two-year-old taco

Miss Lydia turns two today! Oh, what all can change in another year! Despite the cute outfit I had saved for her, she was not ready to face the day this morning. Even the promise of cupcakes later in the day could not bring her to smile.



One year ago, Lydia was yet to walk or to speak. When I look back at the pictures, I'm amazed by how much she still looks "baby-like."



Now Lydia has mastered walking -- and running -- quite well and is learning something new in the language department every day. Her newest language skill is putting together small sentences, like, "No no no no NO MORE, Daddy!" She also gets a kick out of phrasing the word 'No' very sweetly, starting low then raising the pitch in a cute fashion as if she were asking a question. I have to admit, it does make it easier on the ears.



As with any toddler, she is notoriously picky in the food department. She still has her love of tomato-based pasta dishes and certain fruits that I probably rely on too much, but anything else is not a sure thing. Surprisingly, the food group I have the most problem with is meats. I will have much more luck with green beans, corn, and broccoli than a hot dog, hamburger, or any type of chicken. There's probably two or three actual dinners that I cook for The Husband and I that she will eat as well. I wonder when this will change?



Then there's her hair. Ohh, how her hair has grown! I do wish she would let me fix it up more than she would; it is wonderful to run your hands through. Most days now she comes home from daycare with her hair done up in some form or fashion -- she trusts someone at daycare enough to mess with her hair. One afternoon she came home with two French braids in her hair; now that takes patience! Ohh, how it curled when we had to undo them.



I think I have an artist on my hands. Lydia is all about anything to do with paints or crayons -- "colors," as she calls it. I'm finding I have an OCD streak when it comes to crayons that I didn't know I carried, and I cringe when crayons and chalk get broken or the tips get worn down. This will be a cross I'll just have to bear, for Lydia will use her colors any way she wants.



Just in time for Lydia's birthday, Sam arrived. Whether they will be very close or not, I just cannot know. Lydia will check on him when he begins to fuss (sometimes she beats me to him) and she sounds excited when she sees him and says his name -- "Sham! Sham!" she exclaims. Though she still doesn't like seeing her daddy holding Sam, she is content enough with it if she can get equally close to him.



Now we begin another year with Lydia, who I'm sure will change as many times again as she has during the past year. It has been breathtaking to see the world through her eyes and I am ready for more.

the launch of Sputnik, part IV (orbit)

We have been home with young Samuel for about a week and a half now and things are slowly beginning to find a new normal in our new household of four plus two hungry cats.

On Sunday afternoon Lydia arrived a few hours after we did, and here came The Moment I had most anticipated and slightly dreaded ever since I had seen those two pink lines way back in October. Oh, what would she think?? It turned out, Lydia wasn't going to care one way or another until SOMEBODY put Shrek in the DVD player. "Shrek! Shrek! Shrek!" she demanded.

Once Shrek was on and she settled down on the couch was she finally willing to look over and see what I had. "A baby!" she exclaimed, and she pointed at Sam. "Baby!"



"This is your baby brother, Sam," I explained.

"Sam," she repeated while nodding. "Baby Sam." She gently (for a toddler) rubbed his head. "He night-night!" And then she turned back to Shrek.



She seems very content with Sam being here. If she finds his pacifier or blanket, she wants to get it to him; if she hears him make any sounds, especially any crying, she wants to check on him; she is totally cool with me holding and snuggling him . . .

Her Daddy, however, is a different story. She has been a Daddy's Girl since time began, and it's harder for her to share him. She cries when he holds Sam the same way she cries when she sees The Husband touching me. It's a wonder she has a brother at all, actually. She will let The Husband hold Sam as long as he is holding her as well, so I feel that is a step in the right direction.



So far, Sam has been a pretty content baby. If he isn't eating, he is sleeping, so while Lydia's in daycare and The Husband is at work I find myself having these strange occurrences of FREE TIME that are almost mind-blowing. I'm doing whatever dishes and laundry I can scrounge up and trying to find any reason that I need to go somewhere but without needing to spend much money. Last week when The Husband was still off work we both were beset by the FREE TIME bug. He worked outside a lot and our front yard has never looked so good in all the years we've lived here! He even vacuumed the couch.




Sam's two-week doctor visit was yesterday and he's starting to bulk up. He's gained nine ounces over the past week for a total weight of 6 pounds 4 ounces. Huzzah!

I am also on the mend, slowly but surely. The past few days I've started to test the waters on driving and I feel pretty comfortable with it. I don't think I'd attempt Highway 280 at 5:00 p.m. yet but I'm going to pick up The Girlie from daycare this afternoon, Sam in tow.

So here we are. I have my sprightly little girl and a healthy growing son. We're flying along through life and now can set our sights on the next event on the horizon: Lydia's second birthday (and The Husband's 29th!). The last few weeks have been eventful, to say the least, and I am looking forward to being in the everyday with my family, cats and all.

the launch of sputnik, part III (ascent)

After they evaluated Samuel for a while the N.I.C.U. elected to admit him since his breathing was still more rapid than they would have liked it to have been. They also wanted to treat him with antibiotics in case he had fluid in his lungs, which can happen easier with c-section babies.

The rest of the evening after his birth is really a blur to me. Though my epidural had been turned off and I could now wiggle my legs, I was on a good mix of pain medications and was probably a bit loopy. I was still very shaken and feeling emotionally fragile.

Soon after we were in our room, our parents showed up bearing a yummy Zaxby's dinner. The nurses were all very fearful that I was going to barf -- in fact, they were like that since the Wednesday last when I was brought into Labor and Delivery with the agonizing pains -- and my assurances that barfing is a rarity for me didn't seem to quell their fears. They kept barfing sacks near me at all times, though they were never needed.

They kept me hooked up to a few different tethers that night, and I kept popping awake about every 15 minutes or so. There were little leg massagers around my calves to prevent blood clots, and in my half-sleep state I kept thinking it was Hermione the cat shifting around my feet. It almost felt like home.

The next morning they wanted me up and out of that bed. I had to take a shower (which felt wonderful, actually) and I had to remove the dressing from my c-section scar (which wasn't as hard to do as I was afraid it was).

After that, I finally got to see Sam again. It took a while to commandeer a wheelchair, but once that was done, The Husband wheeled me down to the N.I.C.U. where I got to hold my baby boy again. Now that I was in a better state of mind, I got to really look at him. He really did have long feet and toes! He looked pretty healthy, really; he just needed some fattening up.



His little bitty hand had an IV in it and there were three lead wires on his chest measuring heart rate, breathing rate, and something else I never was sure of. Poor little guy.

We couldn't stay there all day so back to my room we went. We came back again after lunch, and Sam was doing well enough that the doctor was willing to let us try to feed him to see how he did. After a bit of wiggling he did latch on -- that made me feel better. I was afraid we'd lost a lot of time in the feeding department.

That afternoon I got to see Lydia again -- I hadn't seen her since Tuesday morning. Always the Daddy's girl, she was more happy to be in The Husband's arms than anything. Actually, there were a lot of people in my room that afternoon, and that's usually when a scene will happen.

I'd been feeling a stitch in my right side most of the afternoon but had just been trying to change positions. When someone told Lydia to hand Mommy a brownie and she took a bite out of it before handing it to me, I started to laugh before I realized how much that hurt.

But no one can make me laugh like my sister, and she started making fun of the odd family next door to me that were wearing matching t-shirts for the arrival of their baby -- grandparents and everybody, y'all! I can't help but laugh at that . . . OUCH.

On that stupid "On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad is your pain?" question the nurses constantly asked me, this was a freakin' 10, okay? It really hurt, and it didn't stop, and everybody was there. It hurt from my scar all the way up to that stitch in my side. I must have looked bad because The Husband jumped to my side and everyone cleared out. The stitch in my side hurt so bad it hurt to breathe, which led me to only take shallow breaths, and the whole damn thing was so scary I easily fell into Panic Attack #3.

The Husband's buzzing the nurses and they're frittering about but mainly seem confused by me. It felt like forever before someone came in that began to make decisions. I wasn't very aware of the passage of time, I was just trying to breathe and The Husband was trying to get me to calm down. They gave me some morphine which helped the pain around my scar but it didn't touch the stitch.

The Decision Maker wanted to be proactive and do some tests -- he mentioned CAT scan -- and said the same phrase my doctor said right before the c-section: there will be a few people in here and things will go fast. I was just starting to calm down from the panic attack but those words scared me. I looked at The Husband and said, "Ohh, can they give me something for that so I don't notice? I'm on the edge."

They did give me something, though I have no idea what it was, but I barely remember the EKG, and have only vague memories of the CAT scan. I remember they put dye in my veins for the CAT scan. It turns out they were checking for blood clots or a potential pulmonary embolism.

After those tests were over I was so pumped up with God-knows-what that I conked right out. I slept better that night until about 1:00 in the morning, when once again my veins failed me as they tried to get a blood sample. It took two nurses and about five tries to get something.

The next morning I was starting to feel better, though embarrassed by the previous day's events now that the doctors were concluding it was "gas," and I finally got to go see Sam again after they did one more test on me to make sure there were no blood clots in my legs.

We got to feed Sam more throughout that day, and I found myself re-learning the basics like burping a very small child. Lydia really was not much bigger than this when she was born.



Sam was still doing better, but they were making no promises as to when he would get out. I was allowed to stay in the hospital until Sunday the 6th, and they were hinting that would be the earliest he would be able to leave. Thankfully, he kept improving and he transitioned to a crib in the N.I.C.U. that Friday evening.



He was on three hour feedings so I made sure I was down there every three hours or had pumped enough milk for him so he was in good supply, usually to get him through the overnight hours. Before we could leave the N.I.C.U. The Husband and I had to watch a video on car seat safety and one on infant C.P.R. That video came with a take-home blow-up infant for practice. 'Creepy' doesn't even begin to describe it.



Sunday rolled around and we got our most ardent wish -- Sam could come home with me! He had gained two ounces while at the hospital and his breathing was excellent. He had no infection and was eating beautifully. I was also on the mend and had been walking down to the N.I.C.U. since Friday.

I was checked out one more time by the on-call doctor before I was discharged. "Wow, your scar looks great, you can hardly tell," she cooed. Ohh, I bet you say that to all the c-section girls!

Finally, on a hot Sunday D-Day afternoon (Happy Birthday, Ken!), we pack up Sam and his wide array of stuff and climb into Elliott, ready to head home to meet the cats and, most importaly, Miss Lydia Jane.

the launch of Sputnik, part II (liftoff)

The Husband and I entered into the first week of June not knowing exactly what was going to happen. We had entered into speedy preparations at home and work just in case. Sadly, the lawn eluded us -- it rained every day and the grass just got taller. Come to think of it, I don't think it's rained since then, but I digress.

On Tuesday the first I had a doctor's appointment mid-morning. I was still hurting, but still was not in labor. On Wednesday I would be 37 weeks along and be considered full-term. My doctor and I talked about the pros and cons of inducing now versus waiting a week or two, how bad I was hurting, et cetera, and the decision was made to induce me the next day, June 2nd. It was the most set piece of information we'd had all week. Arrangements were made for The Girlie and we settled in to wait one more night.

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The next morning started off very much like Lydia's arrival. We had to be at the hospital at the butt-crack of dawn, where we're shown to our room, I shimmy into a butt-showing hospital gown (green this time that better flattered my hair) and get hooked up to all the fun machines.

Then . . . the nurses came in to give me my IV.

Now, only once before in my entire life has someone not been able get a needle in my vein on the first try. It was such a shock to me at the time that I wrote about it. I became wary when the first nurse used a numbing agent before trying the IV, as if she doubted her abilities in the first place. Her first two attempts were unsuccessful. The other nurse took a try or two . . . or three, I kinda lost track. They finally got one in my right arm but didn't get a good blood sample out of me. Now I was starting to doubt the awesomeness of my veins -- maybe it's cause I'm dehydrated?

They decided to send the sample to the lab anyway and see if it's enough. Meanwhile, it's not even 8:00 yet and my arms are covered in Band-Aids (or, as Lydia would say, SpongeBobs!). I'm thankful for my pain tolerance and open-mindedness of needles.



Soon after, my doctor comes in to break my water. Woo, I forgot how icky that was. The pitocin starts and I lean back to play Uno on my iPod until I need my epidural, which I think I asked for around 10:00. When the anesthesiologist found out what I did for a living, I ended up talking to him about drainage problems while he put the epidural in my back.



My doctor came to check on me again at lunch. By then I had progressed to a point that took me until about 5:00 p.m. to get to with Lydia. That got our spirits up and my doctor was thinking this one would be an afternoon baby. More Uno was played while The Husband read his book. I napped in and out, remembering the strength I will need soon.

Around 1:00 p.m. the nurse had me lay on my side for a bit, then on my other side for a little bit. Apparently Sam was starting to not be amused by the contractions. A bit later on, she gave me oxygen as well. None of this phased me; Lydia did the same and the oxygen had pleased her.

Sam didn't seem to care about the oxygen. His heartrate slowed down after each contraction. They next tried an amniofusion, which is basically adding fluid back around the baby. He didn't care for that either. At one point I had nine different cords coming off my body; I felt very tethered. The one good piece of news was I was still progressing.

Sometime around 4:30ish, my doctor comes back to check on me, though she had been getting updates from my nurse. I could tell in her eyes she didn't like what was going on with Sam. I remember looking at The Husband and whispering, "I don't want a c-section," and he said something back to the effect of, "I know but we might have to."

My doctor quickly scanned over all the charts and notes, checked me out, and paused a moment before she went to wash her hands. That's when I knew -- it would be a c-section. Time's up.

My doctor explained if this had been my first baby she probably would have pulled the c-section trigger sooner but she wanted to give me as much time as she could since we know my body has completed a vaginal birth before. If it looked like the birth was about 30 minutes away they'd attempt it but I had probably another two hours and Sam was showing too much signs of stress for that far out. To see exactly what was going on (they suspected he either had the cord in his hands or it was around his neck) they pulled in an ultrasound machine and sure enough, the cord was around his neck.

She told me things were going to happen really fast but everything would be okay. True to her word, things happened VERY FAST. Many people were suddenly in the room like a swarm of buzzing bees. Anesthesiologists adding drugs to my epidural, nurses changing out tubes and cords, one nurse literally buzzing as she came at me with a razor. One nurse was directing The Husband into some scrubs, another was half-assedly sticking my hair into a scrub hat. I began shaking -- I was freaked.

Whoosh -- off to the OR room. I see the ceiling, I see the double-doors warning people to keep out and in we go. The first thing I notice are the large round lights -- big OR lights just like in the movies and such. When we first get in the room I can still wiggle my toes but that seems to fade away by the time they lift me onto the table. I'm shaking like I never have before. I see them rub iodine across my stomach before they put a blue curtain up between my top half and bottom half.

There are tons of people in this room as well. I can't see them all but I hear and feel their presence as they buzz around me. One of the anesthesiologists is apparently assigned to my head -- his name is Jim. They grab my arms and hold them down to these miniature gurneys splayed out for arms but they didn't strap me to them, thank God. Nerve Drug Jim holds down my right hand and The Husband reappears, holding my left hand. I think he asked why I'm shaking and Nerve Drug Jim told him it was the medicine.

Nerve Drug Jim keeps talking, he's constantly asking me questions, I suppose to make sure the epidural doesn't go funny on me. He's explaining to me what they're doing (I'd answer, "Right." "Yes." "Right.") and constantly reminding me that I'm going to be okay, you know you're going to be okay, right? "Right." Shaking, always shaking.

He asked me about Sam, what's his name, do you have any other kids, how old are they, what's their name? But the thought of Lydia made me weep even more -- I just wanted to me on the couch with her in my lap, away from the bees. I had been able to answer Nerve Drug Jim's questions with one-word answers, but when he asked me how I decorated Sam's room I couldn't even begin to answer him, even with The Husband's prodding. I didn't have enough words.

As for what was going on on the other side of the curtain, my lower half felt like it was a million miles away from me. I felt the pressure of the knife as my doctor made her incision but no pain, then there was cutting, and tugging, which all seemed very rough. Someone warned me that they would push hard on my stomach in a minute and, oh boy, did they! There were two extremely hard pushes up near my ribcage and the sound of a lot of sucking.

Then Nerve Drug Jim starts saying, "Listen, listen!" and very faintly I could hear a little baby cry, though it was hard with all the buzzing in the room. Someone said, "Cord around his neck twice," then they lowered the blue screen just low enough for The Husband and I to see Samuel James for the first time.



Me, in my panic attack state, thought, "Oh, so this is the part where they show you the baby," then they took him back to get him cleaned up -- The Husband followed -- and I was left with Nerve Drug Jim. I started to calm down just enough to ask questions like how much he weighed but no one near my head knew. The Husband came back with the stats: 5 pounds 10 ounces and 19.5 inches long.



Then off went Samuel and The Husband to the transition area -- he was breathing fast -- and I was getting put back together. I might have heard someone remark I had a beautiful uterus but I could be pulling wacko thoughts out of my head. My panic attack came back when I got some mucus in the back of my throat and I realized I couldn't swallow.

Like Humpty Dumpty, they put me back together again and rolled me back to my room for recovery. I had to look at my newly-attached hospital bracelet to see what time Sam was born: 4:53 p.m. The Husband came back in -- Sam was still in the transition area -- and told me about Sam's long feet, long toes, and long fingers. As soon as the nurses felt comfortable with how I was doing, they rolled me in to where Sam was.

Once I saw him and held him skin to skin, my beautiful baby boy, I melted into tears again. I was so mentally worn out by the unexpected events of the day I just wanted to curl into a ball and hold him. So small and soft. Worth all that anguish and more I had been through that day.

the launch of Sputnik, part I (countdown)

Wednesday, May 26th, started out as a typically normal day. The only difference was the noticeable pain I felt when I got up that morning. It wasn't a come-and-go contract-y pain, just a constant, aching pain that a long sleep usually would chase away. Oh well. We get ready for the morning, I rouse Lydia, drop her off at daycare, and head in to work.

By mid-morning, I knew I would be calling my OB at some point in the day because I was finding myself gripping the side of my desk. I wasn't having contractions other than the occasional Braxton-Hicks -- this was a constant pain encompassing my entire abdomen and back. I waited before calling, though, because I was afraid I was just being a wussy and I had work stuff to do.

I finally called and left a message at the nurses' station around lunch, horrified with myself to hear my voice breaking when I tried to describe the pain. Come on, Carrie, it's not that bad! Wuss. I continued about my day and waited for the call, figuring they would tell me to cool it for the rest of the day and come in for my regularly scheduled appointment tomorrow.

When the nurse called me back (while I was on the phone with an extremely talkative customer, of course) they actually wanted me to come in so they could make sure I was not in labor. They asked if I was close by and I said, "No, I'm in Pelham," but she insisted that was fine and to come on in.

I finished up what I could at work and drove up to the doctor's office, where I supposed they would check me out, tell me to take it easy, and send me home. Only they didn't. They wanted to see if I was having back labor pains, and if I was in labor, my OB said she'd let me labor since I was at 36 weeks. Apparently she'd been busy that day -- she'd delivered four babies already (all 34 weekers) and she delivered at least one more before the day was out. The full moon was in effect.

So down to Labor and Delivery I went. Time to tell The Husband. I sent him a quick text to let him know they were just monitoring me for a couple of hours but he needed to pick up The Girlie. I wasn't getting clear information on how long I'd be there (could be a few hours, could be overnight, could be in labor) so I wasn't sure what to plan for here.

Now I must make a confession. The Husband and I were planning on being all secretive about Sputnik's launch just the same as Lydia's arrival. I know, I know -- I'm horrible, simply horrible. A beast, even. I was conniving with my sister on the What To Do With Lydia end of things. Of course, all this was based on how Lydia's birth went down -- totally planned, no hitches, no surprises, nada. Finding myself in L&D 36 weeks in was not in the plan.

Once they started hooking me up to IVs and had me signing papers related to birthin' babies, I knew there was a big chance the cat could be out of the bag and that was just the end of it. The Husband and I thought we had another three weeks to a month and so much was yet to be done. Right after they gave me some awesome pain medication, The Husband gave me a call, wondering if he should be there with me and have his parents get The Girl. "Yes, I think so," I probably slurred.

So, not quite knowing my thoughts yet on what to do about the situation, The Husband called his parents and asked them to get Lydia, citing our doing of "secret important things," and got to my side pronto. We decided that Sputnik didn't agree with our plans of secrecy or mode of planning so we were just going to have to wing it. While waiting to find out what was actually going on with me, we began making lists of what was left to be done, what I needed at the hospital if I actually was in labor, and what was left to buy. It was a long list.

After about an hour that pain medication wore off and, ohhh, it hurt. I was on a contraction and heart rate monitor by now and I wasn't having regular contractions (about two an hour) though there was some uterine irritability, but I don't know if that was what was painful. The nurses decided to give me some demerol in my IV. They asked if I had had that medicine before and I had back when my wisdom teeth were removed. So in goes the demerol and they said it would take about 15 minutes to take effect.

Within a few minutes I felt very lightheaded in a way that you feel when your blood pressure drops, and I think that is what scared me the most. I felt like I was going to faint, and that led into my first painic attack of the week. All I could get out where the words, "faint, faint!" and I felt like I couldn't breathe. Thank goodness The Husband was there, he held my hand and kept talking to me, trying to calm me down. I think that lasted about 15 minutes before I felt like I wasn't going to die and could safely rest.

My OB did elect to keep me there overnight for observation, so The Husband stayed with me and slept on one of those dastardly chairs. I think by this time he had notified immediate family as to what was going on, along with my office. I was pretty out of it by then.

The next morning my doctor felt pretty confident that I was not going into labor, though she said she wouldn't be surprised if I did over that holiday weekend. I was still hurting but wasn't even about to try any more demerol. I was given some percoset and that helped. My doctor was not sure why I was in so much pain but she did not think there was any grave concern for me or the baby, and if I was a week further along she would have gone ahead and induced me then. Since I was a week away from being full term, she wanted me to see a specialist just to make sure there was nothing she was missing, then just relax at home over the weekend and if I was still hurting (and still pregnant) the next week when I did reach full term, she would just induce me.

Before heading home we went by the specialist (the same one that first declared Sputnik to be a boy) and he also did not see anything of great concern that would be causing the pain, though he had no idea what could be hurting so bad. What I remember him saying was, "I wouldn't take a million dollars to be pregnant." I think he was trying to be funny but he just failed miserably. Don't say that to pregnant ladies, especially ones who are hurting so bad they're on narcotics.

So home we went for the Memorial Day weekend. Suddenly it was crunch time; launch might be imminent.

June 2, 2010

After a long week ending with a flurry of sudden c-section action, Mr. Samuel has arrived.