Month 9: Crawling!

Loops,

 

Your nickname keeps changing. Just like you. As I write this, you're busily working your way around the living room, moving from one toy to the next. That's right, moving. On Friday, January 10, I had some girlfriends over to play cards. Imagine my surprise when Buffy commented, "Hey, Olivia, how long has Lexi been crawling for?" I was floored. You've been working on it for at least two months. Your daddy and I were positive that you'd be crawling by Christmas, but the season came and went and you were still doing your butt-in-the-air wiggle dance, but you just couldn't master the knee-hand reflex. Now that you've started, it's amazing how quickly you've mastered it. I have to keep a constant eye on you, or you'll get into anything you see. I've already caught you putting grout from our crumbling floor tiles in your mouth. I'm sweeping the floors at least once a day. You still manage to find the strangest things to put in your mouth, though. I'm pretty sure you ate a dead maple bug the other day.

 

Not only are you crawling, you've mastered pulling yourself up, too. I think we anticipated the crawling so much that we didn't realize how soon after pulling yourself up would come. It's special: when you need your mommy or daddy, instead of waiting for us to come to you, you come to us, pull yourself up to the chair or couch, and give us those sad eyes and contorted little mouth. How can I not pick you up and snuggle with you? Speaking of which, here you come for some much needed snuggles after a particularly rough night.

 

You've been sick for just under a week now - cough, cold, and lots and lots of snot. The snot bubbles that form at your nose are hilarious. It's exhausting how needy you get when you're sick. You nurse at least three times an hour - even if it's just for 30 seconds - but you need your comfort. I get flak from people for not putting you on rice cereal to fill you up before bed, and I'll admit that I complain that you're still up at least twice a night to nurse, but in my heart of hearts, I know I'm doing the right thing for you. Sometimes, through my exhaustion, I wonder if it really is the best thing, but then you give me a seven-hour stretch of sleep and I know it's all worth it.

 

We finally moved you to your crib at the beginning of the month. I think the transition was harder on me than it was on you - immediately, you began flipping yourself over to your tummy to sleep, something you'd been unable to do in your bassinet. It scared me a bit at first because of the SIDS scares over tummy sleeping, but your sleep has gotten better - for the most part. When you're sick, you barely sleep. It's been really, really rough on me and your daddy. I am so tired right now - just as tired as when you were a newborn and we were adjusting to life with a lack of sleep.

 

We also had another big milestone - I left you overnight for the first time with your daddy. He wouldn't give me any details on the night except it went really, really badly, but the day apparently went well. I can't tell you how much my heart jumped when I came home, you saw my face, and you just SCRAMBLED across the floor to me. I almost cried.

 

This month we also had a family bout of what I think was food poisoning - it started on a Wednesday night when you woke up with throw up all over your crib and in your hair. It was heartbreaking, and I've never wanted to snuggle you more. I sat on my chair with you curled up in my arms, and you just stared up at me with sleepy eyes that eventually closed. I loved holding you in that instance.

 

Apart from these past few days of being sick, you're an eating machine. You love your little chicken strips and broccoli, and you'll try anything new. Giving you quinoa, however, may not have been the best idea. While the look on your face was hilarious, it was a horrible clean up job. Others are always amazed at how you'll eat anything!

 

Applause for you, my crawling, pulling, clapping, and waving baby girl. I'm so sorry for all the times when I'm not the best mom I can be. You are so full of life that sometimes I'm exhausted by it. No matter my mood, I always love you. And I know you love me - the adorable "mamamama"s tell me so.

 

Love,

 

Mama

 

Month 5: Sickness and the Death Stabber

My Sweets,

As I write this, you are slipping in and out of wakefulness, rocking side to side in your swing. You are suffering from an upper respiratory viral infection, conjunctivitis in your eyes, and a hoarse throat. And I feel awful. I took you to the doctor's office this morning after a particularly rough night; your scary, hoarse cough kept Daddy and I awake more than you, though. By 5:00 in the morning, I'd put you in your swing to keep you sitting up, and I finally managed to capture a few hours' sleep on the couch. I refused to give in to fear, as tempting as it was to rush you to the emergency room in the middle of the night. But your spirits were high. You're crying and grumbling more than usual, but who doesn't complain, whine, and moan when they're not feeling well? The hardest part for me is watching you deal with your sickness without the ability to express yourself in words. I want to make you better. I want you to feel okay. I want so badly for this sickness to pass.

Although this illness has marked the end of your fifth month of life and is bringing us into your sixth, it's far overshadowed by the progress you've shown throughout September. That hoarse voice? I'm surprised it took an illness to get so hoarse. You're a screamer. You love letting the world know that you're happy. We have to whisper to you to temper your boisterous calls; how else do you teach a baby that screaming is just not necessary? But it's so cute... so sometimes we encourage it. Don't tell Papa, though... your screaming is one thing he just doesn't like.

Not only are you screaming, but you're babbling. Mornings are the best. Sometimes, when you wake just as your mom and dad are stirring, you engage in conversation. You're happily cooing to yourself (or to us, but who knows) and those sounds of some of the sweetest noises I've ever heard. I love the expression in your voice; your vocal range is phenomenal (see: screaming, as detailed above.) Neither your mama or dad are particularly loud or talkative (especially not your dad), so it's a mystery where you got your voice from. But it's beautiful, nonetheless.

Vocally, September began out with one of the sweetest sounds I've ever heard - a giggle escaping your throat as I played a little game with you. I haven't been able to get you to giggle again all month, which is heartbreaking, but your daddy is good at getting a giggle to escape here and there. I really hope that's a noise that we get a little bit more familiar with as the fall continues. 

Your mama started working at Inferno Fitness, a local gym, twice a week this month. I drag you along, where you're looked after in the back room by a child care provider with a bunch of other kids. There's one other little girls your age, and you're becoming more and more interested by other kids. Your world doesn't solely revolve around you and your parents anymore - you're curious in other people, and it's such a delight to watch you hold out your hands and lean towards others in curiosity.

September saw the advent of the "death stabber" as we so lovingly refer to it - that's right, your first tooth. It's your bottom left tooth, and it's sharp as can be. I think Natalie gave your tooth that moniker, and it's quite fitting - I'm pretty sure you'd be able to draw blood with that thing. You've been drooling crazily for the past week or so, so I'm assuming that its partner in crime is on its way. You love chewing on our fingers to numb your aching gums.

In other embarrassing news (I'm sure you'll love me for this one), I just have to share a poop story. Pooping takes up a significant portion of time in an infant's life, so why not discuss it? You used to poop only when you were breastfeeding, but now it happens at any given time, usually when you're dressed to the nines and we're just about to head out the door. That happens about twice a week. One day at suppertime, you were sitting in your high chair between Daddy and I. Usually supper time involves high pitched squeals on your part as you chew on plastic toys (we're not starting you on solids until six months), but this particular day, you were a little quieter, more concentrated. For about fifteen minutes, the only noise you emitted was a low pitched grumble as you stared forward. For fifteen minutes, Daddy and I watched you in your intense state of concentration. I bet your dad that you were pooping, and lo and behold, I was right. Daddy got to change that diaper. I hope I never forget the sound you made or the expression on your face, because it was hilarious. You make us laugh daily.

You're still rolling over crazily, and you've been showing an interest in crawling, but digging your heels into the ground isn't something you're capable of doing quite yet. You want it though; you want it badly. If I leave you on the floor long enough to try a few times, you end up high-centered (as your daddy puts it) with arms and legs kicking. Sweetie, you're just not going anywhere yet. Hopefully not for a while, either - I'm not ready to start chasing you around the house. Please just stay in my arms a little while longer?

Finally, this fifth month has been marked by an increasing interest in the toys attached to your jumparoo and exersaucer - if you're having a good day, I can leave you in your exersaucer for an entire hour while I prepare supper. I love watching you concentrate on a little plastic flower or bug, and sometimes you mash your hand down on the exersaucer's keyboard so it makes this horrible, stuck-electronic sound - but it doesn't seem to bother you one bit. You just look up at me as if to say, "mama, is this music?" No, dear, it's not. Please, let you have inherited my musical side and not your father's tone-deafness. Like I said, on a good day, that exersaucer will keep you entertained for upwards of an hour, but if you're a little bit fussy, I find myself constantly moving you around to find a position that suits your fancy. Don't like being in the exersaucer? Let's try your little pink playmat. Don't want to be on your back? You roll yourself over to your tummy. Oh, that position isn't pleasing? How about your swing? Nope? Okay, snack time it is, in mama's arms. I'm sad that some day the little bundle of you won't fit into my arms anymore, so I'll revel in it as long as I possibly can.

Love,

Mama

Week 37: Disappointment, Blessings & Trust

Little One,

Last week I was reflecting on the necessity of letting go and trusting God through everything. I admit that I haven't been the best at being prayerful throughout this pregnancy, but it became very apparent in the past few weeks that I was being led down a path I hadn't anticipated, and it was time to accept, let go, and trust. God is so good - I know it sounds cliche, but after my experience this past Thursday at the Medicine Hat hospital, I know that you are in His hands no matter what this birth experience brings.

My doctor had scheduled an external version, during which they were going to try to turn you around so you'd be in the 'preferred' head-down birthing position. I went in relatively nervous, but once I was lying on that hospital bed in my gown, I started to get really upset. I'm good at not letting on just how stressed I am - I like to put on a facade of strength - but inside, I was nervous, worried, and ultimately anticipating just how painful the external version would be. I hadn't let myself read up too much about how it works or how painful it was (even after your grandma L told me she'd watched videos on YouTube!), but my doula expressed that it would be painful - possibly as painful as transition contractions. Cue me: freaking out (inside, of course.)

After a much longer-than-anticipated wait, the doctor came in, got the ultrasound machine hooked up, and confirmed - yes, again - that you were comfortably head up, bum down. With the nurse keeping an eye on your heart rate, the doctor began digging down around my pelvis to try to scoot your bum upwards. And you... well, you weren't having any of it! Your heart stayed steady and strong, and you refused to budge. Three unsuccessful attempts to turn you ("the head will move, but that bum is just lodged in your pelvis!") and the doctor look at me, said, "I can't believe the baby is so relaxed about all this. We'll attempt a breech birth," and walked out. No mention of scheduling a C-section, just accemptance about your position and about a plan.

Here's what I'd expected if the external version hadn't worked: I'd done so many interventions already to try to get you to turn, so I was relatively optimistic about the version, even though the success rate for new moms is apparently 50%. But deep, deep down, I think I knew you were going to stay put. As badly as I wanted you to turn, I think I knew that it just wasn't going to happen. So I went in expecting to be entirely disappointed if it didn't work.

But something funny happened.

All of the sudden, I was full of adrenaleine - and peace. I felt confident, I felt excited to meet you, I felt almost ready to begin labour right there (almost)! The nurse stripped my membranes and told me to stick around Medicine Hat just in case labour began (external versions are known in rare instances for promoting labour). So all day, I was bouncy, happy, and excited - not at all disappointed that the version didn't work. It was such an amazing blessing - I'd been granted the peace about this whole situation that I'd asked God to deliver, and it came not through my own expectations but through an experience that I'd expected to yield a different outcome and different feelings.

The best part? The version was extremely uncomfortable, yes, even painful, but it wasn't half as bad as I'd made it out to be in my head. I think I had approached the version much like I approach any kind of competition - I build it up to be ridiculously difficult in my head, and I fear the pain and the hard work, but through it all - I'm focused, I'm breathing, and I'm positive. I kept thinking, "this is like the 32nd kilometer in my marathon." That was one of the worst, most painful, most emotionally harrowing moments of my life - but I pushed through. Exhausted and in pain, I kept pushing through. It helped that during the marathon, a man I didn't know kept biking around me - he was wearing a shirt that said "Run, Olivia, Run!" which I found out later was meant for his wife who shares the same first name as me. But it was one of those reminders that I can push through - anything. I know the version wasn't even close to what labour will be like, but God showed me that I am strong, I am capable, and even in the face of disappointment, I've been blessed with the grace to accept circumstances joyfully. I think one of the most potentially disappointing days of my pregnancy turning into one of the most exciting and joy-filled is evidence of God's work and His love.

Oh, and through it all, I was suffering from a major head cold. I kind of felt like maybe I could be experiencing the beginnings of labour for the two days after the version attempt, but I was so sick with a stuffed head and sore throat that I figured it was God saying, "you know what? Trust that I know when's best for this baby to make his/her appearance. Sure, maybe you're labouring, but maybe you're just really sick from this head cold - only I know for sure. Trust me, trust me, trust me."

And I trust. You'll arrive when the time is right. And I can't wait!

Love,

Mama

Week 30: The Scariest Moment of All

Little One,

Growing up, I was often told to "slow down or you'll get hurt." It's advice I never really took to heart, although once in a while I catch myself moving too fast and that voice will pop into the back of my head, forcing me to evaluate just how careless I'm being for the sake of speed and I will slow down - at least a little bit. Throughout this pregnancy, I've been pretty active - not as active as I would have liked to have been, but exhaustion slows a person down some. Ultimately, though, I was told through the events that unfolded this past weekend that I'm definitely moving too fast, and it's time to slow down and savour these last 10 weeks before your arrival.

Yup, we were ice fishing, your father and I. Yup, it was a slow day (as 90% of them seem to be.) After a few hours or sitting around a nice fire and chatting with friends, I was gearing up to leave when all of the sudden the flag on my tip up sprung up. Yup, I sprung up as well, and began ambling nimbly (as nimble as a 7-months-pregnant woman can be) toward my tip-up. I began running - not quickly, mind you, but quickly enough that any kind of stumble would cause me to fall.

And that's exactly what happened, thus beginning the scariest few hours of my entire life.

It seemed like it happened in slow motion. I couldn't catch myself from the slight stumble, and I toppled forward, landing directly on my belly. I was in shock. I felt sick. I feel sick now, just typing about it. Okay, so I've eaten hot dogs and peanut butter during this pregnancy, I've taken hot baths, and I've probably done a million other things I shouldn't have done. But this - this was different. I immediately felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and failure. I was bawling, praying that you'd move inside of me. And you did! That brought me minor relief, but I was still incredibly upset. Your dad did an amazing job trying to soothe me and calm my fears, but I still felt horrible. I called Alberta Health Link, and a nurse did a great job assessing me, calmly following up by telling me I needed to get to a hospital (they tell all pregnant women who sustain falls to go to the hospital.) I felt better because I didn't experience any pain or bleeding, and you were wiggling away inside of me as per usual, but I needed to get myself to the hospital ASAP just to make sure. I hopped in the TrailBlazer and zoomed back into Brooks from Crawling Valley Reservoir, in tears the whole time.

Upon arriving at the hospital, I made my way directly to Labour and Delivery, where they promptly hooked me up to a fetal monitor, assuring me that everything was fine - I'd see in a few minutes. As those few minutes progressed and I recorded every time I felt you move, I also began noticing something interesting happening at regular intervals - yup, my uterus was contracting. Every four minutes. It didn't hurt, but it was enough to have the nurses call in the doctor, who checked to see if I was dilating (I wasn't), and who put me on medication to stop the contractions. An "upset uterus", he called it.

After an hour of waiting then another 20 minutes of fetal monitoring, the doctor determined that the contractions had stopped. He gave me another dose of medication to be taken at 6 am, with instructions to return at 10 am for another round of fetal monitoring. I went home, feeling very shaken and upset, but happy that you were okay. The fact that you were moving and that your heart rate was fine brought me so much peace and happiness. And it hit me: I love you, and I don't even know you. I worry about you, and you're not even born yet. You're a mystery to me, but I feel such a connection to you that your safety is my primary concern (um, and yeah, I definitely won't be ice fishing pregnant again. EVER.)

Six a.m. rolled around and my alarm went off. I woke up nauseated and shaky; a side-effect of the medication, I told myself. I popped the pill and fell back asleep. When my alarm went off again at 8:30, I called your daddy right away and asked him to please come home and be with me - I was so nauseated and ill that I didn't think I could drive myself to the hospital. By the time dad arrived home, I'd already thrown up twice. Third time? In the TrailBlazer on the way to the hospital. Fourth time? In a garbage bin at the hospital.

After an uneventful fetal monitoring session (no news is good news), the doctor came to see me again and I begged for something to quell the nausea. "Nausea?" He looked at me skeptically.

"Yeah - I figured it was a side-effect of the medication."

"Well, it could be, but I doubt it. This medication is not known to cause the kind of side-effects you're experiencing. It sounds more like you have a stomach bug."

Of course. A stomach bug. Perfect timing. Doc sent me home with some gravol (which I promptly threw up; I should have accepted the needle in the butt) and daddy bought me my favourite Gatorade: red. Red's the best flavour to throw up. It's sad that I know this, but it's the truth: if you know you're gonna throw up, you might as well enjoy the taste of what's coming up, and red Gatorade has exactly the right flavour. Not yellow, not blue. Only red.

Twelve hours of puking, and I was back at the hospital for an ultrasound. By this time it was Monday, and the puking had stopped. The ultrasound tech did his thing, and so far, everything appears okay - no placental tears, no damage to you...

But I still feel sick to my stomach every time I think about that fall. And this isn't the kind of sickness whose edge can be taken off with some red Gatorade. This is the painful part of love - the part that never wants to let you down but knows it will happen; the part that wants to protect you but will inevitably cause you pain. My biggest fear about being a parent is hurting you, and it's already began. It's going to be a lifelong journey... and I have so much to learn. I'm sorry my selfishness lead to this, I'm sorry I haven't slowed down more to enjoy you growing inside my belly... I'm sorry, and it's time to slow down.

Love,

Mama

Week 22: Being Sick Sucks!

Hey baby,

I was miserable this week. I came down with a horrible cold and some kind of flu-y symptoms (shaky/sweaty/cold, headaches, achy...) and I couldn't take my usual Tylenol PM to knock me out! Your daddy was so good to me, taking care of me and never once complaining about my snorting, sniffling or constant whining. I felt pretty lucky to be cared for so much, and I got over the cold in a week. I wasn't very active, but it helps that the gym I use changed locations so it was out of commission anyways. A good week to be sick!

I head back to work tomorrow after a blissful two week vacation, and I'm anticipating a lot of "oh my, you've grown!" because baby, you're getting bigger every day! I made a choice last week to start eating healthier again, and this week has been a very good one. It helps to know that you're being nourished by everything I put into my body.  I'm looking forward to getting back to the gym to get me heart pumping a little bit (and yours too!)

Your eventual arrival into this world has been weighing on my mind a lot; I swing between moments of anxiety and fear and moments of excitement and nervous anticipation. I'll be frank; I'm scared shitless to birth you. I pray that I can do it naturally, but there are SO many unknowns. I'll have to leave it in God's hands (having a doula hired is a big part of that - constant care, knowledge, and support? That's worth the price.)

Til next week,

Mama

Week 19: Left-handedness, Puke and the Belly Button Ring

Hi, Lefty. Yup, that's you, in the picture to the right, sucking your thumb like my son or daughter was inevitably going to do. Sadly, I sucked my own thumb until I was 9. I always hoped my own kids wouldn't succumb to the sweetness of the thumb, but it seems that some of these decision are made in utero. I call you Lefty cause it looks like you're sucking your left thumb, but what do I know about ultrasound imaging? Considering that your dad, granddad on your dad's side and one uncle on your dad's side are left-handed, it wouldn't surprise me if you ended up being a lefty, too.

I thought I hurt you on Sunday night. I was facing a bout of food poisoning (I'm pretty certain I'm allergic to almonds, because this is the fourth time in seven years I've reacted to processed almonds - twice to almond flour this year, and twice to almond butter seven years ago [pretty sure it was rancid]) and let's just say it wasn't pretty - your dad had to clean up after my projectile vomit. At least he'll be great at changing poopy diapers. Strangely, I've never felt so loved in my life. Anyways, every time I vomited, I couldn't help thinking that I was squishing your poor little body. I told myself, "shake your head, you're going to be squeezing this little thing (although I'm sure it will feel ENORMOUS) through your vagina in four and a half months, a little intestinal upset and vomiting reflex won't hurt." I still had to Google "the effects of vomiting during pregnancy", though, and I was four hours from going to the hospital to get rehydrated, but thankfully my body decided it'd had enough and I stopped puking.

Fast forward to Tuesday morning: our 19 week ultrasound. I was so afraid you wouldn't be moving. I didn't share my fears, because I was pretty sure they were unfounded, but let's just say when I saw that heart beating and you flipping around on the screen, I was so relieved. The ultrasound was about half hour long, much longer than I was expecting. And you cute little thing, you were sucking your thumb. We saw your spine, we saw your feet, all ten fingers and toes, and your face (I'm still convinced ultrasounds make fetus' faces look like Mexican wrestling masks.) And the best part of all? Seeing the joy on your daddy's face. Note: the ultrasound tech made me take out my belly-button ring. I've had this thing since I was 17. I walked around all day without it, and every time I looked at my tummy, I felt so naked. So I put it back in. I wonder how long I can go before I really have to take it out?

I decided for the privacy of our little family, I'd refrain from posting your ultrasound picture to Facebook. A few hours later, I received an unexpected text from your father: "can I post the ultrasound picture online?" Well, of course. Welcome to the Information Age. Hope you don't mind having your first embarassing thumb-sucking photo posted online for all our friends and family (and possibly random strangers) to see. Love you... and can't wait to meet you.