Jami and the Search for Suit that Suits

So I haven't been posting here much, lots of things going on and FaceBook allows quick thoughts to be posted much faster, but since I have a few moments, thought I'd share a recent adventure. Finn is still nursing, meaning I'm still sporting the milk-filled tatas that make me look like I may tip over at any moment. I'm not going to post my cup size, but I was recently measured (publicly!!) by a professional and let's just say she told me I Have some Huge Hooters, get the Hint? Anyway, we're headed to the beach soon and my pre-pregnancy bathing suits could not contain the ladies. Off to Kohl's I went, thanks to the 30% off coupon from the mail. My normal swimsuit stradegy is: Buy the cheapest suit that fits. This time I decided I would actually pry the wallet open a little and find a suit I really feel good about, within reasonable limits. Upon reflection, I realized it had been SEVEN years since I last purchased a new bathing suit, so I don't feel too selfish in spending more than my usual $12.99. Theorizing that the enormous upstairs would be best suited by a tankini (since I could get a size WOW! for the top and a normal bottom), I gathered up a load of mix'n'match parts and tried them all on. This did not work. The tankini tops seem to fall into two categories: held up by super-skinny spaghetti straps or squish everything flat. No thanks on both. Then I hit the one-pieces. I found a section of "Figure Fixing" suits, with tags like "hip hiding", "long torso", "tummy flattener" and the one that sounded most promising "flatters full figure". Hmmm. Full does seem to be the proper word. I'd have to say , however, that "flatters" must mean "exposes" because this suit made me a walking advertisement for mammory glands. No lie, I think if I wore that suit in public, every person who looked directly at me would involuntarily yell "BOOBS!!" regardless of gender or sexual orientation. I skipped the "enhances bust" suits, even though I had some curiousity what my bust would look like enhanced; it's possible it would be visible from space. Finally, after a parade of suits that either failed to support, supported to the point of painful squished-ness, or looked like they belonged to the Senior Olympic synchronized swim team, I found ONE suit that looked good. It's black with gold and white trim and even a little tassle. I can get the baby-feeders out when needed but my super-white cleavage isn't exposed enough to blind passing aircraft. It was already on sale, and so with the coupon, it still is the most expensive suit I've ever purchased, BUT it was also well under the $50 absolute limit I'd set for myself. So, you aspiring designers out there, here's a great niche market for you!

Jami Admits to Being Everyone

Oh my, almost two whole months gone since I posted. Well, for those in the know, March was jammed packed for me, I barely got to breathe the whole month, it felt like, and now that I'm two days into April, all I can say is - whew. Thank goodness. Anyway, besides barely having a moment to write, I've had some other writing projects going on, which meant the blog suffered, but here's the post I've been thinking about. Years ago, someone told me that there are things that everyone does, and everyone suspects that everyone else does, too, but no one will admit to doing them. The person in question was a guy and the instance he used to demonstrate his point was that everyone pees in the shower. Not every time, or even on a regular basis,but everyone pees. My 4th grade health teacher, a man I can remember only as Mr. B, informed our class that everyone picks their noses. He strongly advised against eating the boogers, and said that NOT everyone does that, but everyone, he insisted, picks their noses. I'm going to admit that I have peed in the shower. It's a bold statement, which will come back to haunt me in the tabloids when I'm famous, but hey, when I was pregnant and peeing an estimated every 31 seconds, getting out of the shower, toweling down and getting to the toilet was waaay too much work, so even though I'd go before the shower, there were a few occasions where the water hit me and it was all over. The nose picking, I'm going to have to agree with the teacher on that one, too. Generally with a tissue in hand (or on-finger), we've all felt the annoyance of that one boogie you gotta get out of there. Heck, I'm a mom, I've picked my kids noses, using the handy-dandy booger sucker. So, people of the world, unite! Stand up and admit to your shower peeing and nose picking ways! And, what else does everyone do that you're willing to cop to?

Jami Finally Writes Out Her Birth Story

This post isn't, necessarily, for you. It's for me and it's going to be long and probably some people's definition of graphic, or just plain TMI. But this is the birth story, start to finish. I need to get it down for my own sake, and I don't mind sharing. I've been writing little bits when I have a moment, which is why it's taken 3 weeks. Also, before parts that get too personal, I'll put a little *** - if you see that, you can decide if you want to skip the paragraph that follows the stars, which might be more than you want to know. Sort of a "read the following paragraph at your own risk." Or skip this whole thing, I won't mind, honest. I'm all about birthin', but it's not for everyone, believe me, I know. The last thing I'm going to say in this intro is that before I start, I want to acknowledge that the Husband totally kicked butt at this - if every husband could do what he did, you wouldn't need a doula. I wouldn't have gotten through the days and days without his unwavering, comforting, perfect support. Just saying. As you may have gathered, if you've been reading this blog regularly, this pregnancy didn't go quite as I'd envisioned. Pretty much from the first ambiguous home pregnancy test on, it seemed that each time I accepted the problem at hand, and got to a good place, the next shoe dropped. Probably not a great metaphor unless you're a centipede, because it was way more than 2 shoes. Ever the optimist, I got through each challenge thinking that this would be it, smooth sailing from here on out, and then I'd visualize my perfect birth situation. Because I just knew that it would be fine. I've read, learned, seen, experienced. I did all the exercises and knew all my options. I'm prepared, I thought, and that's the key. So, it came as a bit of a shock to me when last Thursday, Sept 17, my midwife told me that with my blood pressure still creeping up, my urine tests showing me close to pre-eclampsia and the extra challenges present by gestational diabetes, I should consider induction. I wanted to wait, to try to start labor naturally, but that close to the weekend, it was start it now or wait until the following week, presenting some very real health concerns. At the time, she said I was 1 cm dilated and 70 percent effaced, and that far effaced, I felt a little better going against the first thing on my birth vision: I want to go into labor on my own. Births don't always follow our desires, I know, but I've seen a nice birth that started with an induction, and I still felt confident that I would have a lovely birth. And so we went in. Right away the nurses put in an IV, against my wishes, and stuck me on the monitors, also against my wishes. When I questioned these actions, I was told it was standard and that's that. My midwife came in and fortunately was able to get them to cap off the IV with a heparin lock (so I wasn't attached to anything) and while they did find the telemetric monitors (sort of remote control so I wouldn't be stuck to the machine) they hadn't been charged, but since I was going to be sleeping soon anyway, I was able to compromise with great grace. The midwife showed me how to unplug it so I could use the restroom (to the nurse's initial distress, though after looking at both of us, she shrugged, "well, whatever"). Hey - it saved her a bunch of trips into my room. At 10 pm, I was started on Cervadil, which softens the cervix, preparing it for effacing and dilation. It's not usually something that starts "labor" as you think of it, so the plan at that time was, sleep while the drug works its magic, wake up and have the baby. But before that I had to talk to the doctors, since I had gestational diabetes. The doctors treating my gestational diabetes wanted to do an ultrasound, so they could scare me by telling me the baby was too big to be born vaginally. First the residents spent 45 minutes pressing the wand on my belly to the point where I expected to be bruised from it, only to get "inconclusive" readings since Griffin refused to stay still long enough to take even one accurate measurements. They left to find their attending, who spent another 30 minutes poking me with the same results and then explaining to me that since they couldn't get a measurement, they had to assume the baby was over 10 pounds and that would mean all sort of complications that could lead to a Cesarean section and I should start thinking about that. The midwife felt my belly with her hands and estimated around 8 pounds. Guess who was closer . . . My doula wouldn't be called until we hit some actual action, so the Husband and I sacked out and attempted to rest. Of course, because of my high blood pressure, they had to take it once an hour, and take a finger prick for my blood sugar every 2 hours. With that and adjusting the monitors every time I rolled over, it wasn't as restful as "sleep" usually is, but it was something. I woke up around 5am with the urge to walk around. I found a nurse to switch me to the telemetric monitors, put on my non-skid socks and my iPod and went trucking around the ward. Most rooms had been full and they were slowly emptying out. I heard various women's shouts and moans, following by baby cries. I walked faster, picturing the motion working the baby down. I ran through my vision of how the birth was going to go. It wouldn't be long now. At 7ish, a new midwife came on duty. She checked me again and found that I was still at 1 cm, and in her opinion, not even 50% effaced. Did I want to start pitocin to start contractions? Or another drug for softening the cervix? Neither appealed to me for various reasons I will be glad to discuss if you really want to know. I wanted to try walking some more and the midwife also suggested a foley balloon. So I ordered breakfast and had the balloon. That breakfast was the last solid food I was allowed to have and I enjoyed eggs, bacon, sausage, yogurt and tea from room service. Yummers. *** A foley balloon is basically a surgical tube that the midwife inserts into your cervix and blows up like a balloon. The pressure of the balloon can help your cervix open and then when it reaches the size of the balloon, the balloon falls out. This prompted me to call my friend Lexi and tell her that there must be a party going on because there's a balloon in my hooha. This procedure was about as comfortable as you're imagining it to be. I ended up crying to Lexi a little because things weren't going as I wanted, and her support really gave me a boost I sorely needed. The foley balloon and walking caused me some good cramping (good in the sense that I felt like something was finally happening). The nurses noted that of all the laboring moms they've seen, I held the landspeed record. One kept telling me "no running". The moving felt good, though, and I would chug it out for 25-30 minutes, then get some rest or bounce on the birth ball. About this time I learned that my doula, Jan, had a reaction to a medication she'd been given and was at home with a rash, fever and vomiting. I still had a back up, and there's nothing wrong with Teresa, my backup, but I'd planned on Jan. I wanted Jan, in my mind, it had always been Jan and this was one more thing going wrong. I started to feel crushed. I didn't want to be induced, I didn't want pitocin, I wanted Jan. Around 11am Friday, the balloon had accomplished its goal and the midwife checked again - sadly, was only at 3 cm and still not any more effaced. Time to start the pitocin, she suggested, or, start all over with the Cervadil. A weepy call to Teresa later, we decided on the pitocin and I got hooked up to the IV. We named the IV pole "Irv" (IV with and "r" in the middle") and after a brief nap, Irv and I did some more laps. The nurses chased me around to keep the baby on the monitor while I moved. Now that I'd been on the pitocin, they limited me to "clear foods" - broth, tea, clear sodas, Italian ice (the lemon and orange were particularly yummy) and Popsicles. Remember, this is noonish on Friday, and I didn't have the baby until Sunday morning. As tasty as brother and Italian ices are, it's not the kind of meal that you enjoy every few hours for two days. The pitocin began to be turned up regularly, and I walked, bounced, squatted, rested and repeated. I changed position every 1/2 hour at least, peed every hour the way a good doula should. We called family and friends regularly, FaceBooked and texted updates (which were mostly "nothing new here") and waited. I had some crampy feelings, nothing like the labor you see in movies where women are writhing and screaming. A new midwife came on duty, things seemed to maybe be moving. She checked me at about 11pm Friday night and it looked like finally, finally, I was set to go. I'd hit 5 cm dilated (usually considered the beginning of active labor) and though I didn't seem much more effaced, she felt that I was "softer" than before and that now things would really start jumping. We called Teresa who headed in. Generally, we tell women that getting to 5 cm is the longest part. Jan usually says that you are 75% there when you hit 5, not just halfway like it sounds. So I was set. I could feel it. They wouldn't turn the pitocin up anymore since it seemed to be working. I took a rest and then went back out walking, knowing that this was it. I had the iPod on, and Little Wonders (These Small Hours) came on. It was such a boost, my spirits soared - I sang along, really feeling the song "these small hours, these twists and turns" - yeah, I'd felt the twists and turns, and I'd dealt with them, and now, in these small hours of the night, I was getting ready to finally greet my son. Teresa arrived, and we spent some time getting her caught up. We rested as well as we could, thinking that very soon it'd be too hard for me to really rest. Friday melted into Saturday morning. Since I had now hit "active labor" (5 centimeters dilated), the doctors insisted I had to have my blood sugar checked every hour. That meant 36 more times I had to prick my fingers. Do the math - I don't have that many fingers. They were literally black and blue by the end of the birth. And still nothing changed. 7am Saturday morning, another check, another stall. I hadn't dilated any more. No more effaced, baby in the same place. Frustration swept over me again; we'd been sure when I hit 5, that would be it, we'd be moving and here we were again, stuck for half a day in the same place. More options were discussed. A few hours later, they turned off the pitocin. Similar to your sense of smell, your pitocin receptors can get "used" to the medication, so clearing them for a few hours and restarting can help. They'd break my water that afternoon, too, we decided - something had to give. I'd been in the hospital two nights now, and felt no closer to giving birth. *** My midwife, when checking me, asked if I had had a bowel movement that day. Since I hadn't "gone" since being switched to clear foods, IMO, because there is no fiber, etc to move the waste out, I felt somewhat constipated and she wondered if that could be interfering with my progress. I had heard from other doulas and patients that the hospital I was at would only give you stool softeners, but she actually asked if I'd be willing to try an enema. At this point, I'd have tried crack if you told me it would move the baby safely, so I agreed. The very nice nurse came in and explained that she'd prefer I "take it myself" because she could give it to me, but she'd really rather not. Can't blame her. I agreed, for both our sakes. She asked if I'd ever had one before - no. Then she gave me the instructions, which I still think are hilarious "Put this end in your bottom and then squeeze this part. Then sit down on the toilet." I did. It feels about as unpleasant as you're imagining. It helped and that's all I'll say about that. Jan, my original doula, recovered enough to come for a visit - what a blessing! Though I hadn't wanted to have my waters broken, I'd talked to her about it on the phone, as well as Teresa and the Husband, and I felt okay with it. This would be it - the catalyst that moved my labor along. So I was thrilled when a couple hours after they broke my water, Jan showed up. We talked about how getting to 5 centimeters is often the worst of it and here I was, there with no real pain - yay for me! We now had three birth balls and we sat bouncing like a Tigger convention, much to the amusement of the nurses. I had a few "gushing" incidents, the first of which when I stood up to head to the ladies room and so much fluid came out that I laughed out loud - it was like a bad movie special effect. Good news, because it means the baby is getting lower, we suspected. Jan gave Teresa a break and we spent some more time moving, bouncing squatting. I felt suddenly very tired, and Jan suggested trying a nap. It sounded good, so Jan left, knowing Teresa would be back when I woke up. I slept a little. Finally, finally, going into Saturday night, I was feeling contractions. Still not horrid, but getting stronger. This, I knew, was it. Finally. "Real" labor starting. I felt like every time they turned up the Pitocin, I got a boost in the contractions - it seemed to be working like it was supposed to! The contractions got stronger. I wanted to sit in the hot tub, but not allowed off of the monitors because of the pitocin, I had to settle for the shower. The husband sat on the toilet as I ran the hot water over my belly during the increasingly stronger contractions. I rocked and moaned a bit, as well, really proud on some level, when I wasn't in immediate pain, that I could handle these contractions this well. When the contractions got to the point that I knew I couldn't handle them if I got out of the shower, and knowing that they weren't going to let me deliver in the shower, I asked for Nubain. Nubain is a narcotic that basically takes the edge of the contractions, allowing women in labor to manage the pain, but not taking it away. I also worried that my window for a dose might be closing, as they won't give it to you after a certain point. My midwife came in to check me before deciding, and said "Nope. No real change. Still 5 centimeters and 50%" and folks, I lost it. That was one of the worst moments of my life. I'd been laboring for too long, getting through these waves of stronger and stronger contractions, knowing that I was doing it and going to get there and then this. I can say that in my life, I have had blessedly few moments of anguish, but this was one: my body had failed me, my knowledge had failed me, my strength had failed me. I even felt anger for God - I had done it all right, praying only for a healthy birth, and everything and everyone had let me down. I'd ignored my instincts and had an induction, and here I sat, certain that I'd be having a Cesarean birth - the one main thing I wanted to avoid, and I had done everything "right". I sobbed. I felt betrayed and exhausted and lost. I got to the bed, and I don't even know how. The midwife had suggested an epidural (one more thing on my "avoid if possible" list) and I felt like I couldn't think. I just wanted to push the baby out. The midwife explained that after all this time, if I didn't get real rest, I wouldn't physically be able to have the baby vaginally. The epidural, she felt, might also help my muscles relax more, encouraging more progress. The Husband and my doula agreed. I nodded. I hoped they were right, but I also feared this was the beginning of my route to surgery. Let me take a brief moment here to say that doulas are NOT anti-epidural. I can't speak for all of us, but in general, we are just against uninformed epidurals and the idea that you have to have one basically as soon as you reach the parking lot. There ARE reasons to have epidurals and times when a doula will suggest it, as in this case. Had I been the doula, not the patient, and been thinking clearly, I'd have absolutely recommended the same thing. I've been at births with and without them, and I don't "judge" anyone for the decision to have one. Anyway . . . I'd filled out the epidural release form earlier. When doing so, I'd crossed out the part about knowing that the hospital is a teaching hospital and that my epidural may be done by a resident, student or random passerby, and instead I had written in "ATTENDING ONLY". So, when nice epidural man came in, I of course said "Are you the attending?" No, he told me, just a resident. I explained that I wanted the attending physician. He said he'd done "plenty" of these. How nice for him. I insisted: Attending Only. Says so on my form. He warned me that I'd have to wait. "Okay. Thanks. Bye." My doula was impressed that I threw a doctor out of my room while in the middle of a contraction. Talk about empowering! I did have to wait - through one more contraction. Big whoop. I survived, and survived the epidural as well. During all this, my mother had arrived, and she came in just as the epidural took effect. Relief swept through me, as the pain drained away and I saw my mom. With the pain ebbing, it was suggest I get some sleep (as much as I could with them stabbing my fingers every hour) and we sent Teresa home to get some sleep. I had my mom and the Husband and we planned on just sacking out and snoozing. The midwife had also inserted an intrauterine device to monitor contractions, since I hadn't had good measurements on the monitor. My mom being there allowed the Husband to get some rest, she helped me with the bed pan and ice chips and rolling over. The night crept by. Early morning, I woke up with an uncomfortableness the epidural didn't help. Not having felt it before, I suspected it was the urge to push, but I couldn't be sure. I asked the nurse to get the midwife. She checked me and finally!! Progress beyond what I'd hoped for - only an anterior lip remained (think of it as being 9 and a half centimeters dilated). I knew what to do - what we call "blowing through" contractions, a way of dealing with the urge to push without pushing, since you're not quite there yet. Almost an hour later, I told the nurse to get the midwife, because I was going to start pushing with or without her. I couldn't wait. I gave Mom and the Husband baby-catching tips, just in case. Another midwife came in (shift change, again) and I started to push. Again, going against my birth vision, they insisted I use "directed pushing" (like you see on TV: hold your breath and push while they count to 10), but the midwife explained the reasoning and again, necessary. Sigh. I pushed for awhile, feeling ineffective. I needed to focus the pushing better. I asked for a sheet, using the towel trick or "Tug of War" with the squat bar and that combined with being able to see my progress in the mirror really helped. At one point when the baby's head was resting in the bottom of the birth canal, I said "THIS REALLY HURTS" which apparently was no suprise to the others in the room. I fell asleep between contractions, exhausted. Finally his head appeared and stayed visible. I knew we were there, and that overrode everything else. A few good pushes and this would be over. And it was. Griffin emerged healthy and strong, with his dark curls and perfectly shaped head, for a vaginal birth. My mother cut the cord. So that's the birth story. I can't tell you all the lessons I learned during those hours, it would double this post. I wish there were a way to see the what-if's - what if I'd waited until the next week to come in, what if we'd tried the other drug, even with its risks, what if I'd done more or less of one thing or another. But I rest in the knowledge that I did all I could do to get what was best for all of us. I avoided the surgery, I did what I could. I gained new appreciation for the Husband. And I had a perfect little boy. The End - no, the Beginning . . .

Jami and a New Beginning

If I were to take a page from EDW's book and title posts with lyrics, this one would be "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end". Yes, this is another post about my recent birth-giving and I'm not going to apologize for that and the several more that will probably follow. It's sorta the biggest thing going on in my life at the moment. On the way to the hospital, I had plenty of conflicting emotions. One of the biggest was that as tired as I was of the pregnancy and all the stresses, hardships and just plain stupid pregnancy stuff that went with it, I felt sad knowing this was the end (or, at least the beginning of the end, since I didn't know at the time that my labor would last approximately 7 million hours. Okay, only about 59, but still. Felt like 7 million.) I thought of the above lyric in the car, as we drove down Rt. 88 - the end of the pregnancy, the beginning of Finn. And before that, the end of my body being totally mine, the beginning of my pregnancy. Knowing from having Eddie that the end of each stage is so bittersweet and that they come so blindingly fast. I sort of miss having him in there. Don't get me wrong, since I was released from my stupid eating restrictions the moment he came out, I loved being not pregnant. I love holding him and hearing his little noises, his soft newborn hair and skin. I love staring at his perfect tiny face and admiring the many, many different expressions he makes. And of course, rolling over in the night, not peeing every 36 minutes, all the stuff that makes it great to not be pregnant. But I do miss the feeling of knowing he was in there. I miss the relief of getting kicked even though I didn't like how it felt. I miss the anticipation of his impending arrival and the excuse to swan about a little. And I think of how I'll miss this stage so soon from now. I'll miss him being tiny and totally dependant. I'll miss newborn smell and funny noises and him fitting in one arm, but I have to remind myself at that stage to enjoy the things I'll miss when that new beginning is at its end. Time moving forward only is so unfair. Can't I keep this moment? Save it and come visit it next year? And in 50 years?

Jami Howls at the Concrete Moon

I have, throughout this pregnancy, complained a bit. Some jokingingly, some less so. Because really, isn't pregnancy a time when you should get to be a diva? I am growing new life and therefore it should be all about me. To some extent, when I'm complaining in the not-so-funny way, I have a twinge of guilt. Yes, I know that there are people who would be thrilled to have the problems I'm having because that would mean they are about to be parents. Yes, the problems I've had so far have been non-life-threatening for both me and little Gurgle here. But you know what, I'm still going to complain because frankly, I'm having a tough time and I want to. If you haven't been with me through the whole thing, here's my brief recap - because I had miscarried some time ago, I was on pins and needles until my first ultrasound. Oh wait - first I had the doctor who didn't want to see me right away, who then told me that I couldn't have an u/s until 12 weeks, even though I was "high risk" (meaning I'll be 35 before my due date) and have already had a miscarriage. So then I switch to the midwives, get what I think is a date for an u/s to see the heartbeat, and spend two weeks holding my breath - only to find out that they won't be doing it that day, just had an appointment to meet the midwives so they could order an u/s for me. AHHH! Then they wanted me to wait another week, which caused my first major freakout, and they got me scheduled for a few days later. Then, I got the u/s and saw the heartbeat, yay, but also got the results of my bloodwork that the pregnancy was aggravating my thyroid which meant - more tests, medication and regular blood draws. Still, I took this in stride. That's when the extreme fatigue, nasal congestion, breast pain and aversions hit me. All *normal* pregnancy symptoms but overall made me less than pleasant, I'll admit. The fatigue never faded, the congestions just grows worse, the aversions didn't go all the way away, but at least my breast pain subsided, just in time for some "round ligament pain". Another normal, but majorly uncomfortable symptom. you know when an athlete tears a ligament and is out of the game for awhile? Just have one stretch in a very inconvenient place and where you can't really "rest" it. Sigh. Oh, and about that same time, my skin went CRAZY - I have so much oil on my face I'm afraid to get close to candles. I look like the teenage boy in the Simpsons. I wash my face twice a day, use the oxy I haven't bought since high school and blot with those little papers constantly, not that it helps. AND I started growing a HAIR on my NECK - eeeeewwwww!!!! Then we add the constant peeing - only about every, I don't know, 19 minutes it seems like. Okay, it's not quite that bad, but I rarely get more than 2 hours sleep in a row because I wake up feeling like I'm about to burst. Add to this the fact that the baby's favorite activity is KICKING my bladder. Next time you really, really have to pee, have someone poke you repeatedly in the bladder. That's what it's like. Not hard, just not nice. Of course, most recently was the gestational diabetes. I'm not even going to start on that particular hell, except to note that my fingers are all slightly blue and I can't wait to eat like a normal person again. Then when the humidity and heat finally kicked in, my ankles and feet decided to swell. It looks gross and the skin on my feet starts to feel nice and tight, like when you have a sunburn. Last week, I noticed a little piece of skin growing sort of randomly on my leg. I asked the midwife, who checked it out - it's a "skin tag" which is basically harmless, but gross looking and again "a perfectly normal symptom of pregnancy". You know what? I've had more than enough perfectly normal symptoms of this pregnancy. Today I had an ultrasound where the baby measured a little big. Of course, those things are not 100% and IMO, means very little. So the doctor that I have to see because of my other stupid complications wants to do an amniocentesis and induce pretty soon - which pretty much goes against every thing I want for this birth. It's the last straw, I feel like. I'm screaming inside. It's not fair - I did everything right. I ate right, I exercised. I read all the books, I did my freaking Kegels!!!! I lost weight and got into better eating habits before I was pregnant. I stayed off caffeine through the WHOLE FIRST TRIMESTER. And I can't even go one stinking week without developing some new just-south-of-horrible problem! All I wanted was a healthy baby boy. It doesn't seem like that should be that much to ask. I didn't expect a perfect fun pregnancy, but I wish I could feel like I enjoyed it for a solid week, you know? That I could look back on this time like "wasn't it neat? Wasn't it fun and exciting?" Maybe I still will, but here, mired here in the middle, I just can't and that makes me saddest of all.

Jami Gestates with Diabetes

So, apparently I'm borderline for gestational diabetes ("GD" to us hip mommies) or I have GD or I could have it, the medical personnel have not been entirely clear with me on this particular point, but it boils down to, right now I have to stab my fingers four times a day and follow a sort of specific "eating plan, we don't like to say diet" to ensure that my baby doesn't grow at a billion times the normal rate and explode out of me in the fashion of that little guy in Aliens. Or at least this is what I gather will happen from the doomsayers warning me not to ever even look at a cookie. Anyhow, let's start by admitting that I did not handle this entire thing with the quiet dignity you have all come to expect from me. In the sense that I flipped out on a nutritionist to the extent she went to get back up. But I did calm down enough to read the pamphlet she so helpfully provided and frankly, there are parts of this that I just have to call "shenanigans" on. My favoritest part of the pamphlet is that one one side it says "This is a great chance to get your whole family to learn healthier eating habits." Sounds great, right? I'm all for that. On the next page is the list of things to add to any meal if you're not feeling full. While the pamphlet notes that the saturated fats are "less healthy" the list includes: -bacon -mayonnaise -butter -cream -gravy -salad dressing -oil The nutritionist, who - let's face it - may have been thrown by my overreaction, even drew a helpful "UP" arrow by this list, to remind me that if I don't feel full, I have options. Now, I'm trying to teach my son to eat a variety of healthy foods. And it's snack time. Let's see, I don't feel full, so I can have . . a banana? Oops, no, that's not good, it's two "carb choices" and i can only have 1 for a snack. Yogurt? No, two and half choices. Hmmm, oh - here we go, a pound of bacon with some mayo on it? Yup! Good snacking choice. Somehow I don't feel that I am modeling the type of healthy eating habits I want him to learn. For breakfast, I've been eating Cheerios or Special K with fruit and skim milk. WRONG!!!! Why not just slam a few beers, from the perspective of my eating plan. Instead I should have 2 eggs, sausage, no milk or juice, and if I insist on having a slice of wheat toast, at least put some peanut butter on that. Hmmm. Yes, that sounds healthier. Shenanigans!!

Jami Thought She Felt Squished

And here's the proof (the second one): http://www.umm.edu/pregnancy/000088.htm All I have to say to that is "AAAAAAAHHHHHH!" and it's only getting worse. Did you see the 40 weeks?? The organs are like GONE. I need some of those, I'm pretty sure. To live! This is one of the most inefficient and uncomfortable processes I've ever been part of and I've worked with government agencies!!

Jami and Music to Birth By

Okay, so I got the new laptop finally all synched up and happy with iTunes and Stanley. I've got a few months until this baby's lease is up and I'll have to evict him, so I'm thinking about a few playlists which I might enjoy while turning my body inside out. I'll accept suggestions for: 1. Faster paced, pep-me-up kind of songs for when I need a little motivation to keep moving 2. Soothing music for when I am resting, or need to be calmed. 3. Tunes with a nice steady beat for walking the halls. Thoughts?

Jami Goes On About Maternity Fashion

You know what I think? That when it's in the upper 80s or higher with approximately a bazillion percent humidity (or so it felt like yesterday, not being a meteorologist, I can't be sure), it should be socially acceptable and even considered attractive for pregnant women to wear whatever they want, wherever they want. And I mean anything. A headpiece with a working sprinkler system, a wet sheet, nothing but some slumber-party-style frozen underwear and a few ice packs, anything that is comfortable. To a grocery store, state of the union address, funeral, wherever. If it's not air-conditioned (and I guess most state of the union addresses are, but if not), you wear whatever keeps you from feeling like you're going to throw up and die from the heat. I have to say I have renewed respect for women in tropical climates who procreate. Sure, there are cultures where it's fine to be naked, but there are just as many places where you have to wear full body coverings, and in those places, you should get a medal for being pregnant and dressed.

Jami Vs. The Frills

I'm pretty much in maternity clothes at this point. Sure, I can still wear a few of my bigger t-shirts, and two pair of PJ pants where the elastic had already been wearing out, but in general, I'm in the Mommy-to-be-wear. I didn't want to go buying a whole new wardrobe for the next few months, being that I'm poor and all, so I begged, borrowed and FreeCycled as much as I could get. This means that I mostly didn't pick out my own stuff. And I've noticed a disturbing trend in the tops - frills around the collar. I cannot for the life of me figure out why so many maternity clothes insist on putting a big bow or hunk of lace or perky ruffle right on top, especially for us big girls. My chest is already preceding me into rooms and other zip codes, I don't need to add a big flounce to it. If you somehow missed my huge boobs riding this big ol' belly, is the frou-frou somehow going to clarify it for you? Maybe the thinking is that you're heavier than usual and you want to look feminine. Let me tell you, bub, ain't nothing MORE feminine that being with child. In fact, that's pretty much the definition of "female" - the one that pops out the kids. I assume this is also why so many of the clothes are or include pink. If I'm pregnant, I'm a girl. And I happen to be a girl who isn't crazy about pink. I can't really complain, because I've spent less than $30 total on maternity wear. Maybe if I'd put the money and effort into searching out and buying my own stuff, I'd find plenty of un-frilly, non-pink clothes. But still - hey designers -less frills. Less pink. And how about a maternity bra with built-in air conditioner? Just saying.

Jami Presents: Motherhood, a Tour of Public Restrooms, in Three Acts

One of the parts of motherhood that I don't recall anyone mentioning to me in advance is the extensive knowledge of local restrooms one gains. This happens in three stages: Stage 1: Preggo Mommy Must Pee Now - here I am 6 months into this fantastic adventure called pregnancy and one of the fun little side effects is that I have to pee approximately every 17 minutes, or more if I've been anywhere near any beverage in the past day. This means, that when running errands, I get to go at every single establishment I visit, sometimes more than once. Friends' houses, church, WalMart, library, port-a-john at the park, you name it. If I've been there in the last two months, I can tell you where the ladies' room is. Stage 2: If You're Away From Home, Your Infant Will Poo - the second exciting part of this tour of the loos in the one in which you discover which establishments provide changing tables with bad planning (I'm talking to you, Olive Garden where putting down the table blocks the main door), which has nice ones, which has icky, broken or scary ones, and which has no changing place at all, not counting the floor. Your diaper-wearing angel possesses an innate sense of when is least convenient for changes and chooses those moments to explode. You think I'm joking. Just wait. You'll also learn that you should have packed one more diaper, and forgetting the wipes is more terrifying and disgusting than any horror movie you've ever seen. Stage 3: Potting Training Means Lurking - finally, you think you're through the horrors of extended potty time. You are wrong. Now, you have several new fun activities. Some children refuse to use any unfamiliar potty, meaning that you'll end up with about a bazillion accidents or not leaving the house. Others insist on trying every possible toilet existing in the universe, so you'll be back to the "If I've been there, I know where the bathroom is" Added to these are the exiting additions of Fear of the Self Flusher (these terrify toddlers more than Santa, Costumed Characters and the Boogie Man combined), I Can't Reach the Sink (trying holding a kid and the kind of faucets that have to be held to be on, and using soap, and actually washing), Lurking While He/She Poops (because nothing makes you feel more like a criminal than standing around outside a stall saying "are you done now? Can Mommy PLEASE come in?"), Stalls Are Too Little for Two, and my personal favorite, Announcing to Strangers ("I'm pooping! There's two poops! Mommy is going to pee pee after we flush . . AAHHHHHH IT'S FLUSHING BY ITSELF!!!!!" ) My son also has wandered out of the bathrooms with his behind hanging out of the back of his pants, because he pulled up the front and that's good enough for him. At Giant Eagle, he ran out of the bathroom, pants down, screaming the first time that the autoflusher caught him off guard. Ah motherhood. Nothing like it.

Jami Nests

I definitely am feeling the nesting urge now. You may remember a few months ago when I attempted to permanently injure myself and trap Eddie and me upstairs by moving a computer desk. Lately, I've been itching to finish switching Eddie's room and the play room. To do that, I have to move the file cabinet in Eddie's room anywhere else. (By that I mean, the Husband has to move it). But to where? Well, the best option seems to be into one of our large closets, which would be fine, except that they are filled with the stuff I haven't put in the attic. Which is there because for the last 11 years, I've been pretty much randomly tossing things into the attic with the idea that we would never fill this giant open space. But, as of about a year ago, it was so stuffed with junk that going up there required a map, machete and Sherpa. So I spent this morning reorganizing the attic. I've thrown out: - computer box from the computer that died about 5 years ago. -all the boxes from the shower gifts from Eddie's baby shower. (My original plan had been to store all the things he grew out of in their original boxes. This is like trying to store Jello in the original envelope after you've made it.) -my text books from college classes that I no longer remember taking. -an estimated 5 million amazon.com boxes. -a box of Christmas cards, unused, with no envelopes. -10ish ripped, dirty or otherwise unusable gift-bags -5 cords from unknown appliances. -instruction books to 3 things we no longer have. I brought down from the attic: - a cute pair of sandals put there for no apparent reason -a small box of McDonalds toys that kept Eddie quiet for over an hour ("Look, Eddie! New toys!") -three giant garbage bags of stuffed animals, mine from my childhood. I had always planned to use them to decorate my kids' nursery. Then, I worried they'd be too dirty for a baby, now I realize the last thing we need is more toys. They are going to FreeCycle. -a box of seashell, starfish and sand dollars collected over many trips to Florida, also being FreeCycled -My last unopened wedding shower gift!!! Only 14 years after the shower . . . a box of tupperware knock-offs I put away for when my original set wore out/got lost. And forgot. But now, I have all bowls, no lids, so I'll be pitching them and using my wedding tupperware. Still quite a bit to go, but man, you can see the back of the attic there.

Jami Speaks On Behalf of the Preggos

Part of my job as a doula is advocating for mommies-to-be. So, on behalf of every pregnant woman in the world, allow me offer the follow suggestions, by which I mean - learn these rules before we revolt and attack. 1. Stop telling pregnant women labor horror stories!!!! Long before I was all knocked up, this was still one of my pet peeves. "Oh, you're pregnant and happy about it? Let me tell you how horrible it's going to get . . ." Stop it right now!! I don't care if you died in childbirth and your dead grandpa and his 16 cousins told you to spread the word, don't you dare scare another woman in this condition. Just because it sucked for you doesn't mean it's going to be anything like that for anyone else, so keep your tales of terror to yourself. 2. Don't make fun, even gentle, loving teasing, of a pregnant woman's weight gain. The only exception to this rule is if you are saying something along the lines of "even pregnant, you're skinnier than me". I couldn't believe the number of women who have had a friend, relative or coworker call them "fatty", "tubby" or some sort of large animal. Even healthy, slender women get touchy about the pregnancy weight, and with the raging hormones, you don't want to risk causing one of us rhinos to charge. 3. Remember that the following things are none of your darn business.

• If the pregnancy was an "accident" - geez- why do you care, were you monitoring my sex life? Even if the woman is single, or has 5 kids already, or both don't assume she didn't mean to get into that situation.
• How much weight I've gained, see #2.
• How I'm going to deliver. I'm glad you loved your epidural, or went all-natural. It's great that you liked the tub or your doctor or whatever, and I don't mind your opinion, but if I'm doing it different, don't argue with me. I have plenty of strong opinions, but if you tell me that you're going to give birth in the middle of the highway on horseback, I'll wish you well.
• I can have an occasional small glass of wine. So if you see me sipping it, back off. You don't know if it's really wine, or if it's the one glass I'm having to celebrate my anniversary, or if my doctor told me to have a glass to calm braxton-hicks contractions so zip your lip and toast with me to the baby.

4. I know, so don't remind me. I mentioned this on Facebook, but if you missed it - pregnant women who will be pregnant over the summer are aware that they will be pregnant and that the weather will be hot. I am seriously shocked by the people who say something like "Did you realize you're going to be pregnant in the hottest part of the year?" No, really?? I mean, I knew I was due in September, but I had no idea that means I'll be pregnant from now until then! AND - people say things like "that was bad planning" as though the main reason to get pregnant is so that you'll be comfortable. Sigh. Also, I know I'm going to get bigger, have swollen ankle, and be tired. No need to let me know it's coming, believe me, all us preggos know that.

5. If you know me personally, then you may ask to touch my belly. AFTER I start showing. So, that means, - don't touch without asking, ever. Don't ask if I don't know your name. Don't ask when I'm 8 weeks along. Seriously, I had someone rub my belly at 12 weeks. At this point you're just squeezing my fat, and I don't need that.

Jami is Getting Top Heavy

So, my center of gravity has shifted, just a bit. Enough that I occasionally start to tip faster than expected when I'm leaning forward. My expanding belly? Partially, but more than that . . I'm going to stop here for a moment to recommend that my dad (and anyone else who doesn't want to hear about my expanding bra size) go read some other page. Might I suggest the News of the Weird? Back to our story. I'd lost some weight before getting myself into this predicament and had gone down a bra size as well. The first pregnancy symptom I had was the boob pain. Followed by the fact that I wasn't fitting in the smaller bras. A friend gave me some maternity bras in the next size up that she'd bought, but had been too small for her- still had the tags. They were fantastic - for about two weeks. Then I outgrew those. The discomfort got so intense I literally got to the point I couldn't take it, and said to the Husband, "Dinner will be late. I'm going out to by a new bra. Right now." And left. I considered asking someone if I could pay for them and then wear one home. I thought about trying to change in the parking lot, but they did have video surveillance ("Tonight, on Stupidest Customers, the Briefly Topless Pregnant Lady . . . ..") Arriving home from the store, I immediately changed and I am sure you heard the sigh of relief, wherever you live. It's probably what caused that weird shift in a weather a few weeks ago, remember? Yup. Life was grand . . . Except now I am already bursting outof the top of those. I'm about to run out of the sizes they sell in stores. I'm looking at two options 1. Mail Order or 2. Hire two midgets to walk around under them and hold them up. THEN a good friend of mine informs me that they really take off once you get your milk in. If that's true, at that point, I'm going to need an engineer to design a support, and some sort of government-funded program to help me stand up. Seriously. Even my MOM was laughing at me yesterday. Sigh. I promise, from here on out, no more discussions of my boobs. Unless something really funny happens. But let's hope not.

Jami Wants to Share

Maybe it's because it's past my bedtime, or maybe it's just that I am a sucker for alliteration, but I have to share this product I stumbled across with you: the Hooter Hider I love that it's called the Hooter Hider as much as I love the fact that it looks like you're wearing half a shower curtain. Discreet? Sure, in that you can't see the baby or the boobies. But not in the sense that someone is going to not notice you're doing something unusual. This sort of screams "Don't stare! I'm breastfeeding here!" And it's one of those things where people aren't going to be sure what to look at. La, la, I don't notice your new fabric covered appliance. I'm not saying it's a bad idea or even that I would never use it. Hey, I'm all for the breastfeeding, and if this makes it work for you, more power to you. I just mostly like saying Hooter Hider. Also, I love this baby straight jacket, with matching hat. Wish it came in 3T. Hooter Hider!!

Jami is Hunk of Burning Something

So the Husband is laughing at me right now. Why? Because in describing the heartburn I am currently experiencing, I used the word "legendary" and explained that "this is the kind of heartburn they write songs about". You know, if they wrote songs about heartburn. But honestly, it's not even heartburn, it's torso-burn. I feel it in my hips and shoulders. I have never in my life had heartburn this bad. I could power a small village. And the thing is, it's "just part of pregnancy". Do you KNOW all the "little side effects" of pregnancy? Here are the bazillion or so symptoms of pregnancy women experience some or all of:

• nausea
• heartburn
• sleeplessness
• fatigue
• cravings
• aversions (normal foods/smells making you ill)
• headaches
• cramps
• increase mucus
• congestion
• constipation
• diarrhea (yes, both)
• flatulence
• high blood pressure
• increased urination
• round ligament pain
• increased sensitivity to smells
• dry skin
• acne
• breast pain
• back pain
• ringing in ears
• water retention
• nightmares
• bloating
• That's all I can think of right now, but I'm sure there's more.

Seriously - all this and we choose to get pregnant (mostly)?? And you can't even drink when you're experiencing all of this? Of course, these symptoms only last the 40 weeks . . .

Jami's Latest Poorly Planned Idea

This was written about a week and a half ago, and apparently I forgot to actually post it . .. Sigh. You know what doesn't go well together? Pregnancy-insanity hormones and furniture moving. You see, for the past several months, I've been trying to swap Eddie's bedroom and playroom. The playroom (now) is the bigger of the two and I'm not spending another winter cooped up in the smaller room. For the longest time, my biggest impediment to completing the switch was our computer desk. Large and unused, it's taken up a nice portion of that room for quite some time. Once we started using the laptop exclusively and our old PC finally quit on us, it's been sitting around collecting random objects that had no better place to go. And it's too heavy for me to move. I attempted to dismantle it, only to find that it's really not set up for easy take-apart. So, I removed several of the shelves, basically everything that I could with a normal screwdriver, and carried all those pieces to the front porch - we intended to sell or donate it (note: see yesterday's post). Then I stood in Eddie's new bedroom, pondering the behemoth which has been taunting me with its presence. I pushed it a little. Hmm, you know, without the shelves and the keyboard thing, it's really not that heavy, overall. I'm strong. I do Wii Fit. Yes, I didn't do any for the first oh, let's say 10 weeks I was pregnant, but overall, I can move it. You might think you know where this is headed. You don't. So I huff and I puff and I shove that thing out into the hall. Good enough. Eddie occasionally emerges from the playroom to take stock of what I'm doing, then darts back in. He's smart, that one. Now it rests at the top of the stairs. We have the three-steps, then a landing, then a bunch more steps set up. I know I can't lift it down the steps, even the three. I'm not totally deluded. But I've gotten it this far, right? So I devise a plan to slid it down the first set of stairs. Plan #1 ends in failure, with me pinned precariously between the window and the desk. Not good. I get it back up and try plan B. This is much more successful and before you know it, I've got the thing perched at the top of the stairs. And now, I've got a new problem. See, the way I got it there involved me sliding it down the steps using my weight to slow it from behind. But I'm not foolhardy enough to attempt that with the larger stair case. And the desk is pretty much blocking the stairs. I've trapped us upstairs. I really didn't want to call the Husband and explain that I'd managed to trap his wife and child upstairs and could he come home and free us? I did manage to shove it back to the wall so we could escape. Then I decided to await the Husband's regularly scheduled arrival and he would help. Even better, my father showed up to drop off something for us. Eddie desperately wanted to show off his bunk beds to his beloved Pop, so I had to admit the predicament to him, and he helped me remove the offending desk. Whew. And all because my nesting urge was screaming that the desk had to go.

Jami Solves the Energy Crisis

Dear President Obama, I know you're awfully busy right now, plenty going on in the world, and I'd like to help you out. See, I have the idea that will end our dependence on foreign oil forever. At the moment, I'm 11 weeks pregnant, and I'm on several "birth boards", have several pregnant friends, and of course, plenty of friends who have been pregnant. And it seems, once we all start talking about the ups-and-downs of this particular condition that we have found a totally renewable energy source. Pregnant lady flatulation. Embarrassing, yes, but apparently very, very abundant. The nicest, most polite girl I know told me that yesterday she ripped one so heinous that her tough-guy husband fled the room. Now, the problem that you'll need to throw some money at here is the harvesting. As a group, we are not the most pleasant and/or cooperative ladies - as you might know, the hormone roller coaster comes along with the tooting, making us a stinky, angry bunch at times. However, as long as women continue to get ourselves into this predicament, the supply will never run out. I'm not asking for money for this fabulous idea, but I would like some sort of recognition, perhaps a medal. Thank you. Jami

Jami Vs the Krakorian Death Virus

So, Jami, drop a bomb on us and disappear? Not my intent, believe me. Know what's worse than being sick? Being sick and pregnant. Can't fight the way I normally would. I had some sort of evil alien Death Flu and my normal weapons (NyQuil, Mike's Hard Lemonade, Extreme-hot showers, even McDonalds Double Cheeseburgers) were all off of the table. The cheeseburgers because my pregnant belly decided that all solid foods were the enemy. So I suffered and moaned and spent lots of quality time in the bathroom and my bed. I'm in recovery, thanks to Gatorade, Tylenol and relatives who kept Captain Chaos busy so I could nap and vomit in peace. I intend to get back to the blogging, once I've had an entire day of eating and not feeling weak and sick. On a much sadder note, my heart and prayers go out to my brother and sister-in-law, who are suffering a loss of a pregnancy. Those of you who are praying folk, please keep them in your prayers as they grieve. They are a model of strength and faith even in this and I know that God will bless them even in this tragedy.

Jami Has Been a Little Preoccupied

And here's why, first this . . . But we didn't want to say anything until we saw this: We're calling him Shrimpy Boy at the moment, because we are hoping for a boy and he's, well, sorta shaped like a prawn, you know? But I'm sure we'll have a better name by September 28th. What's even better? My brother and his wife are ALSO expecting, due October 2! Gonna be some interesting beach pictures this summer at the family vacation.