New Years Eve 2008

I'll have a hard time making 2009 as eventful as 2008. This year I bought a house, got pregnant, and gave birth for the second time. It was also a big year for William, who celebrated his first birthday, first haircut, first big boy bed, and grew from a baby to a little man with an ever-expanding vocabulary. I look forward to more milestones for him, and to celebrating the same ones over again with his sister, Jadzia.

Tonight we rang in the New Year at 10 pm (the city of Burlington being ahead of the rest of the world) with a 50s-themed evening culminating in a very nice fireworks display. We had to leave the fireworks early because her royal highness began screaming indicating that she was cold or hungry or freaked out by the loud noises, or whatever else might bother a newborn.

Now I'm off to ring in the New Year for real, by watching the ball drop on television. Happy New Year!

My little girl is becoming a woman

Jadzia's umbilical cord fell off today.

The worst labour, the best labour, the best Christmas present ever.

So even though I was in labour I got in as much Christmasing as I could, opening presents at my parents' place, then going over to my in-laws for their traditional Christmas eve dinner. At around 6, I decided it was time to high-tail it to the hospital. I'd been having contractions since the morning before and by this time I would describe them as intense, bordering on unbearable.

But at the hospital, the nurse did a poke-in-the-vagina test and said that I was only three centimetres, and they won't even admit people until they are at least four centimetres. No!!!!!! The nurse then suggested I wander around the hospital for an hour to get my cervix to open up.

I took a walk in the hall with my husband. Since it was Christmas eve, Santa Claus appeared and gave us candy canes. I should have asked him for an epidural, the only present I really wanted. Every three seconds (it seemed) I had to stop walking and hold onto my husband to handle my intense (but only 3-centimetres intense) pain.

We went back and another nurse poked my vagina and told me I was still only three centimetres and should go home. I burst into tears. The nurse then attempted to make me feel better by telling me what a big wimp I am. Apparently, these were actually "pretty mild" contractions and if I were in "good labour" my belly would be as hard as a rock and I would be in so much pain I wouldn't be able to talk. Call me a wuss, but I wanted an epidural before that happened.

I went home, had a bath, beared the unbearable contractions. My husband told me I wasn't a wimp, and that he was proud of me. I talked to my friend Becca on the phone, who told me that being a wimp makes me a better Mom. She also suggested I ask the hospital to prescribe me a sleeping pill. So I called the hospital and begged them to give me something. Based on the fact that I could still talk on the phone, the nurse didn't think that I was in pain enough, but tried to humour me by telling me to come back in to be vagina-poked again.

We went back to the hospital, where I puked all over the parking lot and wet my pants (pregnant women have no bladder control). I didn't mind too much because I thought this would earn me brownie points with the vagina-pokers who hold the key to the epidural. The nurse didn't seem to care about my wet pants and vomit breath, but when she poked my vagina this time I was between 4 and 5 centimetres. HA!

She admitted me and casually asked if I wanted an epidural. I wanted an epidural three hours ago!!!!! So after the epidural guy's coffee break (or whereever he was), I got some needles in my spine and my pain went away. It was midnight, and I really wanted to sleep. I wasn't feeling pain anymore, but I was shaking all over even though I wasn't cold. Not to mention the fact that I now had more tubes coming out of me than a borg drone. Anyway I couldn't seem to doze off.

Christmas morning, the nurse poked my vagina again and found that I was fully dialated, which is code for show time! She and Adam helped me hold my legs up to do a "practice push" but she quickly made me stop because she saw the head and I wasn't allowed to really give birth until my doctor was there. After my doctor did arrive, I was able to pop the baby out (along with some gross-looking life-giving juices) in hardly any time at all. Jadzia Victoria, my beautiful baby girl, was born at 5:15 am Christmas morning. She's the best Christmas present ever (though I've never had one that was quite so difficult to unwrap).

I only spent one night in the hospital (I would have left earlier except they needed some of Jadzia's newborn blood for their vampires). So now, instead of being a wimp, I look like a super-strong woman for being up and about such a short time after giving birth. So there!

Its a Girl - Merry Christmas

At 5:15 am this morning (Christmas Day, Dec 25th 2008)
Jadzia was born (pronunced jahd-ZEE-ah)

7 lbs 7 oz

mom and baby are doing well :)

she's a beauty

Let the games begin

Yesterday, after William's bedtime drama, my head hit the pillow and I started having contractions. I didn't wake up Adam. At least, not intentionally. I read somewhere that the way you tell the difference between the El Fake-o Braxton Hicks contractions and real ones is that you can get rid of Braxton Hicks by changing positions. So I was moving around a lot. They seemed real, and were coming about every ten minutes. By morning, though, they had mysteriously disappeared.

I happened to have a doctor's appointment and told him all about my magic disappearing labour. He did his poke-in-the-vagina test and confirmed that I was 90% effaced and 2-centimetres dialated. In other words, I had not imagined it.

So I convinced Adam to stay home (although not much convincing was needed the day before Christmas). The doctor sent me to the hospital to do a non-stress test, which is where they hook my belly up to some monitors, like they're giving the baby a lie detector test. Then they gave me some juice and a jeopardy-style button to press whenever she moved. She's the most laid-back baby in history. We were there for 45-minutes (or 6 bucks and change parking), and she only moved when me and the nurse were poking at my belly. Anyway she passed the test, not a stressed out baby.

William stayed at my parents' house while we painted the town, going out for lunch, and then to a movie. My contractions started up again, but not with any consistancy. First they'd be ten minutes apart, then maybe 9, then 15, then I'd go an hour without feeling anything.

Today is Christmas Eve, and no baby has made an appearance. According to my stop-watch-keeper husband, my contractions are now six and a half minutes apart (I've had three while writing this blog entry).

My guess is my daughter's birthday will be today or tomorrow. It might be annoying to have your birthday overshadowed by Christmas, but I feel absolved of all guilt. She could have come at the beginning of December, she could have come in early January. Instead, she chose the biggest consumer holiday of the year.

Merry Christmas.

Bed time wars, D-day

While I had pretty much given up ever getting a full night's sleep in my own bed, my husband Adam was all gung-ho to try the "Super Nanny" technique of gettting a toddler to sleep by himself. For those of you who haven't watched any of the many nanny-themed reality shows, this involves putting the child back in bed everytime he gets up, never giving into his demands that Mommy or Daddy lay with him(and William can be very demanding). It also involves a lot of crying and very little actual sleep.

William woke up around 2am, wanting one of his human teddy-bears. Adam went in first and began super-nannying. I tried to stay asleep, but there was much wailing from the other room. Then it was my turn. I'm no good at the drill-sargeant-ness required of a super nanny. I'm more of a coach: "I know you can do this William", "I'll be right in the next room", "You're a big boy now, you can sleep in the big boy bed", "I know it's hard but I believe in you."

After several hours of tag-teaming. Adam got bed up and started threatening to make William sleep on the floor if he didn't choose to stay in bed. I thought this was a ridiculous technique, and said so. On my turn, I noticed that William was now asking me to sit on the edge of his bed, when previously he had demanded that I lay down on his pillow. Progress!

By about 5:30, William was clearly exhausted and a lot less vocal. Although he did become a bit chatty, telling me all about his night-light and the colours it was turning. At this point, Adam suggested calling it a night and bringing William to bed with us, since he seemed very awake. NO! said I. I almost got him to sleep, but it took one more Adam turn for our son to crash, at 6 am.

And of course he still woke up normal-time at 8 am.

Adventures at the Doctor's

This morning I had an appointment at 11 to see my baby doctor. Normally on Fridays there's an Early Years drop-in at the church right near my doctor's office. My plan was to go there, hang out a few hours, then head to my appointment.

So William and Adam and I got into the car. My husband actually enjoys driving in the snow, so the snow storm was no big deal for us. Of course the Early Years drop-in was cancelled due to inclement weather. No worries, most of my doctor's patients had also cancelled and I was able to get my appointment in at 9:30 instead of 11. So far, so good.

As we were leaving, Adam went out ahead so he could pull up the car and we wouldn't have to walk in the blowing snow. William didn't understand why Daddy was going ahead, so he stood by the door, and kept pressing the wheelchair button and trying to make a break for it. Somehow, in doing this, he got his middle finger stuck in the door. The heavy metal door had closed completely on his tiny finger before I was able to release it.

If you're going to get hurt, the doctor's office is the place to do it. I immediately went to the pharmacist and explained the situation. They gave me an ice pack (which William refused to even touch) and advised me to get the finger checked out at the walk-in. The walk-in sent me upstairs to see our family doctor. The family doctor made us wait, with a screaming toddler, in the exam room for about a half-hour.

The doctor told us a bunch of obvious things like "put ice on it" and "give him tylenol" then gave us some tylenol and sent us back downstairs to get an x-ray.

William wasn't really interested in waiting in yet another waiting room (especially since this one had no toys). Luckily, the tylenol started to kick in and his finger, which now looked like a small sausage, didn't appear to be bothering him as much.

Adam took William into the x-ray room, where they were apparently all decked out in led coats and bibs. I wasn't there because all pregnant bellies are banished from the x-ray room. William got a teddy bear sticker and a disk with his x-ray pics on it to show the doctor. Back upstairs we went, where the doc confirmed that William's finger was not broken. Hurray!

We left the doctor's office (finally) and made it home for just after noon, about the time we would have made it home if we'd kept my original appointment.

Snow Angels

Hanging out outside when both of us are getting over a cold may not be the best idea, but how could I resist all that freshly fallen snow? William wasn't nearly as impressed with the weather as I was and wanted to go back inside after only five minutes. Just enough time for me to create my first (and most likely last) snow angel of the season.

Now, who will take care of me??

When my baby was sick, I lay down with him, I gave him hugs, I cuddled him, I took him to the doctor, I gave him medicine. Now he's well enough to whip toys at the tv, to rummage through the freezer, and to find and play with all the most dangerous items in the kitchen drawers. Meanwhile, my brain has liquified and is coming out through my nose.

With Any Luck

Since I haven't posted in almost a week, I'm sure some of you have assumed that I'm in the hospital pushing out a kid. No such luck. However, with only eight days to go, I'm looking for signs that the luck of the universe is on my side.

William has been suffering a pretty bad cold the past few days. So bad, in fact, that the only way he could sleep last night was if I slept the entire night beside him in his car bed (had to be me, because I'm the Mommy, Daddy doesn't have magic mommy powers). Luckily, my husband opted to make William a full sized twin, rather than a toddler-sized bed.

Still, a sick child is bad luck, but this morning I had some related good luck. I had a prenatal appointment and was going to take Mr. William to the walk-in at the same time, before I went I called our family doctor (same building as my preggers doc) on the slim chance that I could get William an appointment. Not only did they actually give me an appointment, but they gave me one a half-hour after mine!

Unluckily, William and I were both called in at around the same time and my Dad had to take William in. William has an ear-infection (surprise, surprise).

Luckily, my doctor says the baby's head has dropped lower than it was last week. Unluckily, he says I probably have at least another week to go.

Luckily, I remembered to buy diapers. I bought a crossword scratch ticket while I was there, to look for further signs of luck. I lost but, if only I'd had the letters H, N, R, and Y, I would have won 50 thousand dollars.

Luckily William fell asleep in the car, and actually stayed asleep when I put him in bed. Unluckily, he just woke up, just now.

Luckily, the Cleavage anthology, which has my story in it, just got a good review which mentions my piece in particular as one that young girls can relate to.

So with any luck, if you add up all this bad and good luck, carry the one, we should see a baby girl sometime before Christmas.

Santa Photo 2008

While William still isn't thrilled to meet the big guy in red, he didn't cry this time. However, I did have to hold him prisoner on my lap, making this year's Santa photo a family photo:


For more amusing Santa antics, here's a video of the event:


Listen carefully, at the end when William is playing with the ornaments, I say "Sweetie, Santa doesn't want you to touch his balls." Oops! Afterwards Santa told me I made his day with that line.

Preggers Photos

I think we're well overdue for some preggers photos, so here are some that were taken today:

And, as a bonus, something we can never have too many of, a cute picture of William:

Isn't it wonderful that what fits in my belly one day, will soon become an independent little human? Just call me a cuteness factory.

How to make a pregnant woman uncomfortable (and hopefully put her in labour).

On Sunday my family (plus sister-in-law Eireann) went to the zoo. If you've ever been to the Toronto Zoo, you know that it involves a lot of walking. If you've ever been in the middle of winter, than you're just as crazy as I am. As a rule, if you're eight and a half months pregnant, and it's really cold out, you probably shouldn't spend the day at the zoo. Having said that, I thoroughly enjoyed myself, especially with Eireann there as an extra toddler-chaser.

The next day, as Adam was leaving for work, he casually announced that our cordless phones weren't working and I needed to plug in a land line. Once he had left, I began to panic. I didn't know where the corded phone was. What if I went into labour? What if I had some other emergency for which e-mail was too slow? Unfortunately, the phone was where I thought it was: in the crawl space. As the name suggests, the crawl space is a space that can only be accessed by crawling (or bending over at an odd angle). Ours takes up half the basement and is, especially for someone in my delicate condition, a back-pain-inducing nightmare. I totally blamed my husband for making me do this. I'm going to go into labour right here, thought I, won't Adam feel bad then! After I plugged in the phone, I decided I was going to totally overwork myself and put myself into labour, just to show him! So I put away one load of laundry, then got tired and lazy and went on the computer.

Today, to add to Sunday's excessive walking, I went to the mall with William's good friend Aedan and his family (Aedan's parents have been my friends since kindergarten). The good thing about toddler-malling with a gang is that there are plenty of toddler chasers. And of course, in my delicate condition, it's perfectly acceptable for me to walk at a leisurely pace, while others take on the task of running after my son (who has only two speeds: sprinting and dead stop).

After all this walking and crawling and walking, I now feel excessively pregnant. My gigantic uterus is sore. It hurts when I walk, stand up, or when a certain toddler takes flying leaps at my belly. When I was pregnant with William, I didn't feel like this until after my due date, fairly close to the time I was induced. At the time I blamed my doctor for doing a membrane sweep and bruising my insides. Now I have noone to blame but myself.

My friend Becca (Aedan's mommy) recently directed me to a site that boasted "Jump start your labour cookies". When I mentioned this to my Mom, she said "Ahh! Don't do that. If something is wrong with the baby you'll never know if that was why." However, having very low hopes that a cookie recipe (one that contains no cocaine or pharmaceuticals) will have any effect, and taking my current discomfort as a sign that labour is imminent, I made them anyway. They're basically ginger cookies with a little cayenne pepper in them to make them spicey. So if I do go into labour in the next 24 hours, I'll totally credit my baking (or, you know, the hours and hours of walking in the last few days.)