Now You Know Why They’re Not Models

Scene: Fall festival, trying to take a nice photo of both girls. (Click any photo to enlarge.)

OK, girls, look at mommy and smile!


C’mon, Mira, smile for mommy! You’re too young to be sullen! Oh…um, Cordy, I don’t need your help making Mira smile…


Mira, c’mon, look at the camera like Cordy did. Cordy, are you looking?


What kind of a face was that, Mira? Cordy, please focus! Just one photo of the two of you smiling! That’s all I’m asking for!


Good eye contact, Mira. If only you didn’t look so bershon. Now can we get Cordy to look at the camera and have both of you smile? Please?


OK, clearly we’re done here. Fine, I’ll leave you alone to play on the stairs and wait for the hayride.

Wait…now you’re smiling? Hold still! Let me get my camera out again! Don’t stop smiling! Argh, I don’t have enough time! *CLICK*


You two are determined to have me committed.



An Aching Back Isn’t A Reason For An Early Induction

There are so many things that I like about my new job. I mean, I get to assist in bringing new babies into this world! I get to pass on wisdom and knowledge about caring for a tiny human being to new parents! I have the chance to hold a laboring woman’s hand and tell her that yes, she is capable of performing this incredible act of human endurance and strength.

But it’s not all sunshine and soft baby butts, either.

I can list several things that aren’t so pleasant about my job, too. Like the incessant charting of nearly every detail that we must perform, thanks to our litigious society. Or performing vaginal exams to check for cervical dilation – which is actually kind of exciting, until you think about the fact that you spend your day with your hand in other women’s vaginas.

There is one particular part of my job that I truly dislike, however. Actually, it’s not so much an aspect of my job as it is a type of patient. I’d like to tell you all that this type of patient is rare, but in my two months on the job I’ve already seen this type of patient appear at our doors several times.

(And for those who don’t know, for the sake of privacy and HIPPA, I won’t ever be telling detailed stories about individual patients. Any stories I share will be vague enough to remove all identifying information, or will likely be several stories combined into one sample patient.)

The patient type I am talking about is the woman who wants us to admit her and deliver her baby right away for no other reason than she’s sick of being pregnant. And she’s not even full-term yet.

I’ve seen women at 32 weeks declare that all they need from us is a little pitocin so they can get this baby out. When you try to explain to this patient that her baby is still too small to be born, and would likely face a number of problems if born now, you’re dismissed and told that “My sister had a baby at 32 weeks and he’s fine!”

No amount of education gets through to some of them. They’re tired of being pregnant and want that baby out now, even though the pregnancy has no complications and there are no reasons to induce. Their own comfort is considered more important than the health and well-being of the baby they’re carrying.

It takes a lot to make me really angry, but this patient type often does stir up at least some small fury from deep within. I try to talk to them. I make every effort to explain why feeling “as big as a whale” is not a justification for a preterm birth. I remind them of the possibility of a stay in the NICU if their baby is born too young. I’m stunned by how often they brush all of the facts aside because, “I’m sooooo tiiiiirrred!”

I know too many people who had a premature birth forced upon them, some with good outcomes, some with tragic outcomes. My own mother still makes yearly visits to the grave of the daughter she lost at 32 weeks, born too soon 34 years ago. Does she wish she could have kept that baby in her a little longer? Hell yes.

Now, I remember I had my own share of complaining about the third trimester of pregnancy. Those of you who were reading when I was pregnant with Mira will remember that I was pretty fed up with being pregnant. But in no way did I ever consider the possibility of wanting to be induced just to get it over with sooner. Babies come out when they want to come out. And Mira waited until a full week after my due date to make her appearance. My doctor was impressed with my patience. Honestly, I was a little impressed, too.

Cordy was a scheduled c-section at 38 weeks because she was breech, and I’m still beating myself up over letting the doctor schedule it so early. I remember how angry she was, how even though she was a term baby, she wasn’t ready to come out yet. She wasn’t ready to feed, making all efforts at breastfeeding incredibly frustrating for both of us.

Despite my exasperation with patients who come to us hoping to hear the magic word “induction” because they’re tired of being pregnant, I still give them the same care I would any other patient. In fact, they often get even more of my attention, because I want to make sure they understand the seriousness of premature birth, and that just because we have the technology to grant them an early birth and provide support to a premature baby doesn’t mean we should use it if we don’t need to.

So we hook her up to the monitor, we check for any sign of contractions, check for good fetal movement and heart rate, check for any evidence of her water breaking, and if there’s nothing to be concerned about, send her home. This patient is never happy with that outcome, and the nurses are often called bitches quietly (or not-so-quietly) as they walk out the door. Like we’re trying to make them miserable for our own amusement.

I can handle that, though. Being called a bitch to keep that baby cookin’ just a little longer is fine with me. Because no matter the patient that walks in, my goal, and the goal of any nurse in my unit is the same: a healthy mom and baby.



Do They Have A Mommy Relaxation Camp?

‘Cause if they do, I could use one right now.

Today was Cordy’s first day of summer camp. “Typical” kid summer camp. Keep up with the pace summer camp. Do self-care stuff on your own summer camp. And I’m nervous as hell.

Two years ago, right after Mira was born, we put Cordy in a summer camp that was both a help and a disaster. I needed the time without Cordy, but she didn’t handle camp well. She didn’t follow the group. She didn’t participate in activities. She had massive meltdowns in group assembly. She had to be fed because she wouldn’t feed herself. And she wouldn’t drink from a cup, so she often was extremely thirsty at the end of the day. That was when we first heard the words, “It might be a good idea to get her evaluated.”

One year ago, after a year of special needs preschool, we enrolled her in a special needs summer camp program through the school district. That? Also a disaster. Many of the kids in that program had more severe disabilities, and Cordy spent all summer backsliding.

But today she’s being mainstreamed again. I know it is best for her. She needs the challenge. She’s made incredible progress and is ready for this, but I feel like I’m still trying to convince myself of that statement.

I worry the other kids won’t accept her. I know she’ll be hard to deal with during the first week or two – until she learns the routine – and I worry her teachers won’t wait for her to blossom into the happy child and instead write her off as worth their time early on. And what if she doesn’t know to ask to go to the bathroom? Will she have an accident?

I’m overprotective -there’s no hiding that fact. I do try to shield her from some of the ugly in life. I step in when she encounters mean kids probably sooner than I should. Oh, and I gave her teachers a speech about Cordy’s sensitivities and quirks that was so long they probably quit listening after the first few sentences and just nodded and smiled to keep me happy.

We pick her up this afternoon, and I’m hoping for a glowing report. Or at least a “it wasn’t too bad” report. Until then, I’m all nerves.

(And Mira starts summer camp tomorrow, too. Strangely enough, I’m not at all worried about her.)

And if you’re bored and like looking at photos of people in dressing rooms under bad fluorescent lighting, come check out my little fashion show and help me choose clothing for BlogHer!



In the Dark

Last night, as I was coming home from a night out with friends, I was treated to an amazing light show in the sky. Great, I thought, storms. Those who know me in person know how anxious I get in thunderstorms. I’ve never been able to relax and enjoy the power of nature. No, I’m too focused on the massive destruction, tornadoes, fires, and electrocution that nature can cause to enjoy some pretty lights in the sky.

I made it home right before the rain started. Settling down in my chair with my computer, I distracted myself with a quick e-mail check and some Twitter, hoping the storm would pass quickly.

And then the lights dimmed, came back, dimmed again, and then went out. No big crack of thunder accompanied it, so we didn’t know why the power decided to take time off.

Aaron found the flashlights while I looked outside and confirmed that everyone was in the dark. After our initial WTF? we lit some candles and relaxed. The rain was steady, the lightening was already calming down – so where was our electricity?

We waited. And waited. And waited. I called my mom and she asked “Did you call the electric company yet?”

“Um, no, but considering most of our side of town is dark, I’m guessing they already know.”

My only worry at this point was Cordy. If she woke up during this power outage, she would freak out. Cordy is afraid of the dark, and usually sleeps with her light on all night. A night light doesn’t cut it, and if I turn off her overhead light after she’s asleep, she’ll get up and turn it back on later in the night, along with her lamp. (And keep the nightlight on too, of course.) Thank goodness for CFL bulbs or environmentalists would have her on their 10 Most Wanted list.

Eventually we gave up and went to bed. Well, I went to bed, Aaron slept on the couch so he could turn everything off when the power came back on.

Sure enough, at 11:45pm, just as I was drifting off to sleep, I was startled awake by a scream from Cordy’s room. “I can’t get the lights on! I can’t see! I can’t see!” I fell out of bed in my frantic scurry to get to her room, trying to open and turn on my Nintendo DSi to provide light for her. When I opened her door, she was completely disoriented and terrified, shaking and reaching out for the light source while babbling about lights not working and make them work again and it’s dark and scary!

Aaron made it to the top of the stairs about the same time that I opened her door, and we guided her into our bedroom. I told her she could sleep in our bed tonight, and Aaron brought in her Sammy. (Somehow the giant Miffy that she named Sammy has become her nighttime protector and must be present so she can sleep.) With a child and giant stuffed rabbit in the bed, Aaron knew there was no room for him and went back to the couch.

At that point, all I wanted was to go back to sleep. I tried to close the DSi, but Cordy was again scared, even though I was right there with her. So I left it on, placing it on the bedside table. Then I remembered that I hadn’t charged it lately. Hmmm…once that light ran out, she’d be a mess again. I got out of bed to gather more light-producing equipment, and came up with a Nintendo DS and a book light. Well, it was better than nothing.

Thankfully, the lights came on 10 minutes after that. But Cordy refused to go back to her room. “What if the lights stop working again?” she asked over and over. I assured her that I would come and get her if they went off again, but she wouldn’t budge. As long as there was the statistical probability of the lights not working again, she was not moving.

Cordy hasn’t slept in our bed in a long, long time, and she’s not the best bed-mate. She talks half the night, kicks, fidgets, tosses and turns, and does her best to make sure no one else is sleeping. And is then up at 6am on her knees with open arms proclaiming, “Good morning, sun!” to the light coming in the window.

So if any locals happen to see me today, please buy me a coffee. And hope that she returns to her bed tonight.



Haiku Friday: Comparisons

I know it’s bad to
compare your children but I
can’t help it at times

Mira often wears
Cordy’s hand-me-downs and I
like the differences

This week’s outfit? A
dress Cordy wore years ago
Now it’s Mira sized:

(click for a larger pic)

I know it’s an obsession, and every special outfit that once belonged to Cordy is likely to be photographed on Mira, but I can’t help myself. I love seeing how my two daughters are so different, and yet so similar in many ways. Cordy looks more like me, Mira more like Aaron. Cordy was built solid at 21 months, with toddler tree trunk legs and large through her torso. (Amazon warrior princess, remember?) Mira is more slender while still having the toddler belly. She has far less hair than Cordy had at that age.

Yet the two of them squint their eyes the same, they have dimples in the same places. Mira’s hair is starting to show the same curls as Cordy’s. Both are taller than the average for their ages, and both are now Amazon warrior princesses.

Putting them side by side like this really amazes me, both to remember how Cordy once was, and to see how fast Mira is following her sister in growing up. It’s all too fast. I want them to stay little forever.

To play along for Haiku Friday, follow these steps:

1. Write your own haiku on your blog. You can do one or many, all following a theme or just random. What’s a haiku, you ask? Click here.

2. Sign the Mister Linky below with your name and the link to your haiku post (the specific post URL, not your main blog URL). DON’T sign unless you have a haiku this week. If you need help with this, please let me know.

3. Pick up a Haiku Friday button to display on the post or in your sidebar by clicking the button at the top.

REMEMBER: Do not post your link unless you have a haiku this week! I will delete any links without haiku!

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