For months now Avery has been muttering dire threats regarding his beard. He's going to shave it off. He's really going to do it. He's not kidding. It has to go.
Tonight it did.
Avery strode into the bathroom and, after a lot of very purposeful-sounding buzzing, emerged with a much shorter version of the previous beard. It was Beard 2.0. I approved.
But then he went back into the bathroom. More buzzing ensued. And then... "Oh shit." He came back out sporting stubble and a look of deep concern. "I think I messed up. They're really uneven." I admit that I was only paying half-attention at this point, but I tore myself away from Jason Good's blog and turned around to get a nice long look at my newly shorn husband. Uneven? I scanned his face. Nothing seemed horribly amiss, although he did look oddly unfamiliar without his beard. I squinted at him... and then my eyes were drawn to his right hand, which was nervously petting the hair above his ear. Something was off. He could see it in my face, and asked "how bad is it?" That was when it finally dawned on me that Avery had buzzed off one of his sideburns.
I want to stop here and stress that it doesn't look that bad. Seriously. Avery is currently sitting across the living room from me and I can't even tell. But as I looked at him, fretting over his botched haircut, no comforting words sprang to mind. Of course the longer I said nothing the more horrified he looked, until finally I did the least helpful thing I could have possibly done: I laughed.
Oh boy, did I laugh. Giggles I didn't even know I was holding in came tumbling out, and with every guffaw Avery cringed, poor man. I wish I could say I was kinder in that moment, but all I did was sit in hysterics on the couch, waving my hands feebly in front of my face as if shooing away flies. I am such a catch.
Fortunately, what Avery lacks in a supportive spouse he makes up for with good looks; if anyone can pull off the one-sideburn look, he can. While I finished laughing and weeping he returned to the bathroom to touch up his handiwork with a justifiably indignant air about him. Now he's sitting in his chair listening to Eddie Izzard. I wonder if he's forgiven me yet.
Guess I'd better go find out.
"Take chances! Make mistakes! Get messy!" --Ms. Frizzle
Showing posts with label Avery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Avery. Show all posts
Monday, March 4, 2013
Friday, October 12, 2012
My Husband, Ladies and Gentlemen!
Avery: They're forecasting a ton of rain by the end of the week.
Jamaica: Really?
Avery: Yeah, they say there will be about eight inches in some places.
Jamaica: Eight inches in some places, just not here.
Avery: ...That's what she said.
Jamaica: *forehead smack*
Thank you, thank you. He'll be here all week.
Jamaica: Really?
Avery: Yeah, they say there will be about eight inches in some places.
Jamaica: Eight inches in some places, just not here.
Avery: ...That's what she said.
Jamaica: *forehead smack*
Thank you, thank you. He'll be here all week.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Conversations with a Stranger
Before you read the following blog post, know this: Avery is an amazing husband. Amazing. There are so many things he does to keep the household running that I shudder to think of what would fall through the cracks if he weren't around. Taking out the recycling, weed-whacking the lawn, paying the bills, getting the oil changed in the car, basically anything related to the inner workings of the television or computer-- these are all things that I have little to no hand in doing. Avery is helpful, thoughtful and articulate, and I can only assume that during the night he leaves his family, puts on a cape and fights crime on the streets of Yakima, because he certainly isn't in bed with me. No, during the night I share my bed with a complete stranger. Read on...
A few nights ago our family was camped out on the sandy shores of Third Beach near La Push. The four of us-- Avery, Geneva, Lavender and I-- were all squished into our tent, sardine style, with the girls between the grown-ups. As you would expect from a seven-week-old baby, Lavender was awake frequently during the night for various input and output functions (i.e. nursing and peeing). Once she woke me in darkness so complete that I had to feed her entirely by feel; there was simply no light to speak of. Having fed her, and finding that she was still fussy, I determined that she needed to be changed. I forgot where we had stashed the diapers, and rather than awaken Geneva by groping around the crowded tent in pitch blackness I decided to ask Avery where they were.
"Avery," I whispered softly. No answer. "Avery. Avery. Avery. Avery!" Unable to reach him to deliver my customary firm nudge, I whispered his name progressively louder over the course of about a minute. Finally, he stirred.
"Mrrr."
"Avery, where are the diapers?"
"Grrrm."
"Where are the diapers? Do you remember where we put them?"
"Rrrp dur cruuuun." This sounded more like words. Excellent! Now we're getting somewhere, I thought. I asked him to repeat himself.
"Up the canyon."
There was a long and confused pause. I considered the possibility that I had not asked the question that I thought I had. After all, I was tired and groggy, too. Shaking it off, I tried again, enunciating with over-the-top clarity.
"What? Ave, where... are... the... diapers?"
"Up the canyon." There was a definite tone of irritation in his voice. He rolled over as if this concluded the matter and began snoring lightly.
"Ave?" Silence. Now I was starting to get a little grumpy, too, as I held my fussing infant and listened to my tentmate spout nonsense with an air of impatience. Oh, hell no. No way was he going back to sleep now. "The diapers, Avery! The diapers! Where are the diapers?" I was hissing the word so loudly that I really don't know how Geneva didn't wake up. I think a little spit flew out of my mouth. Avery rolled back over.
"The ones we made probably all have meat on them anyway."
Meat? There was another long pause while I let that gem sink in. My mouth hung open but no words came out. A few seconds ticked by, and then the tent was filled with my baffled laughter. I was weeping, drooling, struggling to contain my giggles. Who knew homemade meat-diapers could be so amusing in those early morning hours? At least I didn't wake Geneva up that night. To be completely honest, I'm not sure I woke up anyone at all.
A few nights ago our family was camped out on the sandy shores of Third Beach near La Push. The four of us-- Avery, Geneva, Lavender and I-- were all squished into our tent, sardine style, with the girls between the grown-ups. As you would expect from a seven-week-old baby, Lavender was awake frequently during the night for various input and output functions (i.e. nursing and peeing). Once she woke me in darkness so complete that I had to feed her entirely by feel; there was simply no light to speak of. Having fed her, and finding that she was still fussy, I determined that she needed to be changed. I forgot where we had stashed the diapers, and rather than awaken Geneva by groping around the crowded tent in pitch blackness I decided to ask Avery where they were.
"Avery," I whispered softly. No answer. "Avery. Avery. Avery. Avery!" Unable to reach him to deliver my customary firm nudge, I whispered his name progressively louder over the course of about a minute. Finally, he stirred.
"Mrrr."
"Avery, where are the diapers?"
"Grrrm."
"Where are the diapers? Do you remember where we put them?"
"Rrrp dur cruuuun." This sounded more like words. Excellent! Now we're getting somewhere, I thought. I asked him to repeat himself.
"Up the canyon."
There was a long and confused pause. I considered the possibility that I had not asked the question that I thought I had. After all, I was tired and groggy, too. Shaking it off, I tried again, enunciating with over-the-top clarity.
"What? Ave, where... are... the... diapers?"
"Up the canyon." There was a definite tone of irritation in his voice. He rolled over as if this concluded the matter and began snoring lightly.
"Ave?" Silence. Now I was starting to get a little grumpy, too, as I held my fussing infant and listened to my tentmate spout nonsense with an air of impatience. Oh, hell no. No way was he going back to sleep now. "The diapers, Avery! The diapers! Where are the diapers?" I was hissing the word so loudly that I really don't know how Geneva didn't wake up. I think a little spit flew out of my mouth. Avery rolled back over.
"The ones we made probably all have meat on them anyway."
Meat? There was another long pause while I let that gem sink in. My mouth hung open but no words came out. A few seconds ticked by, and then the tent was filled with my baffled laughter. I was weeping, drooling, struggling to contain my giggles. Who knew homemade meat-diapers could be so amusing in those early morning hours? At least I didn't wake Geneva up that night. To be completely honest, I'm not sure I woke up anyone at all.
Monday, August 15, 2011
The Best Worst Song Ever
When I am shopping for produce I often break out in song. More specifically, I like to belt out the Valderi parody "broccoli, broccola, broccoli, broccola-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha..." As if this song weren't goofy enough, Geneva has created a parody song of my parody song that goes a little something like this: "Broccoli, brocco-locks, brocco-honk-honk-honk-honk." It's complete and utter nonsense, and she nearly chokes on her own laughter every time she sings it.
So, a few days after the creation of the brocco-honk song I was cuddling with Geneva during naptime and singing James Taylor's Sweet Baby James. Geneva stopped me in mid-verse and told me no, that was Daddy's song and only Daddy was supposed to sing it. "Okay," I replied, "what does Mommy sing then?" She grinned. "Broccoli, brocco-locks, brocco-honk-honk-honk-honk!"
Seriously, kid?? You're giving me Brocco-honk???
The upside is she probably meant it as a compliment.
So, a few days after the creation of the brocco-honk song I was cuddling with Geneva during naptime and singing James Taylor's Sweet Baby James. Geneva stopped me in mid-verse and told me no, that was Daddy's song and only Daddy was supposed to sing it. "Okay," I replied, "what does Mommy sing then?" She grinned. "Broccoli, brocco-locks, brocco-honk-honk-honk-honk!"
Seriously, kid?? You're giving me Brocco-honk???
The upside is she probably meant it as a compliment.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Hold Your Horses
Lately Geneva has been trying out colloquial speech-- you know, phrases that are always worded a certain way and that have some kind of special, non-literal meaning. To hold a candle to something, for instance, means something different than actually handling a candle. The nuance seems lost on Geneva, but darn it, I love that she's trying!
"Can I hold a candle?" She proceeded to get out the candles.
"Dinosaur, behold! Behold still!" Spoken to an (apparently) wiggly dinosaur.
And, my favorite...
"Mommy, I want to hold my horses." She then ran into her room and came back with her hobby horse.
The other little Zoglman girl keeps her own counsel these days, with the exception of a few choice screaming fits. Mostly she takes sweaty naps in my arms or in the wrap, coos and stares when awake, and nurses like it's going out of style (memo to Lavender: it's not). She is plump, pink, and despite my predictions her blue eyes and shock of white hair have so far stuck around. She is in many ways still a little stranger, but I couldn't love her more.
As for the grown-up Zoglmans, Avery is currently putting the finishing touches on a TV cabinet for our living room, and so far it looks great. I continue to be amazed by his ability to craft BIG things like furniture and buildings! I think I would be intimidated by the necessity of making something structurally sound, but Ave fearlessly saws and hammers away. My hero! I don't have much to add for myself here... Everybody is fed, clothed and reasonably clean, so that goes in the win column. I think I've moved away from creating and am now simply maintaining, at least for the time being. Crafty projects and major yard transformations will be waiting for me when my baby has grown, and I'm hyper-aware this time around that infancy passes in a blur. So although the logistics of my life have gotten much more complicated, my attitude has... slowed. I've learned that being still and immersing myself in this moment of my life, of my children's lives, can never be counted as wasted time. The laundry has really started to pile up. Big fat oh well; I'm busy holding my horses.
Friday, July 22, 2011
No seriously, I swear it's true!
Geneva: Daddy, want a candy please?
Me: Geneva, the candy doesn't just appear from nowhere. You get a candy when you put your pee in the toilet.
Geneva: Pee!
Me: Yes, pee. But you peed on the floor. There's no candy for that.
[pause; Geneva looks on, confused]
Me: Okay, that's kind of confusing. Just look at it this way: the potty is a magic machine for changing pee into a candy!
Thursday, July 7, 2011
It's 10PM - do you know where your toddler is?
Why yes, I do. She's in her room. Playing the harmonica.
Well, that's not true. She WAS in her room playing the harmonica about 10 minutes ago, when we told her that this was not play time, and she very sweetly climbed back into bed. Right NOW she's banging on the door asking for mommy.
Because Mommy has her harmonica.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
What's the opposite of debunking?
...Bunking, of course! And that's what we did to Geneva's room: we bunked it.
When I was two I helped my daddy put together a bed. I stabbed him in the eye with a screwdriver. Geneva refrained from inflicting injury, and was in fact a very good helper. I, on the other hand, was basically useless during the assembly of this bed. I took pictures of Geneva scattering key pieces of hardware around the room, and I don't think Avery was much amused. I'm glad he's forgiving-- and quite the handyman!
Once the mattresses had been delivered, Monkey Child spent about ninety seconds in the bottom bunk before deciding that the top was, as they say, where it's at. At nights we still require her to sleep on the bottom, but I did take a nap up on top with her once and I can see the appeal. I always wished I had a sister with whom to share a room, and bunk beds figured heavily into that fantasy. I kind of imagined it would be like a non-stop sleepover, or maybe summer camp. Geneva and Lavender will have to report back to me about the reality of room-sharing, but my guess is that like all social endeavors, sharing a small space with another person will come with its ups and downs. My advice to the girls will be this: 1) focus on the ups rather than dwelling on the downs, and 2) sorry Lavender, but Geneva technically has "dibs" on the top.
And so we've successfully transitioned our girl from crib to toddler bed to bunk. I want to say a BIG thank you to Robert and Melba, who provided the bunk frames, and to Geneva for Avery's two functioning eyeballs.
When I was two I helped my daddy put together a bed. I stabbed him in the eye with a screwdriver. Geneva refrained from inflicting injury, and was in fact a very good helper. I, on the other hand, was basically useless during the assembly of this bed. I took pictures of Geneva scattering key pieces of hardware around the room, and I don't think Avery was much amused. I'm glad he's forgiving-- and quite the handyman!
Once the mattresses had been delivered, Monkey Child spent about ninety seconds in the bottom bunk before deciding that the top was, as they say, where it's at. At nights we still require her to sleep on the bottom, but I did take a nap up on top with her once and I can see the appeal. I always wished I had a sister with whom to share a room, and bunk beds figured heavily into that fantasy. I kind of imagined it would be like a non-stop sleepover, or maybe summer camp. Geneva and Lavender will have to report back to me about the reality of room-sharing, but my guess is that like all social endeavors, sharing a small space with another person will come with its ups and downs. My advice to the girls will be this: 1) focus on the ups rather than dwelling on the downs, and 2) sorry Lavender, but Geneva technically has "dibs" on the top.
And so we've successfully transitioned our girl from crib to toddler bed to bunk. I want to say a BIG thank you to Robert and Melba, who provided the bunk frames, and to Geneva for Avery's two functioning eyeballs.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Yes, this conversation just took place...
Jamaica: I think Geneva's use of language is unusual for her age; she doesn't just name objects and items, she can describe them and tell their stories and how they relate to each other even from memory....
Geneva: PEE!!!!!!!
Friday, June 11, 2010
Workin' for the man!
Days like today are when I feel like just maybe I'm good at my job.
I started doing this case management thing 18 months ago, and today was the first time I felt certain I didn't need to worry that my clients and my organization might not just have been better served if there was someone with a bit more experience or a bit more confidence sitting in my chair, or in their kitchen for that matter.
And now, because I have no illusions that anyone checks this blog for my thoughts on work life, here's an adorable picture of Geneva!
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Transformation...
Despite the heat, our project these last few weeks has been to really get going on our yard's transformation. Although I know I'll never feel like our yard is "finished" since yards require ongoing upkeep (unless you go the lava rock route... heh), there are a few things we would like to have completed by this fall so that we can be ready in the spring. Mainly, we want to have most if not all of our new planting beds hacked out and planted, we'd like to have the shed and chicken coop constructed behind the garage, and we'd like to have the patio extension in place. Right now we're at that stage where there's no going back-- we've demolished the existing structure behind the garage and have hacked out some sod where the new beds will go-- but for the moment things look pretty gross. It's kind of fun, though, to be able to just rip stuff out if we don't like it and create something brand new, something that's ours. Ah, home ownership :)
Geneva has been a really good sport about all of this yardwork. Even in the stifling heat she will sit in her bouncy seat and watch the cat, or lay in her playpen and wave her arms around at the sky while we work on one project or another. I'm looking forward to cooler days when she can really enjoy, not just tolerate, the outdoors. Things are starting to ripen in the garden, and one of my favorite fantasies while I was pregnant was imagining myself picking vegetables with Geneva. Some dreams do come true, I guess! It's nice to know life works like that sometimes.
Anyway, here's a look at our rapidly transforming yard-- and daughter!
Our growing girl
I had to include this one, not because it's the cutest picture ever but because this face is so HER. She makes this serious expression when she's deciding whether to laugh or cry.
Couldn't get these pictures to post horizontally... bah!
Geneva has been a really good sport about all of this yardwork. Even in the stifling heat she will sit in her bouncy seat and watch the cat, or lay in her playpen and wave her arms around at the sky while we work on one project or another. I'm looking forward to cooler days when she can really enjoy, not just tolerate, the outdoors. Things are starting to ripen in the garden, and one of my favorite fantasies while I was pregnant was imagining myself picking vegetables with Geneva. Some dreams do come true, I guess! It's nice to know life works like that sometimes.
Anyway, here's a look at our rapidly transforming yard-- and daughter!
First Mortgage-Lifter Tomato
Future site of the chicken coop and toolshed
Our growing girl
I had to include this one, not because it's the cutest picture ever but because this face is so HER. She makes this serious expression when she's deciding whether to laugh or cry.
Couldn't get these pictures to post horizontally... bah!
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
On the Job
So technically this is my first week at my new job: staying home with the munchkin while Daddy brings home the bacon. It is amazing the difference I'm noticing between being in charge of Geneva while there are other people within shouting distance and being home alone with her all day! For the first time I'm really starting to feel the lack of sleep catching up with me. Also, there have been a couple of times where she manages to get worked up into a complete lather over something and it truly is a mystery to me why she's crying. I know this is what newborns DO, but I got spoiled these last few weeks by the fact that she only really fussed when she was hungry or wet or hot. The mystery shrieking really does a number on my patience-- not so much with her, but with other people. Fortunately it hasn't happened too much.
Mostly it has been wonderful to get to hang out with my girl all day! We don't really have a routine down yet, but I imagine that will come with time. I have decided that for this first week I won't try to accomplish more than three things each day (not counting meals and dishes) unless I happen to have an unforseen abundance of time and energy. Three errands/chores/activities is plenty to keep Geneva and me occupied during the brief interludes between feeding, diapering, changing in to non-spit covered clothes (that goes for both of us), etc. Yesterday we did laundry, planned the weekly menu and took a trip to Baron Farm near Harrah. So far today we have gone grocery shopping and worked on birth announcements. After dinner I'll be making brownies! It sure is a change of pace from my previous job, where I taught seven different groups of ELL kids each day. We just kind of go with the flow now, and spend lots of time cuddling and singing. No lesson plans! Of course, at my previous job I never had to pick poo out from under my fingernails at 2:30 in the morning, so it's a trade-off.
Geneva just keeps growing right before our very eyes. Everyone said she would, but it's one thing to know it and quite another to live it. When did three weeks become so grown up? And when did my helpless newborn child start doing things like swatting her toys with her hands, holding her whole torso up off of my chest and smiling? Today I tried to dress her in the outfit she wore at the hospital and-- gasp-- it didn't fit anymore. If I ever wonder if I made the right decision, staying home to take care of Geneva instead of going back to work, all I'll have to do is remember the day she grew out of her newborn onesie. I seriously wouldn't miss this for anything in the wide world.
And now for everyone's favorite part of the blog: pictures!
Picnic at Gasworks Park in celebration of Auntie Lex's participation in the Seattle Rock 'n Roll Marathon!
Thinking about smiling... maybe...
Playing with Mommy.
Visiting Jared and Leah in Seattle.
Geneva Lynn
Mostly it has been wonderful to get to hang out with my girl all day! We don't really have a routine down yet, but I imagine that will come with time. I have decided that for this first week I won't try to accomplish more than three things each day (not counting meals and dishes) unless I happen to have an unforseen abundance of time and energy. Three errands/chores/activities is plenty to keep Geneva and me occupied during the brief interludes between feeding, diapering, changing in to non-spit covered clothes (that goes for both of us), etc. Yesterday we did laundry, planned the weekly menu and took a trip to Baron Farm near Harrah. So far today we have gone grocery shopping and worked on birth announcements. After dinner I'll be making brownies! It sure is a change of pace from my previous job, where I taught seven different groups of ELL kids each day. We just kind of go with the flow now, and spend lots of time cuddling and singing. No lesson plans! Of course, at my previous job I never had to pick poo out from under my fingernails at 2:30 in the morning, so it's a trade-off.
Geneva just keeps growing right before our very eyes. Everyone said she would, but it's one thing to know it and quite another to live it. When did three weeks become so grown up? And when did my helpless newborn child start doing things like swatting her toys with her hands, holding her whole torso up off of my chest and smiling? Today I tried to dress her in the outfit she wore at the hospital and-- gasp-- it didn't fit anymore. If I ever wonder if I made the right decision, staying home to take care of Geneva instead of going back to work, all I'll have to do is remember the day she grew out of her newborn onesie. I seriously wouldn't miss this for anything in the wide world.
And now for everyone's favorite part of the blog: pictures!
Picnic at Gasworks Park in celebration of Auntie Lex's participation in the Seattle Rock 'n Roll Marathon!
Thinking about smiling... maybe...
Playing with Mommy.
Visiting Jared and Leah in Seattle.
Geneva LynnFriday, June 5, 2009
This will probably seem funny later
I'm writing this at about noon on Friday, still in my sweatpants because to be quite honest I only woke up about an hour ago. Normally that's not something I would do, much less admit to, but today I have an excuse: last night was awful.
Now, yesterday itself was not so bad. I had a nice afternoon and spent most of my time puttering around and being domestic. I got some chores done and was feeling good but very, very tired. When Avery got home he helped me finish cleaning the back porch and then I decided I had to lie down. I was dozing when the first contraction hit, and it woke me right up. Having contractions is nothing new, as I've had a handful of false starts already, but I still get excited each time. So I checked the clock and went back to sleep hoping that this time would be "it." I woke back up ten minutes later with another one, and then again ten minutes after that. I gave up on sleeping and got in the shower while Avery prepared dinner. Usually getting in the shower will slow or stop my contractions altogether, but this time they kept going, much to my discomfort and delight! In fact, they kept on going for the next few hours, right through dinner and a phone conversation with my mom. Gradually they increased from every ten minutes to every five minutes, and by 10:30 I was too excited to just sit and watch TV. Avery and I headed out the door for a walk around the neighborhood, and as we left I caught myself believing that this-- THIS-- could be my last pre-baby walk.
The streets were extremely dark, but there weren't many cars to dodge. We crept along at a snail's pace, stopping every five minutes so that I could lean on Avery through a contraction. As we walked we peeked into peoples' yards and watched the lightning overhead. There were booms and flashes coming from every direction! It was very dramatic, and seemed to fit the mood of nervous anticipation. After walking for almost an hour we decided to head back toward home, and thought it would be a good idea to stop off at the hospital on our way to fill out any necessary paperwork while I was still able to carry on a conversation. Plus, we reasoned, a hospital is filled with doctors and nurses. Surely someone there could tell us whether this was truly early labor or just another false alarm. It had been nearly five hours at this point and we desperately wanted permission to get excited.
Of course, at 11:30 the main entrance to the hospital is closed, so we came in through the E.R. and explained that we just wanted to pre-register and maybe ask one of the nurses if this could possibly be The Real Thing. Looking back, I'm not sure how articulate I was about this, considering I was kind of out of it. We were escorted to a side room to fill out some paperwork and then asked to follow a nurse upstairs to Maternity. We were told, "they want to check you." Okay, so we were going to be checked. That must be a good sign! Up we went.
That's when things started to get weird. I was immediately ushered into a small exam room with two beds and was told to pee in a cup and change into a gown. That in itself didn't seem too strange, but there was no other explanation given. In fact, the nurse quite nearly left the room without telling me what it was she wanted me to do! I used the restroom and changed out of my clothes, then perched on one of the beds. The nurse came back and performed an internal exam, where I learned that I had dilated to........ ONE! One centimeter after five hours of contractions. I was not the most pleased I've ever been, but the nurse seemed very cheerful and reminded me that this meant my contractions were doing something productive, even if it didn't seem like much. Then she told me to lie flat on my back and, without further explanation, started strapping me to an external fetal monitor. I happen to know what these look like, having worked in a nursing lab, but I don't think Avery had a clue what was going on and I was too groggy to protest. I meant to say something like "can you tell me why I need continuous fetal monitoring?" or maybe "I would prefer not to be lying flat on my back" but all that came out was "Ummm" as the straps dug into my sore belly. The nurse straightened up and said "make yourselves comfortable. I'll be back to check on you in a while." My brain screamed "WHAT?" and I had the presence of mind to ask "what's 'a while'?"
"An hour and a half."
And so we waited there, Avery in his hard little chair and me flat on my back, watching the baby kick the monitoring device and listening to her little heartbeat as my contractions, which had been going strong for over five hours, slowly stopped. I remember watching the clock, knowing somehow that the next contraction wasn't coming, and thinking what a horrible idea it was to hang a clock right over someone's hospital bed. At that point I started to cry. I had been so sure that we would finally be meeting our daughter soon, and instead we were sitting alone in a tiny hospital room, both of us uncomfortable and exhausted and wanting nothing more than to just go home. It was too much, and I couldn't even stop crying when Avery brought the nurse back in, hoping she would let us go. She was very kind, but kept us for a bit longer to monitor the baby. Avery was mad, and I was drifting in and out of sleep so that nothing seemed entirely real. At some point another girl was brought to the bed next to mine, and I was grateful that everyone was whispering for my benefit. Finally, around 1:30 we were released. I didn't have to sign anything; we just hobbled back down the hall and out the door into the night. The storm that had been threatening must have broken while we were upstairs, and the rain was coming down in sheets. At least I had a sweatshirt-- poor Avery was wearing shorts, a t-shirt and sandals. We walked slowly home, soaked to the skin and not saying much. Like before, the weather seemed appropriate to the circumstances.
I know I shouldn't complain. My baby is healthy, I am healthy, and whatever happens I know she'll be born soon. This whole thing will probably seem funny later, but right now I just feel frustrated and disappointed, and don't have the emotional stamina required to put this in perspective. My daughter was supposed to be here today and instead I'm sitting on the couch in my sweats writing a serious downer of a blog post. Not exactly what I had in mind.
Now, yesterday itself was not so bad. I had a nice afternoon and spent most of my time puttering around and being domestic. I got some chores done and was feeling good but very, very tired. When Avery got home he helped me finish cleaning the back porch and then I decided I had to lie down. I was dozing when the first contraction hit, and it woke me right up. Having contractions is nothing new, as I've had a handful of false starts already, but I still get excited each time. So I checked the clock and went back to sleep hoping that this time would be "it." I woke back up ten minutes later with another one, and then again ten minutes after that. I gave up on sleeping and got in the shower while Avery prepared dinner. Usually getting in the shower will slow or stop my contractions altogether, but this time they kept going, much to my discomfort and delight! In fact, they kept on going for the next few hours, right through dinner and a phone conversation with my mom. Gradually they increased from every ten minutes to every five minutes, and by 10:30 I was too excited to just sit and watch TV. Avery and I headed out the door for a walk around the neighborhood, and as we left I caught myself believing that this-- THIS-- could be my last pre-baby walk.
The streets were extremely dark, but there weren't many cars to dodge. We crept along at a snail's pace, stopping every five minutes so that I could lean on Avery through a contraction. As we walked we peeked into peoples' yards and watched the lightning overhead. There were booms and flashes coming from every direction! It was very dramatic, and seemed to fit the mood of nervous anticipation. After walking for almost an hour we decided to head back toward home, and thought it would be a good idea to stop off at the hospital on our way to fill out any necessary paperwork while I was still able to carry on a conversation. Plus, we reasoned, a hospital is filled with doctors and nurses. Surely someone there could tell us whether this was truly early labor or just another false alarm. It had been nearly five hours at this point and we desperately wanted permission to get excited.
Of course, at 11:30 the main entrance to the hospital is closed, so we came in through the E.R. and explained that we just wanted to pre-register and maybe ask one of the nurses if this could possibly be The Real Thing. Looking back, I'm not sure how articulate I was about this, considering I was kind of out of it. We were escorted to a side room to fill out some paperwork and then asked to follow a nurse upstairs to Maternity. We were told, "they want to check you." Okay, so we were going to be checked. That must be a good sign! Up we went.
That's when things started to get weird. I was immediately ushered into a small exam room with two beds and was told to pee in a cup and change into a gown. That in itself didn't seem too strange, but there was no other explanation given. In fact, the nurse quite nearly left the room without telling me what it was she wanted me to do! I used the restroom and changed out of my clothes, then perched on one of the beds. The nurse came back and performed an internal exam, where I learned that I had dilated to........ ONE! One centimeter after five hours of contractions. I was not the most pleased I've ever been, but the nurse seemed very cheerful and reminded me that this meant my contractions were doing something productive, even if it didn't seem like much. Then she told me to lie flat on my back and, without further explanation, started strapping me to an external fetal monitor. I happen to know what these look like, having worked in a nursing lab, but I don't think Avery had a clue what was going on and I was too groggy to protest. I meant to say something like "can you tell me why I need continuous fetal monitoring?" or maybe "I would prefer not to be lying flat on my back" but all that came out was "Ummm" as the straps dug into my sore belly. The nurse straightened up and said "make yourselves comfortable. I'll be back to check on you in a while." My brain screamed "WHAT?" and I had the presence of mind to ask "what's 'a while'?"
"An hour and a half."
And so we waited there, Avery in his hard little chair and me flat on my back, watching the baby kick the monitoring device and listening to her little heartbeat as my contractions, which had been going strong for over five hours, slowly stopped. I remember watching the clock, knowing somehow that the next contraction wasn't coming, and thinking what a horrible idea it was to hang a clock right over someone's hospital bed. At that point I started to cry. I had been so sure that we would finally be meeting our daughter soon, and instead we were sitting alone in a tiny hospital room, both of us uncomfortable and exhausted and wanting nothing more than to just go home. It was too much, and I couldn't even stop crying when Avery brought the nurse back in, hoping she would let us go. She was very kind, but kept us for a bit longer to monitor the baby. Avery was mad, and I was drifting in and out of sleep so that nothing seemed entirely real. At some point another girl was brought to the bed next to mine, and I was grateful that everyone was whispering for my benefit. Finally, around 1:30 we were released. I didn't have to sign anything; we just hobbled back down the hall and out the door into the night. The storm that had been threatening must have broken while we were upstairs, and the rain was coming down in sheets. At least I had a sweatshirt-- poor Avery was wearing shorts, a t-shirt and sandals. We walked slowly home, soaked to the skin and not saying much. Like before, the weather seemed appropriate to the circumstances.
I know I shouldn't complain. My baby is healthy, I am healthy, and whatever happens I know she'll be born soon. This whole thing will probably seem funny later, but right now I just feel frustrated and disappointed, and don't have the emotional stamina required to put this in perspective. My daughter was supposed to be here today and instead I'm sitting on the couch in my sweats writing a serious downer of a blog post. Not exactly what I had in mind.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Feels Like Summer
For so many reasons, I'm having difficulty convincing myself it's only May.
For one, the temperature has been in the nineties for the last few days, something that seems entirely out of context to me until at least mid-July. Milo has shed what appears to be a completely new cat onto my clothes.
Secondly, I've been having contractions-- real ones-- meaning that my summer baby will be joining us soon! So far I'm not dilated at all, but I am effaced and looking ready to go. The baby is VERY low, and the midwife thinks she'll be arriving on or before her due date. I am thrilled. These last couple of weeks have been quite uncomfortable, and now I've actually started going into false labor! I'll be getting pretty businesslike contractions regularly for an hour... or two... or three... and then they'll suddenly stop. It's driving me crazy, and I think it's even worse for Avery because he gets so excited each time. Oh well, every day the odds improve that this time it will be the "real thing."
Thirdly, and on a related note, I am not going to be going back to work tomorrow! Yep folks, as of now I am a stay-at-home parent. The midwife determined that my false labor is being caused by stress, and so my summer vacation has started about a week and a half earlier than anticipated.
I have such mixed feelings about this new world I'm entering into... I always knew it would be a possibility that I would not finish the school year, but I kind of pushed that possibility to the back of my mind whenever I thought about the kids I work with. I wanted so badly to get to see them off as they devoured end-of-the-year cupcakes and planned their summer adventures. I've watched so many of them grow and develop in wonderful, surprising ways throughout the year. I wish I could have known that the last day I spent working with them would be my last day.
On the other hand, I am getting more excited every day about life as a mom. I keep thinking of things I can't wait to share with my daughter, like snacking on melon slices at the farmer's market or taking a (very short) ride on Yakima's streetcar. We'll water the garden and walk to the children's museum and visit the library! Of course, I imagine that in the early weeks and months we'll also spend a lot of time at home, where I can clean up after her various bodily functions in privacy and crash on the couch when I'm exhausted... but the world is such a big and beautiful place that my head actually spins when I think of how wonderful it will be to share it with my baby girl. That's the sort of thing makes me love teaching so much, a job that I will miss and know I'll return to someday in some form or another. I suppose in a lot of ways I'll get to continue doing the job that I adore, only instead of having a whole class I'll just have a very special One.
***
Today I attempted to make myself useful by "helping" to wash the Element. Mostly I was in charge of operating the hose and pointing out missed spots, but it sure felt nice to get wet. Avery did all of the actual legwork. We also installed the carseat-- hooray!-- where I helped even less. My job was basically to sit behind the driver's seat and occasionally inspect the seat base to make sure it was at the right level. I spent the time between inspections making "I'm uncomfortable" noises and handing Avery the installation guide. Thank goodness I was there, right? Time for this baby to come out.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Call the fire department...
I never thought I'd be one of those people who freak out about their pets, but that was before I acquired Milo, a cat who doesn't seem to have two brain cells to rub together. I honestly worry about him walking headfirst down the laundry chute and breaking his neck. When we found him he was half-dead in the Old Navy parking lot, and we honestly didn't expect him to make it through the night. Fortunately he's grown into a nice healthy cat, but I think he might have brain damage from when he was little. So, whenever a feline mishap occurs I'm concerned but not surprised.Here's the latest event in the saga: yesterday our adorable dumb-ass cat got stuck up a tree. How cliche can you get?
We were having a picnic dinner outside when it occurred to me that I hadn't seen Milo around for a while. I mentioned this to Avery and we had a little chuckle imagining what kind of trouble he had gotten into. Then, not five minutes later, I spotted a furry blob in our birch tree about 25 feet off the ground. It was Milo, clearly freaked out, panting and howling. Avery left his dinner to scale the tree and try to get Milo down, but Milo was having none of that-- he clung to the branch with all four paws AND his tail! It was really windy, the sun was going down, and Avery was starting to get nervous being so high in the tree. Milo wouldn't budge. Crap.
Our first plan was to lower the cat down in a basket, but that idea died pretty quickly when Milo refused to get into the basket. Luckily, we are geniuses. Avery climbed down and found a nice long plank in the garage left over from building our planter boxes, and with some (minimal) help from me managed to hoist the plank all the way back up to our terrified kitty. Both of my boys were happily reunited with the ground, and now I'm "that" person: the lady who freaks out when her cat gets stuck up a tree.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Jamaica and I have had a busy morning planting our new garden for the first time. She's wiped out having a nice nap on the couch right now, so I'll post a few pictures. I went to take a few snapshots and realized the whole memory was full of picures of Milo when he was a kitten and, seeing a potential pattern, I realized I'm going to need a few hundred more GB of storage sometime soon. For those of you keeping track, Jamaica's starting to show some definite signs of labor coming sooner rather than later, so I'd say it's a good bet we'll be meeting Geneva before the garden sprouts!
For now, enjoy a couple pictures. We're hoping to finish up the nursery this afternoon (I think I've said this a few dozen times by now), so I may post some pictures of Ginny's room tonight.
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