled, then re-filled because it came out. (Long story, but it was along the gumline in the very back. They'd tried to drill it, but even with 4 shots of anesthetic, it STILL wasn't numb, so they opted to have me come in after my wisdom teeth were extracted and I was still numb from the surgery. Either it wasn't completely dry or my mouth was swollen or both, because the filling didn't take well, and popped out a couple of days later. They replaced it.)

In addition to all THAT fun, I have a..complication? I guess? from my pregnancy called diastasis recti. Basically, the long vertical muscles in my abdomen that hold everything in place got stretched and weakened during my pregnancy and are having trouble knitting back together properly. This causes all sorts of fun for me, because it basically means I can't walk for very long without a considerable amount of fatigue and discomfort. I'm doing exercises to get back to where I need to be, but it's not a quick fix.

Anyway, I titled this post "Kids at Home" because I'm going to be posting a ridiculous amount of pictures. Of the kids. At home. Yeah, I know. Not the most creative. I'm okay with that. These are all pretty much Livvie or Livvie and sibling(s) or parent(s).

She is just such a happy girl! Definitely well-loved by our family, and of course Amy has taken it upon herself to be a little mini-mommy. I know some of the pictures are blurry, but I just love the faces she makes. And all I've got is my phone camera. :)

Olivia's Birth: The Aftermath

In Olivia's birth story, I mentioned the difficulty with getting my placenta to come out. We'd hoped Jessica had gotten it all, but knew there was a possibility of my having retained some tissue. I actually retained placental tissue with Amy, which led to a uterine infection (treated at home with antibiotics). Apparently my body is super proud of the plactentas it makes and just doesn't want to let them go.

Well, late Sunday night August 31st, I took a shower and then started having some cramps. For the first few minutes they weren't bad, just sort of menstrual cramp-y. Uncomfortable but not terribly painful. Within a few minutes, they rapidly became sharp, stabbing pains to the right side of my pelvis that had me sobbing hysterically, unable to move or really talk much. I had Brett call the midwife, and briefly talked to Nicole, who told me to definitely go to the ER. Brett got our neighbor from across the street to be in the house with the older kids (thanks, Rich!) while he, Olivia, and I headed to the hospital. I was in so much pain Brett had to lift me out of bed and carry me to the car.

Despite the fact that I was more or less in hysterics and sobbing uncontrollably, the ER took their dear sweet time helping me. I sat in a wheelchair in the waiting room for about 15 minutes, and then spent another 45 in an exam room without being seen. Brett made several trips out to the nurses' station to no avail, and finally got harsh enough with the right person that a doctor and two nurses came in. Shortly thereafter I was given some morphine. Hallelujah! It was my first experience with morphine, and I have to say, I was immensely grateful for it. And, I didn't feel high! A little loopy, but thankfully nothing more than that. (Translation: unlike my experience with Stadol, there were no cartoony purple-spotted cows hopping through pastures.)

The next few hours were spent having labs and blood cultures drawn and getting a CT, a pelvic exam, and a pelvic ultrasound. The doctor was very obliging regarding my breastfeeding and was careful to make sure I could still nurse Livvie. (Mainly this meant not giving me contrast for the CT.) Around 3am, she was getting extremely fussy, and I gave Brett the go-ahead to take her home because it looked like I was going to be there for at least a few more hours.

Just before 4am, the OB resident on call came back in. She told me the ultrasound and CT both showed what looked like retained "product" in my uterus, as well as some definite irritation/inflammation of the lining of my uterus, which meant I had an infection. I was pretty unsurprised. THEN she told me they'd be admitting me! That surprised me, since my infection post-Amy had been dealt with at home. But because of the amount of time elapsed (10 days) and the fact that I hadn't passed the tissue myself, they were concerned they'd need to do a D&C to remove the leftover tissue. For the moment, they would be giving me regular doses of 2 different antibiotics through my IV and monitoring me. Olivia could still nurse, but she could be with me only while another adult was there. (Hospital policy since Olivia was not a patient and couldn't be sent to the nursery, just in case something were to happen to me--the hospital couldn't be responsible for her.)

I got up to the Women's Health floor around 5am Monday morning. A couple of hours later, I called Brett's mom, Barbara, to let her know what was going on and see if she could come back to help out again. (Poor woman had just gone home Friday afternoon, but she packed a bag and drove back without complaint. I would've been lost without her help.) The hospital provided a pump for me so I could still provide milk for Olivia while she wasn't there (although I hated their pump and had Brett bring my Medela when he did come). Once Barbara was back to take care of the older kids, Brett and Olivia spent the majority of their days (and all of their nights) in the hospital with me. The nurses were kind enough to procure a bassinet for Livvie to sleep in, as well as anything else we needed.

Basically, I just had to hang out. Monday and Tuesday I spent the days getting antibiotics every 4 hours and trying not to be bored out of my mind. Several friends from church came up to spend time with me both days, which helped immensely since I was NOT happy to be stuck away from my kids. Tuesday evening the OB resident let me know that they would, indeed, be performing a D&C on Wednesday, after which I could be discharged. I was pretty nervous at the prospect of a D&C, not so much because of the actual procedure, but because of the emotional ramifications. Since the only other time I've had a D&C was when I lost Hannah, I was afraid it would trigger those emotions again (and to some extent, it did).

The procedure (to my knowledge) went well, without complication. I was actually under sedation rather than being put under general anesthesia, and I have to say I definitely prefer it that way. I woke up more quickly and didn't have the lingering effects of GA that I usually do (including nausea/vomiting). Apparently they got quite a bit of tissue out, so I'm glad they went ahead with it. I was discharged later that evening around 7pm, and was grateful to be home again!

Fast forward another 10 days, and I was back in the ER on Saturday the 13th with a high fever. I was terrified that maybe they'd missed something (which they warned me could happen) and that I'd have to have a repeat D&C. Fortunately (?) it turned out to *only* be strep throat, and I was sent home from the ER with a prescription for antibiotics.

Here's hoping I can actually stay healthy now! My recovery has been pretty slow, thanks to the blood loss and the infections. Hopefully I've turned the corner now and can start getting back to my usual self. In the meantime, Livvie has been such a great little girl, and Amy & David have both been helpful (some of the time) and their usual selves (most of the time).

Baby Ender is here!!!

I haven't posted in almost a month, because WOW, what a busy few weeks we've had!

IT'S A GIRL!!!!!

We welcomed our sweet girl, Olivia Katherine, on August 22nd at 3:26pm. She weighed in at a whopping 9lbs 6oz and measured 21 1/4 inches long, making her our biggest baby yet!

What follows is her birth story. I am including some details, so if you're squeamish...well, you've been warned.

I'd been having what seemed like contractions off and on for several days. They'd get to about 8 minutes apart for a few hours, and then disappear. (Which believe me, got increasingly frustrating.) Thursday night I started feeling pretty crampy and just shrugged it off, since my uterus had cried wolf one too many times already in my opinion. Around 3am, though, despite still only being 8 minutes apart, the contractions were strong enough that they started waking me up. Every 8 minutes. For the next few hours. I think I gave up on sleep around 6 or 7 in the morning and just got up. At that point, I was pretty sure the real thing was starting, so I told Brett to go ahead and call in to work. Then I worked my way down my "call list", starting with my midwife, then my mother-in-law Barbara who would be driving in from Ohio, and finally our dear friend Stacy who had volunteered to watch the older kids for us. A little while later I called a longtime friend, Katie, who was planning on attending the birth.

Between about 9am and 9:30, my contractions pretty abruptly went from being 8 minutes apart to being 4-5 minutes apart. After another call to my midwife, Jessica, we decided to wrap things up, drop the kids off, and head to the birth center. We got to the birth center around 11:30am. I could tell the contractions were definitely stronger while I was standing, so I tried to walk and stand as much as I could to help move things along. We walked through the birth center a few times, stopping each time a contraction started so I could lean against Brett with my head on his shoulder. It was by far the most comfortable way for me to spend contractions, leaning on him like that. I spent some time sitting on a birth ball, which was comfy for a while, and even laid in bed on my side, although that wasn't the greatest. A lot of moving around, since one position would be comfortable for a little bit, and then I would get all antsy and need to move. I tried to make sure I was staying hydrated, which meant pretty frequent trips to the bathroom. I HATE  having contractions while I'm peeing. There's just no way to stay comfortable on a toilet for me. Ugh.

Katie got up to the birth center around 1pm, mercifully stopping to grab some food for Brett, who was starving thanks to our busy morning preventing him from eating. It was so fun to have her there. The three of us chatted between contractions. It was just such a relaxed environment. Yes, I was uncomfortable, but I could still laugh and have fun!

Jessica was in and out of the room occasionally, checking on me and using the doppler to check on Ender. She had a student midwife with her, Andy, whom I'd met before and had okayed to help attend me during the birth. They were very unobtrusive, quietly checking on us and helping remind me to relax when the contractions were more intense and I started struggling a bit, applying some counterpressure on my lower back. (Most of the time, Brett was the one putting pressure on my back. It was SO helpful and was really what got me through the last hour or so before I got in the tub.)

I'd told Jessica I knew I wanted to labor in the tub, and possibly deliver there, depending on how comfortable I was at the time. Probably between 2 and 2:30, as my contractions were REALLY getting intense, she asked if I wanted the tub filled up. It sounded good, so I said yes. Once it was ready, I climbed in, and oh. My. Goodness. It felt AMAZING. The buoyancy of the water really helped take the edge off the contractions, and I was able to focus better, relax, and breathe through each contraction. It made such a difference in my labor. I'm not sure how I managed with David without a tub.

My timeline is pretty fuzzy since we were all focused on what was going on, not what time it was. :) Around 3 or so (maybe a little before), Jessica, Andy, and a nurse (Natalie) came in and stayed in the room. I could tell I was definitely in transition and it was getting close.

That last little while before Olivia was born is what really stands out in my mind as marking the difference between this birth and my hospital births. Jessica was so calm and reassuring, reminding me to relax and breathe. There were numerous expressions of, "You can do this" and gentle touches to my back and shoulders. There were no bright lights or loud bustling about, just the natural light from the several (shaded) windows. I was encouraged to listen to my body, and that I could push whenever I felt like it was time. Someone helped to hold one of my feet because I couldn't get a good position for my right foot. After a while (maybe 3:20ish?) I was definitely feeling some pressure, and started gently pushing a little to test it out. I had a few contractions while I gently pushed a bit, and I could tell she was moving down as the pressure increased. Then it was DEFINITELY time to push. After a couple of big pushes, her head was out, with the amniotic sac still intact. The membranes ruptured when Jessica caught her head. Another couple of big pushes and she was out!

Jessica immediately put her on my chest. Someone asked, "What did we have?" I lifted her up to look and was thrilled to announce she was a girl! She still hadn't taken a breath, despite being rubbed and encouraged, so they quickly put a mask on her and gave her a few puffs of air. She took a big breath and then started wailing, though she calmed back down quickly.

And then the "fun" started. My placenta had started to detach already, and I was bleeding pretty badly. Once the placenta was out, Jessica started giving me some meds to help me stop hemorraghing. I can't remember what all I got that afternoon, but I know I got some oral Cytotec, I think 2 shots of Pitocin, and a shot of something that started with an 'M' that burned like hell. After the Cytotec and one shot of Pitocin, they got me out of the tub and to the bed. It was clear the placenta hadn't come out in one piece, and they needed to start working on me to get the rest of it out. I won't go into tremendous detail because it wasn't pretty, but suffice it to say it involved a lot of pushing down on my uterus, and a LOT of blood. Poor Katie was probably traumatized.

Eventually my bleeding settled down and there weren't any more clots coming out. (Yeah, I know, gross. You were warned.) Olivia nursed a bit, and Brett and Livvie and I got to have some family cuddle time. Katie left so we could have some space to ourselves. At this point, Natalie took over being in charge of me. We made several slow, careful trips to and from the bathroom so I could pee, making sure I wasn't going to pass out or anything. Brett and I took a quick little nap, and finally packed up our new little bundle around 7:30 or 8pm.

It was so nice to be able to sleep in my own bed that night, and to not have people (other than Olivia) constantly waking me up all night.

I loved this birth experience. It was beautiful. It was exactly what I wanted (minus, of course, the hiccup with my placenta which couldn't have been prevented). I felt comfortable. I felt safe. I felt loved by every person in that room. I was allowed to birth how I wanted, without interference. I was supported and encouraged. It was by far the most empowering experience I have ever had. I adore my team of midwives: Jessica, Lisa, and Nicole, as well as the rest of the staff at the birth center (Marci and Leanna). Natalie was a fantastic nurse and I loved her, too. I couldn't be happier with my experience and the care I've been given!

On Depression (Trigger warning: depression/suicide)

The tragic death of Robin Williams has garnered a lot of attention for depression and other mental illnesses. I loved that man, and many of his roles really touched my life. (My favorite being John Keating from Dead Poets' Society, especially toward the beginning of the movie when he quotes Walt Whitman.) I mourn his loss, which leaves the world a little darker, and hope his family can find comfort and peace.

I've written fairly candidly before about my struggle with depression, with the focus of that post mainly on my experiences surrounding David's pregnancy. There are numerous posts circulating the web now, some focusing on the clinical aspects of mental illness and depression, some reaching out in solidarity and comfort, and some...well, some horrible, awful posts that decry suicide and depression as being selfish. I won't link the worst offender because I really despise the writer and don't want to give his blog traffic, but suffice it to say, it was an awful post that left me fuming. Livid. Enraged. And I don't lose my temper very easily these days.

After Robin Williams' death, I posted this status update on Facebook with a link to a really great article: "As someone who suffers from clinical depression and has, in the past, contemplated suicide on more than one occasion, I agree wholeheartedly with this article. I'll greatly miss the light and laughter Robin Williams brought to this world."

The article I shared was this one from The Guardian, which really does merit reading.

I'm pretty up front about myself and the struggles I've dealt with throughout my life. Mainly because I feel it's important to be authentic, but also because so much of what I've dealt with (abuse, depression, miscarriage, etc.) seems to be a taboo topic that people acknowledge but no one really wants to talk about. Well, I'm talking about it. I'm talking about it because while I know myself well enough now to reach out for help, most people who suffer from depression don't have the resources I do. Because no one should have to suffer in silence. Because depression is an illness, not a choice. Because it is real, and it is dark, and it is often completely devoid of hope.

Because it kills people.

It's pretty common for survivors of abuse to deal with depression (for what I think would be common sense reasons). Looking at my own experiences, I can list off some of the biggest issues for me without pause: the physical abuse I suffered and the scars it left, being abandoned by my biological mother who should have protected me, being abandoned by my biological father who could have taken me in, being in foster care, being teased and bullied for years by my peers and the occasional college professor, body image problems, abusive relationships...the list goes on. That's just the tip of the iceberg.

I mentioned on Facebook that I've contemplated suicide more than once in the past. It's true. Several times as a teenager, including one near attempt that was prevented only because my mom arrived home from a shopping trip much sooner than I expected. I was quite literally holding the knife to my arm when the garage door went up (and yes, I knew to do it the "right" way, as I truly intended to die and was not crying out for attention). Just after moving home after getting out of my horribly abusive relationship with a fiance, I was working at a new St. Louis Bread Co.  A branch of my bank was just across the road, so I would usually take my paycheck over during my lunch break. Those first couple of weeks back, more than once I found myself gauging the distance from an oncoming vehicle and wondering if they were driving fast enough to kill me if I jumped in front of the car. I never jumped, mainly because I was terrified I would survive it. During my PPD after Amy's birth/while pregnant with David, I never actively contemplated killing myself, but often thought longingly of death and how nice it would be if I could just go to sleep and never wake up. How much better it would be for my family if I could just die quietly but they could somehow save David. I was always a bit disappointed when I woke up alive in the morning.

I don't talk about this stuff to get sympathy or pity. I talk about it because, to the outside world and even to my family, this is probably news. Difficult to believe, especially since I worked so hard to appear normal. I didn't want to be a burden on anyone. I still don't.

And therein lies the key, at least for me, for suicide caused by depression. It's not really about me, or it doesn't feel like it is. The times I've thought about killing myself, I've considered it because I didn't want to be a burden anymore. I felt like one. I still feel that way sometimes. Because when it's bad, my depression is all-consuming. There IS no light at the end of the tunnel, because there is no end of the tunnel at all. The tunnel doesn't even exist. It's a whirlpool, deep and black and inescapable that just sucks you down. It's a pit of quicksand that pulls you further in the more you struggle. Unavoidable. Inescapable. Inevitable. There is no way out...or at least, that's the way it feels at the time.

For one frightening moment, put yourself in that position. Just try. Imagine that sinking, penetrating blackness. Imagine being unable to see an end to it. Imagine that you recognize the strain your depression puts on your loved ones. Your husband. Your mother. Is it real strain or are you imagining it because of your depression? Impossible to tell, because to you it feels real, and that's all that matters. Reality is skewed. Your thinking is skewed. Maybe, like me, you can tell something is wrong. Maybe, like others, you can't. Imagine being able to only see things getting worse. Imagine the feeling that you're dragging down everyone around you, and you can't stop. You *know* that eventually, they will all be miserable like you are because how could they not, with you around? Eventually, they'll get tired of having to deal with you but they'll continue out of a sense of obligation, because they love you.

They'll be trapped, just like you are, because of you.

And THAT is one way depression kills. Because as miserable as you are, you do not want to put others through what you are dealing with. And at some point, it becomes the logical conclusion--only your death will prevent them being sucked into the quicksand with you. And it would be far better for you to die than to pull them with you into despair and agony.

And in your mind, your illogical, irrational, skewed way of thinking, that makes absolute and perfect sense.

Do I think and feel that way right now? No. My depression seems to be pretty cyclical. I'm on an upswing right now. I feel pretty good about life and myself. I have strong coping mechanisms thanks to the years of counseling. I have a strong support system. I've made sure those closest to me know what to look for in my behavior in case I miss a warning sign. I have resources at my disposal should I need additional counseling or medication again. Because of how my depression works, I know to ask for help when I need it. But most people don't. Most people don't feel like they CAN reach out. It's great that a dialogue on depression has opened. It's great that people are posting the number for the suicide hotline all over Facebook. This discussion NEEDS to happen. Awareness needs to increase, and the taboo surrounding mental illness needs to disappear.

Maybe that can start with me.

Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill'd with the foolish,
...--What good amid these, oh me, oh life?

                                  Answer.

That you are here--that life exists, and identity,

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

(Walt Whitman)

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

What will your verse be?

Have you had that baby yet?

The past 2-3 days, I've been inundated with phone calls, texts, and Facebook messages asking if I've had the baby yet. My estimated due date was yesterday, August 16th.

So, have I had the baby yet?

I stopped answering the calls and texts. Nothing personal, but I think anyone could understand that I'm a bit busy right now, and I just don't have the energy to be fielding the same questions over and over again. So, here are the answers to Womb Watch 2014's FAQ:

Q: How are you feeling?
A: Pretty good. Tired. Ready to have a baby. Excited.

Q: Why haven't you been induced?
A: Because I don't need to be. My pregnancy has been pretty much textbook-perfect (knock on wood). There is no medical reason to induce me at this point, and there is unlikely to be a medical reason until I get closer to 42 weeks.

Q: When will you be induced?
A: Unless an emergent medical need arises, not til 42 weeks. Yes, it's safe. Yes, my midwives are monitoring me. And yes, I'm perfectly fine with Ender baking for as long as s/he needs to. 40 weeks is a very rough estimate, and not a really accurate one at that.

Q: Have you tried [insert "natural" ways to induce here]?
A: Soapy water. (Meaning, of course I have. Except castor oil. That stuff freaks me out.)

Q: Is the baby's name really Ender?
A: No. English major, not punishment-loving parent. Ender is a nickname, since we don't know baby's sex. No, it doesn't necessarily mean this is our last child, either. Ender was the third child in the book, and we were amused.


So, to sum up: unless there is a newer post to the contrary, see the above link whenever you feel the need to ask me if I've had the baby yet. Considering how excited we'll be, it's unlikely much time will pass before we're announcing Ender's arrival from the rooftops. Please be considerate as we're busy and exhausted, and likely will be even after the baby is born, which means I'm even less likely to get back to people than usual (which is awful, I know). I won't be pregnant forever, and you'll know once I'm not.

And yes, this post is full of snark and attitude, because I really am that tired of answering the same questions a billion times over.

It finally happened.

Nope, not the baby being born. The bun is still in the oven.

I'm talking about this:

"This" being a deep, half-inch long gash on Amy's forehead.

What happened, you may ask?

The truth: I'm not entirely sure. I was putting David down for his nap, so I had my back to the door. Which is, of course, when something would go wrong. I heard a thunk and then immediate wailing. I feel kind of bad now, because I brushed it off and told Amy to stop fussing. But she's in this incredibly obnoxious phase right now where the slightest bump causes tears and howling for kisses and princess bandaids. I have no idea where this phase came from, since she's generally a very rough-and-tumble kind of kid.

At any rate, I closed David's door and went to comfort her, at which point I saw the gash in her head and a fair amount of blood oozing down her face. Oh. This is actually for real. I hugged her and got her calmed down, then asked her what had happened. She told me she'd hit her head on David's door. (I still can't find any blood where she made contact, but I believe her. From what I heard when it happened, it sounded like she was running--as usual--tripped over a toy, and fell into the door.) I called her pediatrician's office, who recommended that since it was on her face, we take her to the ER to get it looked at.

Long story short (too late): Amy and I went to the ER. They were incredibly fast, which was surprising. The doctor (a woman, much to Amy's excitement) was hopeful since it was a small cut that she'd be able to glue it, but it popped open much deeper than expected, almost to the bone. She couldn't get it to stay shut long enough to glue it, so she opted for stitches instead.

8 (or maybe 9?) stitches later, Amy was happy to not have to hold still anymore. She was a total champ, and had the nursing staff hooting at her antics. After her initial shock at home, she acted totally normal, which was nice, except it meant dealing with an energetic preschooler pretending to be a kitty on an ER gurney. :D She was very patient while we waited for 2 doses of topical anesthetic to take effect, colored, played with a couple of nurses, and belted out "Let It Go" while the doctor was stitching her up, complete with attempted arm gestures despite her arms being trapped. It was pretty adorable, and the staff was impressed at how well she remembered the song and sang it (mostly) on-key. They gave her a popsicle after the doctor was done, which of course thrilled her.

She's a cutie. :D Stitches are looking good and should come out on Thursday.