I kinda miss me too...
Seriously, this mom stuff? Fun, but tiring...very, very tiring. I went back to work last week. It was the worst week of my life--every day leaving my little bunny at 6:30 am and then not seeing him again (aside from everywhere in my classroom where I have his picture plastered) until after 3 killed me. It's been easier this week but less fun, I have to train myself to have fun at work again--it sucks, I used to love it so much. It cheers me up to know I wouldn't want to do anything else but the workload is for the birds.

I miss chatting with all of you. I miss writing funny stuff. I feel like nothing funny happens to me anymore--aside from Tommy peeing on me twice, no three times in a row! But that's not really, really, funny. It was very reminiscent of a wet t-shirt contest that I was in before though...just a little warmer.

I'll be back when I can pull it all together. I feel like I have only two moods right now--grumpy and happy--sometimes I switch between the two in the blink of an eye. It's scary for the dog and John but they deal with it well. Right now I would write depressing posts on how much I hate my body, hate leaving my baby, hate doing laundry constantly or trying to find the nipple for the nighttime feeds--but on the other hand I love my baby, husband and dog very much--so much I want to snuggle them all, all the time. Be back when I feel a little more myself and a little less blue. Hopefully, you all (all four of you) still check in.

Nothing new to report here...I barely leave the house so I can't really get into any hijinx and I can't really interact with adults much (at this point). So, to amuse myself, I dress my child like different animals and take pictures. Here we have Tommy dressed as a bear (polar bear???) as we ventured out in the cold weather in search of curtain rods. John and I might have a night out on the town on Saturday...if so, I might have something bloggable!

This child is a tiny dictator. I am a slave to all of his whims and at his beck and call. The only trade off is that I can dress him in ridiculous outfits if I choose to do so...and just like that, the shift in power is adjusted.

So, it's not a very exciting story, nor is it very original I fear, but here goes.

Thursday morning

I go to work. I'm teaching Macbeth which is my favorite thing to teach. I'm one day overdue but I'm feeling ok with it. I'm tired and I would love to give birth but hey, whatever, this child was clearly being ornery. Throughout the day I think it might be possible that my water is leaking OR I'm peeing myself (just a little). I keep on teaching and consult friends with my findings. They agree with me, I might have a leaking water! YAY!

I go home and I call my doctor's office and fill them in on my "symptoms" (damp undies). They tell me they'll check me but they believe it's just because I'm overdue that I'm anxious for something to get started. Lo and behold after my feet were up in the snowmen ovenmits/stirrups, it was proven that I was indeed leaking amniotic fluid...I was told to go to the hospital and expect labor to start.

I call John on my way home and I get his brother instead, he doesn't believe me but I tell him to let John know because he needs to get stuff ready. Clearly, we weren't in a rush here because nothing was actually happening. Well, let me rephrase that...It was clear to me. When I got home, John was running around like a chicken with his head cut off. We packed up and after I calmed John down, we stopped at Wendy's so that I could chow down as much as possible since they don't let you eat once they admit you into the hospital. I ate for about three people that evening, stuffing my face with enough nuggets to feed a small army.

After getting my fast food fix we checked into the hospital, our mothers arrived right on our heels. And we sat there. Me in the hospital bed, ass hanging out and John, his sister and our mothers all staring at me, waiting for labor to start. It didn't. To get the ball rolling, they broke my water, which was a creepy experience in itself...luckily, only John and I got to witness it. However, my water just kept on gushing for the next few hours while everyone continued to stare at me. Finally, contractions started (with some help from Pitocin). And boy did they. I did a pretty good job from 9-1am, but at 1 they were coming pretty fast and they hurt like hell. I couldn't take it any longer and I asked for an epidural. My mom and John watched the epidural insertion and while John was quiet and helpful, my mom kept saying things like, "Wow! That's a huge contraction!" and "I bet that one is hurting you!" while I was supposed to be remaining absolutely still and hunched over my knees and not reacting to the contractions. Gotta love her.

Anyways, that's where things took a turn for the worse. The epidural made my contractions slow down and decrease in intensity. I was only four centimeters dilated but I had been progressing up until this point, so they made the decision to up my Pitocin levels in the hopes of increasing the intensity of the contractions. This was fine with me because the epidural was pure heaven. Previously, I had been silently cursing everyone in the room because they were making chit chat while I was in pure pain...now, I was numb to the world and didn't care what innane conversations were taking place around me.

I had sent everyone out of the room (except for John) so that I could get some sleep and hopefully dilate fully. John ran out to smoke a cigarette and he was going to lay down with me. The Pitocin, however, was a bad choice. As the levels of Pitocin increased, my blood pressure dropped. John walked back into the room with me flipped over, legs above my head, oxygen mask on my face, ephedrine being injected into my IV and my blood pressure at a "lovely" 55/38. They stabilized me and stopped the Pitocin, but my body wouldn't progress on its own. They tried to slowly up my Pitocin levels, but each time my blood pressure fell. Finally, at 6 am the doctor told me that it was time for a c-section. My blood pressure, the baby's heartbeat, my lack of further dilation, and the fact that my water had been broken for almost 12 hours and had been leaking for much longer were all factors in the decision. I cried when the doctor told me but John consoled me...there really weren't many other options at this point.

The doctors scrubbed up and I was wheeled into the operating room at 6 am. It was the weirdest experience of my life, being awake but numb for such an operation. As it turned out, the baby had never really neared the birth canal and had my water not leaked, he probably wouldn't have come for a week or so on his own. At 6:20 am, my little man was born. John was able to watch and to cut the cord and assist in cleaning little Tommy up. John brought him over for me to see, but I couldn't hold him yet because my arms were still numb from the operation/drugs. I was wheeled back to my room and in 10 minutes time, I had my son in my still numb arms as I nursed him for the first time. I made our mothers wait for a full hour before they were allowed in the room so that I could spend some time alone with my son, nursing and inspecting my child--mostly, I cried because I was in complete awe of him. He was/is perfect.

And that's Tommy's birth story.

I'm beat. I'll tell you the whole tale tomorrow...but first, let me share with you lots of pics (there's a few "fresh" ones so if you're not into the very newly delivered baby pics sorry)!!

Introducing: Thomas Jackson

Yesterday I had the idea that I would surprise my sex starved husband with a little nooky. I showered and prepped my bod and then pounced on him just as he was waking up. Pounced implies I had full control over my body and faculties but I'm fairly sure it was more of a "I fell onto the bed in a heap" kind of moment--I am not a graceful pregnant woman. I feel like an adorable mi nature elephant. I think I look cute, but I'm definitely lumbering. Anyways, we start having sex and it's not half bad. Then my hip pops out the socket for a moment...that wasn't fun or pleasurable and it's never happened before. I wiggle, it goes back and I go back to my business at hand. It pops again and I decide it's time to change positions. I'm guessing the leg popping business is the whole stretching of ligaments and whatnot in preparation for the baby. Whatever it was, it was loud and it was not hot! A few minutes later in this new position, John looks at me alarmed and says, "You're bleeding."
My heart stops.
I run to the bathroom and check myself. I am indeed bleeding--enough to be concerned but not enough that I'm screaming (yet). I don't think I'm breathing any more. In the next minute we debate what to do. We decide. Get to the car, call the doctor on the way to the hospital. We are calm. We get the new insurance card, the doctor's business card and phone easily, as if they were placed out and waiting for us. John grabs my license just in case I need it in the emergency room. He begins driving towards the closest hospital while I calmly place a message with the messaging service.
The doctor calls me back--asks me a series of questions which for some reason I cannot answer alone and must consult John on--how much am I bleeding? Would you say it's like my period? And bless him, he answers all the questions for me and I echo them into the phone. In an almost tired "I've heard all of this before" voice she tells us to go home--we probably just bumped my cervix which is delicate now. If the bleeding continues after an hour, head down to the emergency room. I pride us on the fact that we were both so calm and collect with the whole situation...I'm really just talking because I don't want to think about the next hour.
We go home and we try to relax. I head to the bathroom and check myself. Still bleeding. I put my head on the sink and begin to cry. And the tears don't stop for awhile. John talks me off the toilet that I probably would've sat on for the entire hour. I don't have any cramps, I don't have any pain...we have most likely just bruised my cervix like she said. I nod and wipe my eyes. John pulls Psych up on the Tivo and makes me laugh...he never watches my stupid show we me. He stays with me so that I don't go running back to the bathroom. In my head I'm trying to gauge whether or not there's been any more bleeding, I can't tell but I try to laugh at the stupid, easy jokes on TV. After an hour I go back and check and the bleeding has all but stopped. The crisis was averted, there was no actual crisis and now for the first time since the early days of pregnancy I am full of fear, doubt and worry*.

* I am feeling better now, but when I wrote the post I was feeling very fragile.

** It will also be a rare miracle if we actually have sex over the rest of the pregnancy, we're both feeling a little gun shy.

...that I'm excited that the baby is a boy. My mom reminded me over the phone the other day that I was caught grinding my Barbie's head off using my dad's grinder in the garage--leaving a flesh colored stump where her head once was. Yay! I don't have to play dolls. I hate dolls...and um apparently, I like to dismember them.

Yesterday I found out that I was carrying a baby boy, it was a surreal experience because for some reason, I figured it was going to be asexual forever, but now it's real...it's a boy. I heard the technician announce it and cackle that my son loved to bare his genitals--clearly he is his mother's child. Come to think of it, he could definitely be his father's son as well--we all love to bare our genitals around here.

When I pictured myself as a mother, I always pictured playing with a little girl and dressing her up in little cute pink dresses and doing girly stuff (this was always the vague part...I don't really know what we would be doing). For one hot minute I was a little sad that I wasn't having a girl (Don't ever let my son read this ok???). Then I thought about it, my childhood resume includes "best mudpie maker east of the Mississippi", "most casts in a single summer due to climbing trees that shouldn't be climbed" and "most likely to ask her dad for an M-16 rifle (toy) to play war with the boys". Obviously, I wasn't much of a girls girl...and even today, I'd never do a girl justice. I wear black pants to work every. single. day, because I don't feel like being a lady at work. And don't get me started on how I do my hair--it has two styles, down and loose, or up in a ponytail (oooh options). And although I still think that little girls' clothes are wayyyyy cuter than little boys', I'm so excited to get him a little Eagles jersey and hang out with my little man. Only 19 weeks to go.

And remember, this will not be a mommy blog...as soon as I do something fun and more monumental than finding out the sex of my baby, I'll dish the dirt :)