More kids, less sanity

Twas the night before the C-section and not a creature was stirring (well except for the incessant whining about binkies and how hot it is)

The blankies and breast pumps were hung with care with hopes that boy junior would soon be there.

Alright nevermind. This isn't working with miss run around naked and throw crap all over the house. 3 year olds aren't very patient.

We had another kid. Here's some pictures:

Us on the way to the C-section. My job is to carry shoes and look fit. 

Baby boy = 9 pounds, 2.5 ounces. 20 inches long. 

30% larger than sister at this point. 100% less name than sister at this point. So far his name is Junior, Vinny, Michael, Frank (the tank), Richie, Raymond, Andrew, Alex, Sam, Tiberius, Germanicus,  and possibly James.

I like Frank or Tiberius. Wife likes Michael and Richie. I expect she'll win.

Happy? (crazy?) family.

Big sister giving a kiss. Didn't have the picture of big sister trying to rip his nipples off.

A Day Out With Thomas

I could regale you with stories of the Africa-hotness that has enveloped the Northwest, but I will spare you.  Suffice it to say, that we are hot and pretty cranky.  The fans are a-blowin', the sun is a-shinin' and we are a-sweatin'.  'Nuff said.  Moving on.

Two weeks ago, we paid a visit to "Tidmouth" (actually the Northwest Railway Museum) for a visit with Thomas The Tank Engine.

A good time was had by all, but especially by our little train enthusiast.  She even added another train to her menagerie - Henry, The Green Engine.  She calls him, "Baby Henry." 

Katie picked out a "special dress" to wear for Thomas.

She was totally the girliest Thomas fan in the joint.

Here are Katie and I posing with one of Katie's favorite engines - Emily.

"Sometimes trains can be loud.  Just like motorcycles and fireworks."

"Here we go!"

"Bye, Thomas!"

A Word About Poop

"Vomitous."

I am scared to put this in writing as I am a firm believer in The Jinx Factor, but I believe that Katie is potty-trained.

She's been going to use the potty on her own (with only occasional prompting) for about a week or so.  Which is all well and good.

She can sit, do her business, wipe, and put her undies/pants back on.  She frequently forgets to wash her hands, but I can deal with that.

What I can't deal with is poop ON and not IN the potty.  Hence the word "vomitous" at the beginning of the entry.

Katie has decided that it is easier for her to poop when she hovers her butt above the kiddy potty.  This means that she misses and the poop lands on the seat and then she falls backwards and sits in it.

It's happened twice so far and each time I have had to clean it I have dry heaved.

This is the most horrible thing ever and a great excuse to start the phase out of the kiddy potties.

I guess I should be happy that I have been aware of the mess before she pulled up her pants and that is has not landed on the floor.

Today, Katie took up about a quarter of my 38 week appt. talking to the doctor about her "Baby Brother."  She explained that I spent a lot of time being upside down trying to get "Baby Brother" to turn, because his feet should be there and his head should be here, etc. etc.

Everything is normal as far as I am concerned.  There was a little excitement when we thought that the baby had flipped, but it turned out the large hard lump felt towards the bottom of my uterus was "Baby Brother's" butt.  He's still breech and measuring @ 39 weeks.

The section is scheduled for next Thursday.  I've signed the consent forms and asked all my questions.  The doc says they will check one more time, in pre-op, to make sure he has not turned.  I'm not holding my breath.

At lunch today, Katie offered me an "Apple Pie Sandwich."  She made it herself.  Two slices of buttered toast with apple slices in between them, sandwich style.  She wanted me to eat it.  Somehow I was able to distract her and not have to take a bite.  One of these times, distracting will not work and I will be forced to try some of her whacky creations.  I wonder why she always offers these things to us to eat and never takes a nibble of her own? 

Right Turn, Clyde

It's funny what you will put yourself through in order to NOT have to put yourself through major abdominal surgery......again.

It's also funny that I have tried all of this stuff, some of it repeatedly, and none of it is working.

Ha.  Ha.  Ha.

We've got ourselves one stubborn chubba baby on our hands.  That does not bode well for the future......

Let's run through a few techniques designed to help you turn your baby.  Special thanks to spinningbabies.com for the pics.

First we've got this lovely position.  The "Open Knee Chest" position.  Really easy to do and actually quite comfortable.  You're supposed to do this for 20 minutes a few times a day, when baby is active.  This position also helps non-breech babies get into position for birth. 

The Results: Every time I do this one, Katie leaps on my back for a horsie ride around the room.

Next, we have what is called the "Breech tilt."  The thinking behind this is that your baby is smooshed up at the top of your uterus and hopefully tucks his chin to his chest and begins to slide forward.  When you right yourself, gravity pulls him down into a somersault.  This move also pulls the baby out of your pelvis for more room to move.  Again, do this a couple of times a day for 20 minutes or more.

The Results:  A pretty good sized headache....every time.

Now this extreme maneuver is called the "Inversion."  Same strategy as the "Breech Tilt."  You only do this one for 30 seconds to a minute.

The Results:  I feel really, really stupid and fat.

There are other things you can do in addition to all this positioning jazz.  You can use light, music and/or heat or cold to try to get the baby to move.  Let me explain.  Babies @ 37 weeks can see and hear.  You can take a flashlight and shine it on your belly dragging it down towards your pelvis in hopes the baby will follow.  You can have people talk or play music down at your pelvis in the hopes that baby will get curious and move on down.  You can take a cold bag of peas and lay it on your belly where his head is.  Then you put a warm pak on your lower belly.  Yeah, you read that right.  Then he gets colds and wants to move where it's warm.

You can go swimming and do handstands.  Same theory as "breech tilt" and "inversion."  Sigh.  I haven't tried this one yet.

Then there is chiropractic and acupuncture.  

I have avoided having chiro done since my rugby days and I just refuse to break down now.  I know some people swear by it, I just think it's crazy.  I especially don't want anyone "adjusting" me with a baby lodged in my pelvis.  No way.  I guess they can soften up the ligaments to allow the baby to turn by using some technique called the "Webster Technique".  I just can't bring myself to try it.

That leads me to acupuncture.  I figured, "What the hell?  The pins ain't gonna hurt baby.  They would just hurt me."  So, I went for it.

Let me just say that acupuncture is NOT for me.  I am just too skeptical of these types of things. I think that acupuncture must work the same way as positive thinking or prayer must work in matters of health.  If you BELIEVE it will work, it kinda does for you.  I guess they call that the placebo effect?  Something about the power of the brain to make you feel better.

Well, you must need a lot of that in acupuncture.  'Cause I didn't really feel any different walking out as I did walking in.  Except that I felt like I had engaged in some, like, totally deep, like, hippy type shit.  Far out, man.

The practitioner was really nice.  She was a calm and very granola presence.  She began by inserting a few pins (or are they called needles) to help me relax.  Three in my scalp, one between my boobs, and then one on each wrist.  There was an initial poke feeling but then I didn't really feel them anymore.  I mean, I was conscious of them being there, but I couldn't feel them.

Then she asked to look at my tongue.  I opened my mouth and she asked if I was sleeping okay. I said, "No" out loud, but was silently thinking, "Um.  Duh.  I'm nine frickin' months preggo. How do you think I'm sleeping?!  Not at all.  I'm up every hour to pee.  I've got a head stuck up in my ribcage.  Dude.  Seriously?"

Next came the moxabustion treatment.  There's a point on the outside of your little toe that releases qi in your pelvic area/uterus.  This allows your body to relax and open that area and might possibly allow the baby to turn if in breech or if you are already in labor to stimulate contractions to get stronger.

The treatment goes like this:  get stick of moxa, heat the end till glowing red, place moxa near pressure point, heat a few seconds, pull away when too hot, continue switching toes for 20 minutes.  This treatment should also be performed at home one or two times a day for 20 minutes, with someone's help.

I felt baby move a little bit.  Honestly, he moves more at home when I'm trying to get to sleep.

I tried to administer the moxa to myself yesterday, but it's not quite as effective and I felt like I was going to accidently burn my toe off or something.  So, I stopped.  I also began to think how ridiculous I felt doing it.  I'm sure that is NOT helping.

The Results:  I left the place smelling like I had partook of the world's largest doobie.  That moxa stuff smells just like pot.

And so the quest to turn marches on.  

It seems that every time baby is moving like crazy and I should be getting myself into one of the whacky positions, I'm busy doing something.  

I just don't have the time to flip myself upside down or burn my pinky toe three times a day for twenty minutes.  I've got laundry to do, I've got a dramatic 3 year old, I've got a huzbend I would like to communicate with, etc.

The doc and acupuncturist have told me that if the baby turns on his own, then it's just fine.  He just did it a little late.  If he doesn't turn, there is probably a reason.  Either he's too big or there is something stopping him.  It could be that the cord is not in a good position and it would be dangerous for him to turn.  

He'll turn if HE wants too, is kinda what it comes down too.

Then I start thinking about the word "surgery."  

Me no likey, but me must follow da baby's lead.

It's up to you, senor.

Numbers

I've come to realize that life is all about numbers.  

You've got your phone number, your social security number, your house number, your monthly income, the number of dogs you have, the number of vehicles you have, the number of kids....and so on and so on.

My life this past couple of months has been swirling with numbers.  Mostly percentages of things. 

Let me throw some at you:

About 30% - The percentage of all Mom's nowadays that deliver via c-section in the United States.  The recommended World Health Organization level is 10-15%.

About 50% - The percentage of women who try a VBAC and succeed.

.5% - The percentage risk of a uterine rupture during VBAC.

13% - The percentage of Mom's who's water breaks before labor begins such as happened to me when Katie was born.

1.3% - The percentage of the U.S. general population who have a diagnosed peanut allergy.

Here are some that I've learned about in just the past three days:

"In the 95th Percentile" - The current weight of the baby sitting in my uterus.  About 7 and a half pounds.

3% to 4% - The percentage of babies that remain in the breech position past the 36 week mark.

22% - The percentage chance of a spontaneous move to the head-down position after 37 weeks by said baby.

Take a look at this:

This is what our little man is doing RIGHT NOW.  This is called the "frank breech" position.  I'm not sure why they call it that.  Maybe 'cause he's showin' off his 'frank and beans' to the world?  Don't know.

All I know is that he is breech.  He might be stuck there.  Docs won't manually turn him because of my previous c-section and risk of uterine rupture.  Docs won't let him come out the normal way due to issues with his size and chance of the cord getting pinched and cutting off blood and oxygen.

Either I get him to turn myself in the next two and a half weeks or he comes out the "easy way". Well, for him that is.  It'll be C-section City.  I was really hoping that it wouldn't come to that. Did not like the first one.  Will most likely not enjoy the second one either.

This section will be better than the first, I'm sure.  I know what to expect, I won't be completely hopped up on all sorts of drugs, and I know that I'll have a chubby, hairy, big footed (all mentioned in my u/s) baby to hug at the end. 

Oh yeah.  I just thought of another thing.  Maybe one day he can take his in-uterine skills and put them to good use:

OLYMPIC GOLD, BAYBEEEEE!

Loud Stuff

What a nice, albeit HOT, weekend.  Sigh.  I wish that it didn't have to end, like, ever.

July 3rd was spent visiting a park so we could take a "hike".  I have to put "hike" in parentheses because our definition of a hike has had to be altered to appease our almost three year old.  No longer do we hike on trail systems to scenic overlooks or mountain tops.  Our "hikes" now have to be three things: flat, short and end at either a beach or a playground.

So, this trip was a dream come true for Katie.  We started at a beach, took a "hike" to a playground and then turned around and "hiked" back to the beach again.

I have to say, at 36 weeks along, I like the new definition of "hike".  It was just enough for me, thank you very much.

Taking a break for snacks on our "hike".

Destination: Playground.

We once again walked in the Children's Parade portion of our local Fourth of July parade.

We live about two miles away from the parade start and for the past two years have walked down and back.  This year was to be no different.  That is, until we started walking.

I think we made it about a quarter of a mile before I started to get out of breath and sweat profusely.  It was hot and was only going to get hotter as the day went on.  I looked at Huzbend and he looked at me.  "This is stupid...." he said and then he ran back and got the truck.  Do you know that he wasn't even sweaty when he pulled up to pick us up.  What the hell?  Is he human?

I picked up some some Dum-Dum lollipops to throw out to the little kids on the side of the road during the parade.  It seems that a little someone had other ideas about what should be done with the candy......

Freedom = The Right To Enjoy A Cotton Candy Flavored Lollipop

Okay, so Katie didn't walk the parade route this year.  I did.  

She got off easy this year and bagged a ride 

aboard her friend Logan's sweet ridin' wagon.

  

After the Children's Parade the REAL parade began.   We sat to watch as Huzbend forced water down my throat to make sure I stayed hydrated.  There were the requisite fancy cars, police motorcycles, corny floats, and fire trucks.  Katie, once again, did not enjoy the noise of the sirens.

"When a loud noise comes, then you can cover your ears."

And then something horrible happened.  

The Revolutionary soldiers marched up and stopped right in front of us.  They decided to battle the Brits marching ahead of them.  Muskets exploded and Katie absolutely freaked out.  Even though both she and Huzbend were covering her ears she began to scream uncontrollably like SHE was being shot with the muskets.  It was awful.

It took quite a bit to calm her down after that and we decided to make an exit before the SeaFair Pirates and their huge-ass exploding cannon came down the road.  

During our escape, we dropped Katie's little American flag somewhere along the way and realizing it was gone she flipped out and cried all the way to the truck.  Ugh.

Needless to say, we decided against attending a fireworks display.  I felt horrible guilty about it. She's three and has never seen a fireworks display.  What kind of horrible Mom am I?  Was I sheltering her too much?  Was I denying her something?

Then, the fireworks started to explode outside her window.  Class C fireworks are legal in our city, which means at dusk the sky goes wild.  Katie watched the fireworks and was SO excited about them.  She was jumping up and down and saying things such as, "Oooooooooo, did you see that one?  That one was purple!".  

She even wanted to show the fireworks her feet for some reason.  Weird.  I know.

"Firecrackers go bang, bang, bang!"

I felt even worse seeing her so excited.  Then, I realized, that her window was closed.  I asked her if I could open it so she could hear the fireworks explode.  She agreed.  As soon as I opened the window, she put her hands over her ears.  After a few minutes, she asked me to shut the window as the fireworks, "were too loud and I think that if they are too loud that I might cry."

Maybe next year we can try a big fireworks show.  We'll just have to invest in a nice pair of ear plugs or noise-deadening ear phones.