In Which the Speck Arrives

Today we got a baby!  It is weird--one minute you're just there and the next minute someone says, "Hey, here's this baby and it's yours!"  But enough about that for now.  Here's a summary of how it all came about and, of course, a plethora of pictures.

Last Thursday at my weekly doctor's appointment (with my favorite tennis-ball-pulverizing Dr. D) we found out the Speck was breech--meaning his head was up instead of down, which is how it should be.  So, we scheduled a version--a procedure where doctors manually turn the baby from the outside--for the following Tuesday and were told that if he couldn't be turned then they would do a c-section that day.  I was not really ever planning or expecting to have a c-section so we spent the weekend hoping he would turn.   

Monday morning (my birthday!) we had a false alarm that had us at the hospital for a couple of hours and we learned that he was adamantly breech.  So come Tuesday morning, at the early hour of 5:30 we headed to the hospital again for the version.

 Last picture of the Speck's spacious estate.

 Last picture before, well, everything after.

Long story short, he could not and would not be turned!  Such a stubborn Speck!  They wound up putting in an epidural before trying to turn him and man, they were aggressive (they meaning two doctors working together).  So aggressive that I threw up after.  So!  It was off to the chamber of c-sections.  At this point, I have to confess, it was kind of a relief because if he had turned, I would have been induced and not been able to eat for HOURS.  (Although I STILL didn't get to eat for hours because my lunch tray was misplaced.)

So official!

So totally out of it!

Once in the OR with my unresponsive legs and lower-torso, a lot of things happened and most of them I could not really see.  Partly because they confiscated my glasses and partly because I was trying to sleep the whole time.  Yes.  I was just so completely tired, it was ridiculous!  Then, all of a sudden, I heard something about feet and just a moment later there was a baby in the world, wailing for all to hear.  Drew cried.  I tried to keep my eyes open.

And so there he was, our little Speck, out and about in the world for real and no longer taking up my internal real estate.  He cried and cried and cried and I laid there like O.o for a while.  The doctors discovered that his cord was wrapped between his legs and around his chest, which sounds painful, and that was the reason he couldn't be turned.  That's what you get for doing ever so many flips, flops and rolls, my little man!  Anyway, Drew got some pictures and eventually they brought him over to see me and I was like O.o  And then they sewed me up and I threw up again.  Throwing up laying down?  Not pretty.
 

 

(These were both before I had throw up all in my hair...)

After that I eventually went back to my room and stuff happened.  But enough about that!  Here's the fun stats: he weighs 8 pounds, 15 ounces--not exactly tiny.  We weren't too surprised that he was over 8, as we were both larger babies, but even so he was bigger than I expected.  He's also 20 inches long and has long fingers and rather wild fingernails.  But the biggest surprise was all the dark hair!  I expected a bald baby, with maybe some little blond wisps but with two dark-haired grandpas I guess there was always the chance for dark hair.  Wacky!

This was the part of the bath he enjoyed most.

I did post his name on Facebook (his middle name is Drew's), but I haven't really wanted to use it on my blog.  For now, I will call him the CAG or maybe the Speck or maybe Baby or maybe Hey You Little Man.  I should also say that Drew has been such a nice husbandman throughout the day's events.  He's been so helpful and supportive and has already changed the first diaper.  I couldn't have done it without him!
 

 Awwww.  Drewbles couldn't be happier!

 Drew's parents came by for a visit and brought treats I am looking forward to eating.

  So much hair!  I guess all that heartburn was not for naught.

 Sleepy.

 Hurray!  Jell-o lunch at last!

And that is essentially how the Speck entered the world.  So far everything is going just fine, and though his birthing was not what I anticipated, this is how it happened and I don't think he could have gotten out any other way being so tangled in his cord.  Maybe next time?  Wait, let's not talk about next time just yet.  We're happy enough with the Speck.

Speckier and Speckier

I should say Speckiless and Speckiless, since the Speck is constantly becoming less of a Speck and more of a regular-sized tiny person.  He is almost 2 pounds!  Which means he accounts for a very, very small percentage of the extra padding I have these days...

ANYway, lately I have been thinking that I've hardly documented any part of this experience thus far, and maybe in the future I would regret that.  Maybe one day the Speck will read this blog and say, "You blogged about Gatorade flavors and not me??" and I will say, "Ah, the self-centeredness of youth."  I digress. Here are some recent happs:

--We bought a crib!  This was one of the easiest things to pick out and basically went like this: I found one I liked.  Drew objected to its lack of "masculinity."  I found one a little more manly.  Then we ordered it.  (We don't actually HAVE it yet)  I wound up ordering a white one because, since we aren't buying a set, it's a lot easier to match white furniture with white furniture, rather than all the shades of "espresso."  I look forward to cleaning fingerprints off it all the time.

--We (almost) bought a car seat and stroller!  This one involved a lot more mental agonizing and wringing of hands.  But in the end, we just test drove a couple at Babies r Us and there was a clear winner.  We'll order them both as the time gets closer since strollers are not nearly as cute as cribs when they're sitting around your house useless for months. 

--The Speck thumps me all day long.  I think he is systematically checking for weaknesses.  (He remembers...)

--As for me, I haven't been sick in weeks (hurray!), though just about every morning at 10:00 I feel horrible.  Sometimes it lasts ten minutes, sometimes a half hour and rarely it will last for longer.  I don't know why this happens. 

--I'm still always hungry.  I generally only feel gross if I haven't eaten for a while.

--In the morning, I feel like I have a soccer ball under my shirt.  By the time I go to bed it feels like a beach ball.  

--I try to exercise to even out the whole "always hungry" thing, and while it doesn't seem to help that at ALL, it does feel nice anyway.  It's too cold to do anything outside, but I do my Pilates for 20 minutes, four days a week (Monday is always a bust).  I am constantly amazed at how bendy the instructor is, and I am constantly amused at how she mixes up her words but goes for it anyway ("long string long"?).  I also use this little portable biking contraption a couple times a week.

--In general, I feel pretty much fine most of the time.  I'm still waiting to experience some of that supposed increased energy of the second trimester, but I suppose going to bed at 10:30 instead of 9:00 is an improvement.  Maybe my karma finally kicked in because so far I seem to have avoided a lot of the more annoying symptoms.  I don't want to say what they are because there's no wood to knock on...

--I DO still have my stuffy nose and I DO sneeze bloody snot all over myself at least once a day.  If I'm really lucky, I sneeze all over my clothes too.

--Speaking of clothes, I could live in these pants, and from about 5:30 on, I DO live in these pants.  Except when I wear these pants instead.  They are great pants, whether you are growing a human or not.  To sum up: pants.

--Speaking of pants, I finally bought some maternity jeans.  They are precious to me.

--Last point: I should give Drewbles some public credit for being such a nice fellow.  He spent several months eating (and making) mac and cheese for dinner and never getting to go anywhere except for Saturday mornings.  He doesn't complain no matter how many House Hunters episodes we watch or that I make him rub my feet all the time.  Basically, he never complains about anything and instead does whatever I whine about tell him.  I mean, he is always like that, but these days there's more he COULD complain about and I tell him to do a lot more things.  If I had a time machine I would go back to my teenage years when I would occasionally make one of those silly "qualities I want in a husband" lists and say "Hey, you dumb teenager, add willingness to that dumb list and stop being dumb."  Luckily it all worked out okay since he IS willing.  Nice husband.

So there you have it, Speck.  Your life right now consists of rolling around and hitting me, while mine consists of sneezing and turning into a butterball and your once and future papa dotes upon us both (and still sometimes makes mac and cheese).

Regarding the Speck

I wrote a whole post about this yesterday and then decided it sounded too whiny (probably because I was whiny yesterday).  Ohhhh, growing a human is hard?  Who knew??  Oh yeah, everyone.  Boo hoo hoo for me.  

But seriously...it IS hard.  In some ways I expected, some ways not (though expecting a thing doesn't always make it easier to deal with).  Overall, I'm probably in the middle of the pack as far as symptoms go--not as bad as some, worse than others.  But since my discomfort means more to me than those some and others, that perspective was only helpful sometimes.

I have long had this secret belief/hope/expectation that all that (Irma-related) throwing up I did earlier in life meant that I would be exempt from it when it came to growing babies.  This...was not true at all.  Probably I should have assumed that because I threw up so much from Irma, I was even more likely to throw up now.  Apparently it's some kind of talent?  Go me?

But as uncomfortable and frustrating as the process can be, it is really amazing that this how new creatures are made.  And I mean that very generally (hence "creatures"), for all mammals.  I can sit here, twiddling my thumbs and my body will be, like, putting genes together and building kidneys with absolutely no conscious thought on my part.  Isn't that wild?  But it's also a good thing because my knowledge of genes can be summed up with "genes exist and are important."

It does make me wonder if there are mama bunnies out there with swollen ankles and food aversions. 

Of course, not every body can do this as readily or easily as others do.  Sometimes you have to get tennis balls and endometriosis and cysts taken out first.  Sometimes you have to do a lot more.  So, you, my friends who are still working on growing your own babies, I haven't forgotten you and I think of you often.  Success (and babies) will be yours one day--I really, truly have no doubt about that.
 
But back to this particular human I'm subconsciously growing.  I have been feeling him squirm around for a few weeks now, and yesterday I even SAW his pokes and prods.  So strange!  It's weird to me, still, that there's a person in there and one day in the future they'll be asking me if dinner is ready YET.  (And then, since the Speck is a boy, he will proceed to eat my share of dinner too and ask when there will be second dinner)

The whole boy thing makes me a *little* nervous.  But then I remember that I build awesome train tracks, and I already know the theme song to Thomas the Train, and I think dinosaurs are rad.  So we should be set.  One day, after he eats all my dinner, we'll watch Jurassic Park together. 

I also have to admit that one of my first thoughts was that I'm going to peed on!  I know, a terrible thought--after all there's NO bodily fluid worse than pee, right? (...)  I think I'm latching on to this fear because it's easier to deal with than my fear that I HAVE NO IDEA OF HOW TO CARE FOR A NEWLING INFANT.  (Or an oldling infant for that matter)  Luckily Drewbles has plenty of experience because I'm pretty sure I will resort to standing over yonder and just poking the thing with a stick.  

Eep.

(I also worry that I'm going to lose my bum. D:)

It seems unfair to write all this about the Speck and not show a single picture of him.  Here he is, hungry as always!  (Always, always, always hungry.  Oh wait, that's me.)

Well.  Here's to just over the halfway point!  I can only hope it's all downhill from here...hah!  I'll settle for less vomity.  

The Tennis Ball: An Update

The post title is a little misleading because it's not as though the Tennis Ball is up to anything. It's not even up to, you know, existing. But I finally had my follow up appointment with Dr. D. last week and thought the news was worth recording. So here is the final chapter in the Tennis Ball Saga. I like to call it The Tennis Ball Saga: Full Color.

The most exciting part of the appointment was that I finally got to see the photos Drew saw a month ago. It's a strange thing to see the actual insides of your own body. It looks so straightforward in a medical diagram but really it's just a bunch of squishy things squished next to other squishy things.

But what you're all REALLY wondering is what the heck did this Tennis Ball look like? Right? Well. I'm sorry to say I don't have copies of the photos. But here's a little recreation I whipped up in Photoshop:
You knew that was coming! Here's the real deal:Pink, shiny, veiny. It reminded me very much of a slightly deflated balloon, and Dr. D. said it almost as large as the actual uterus. But it's no more and apparently the removal was very straightforward and simple. Even though I never felt it I have since realized it would sometimes be squashing my bladder. Yep. Unsquashed Bladder: the unexpected side effect of being Tennis Ball-free. And hopefully this is the last time my bladder comes up in a public venue.

AHEM.

Another photo I saw was of the endometriosis creeping all over an ovary. It looked like chocolate sauce, to be honest, but you'll just have to imagine that one--I draw the line on medical illustrations at fibroids. So, they removed all that, but he suspects there's more elsewhere in the region, and that it is most likely the real culprit in preventing offspring thus far. Just as a brief explanation of endometriosis is, it's when cells from the uterine lining (the endometrium) grow outside the uterus, which leads to various problems. The cause is unknown so there's no real cure either, and it's more about management. I can't say the news was a terrible surprise, and it won't be to anyone else who has known me through my younger years. Dr. D. thinks either my symptoms haven't been too bad or I just have a high pain tolerance. I'm not really sure either, not having been in anyone else's body for comparison, but I would say I have an Advil-assisted pain tolerance. Oh, Advil, how I love you and your sweet, sweet medicine.

Did I mention they found some cysts too? Of course! Those are gone now too.

So, that's just kind of what's going on now. No more tennis ball. Also no more surgical glue (hurray!). Just me and the endo. And Drewbles. Two out of three isn't too bad, eh?

In Which I Have No Tennis Ball

And now for the final act...the Tennis Ball's last stand.

But first I have two things to say. 1) No one need feel bad for not knowing about any part of this saga. We kept it under our hats. 2) Thanks for the well wishes! They were much appreciated.

Back to the Tennis Ball.

Tuesday dawned very early so that we could be to the hospital at 6 AM. We waited for a bit then I was sent off to get my blood drawn. Let me state for the record that I had my blood taken a number of times in January and never had a single problem. Sometimes I even watched the needle go in just to be tough. This time I got all hot and dizzy by the third vial and had to crumple up in the chair so I wouldn't pass out. After I dry heaved a little I felt all better.

The rest of the morning was much less eventful. In fact, I will break it down into the events that transpired, chronologically:

1) Nurse Jose walked in on my half-dressed self.
2) I put on Hospital Socks so my freshly painted red toenails went unappreciated.
3) I camped out in the pre-surgery area for a long time.
4) Nurse Jake made two attempts to get my IV in.
5) They took my glasses.

I mention my glasses because it meant that I never actually SAW the tiny robot hands in the room. I didn't see much at all except for blurry, blue-ish people wandering around a blurry room. Once I was on the table Nurse Jake told me to take some "yoga breaths" into the mask and I'm pretty sure I was out mid-courtesy laugh.

Can I just say how disorienting it is to wake up in a different place, in a different position with no memory of how you got there and without a brain capable of understanding anything? Well, it is. I have no idea how long I was in the recovery room, but at some point the nurse asked if I wanted to go see my husband and I said "Yeeeahhhhhhhh."

Off I went back to my room, falling asleep along the way. I am delighted to say that I had the mental capacity to follow through with my one goal for the day, and that was to make my first words to Drew be "What happened about me?" I DID IT.

And now for the medical information portion of this story. I actually never saw the doctor after the surgery, but he gave Drew the scoop whilst I was busy being passed out. Drew even got to see pictures of the Tennis Ball! I'm so jealous. I'm hoping I get to see them at the follow up appointment. It seems unfair that so many people have seen my innards and yet I am not one of those people.

Oh, back to the medical stuff. Essentially, they made three smallish incisions and the Tennis Ball was taken out without a hitch. They also found a bit of endometriosis on one ovary (why does it feel so TMI to write the word "ovary"?) and snipped that off as well. Who knew, right? It's strange to think that so many things can be going on in your body without your knowledge. Thank goodness for tiny robot hands. Oh, and those doctors.

I spent most of the afternoon doing this:
I also spent some time lying on the bathroom floor because I thought I would pass out in there. There is no picture of that.

But here are some pictures of the prizes I got:

The sponsors of "How to Survive Wednesday"

At long, long, long last! And not a trace of...whatever that new one is called (that's a legitimate brain freeze)

I wish I had got a picture of these at the hospital when they were in better spirits. Hydrangeas are so lovely and so fickle.

Flowers from work. Thanks, work!

And thus the end of the saga. I have since named my snip snapped abdomen Tummy Tummisimo, and it appears to be healing up fine. It seemed weird to post a picture of the snip snaps, but if you would like to see how it all looks, I will happily email it. Who WOULDN'T want to see my stomach, right!?!?

In Which I Send the Tennis Ball Off in Style

I mean, it's the least I could do after...hmm...well, never mind that. Anyway, here's how the ol' Tennis Ball and I are spending the night:

Stopping at the library to stock up on reading material
Eating a lot of delicious Indian food
(In case you're wondering--we had Chicken Tikka Masala, Lamb with mushrooms, garlic naan, regular naan and cucumber Raita...so good)

Watching some Daria
Playing some Harry Potter
Having this fellow wait on my every whim (you're doing great at it, fellow!)
I hope you've enjoyed your night, Tennis Ball, because you aren't getting Indian food and snuggles where you're going.

In Which I Expound on a Tennis Ball

Disclaimer: Hopefully this blog post does not sound blithe. I'm not blithe about it per se, but I prefer to write about it with a certain degree of blitheness. It's a skill I learned from Gilbert Blythe. Oops, there's that blitheness.

Once upon a time, at the start of 2012, I was with child, but spoiler: I'm not anymore. I'm not saying that to get pity or whatever (though of course I won't turn down pity)--it was very early and it's just one of those things that happens. But it does play a pivotal role in the rest of the story so there it is.

So back in the early days of 2012 (ie, January 3), I was at home with Drewbles. I'd started bleeding the day before and it was getting worse the next day so we decided to get a professional opinion on the situation. We tried one place, then another and were finally sent to the ER, which makes this story sound much more urgent that it really was. It's much more dull when you know that insurance coverage and a lack of certain equipment was the blame.

And so began my first foray into the ER. It mostly consisted of Drew and me sitting there talking about how we had been sitting there forever. But in the process of our stay, which lasted several hours, they did a *ahem* quite invasive ultrasound and the doctor casually announced there was "a mass." After which he proceeded to leave and never return. Thanks, doctor!

The doctor arranged to send us to a nearby women's clinic two days later so they could pilfer some more of my blood. He also set up an appointment with another doctor, who turned out to be totally MIA the day of the appointment. Thanks, doctor!

Luckily one of the nurses came to talk to us and actually was interested in the mass! Thanks, nurse! So what was that mass? A uterine fibroid. (Fibroid=a benign growth) Can you guess how big it is? Yep, it's the size of a tennis ball. Just a fleshy mass the size of a tennis ball all up in my bidness.

By the by, I don't recommend doing a google search for pictures of fibroids.

It was another few days before we could meet with a third doctor, who actually exists AND was very helpful. He confirmed the miscarriage and we talked a long time about this fibroid. Since they're benign, doctors often will just leave them if they aren't causing any symptoms. But given the size of mine and the possibility that it is squishing my baby-making vitals, the doctor said it would be best to take it out. He also said there's a chance it could be an ovarian cyst, which means I could wind up one short in that department. BUT we'll be optimistic and stick with the fibroid theory. So this is what is going to happen this Tuesday:

Just imagine that penny is a tennis ball. Okay, so maybe that isn't *exactly* how the surgery will go. Actually the best part about this whole thing (besides having the tennis ball removed, I suppose) is what will actually be doing all the work:
Tiny robot hands! That may not be the official term but you get the idea. Here is how it actually all works:
The doctor sits yonder and controls the robot hands while utilizing a tiny robot camera to see the insides. In the past they removed fibroids via c-section so let's give medical science a big hurray.

So instead of having a baby AND a tennis ball, we now just have the tennis ball. Hopefully sometime we will have the one and not the other, but at any rate, come Tuesday the tennis ball will be history.