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January/February
2005
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| Thursday,
February 24, 2005 -
Peace, till next |
| Thursday,
February 24, 2005 - WHERE THE BLOODY HELL ARE
ALL OF THE PACIFIERS PACIFIER!!!!! ARRRR!!!!!!! Peace, till next |
| Wednesday,
February 23, 2005 -
Yep, those are tie-dye socks. Could she be any cooler? Another
cool baby in our family sent me a picture of himself yesterday. Young
Ethan has recently been introduced to fluffernutter sandwiches. Yesterday
he woke up from his nap with a touch of bed head, and Erin gave him
a fluffo-treat. Here's the after-shot he emailed to me: I'm officially back to work. Yesterday was my first day back (just a few bumrolls - nothing major). Of course, right now I can only work when E-Beth is sleeping - which isn't very often, since most feedings lately are taking anywhere from 2-4 hours. (Growth spurt?) So we're probably going to have to hire someone to come in a few mornings each week to care for her while I work. I've only a few order for March, but April is already booked to the hilt and May is booking up very quickly, so we'll need to find someone soon. Today is GLORIOUSLY sunny, and I'm so eager to get out and learn how to snowboard. For those who remember, last winter I bought all new snowboarding gear, and the next day Spring came and melted all the snow. I feel good now, but not good enough to fall down a hill all day. I think it would make my tender spots scream in agony, so we'll wait a few more weeks till I'm fully healed. Yes, Mom, I know babies can't go snowboarding. HUGE congrats to friends Tim and Karin, who bought a house, got engaged, got married and announced their pregnancy in a matter of three weeks. We're so happy for you! :-) Brian, as always, is the hero of the household. The man always knows when I need a break and steps in to take care of things for me. I don't know how single parents do this - I would be lost without him. I'm trying to find something funny to tell you about, but since I slept last night between the hours of 9-11, 12-1, 2-3 and then 5-I'm-not-sure-what-time-it-was. The brain is slightly fried and funny ain't happening much. Maybe tomorrow I'll remember something funny and will make you all laugh. Until then, email Brian and remind him he has a journal to update and we're all eagerly waiting. Peace, till next |
| Monday,
February 21, 2005 - We drove out to sister Shanny's yesterday and met up with the Snow Belt clan. We've got Grandpa on Mommy's side left to meet, and he'll be up her in a few months, as soon as the snow clears. Shanny was a little nervous about the new E-Beth and her weak neck muscles, and didn't want to hand her to me. "She's all limp and floppy like a soup chicken," she said. I love my family's descriptions.
Skye
ran away again. He has been playing "Velociraptor" for the
last three weeks. He creeps up to the electro-fence boundary right
where it goes BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP After Brian saw him across the road, he called out to him. Skye looked over at Brian for two seconds, then bolted down the road to chase a car. Brian says he thought Skye blasted a canine middle finger at him before he ran off. Brian hopped in the truck, drove down the road following Skye, until Skye noticed a big metal sheep chasing him, and he squatted down in the middle of the road assuming the "chase the big metal sheep" position. Brian was speechless at how utterly dense our dog would be to think he could "win" against our truck. He pulled the truck over before Skye could attack the big metal sheep and opened the door. "Yo, Skye, Come." Skye did that confused head-cock thing, pitching his furry head to the side, and slowly got up and wandered over to the metal sheep to find out why it was calling him. Imagine his surprise when he saw that DADDY was inside the big metal sheep!!!! He jumped in and waggled his tail excitedly, because dogs love trucks (and their Daddies), ya know. He
was grounded until Brian could buy a new battery, and as I sit here
typing this message, he is parked right at the edge of his invisible
fence making the And on the Survivor front, I've picked a season favorite, and I'm hoping Ian, the dolphin trainer will win. Peace, till next |
| Thursday,
February 17, 2005 - The only time dealing with the spewage was difficult was when the E-Beth hurled all over my big chocolate chip cookie. Bummer. Uma (My Mom) is coming out tonight. She might get spewed on, but Mom is good at that stuff. She's much better at dealing with it than I am. Our dog has run away twice since we brought E-Beth home. The first time, the battery in his zappy collar was dead, so as our neighbors (The Sweeneys) left the driveway, Skye took it upon himself to join them. He walked them home, walked inside their home, and then made himself at home. Bernadette called and left a message letting us know that Skye was over there visiting and he was welcome to stay as long as he liked. Bernadette rocks Skye's world (and mine too). The next time, apparently Skye smelled good cookings over at the Sweeneys and decided that a little electro-shock therapy was well worth a visit at the neighbor's house, and he bolted the jolt. Brian found him standing on Sweeney's porch, along with our other neighbor's dog. In case you haven't figured it out, the Sweeney household is THE place to go if you're running away from home. Upon our return home from the hospital, they brought us the most scrumptious meal of pork chops and seasoned rice, plus a big plate of chocolate chip cheesecake cupcakes. Even Brian has threatened to run away from home and head over to Sweeneys. Hell, I'm even considering it. Jim Sweeney (AKA Sweeney) was the one who drove me to the doctor on D-Day. He had the day off and offered to drive me. It was MUCHLY appreciated, because if he hadn't driven me, we would have been stuck paying parking fees for an extra vehicle for five days while I was in the hospital. The Sweeneys also took care of Skye and Miss M while we were gone (which is why Turkeyboy keeps running away from home now. He got a taste of the good life.) Brian is off at the new job. He accepted a temporary position, and now this spoiled wife and mother has to fend for herself. I'm tired. I'm DOG tired. I miss him already and it's not even noon. E-Beth misses him too. Nobody can change a diaper like Daddy. And of course, Skye misses him. He sits his pathetic mangy body in the corner and moans loudly all day, until Brian comes home, and then he pees himself because he's so happy. (Skye, not Brian) So, I will close for now, because I've ordered take-out from Mark's (because A) I'm too tired to cook and B) I hate cooking for one person, and C) because it's MARK'S!) Peace, till next |
| Wednesday,
February 16, 2005 - Things 'round the Piper homestead are going well. Brian accepted a temporary job with a great company doing fun web/cd projects. His first one was an advertisement featuring snowboarding (skyboarding) skydivers, so he feels right at home. I had a doctor's appointment yesterday for a BP check, weight and incision check. Blood pressure is FABULOUS. I've lost 24 lbs, and my incision looks great. I love my doctor, because he said, "You look downright SKINNY!" I'm not fooling myself - I'm not even close to "skinny." But it sure felt good to have doc tell me that after all the weight gain lectures over the past several months. I'm still adjusting to motherhood - some of it is so easy and it comes so naturally, other stuff is still kind of hard to get used to. E-Beth and I are both adjusting pretty well though. Brian has mastered all of it. ;-) Example: the other night I was feeding E-Beth, and she had polished off all breast milk, and was hungrily chowing down on formula. When she was finished, I started burping her, and the poor child spewed forth this horrific mucous-ish-half-digested formula in copious quantities. As luck would have it, the entire spewage drizzled down the length of my right sleeve. It was warm and squishy and I almost vomited on spot. So when people tell you, "ohhh, it's different when it's your own child!" They are lying. It's something you definitely have to get used to. I'm working on it. This morning she spewed again, and I didn't even flinch - so I am getting better at mommy-ing. (But then again, it was 5 am, dark, and it wasn't sloshing around in my right sleeve.) Babies are fun. I love being a Mom. And we've developed a whole new language to go with this parenting gig. Vanilla:
the right breast Brian let me sleep a LONG time last night. I went to bed at about 10, and didn't wake up until about 5 am. He took care of all the night feedings for me and let me catch up on sleep. I'm ever-so grateful. I would have let him sleep in this morning, but he had to go in to the office at the new job, and Skye REALLY wanted some snuggly Daddy time, so I let the fuzzball loose in the bedroom and Brian woke up to a slimy-tongued face bath. That's all for now. Me and E-Beth are gonna go snuggle for a bit, and then I'm going to head up to the sewing room and try to get organized. I'm hoping to ease back to work within the week - if it's ok with E-Beth. ;-) Peace, till next |
| Friday,
February 11, 2005 - And I'll attribute my yelling at Brian yesterday to this new feeding frenzy, even though I know it was just me being an uncalled-for crankypants. The poor Briguy was upstairs working, and the propane dude pulled up in his loud truck. I couldn't see who it was, since I was tied to the couch with the feeding E-Kid. Our psychotic dog started to freak out, barking VERY loudly. I couldn't get up to answer the door, nor could I muzzle/beat/lock in the basement the dog for disturbing fussybeth - who was *nearly* asleep. So I yelled up to Brian, "Someone is here!" I heard no response. (NOTE: I am extremely heard of hearing, so, unless the person speaking or yelling is in the same room as I am AND looking directly at me so I can see their lips moving, I will not hear them). The truck rumble quiets. The barking dog quiets. E-Beth starts to doze off again. Life is groovy. ANd I ignore the fact that I've not heard a response from my sweet hubby. Fast forward to thirty seconds later, when the propane guy apparently got a little too close to Skye's frisbee or his dead squirrel or something owned by Skye, because all the sudden he is gnawing at the windows, barking, growling, drooling, and I'm doing the same thing, because poor E-Beth is NOT happy about all the noise he is making. You know how on video games you get those little life-bars that show how battered and abused you are and how much life you have left before you get to GAME OVER? And you know how that fabulous life-bar goes down every time you get hit by a bullet or punched by a gang member? Well, that little blue bar was my patience level, and it was getting smaller and smaller ever time Skye let out one of those LOUD, ROARING 80-KABILLION DECIBEL BARKS. I lost my temper, and I screamed at the top of my lungs, in my most crankypantsiest voice: BRIAN! SOMEONE IS HERE! GET DOWN HERE AND HELP ME! Well, it was exactly what I needed to do to kick HIM into crankypants mode. He stumble-stomped down the stairs screaming back "I told you! It's the propane guy just filling our tank! Nobody is here!!" My head fell off my shoulders and sprouted hairy spider legs and started scampering up the walls, leaving a trail of hatred, darkness and blood from past victims. I scream at him: I CAN'T HEAR YOU WHEN YOU'RE UP THERE!!!!! YOU KNOW, I DON'T SCREAM FOR YOU TO COME DOWN HERE JUST TO ANNOY YOU!!! I DO IT BECAUSE I NEED HELP!!!!!!!!
So poor Brian realizes that there's no chance - he's doomed. There's no sense even trying to discuss it. He's on the losing end of this battle, because you can't win against a hatred-spewing decapitated spider-head monster when it's trying to eat your face off. So he calms down, trying to calm ME down, and ever-so apologetically tells me he only yelled at me, because I yelled at him, and he's very sorry for it. And because I'm a post-partum psychopath, I went all 'Dr. Phil' on him and said in practically incomprehensible ha;f-sentences, "So? What? You need this to be MY fault or something? FINE! It's MY FAULT. <mutter, mutter> NO sleep, <mutter, mutter> feeding our child CONSTANTLY, <mutter, mutter> dog is UTTERLY INSANE ready to devour whatever imaginary creature is on the other side of that window, and it's MY fault? At that time, my creepy-insane spider head sprouted a dozen more mini spider heads, and their fangs started oozing blood. Brian, being the much kinder, bigger person, apologized again, and then all the sudden I realized: I am the biggest bee-yotch on the face of the earth and the post-partum psychosis turns into post-partum guilt tripping. I could feel those stupid tears starting to come, so I had to start apologizing QUICKY, or else we'd be dealing with the water works all afternoon. (Once they start, they're hard to stop.) So I apologized a half a dozen times and felt bad and he forgave me and life is good. Thank Heavens for great-hearted husbands. Immediately afterward, he went to the store to buy me some feminine moisturizing cream and some maxi pads. Did I mention how fabulous he is? Yeah, pretty freakin' fabulous. On his way out the door, he asked: So, you just need feminine moisturizing cream and Maxi Pads? I said, "Yep." He said, "Ummm, isn't there anything else you can add to that list? So I can, like, make it look like I'm not buying only maxi pads and feminine moisturizing cream?" He came home with the above unmentionables and a package of neapolitan Klondike Bars, answering the age-old question, "What would YOU do for a Klondike Bar?" Yeah, he's a pretty awesome guy. ;-) And did I mention the fact that the other day he went to Walmart to buy me nursing bras? The poor guy definitely did NOT deserve to be freaked at. I'll be forever apologetic for yesterday's episode. And here's a treat for you all - if you want to read about life from the Briguy's perspective, you CAN! Just click here to read Brian's Elizablog. Peace, till next |
| Wednesday,
February 9, 2005 - I first noticed this NEW Brian on our first night home. My husband is normally the least prone to panic of anyone I know. In fact, I have *never* seen this man with ruffled feathers, and I've seen him in plenty of situations where any normal person would have died a thousand times over from panic. Brian is always calm, cool and collected. Or at least he used to be, before the body snatchers stole him from me. Day one home from the hospital. Daylight hours progressed without incident. We had been attempting to breast feed, but since my milk had not come in, we were supplementing with one ounce of formula at each feeding. We settled in for a long three-hour sleep, and were awakened by loud, frantic screaming from our fair child. We both sprang up from sound sleeping patterns and started fumbling around for light. Once the room was illuminated, we both soared into freak-out mode. Me:
BRIAN! She's got puke all over her! (We now know the difference between
puke and spit up) Brian dashed to the phone and called the hospital to make sure little Elizabeth wasn't going to die from spitting up. The nurse seemed only slightly annoyed by our stupidity. "Ummm, babies do spit up." she said. "It's quite normal." We managed to suck all the ickies out of Elizabeth's nostrils and mouth, and she was quite content and fell back asleep almost instantly. brian and I stayed awake for the next six hours, our bodies wired with adrenaline, to make sure she was breathing ok and that we hadn't completely failed our firstborn on DAY ONE of home life. From that day on, we have made little E sleep in an almost upright position. The
next day my body-snatched husband went shopping. He spent over $200
at Babies R Us and purchased the entire Preemie clothing section ,
including the most adorable "I love my Daddy" jumper. Then
he went to Walmart and bought a "Dad" bathrobe, fuzzy slippers,
and then the clincher. When my husband came home with a fuzzy toilet seat cover and matching towels, I knew that he had been replaced with a body-snatched, pod-hatched clone. Note that I am NOT complaining. I like my new Domestic Goddess Husband! I like the thought of NOT having to shop for new towels and matching bathroom accessories. I really hate doing those tasks, and now Brian seems content in handling the finishing touches of our household decorating needs!! (And damn, if everything he bought didn't match our bathroom PERFECTLY!) On Friday, Brian received word that he was being laid off from his job. At first I was a little bit hysterical (Okay, I was a LOTTA bit hysterical, which I attribute to a cyclone of post-pregnancy hormones) but then after we thought about it, we realized what an absolute gift this is. Brian can stay home with me and E-Beth for a while and collect unemployment until he lands the perfect job! Even in the past few days, he's already received several job offers and freelance opportunities, so we're not going to starve. ;-) How many new fathers ever have a chance to spend the first few weeks/months of their firstborn's life with them, uninterrupted, and getting to know them like this? Not many. Like I said, this is a gift. And we're rather happy about it. Here's a shot of Brian enjoying his first day of being a non-productive member of society:
On the first day of unemployment, Brian came into the living room wearing a spiffy new grey sweat suit and announced, "Get used to this look, baby!" On the second day of unemployment, Brian and Skye went jogging and Brian wore his spiffy, almost-new sweatsuit. He did a lot of sweating. On the third day of unemployment, Brian's spiffy sweatsuit was covered with sweat, spit-up and was smelling a bit funky. "Think I should shower?" he asked. I gave him a quiet, smiley nod and while he was in the shower, I stole his sweatsuit. So, we're all home, happy, healthy and smelling fresh and clean. Elizabeth got a bath today too, and her belly button fell off yesterday! We're eating lots of pizza (Skye, Brian and Heather) and breast milk (for Elizabeth). Life doesn't get much better than this. ;-) . . . . except when I sneeze - it hurts to sneeze. . . . Peace, till next |
| Friday,
February 4, 2005 -
Peace, till next |
| Thursday,
February 3, 2005 -
Peace, till next |
| Monday,
January 31, 2005 -
Long story short: I had a C-Section, and I'm trying to catch up on all the emails, so I'll update my journal as soon as we've settled into a bit of a routine, I'm feeling better, and I've got all my emails answered. Everyone is home, happy and healthy. :-) Peace, till next |
| Monday,
January 24, 2005 - I have to take in the big red jug today, and get another three vials of blood drawn. I don't mind too much, because I get to leave the house for a little while. Tomorrow is the 37-week check-up, so if you don't hear from me for a few days, it probably means we're having a baby! With that in mind, I have MUST-HAVE piece of fine art which I will be auctioning off on eBay soon. If I'm not admitted into the hospital tomorrow, I'll list it on Wednesday or Thursday. If I am admitted, I'll list it within a few weeks. No details now - just stay tuned for this MUST-HAVE item! Curious? You should be! ;-) Peace, till next |
| Friday,
January 21, 2005 - All of Brian's co-workers were jealous about what Brian was getting to go home to yesterday. (For those who forgot, he got to come home to trim Skye's smelly butt hairs.) Why didn't I do it? Besides the fact that smelly butt hair makes me vomit, I'm also nine months pregnant and I happen to be Skye's favorite chew toy. Skye has a VERY short list of people who are allowed anywhere near his hind quarters. I am not on that list. The vet is not on that list. In fact, the only person on that list is Brian. Which is why he always gets the honor of trimming Skye's smelly butt hairs.
Yeah, well, don't feel TOO sorry for him. He got himself into this situation by knocking over the garbage can, dragging potato peels all over the house and eating half of them, then greedily sucking down discarded chicken skin and grease from the garbage bag. I think that would give ANYONE smelly butt issues. Baby update: My doctor called yesterday and although my test results aren't fabulous, they aren't anything to worry about immediately. He's going to wait till Tuesday's appointment and see how things are progressing. If there are any indications that my body is ready for delivery, he might induce. I'll be 37 weeks by then. Brian is obsessing over our bedroom ceiling. It bothers him because it has a ripple. I keep telling him that nobody is looking at our ceiling and talking about the ripple behind his back. I keep reminding him that "Done is GOOD" with regard to the bed/bath construction project. I also give him two statements of wisdom passed down to me from my father: "You can't see it from the road." and "You ain't buildin' a church." I woke up this morning and my tongue felt like a lead brick in my mouth,. I wondered if tongues would swell in extreme cases of water retention, so I asked Brian, "Hey, I *know* my tongue is coated with the most unimaginable sleep-slime right now, but could you just take a peek and tell me if it looks particularly swollen?" I stuck out my tongue and Brian looked at me with that "yeahhhhhhh-honey-don't-ask-me-because-all-tongues-look-the-same-to-me" expression on his face. I got up and did my usual morning routine, and after a few sips of water, my tongue felt smaller (and better), so I have to assume it's because I probably slept with my mouth open and drooled all night, causing my tongue to dry up like a salted slug. At times like this, I can't help but wonder what the Hell Brian sees in me. Must be because I *don't* have smelly butt hair. Peace, till next |
| Thursday,
January 20, 2005 - Skye found out about the upcoming arrival of Elizabeth this morning, and in a fit of the nastiest sort of dog revenge, he pooped all over his butt fur to get back at me. He waited until Brian had left for work, then made the smelly announcement and waggled his butt around for me to see. I threw him outside and told him to go wipe. Instead of wiping, he stalked the neighbor children and their school bus with a stinky butt. He's now out on the porch waiting for Brian to get home and clean him up. Poo makes me gag. A lot. (I know, I know. I better get used to stinky poo. My life will be filled with it once E-Beth comes home.) Here is a letter Skye wrote to Brian after he found out about E-Beth: Deer big furree man, wut iz this garbij i heer abowt thu big yello hayr laydee iz gunna
bryng hoam a baybee? that iz a bunsh of stoopid crapp. i doant want
a stinkee synd, pee-ess: i thawt i wuz yoor baybee. itz nawt fayr thet thee stoopid yelo hayr laydee iz bringing hoam a stoopid yelo hayr baybee. baybeez are stynkee and thay mayk 2 much noyz. thay arnt az cyoot as i em. i thawt i wuz yoor baybee butt maybee i em not and that maykz mee varee varee sadd and cry-ink boohoohoo. yoo stynk. i hayt yoo. butt giv mee sum dawg bonz and sum krispee baykon and i wil luv yoo agen. evin if yoo bryng hoam a stoopid stynkee cry-ink baybee. maybee. it bettur bee reelee gud baykon. A new belly pic:
Peace, till next |
| Wednesday,
January 19, 2005 - Yeah, this is SO NOT the day. No baby, no deliveries - baby OR pizza - In fact, for the first time ever, my body seems to be miraculously healing itself, and my doctor gave me the delicious news that he may just let me go to full term! Oh, happy joy, joy. Four to six more weeks of being the hugest person on earth. Four to six more weeks of being a loser for gaining weight. Four to six more weeks of red pee jugs and wet hands in the middle of the night. Four to six more weeks of having three blood vials a week vampirically sucked out of the very tender bendy spot on my inner arm. Four to six more weeks of gas, indigestion, acne, bloating, waddling. cardboard dinners and the most horrific of all: NO PIZZA.for at least four to six more weeks. Yes, I totally understand that my "yer-prolly-gonna-carry-to-term- (and possibly BEYOND)" related crankiness makes me the most miserable, rotten, selfish woman on the face of the earth. And, yes, I know I'm a total drama queen. Read on. I can prove it. Been there, done it, got the tee-shirt. Yes, I know it will be sooooooo good for the Elizababy to cook inside the Elizabelly for another 4-6 weeks, and that every extra day we let her grow inside, makes her healthier and happier and gives her more potential to become a future contestant on (insert name of favorite Reality TV Show). But <whine> for a while now, I have been SO EXCITED at the thought of being able to bring our Wee Elizacritter home next week - and that's really where my disappointment lies. In all honesty, I can deal with another 4-6 weeks of discomfort and enormity and cardboard food, and Brian telling me I'm gorgeous. But I'm so sad that I can't start playing dress-up with her and all these adorable booties and rompers and cutest-ever hats and footie socks! However, I'll do it. I'll go that extra mile, because I love my sweet, angelic, unborn child with her cute, adorable ultrasounded babytoes and painful midnight ribby-kicks. I'll do it with a smile, and I'll be grateful and I'll be huge . . . But don't expect me to do it without a bit of journaled whining and complaining. Because that just wouldn't be me. Would it? Besides, what would I journal about if I weren't whining and complaining? RIGHT. NOTHING. And I'd be boring as Hell. So take my cranky attitude and laugh at me, dammit. ;-) Because that's what drama queens want: People to laugh at them. The appointments yesterday were good - and my heroic hunky never-complaining hubby drove me all over God's green (actually, it was stark snow white) Earth, to the many appointments scheduled yesterday, and got to meet my OBGYN for the first time. Me,
drama queening before my first appointment: You just wait
and see how much trouble I'll be in for my weight gain THIS week. At our appointment, Doc enters the room, and measures my fundus. Brian laughs, because he knows I love the word "fundus," and I walk around saying it every chance I get. Me: Fundus, fundus, fundus. It's fun to have a fundus. There's a fundus among us. Honey, look at my fundus, isn't it gorgeous? <posing side to side, Vogue-style> After the fundal height measurement, my doc looks at my medical stats and comments. Doc: BP is down, that's great! . . . . You gained two pounds though . . . (I glare at Briguy, giving him the "WATCH, LISTEN AND LEARN" look and I prepare for my weekly lecture) Me: *sigh* I know. . . . <preparing for that usual post-lecture, self-loathing feeling> Doc: <with a burst of enthusiasm> But, considering everything you've been through and how well your'e doing today, that's not bad at all!!! My brain: Who IS this man standing before me in that crisp white coat who is letting me off the hook for weight gain today, of all days, in front of my generously sympathetic husband? I quickly glance at Brian quickly, who is chuckling to himself, and I realize that my heroic hunky hubby now thinks I'm completely full of crap and that I *REALLY AM* a total drama queen who has been blowing these weight gain lectures totally out of proportion, simply to revel in his generous sympathy. I scowled briefly. . . . And then I did what any normal feeling-betrayed woman would have done. I plotted . . . As my kind and gentle doctor was about to leave the room in a FANTASTIC mood, beaming at my healthy progress, as though I was his star patient who has done everything right, I could have smiled back and simply accepted his approval . . . But no, I had to press my luck. Because that's what drama queens do. I smiled my sweetest drama queen smile - (If I had been Brian, I probably would have puked on the spot. I was sickening.) "Sooooo, Does that mean I can have pizza for dinner tonight?" <grinning, and chirping "peet-zah!" like a squeaky cheerleader would have done> Doc: <face instantly changes to a crushingly disappointed frown> "No," he says without hesitation. And he closed the door behind him without another word. As I finished making my appointment for next week, my head hung in drama-queen shame, Doc walked by and silently handed me another big red pee jug. So, that's where we're at. Another day, another big red pee jug, another week of waiting. And no pizza for dinner. Peace, till next |
| Tuesday,
January 18, 2005 - Could THIS be the day? I have four appointments today. I get to bunch them all up and be over and done with them in one fell swoop. How awesome is that? And the weather is junky, and I'm a chicken driver when the roads are snowy, so my handsome hubby is chauffering me around! We start by dropping off the pee jug, donating blood to the Heather Kidney Death Fund, fundal height measurment, lecture about weight gain, non-stress test and ultrasound! WHEW! Test results will be read tomorrow, and then Doc will either induce or torture us with another week of waiting! Dad sent out a picture to tempt Ethan, AND me. C is for cookie, that's good enough for me. Unfortunately, if this stack of cookies was placed in front of me, I'd eat every single one. So I have to sing C is for cardboard, that's good enough for me. Bleh.
. . . . Boy, those cookies look good. . . . Anyhoo, <wiping the drool off my chin> It's cold. It's snowy. It's white. It's too chilly to do ANYTHING outside, so that means it's a perfect day for birthin' babies, wouldn't you say? If I can't spend the day eating cookies and pizza, I might as well spend the day having a child. Peace, till next |
| Monday,
January 17, 2005 - As everyone knows, I absolutely adore my customers. ALL of my customers, and I pretty much bend over backwards to accommodate their needs and special requests. As everyone also knows, I also have been pretty limited to what I can and can't do during this pregnancy - and for that, I apologize. I don't like having to turn people away when I'm not physically able to take on their requests. But please remember, this is only temporary and I'll be back to regular business in no time. When I first started writing in this journal, I made a few rules to follow: *I
can be funny without being too offensive
(most of the time) That last rule isn't even something I ever have to worry about - because ALL of my customers are fabulous people! It's the people who AREN'T my customers who are the flaming, freaking idiots! I had an unbelievably WHACKED experience last week. Some lady (and I use the term loosely) - who I have never "met" before in my life - decided to email me with a scorching list of rules I need to start following, or else I would become a wretch of a human being and my soul would burn in Hell for eternity. She sent me a list of "suggestions" disguised as very rude demands and condescending criticisms. (I didn't post the entire email, but trust me, there was nothing helpful, kind or polite about it.) This person has never been a customer of mine. She is a complete stranger, with whom I have never had any contact. Apparently this "lady" purchased a bodice second-hand from someone who had originally purchased it (custom made to her measurements and fabric/trim requirements) from me. She wrote about this garment on a public newsgroup, saying that her goal was to take my garment, use the pattern (which is my original design), copy it, improve it, make lots of them and sell them. As she put it "Her loss is my gain!" Whatever. I've found that people like this, who have few ethics, also usually have no sense of shame, and will foolishly broadcast their naughty intentions on public newsgroups for the world to see. Note to the mean people of the world: If you're gonna screw people over, don't tell the world. Keep it a secret. Otherwise the person you're planning to screw over will probably FIND OUT. Note: I reveiced about 15-20 emails from kind, concerned people who sent me direct links to this person's naughty newsgroup postings. The Renaissance world is a very small one, indeed - so a big thanks to the many people who contacted me! Folks like you restore my faith in human kindness and make me believe that for one bad apple, there are 20 good ones! :-) Anyway, back to the <ahem> "helpful" email sent to me from this non-customer stranger . . . . Email "suggestion" number One: You need to make some MAJOR changes. As a seamstress myself, I was dismayed at the shortness of the arms! Don't tell me they are correct, because they are not. My thoughts: Hello, McFly!!!! This garment was made to SOMEONE ELSE'S measurements - NOT yours. I do not have some sort of faulty sense of arm length. If you want sleeves that fit, order a garment to be made to YOUR measurments! My sister Erin's suggested response: I'm sooooo sorry about that. As a genetically-altered test-tube human being, it's very hard to get those pesky sleeves the right length when I have to guess all the time. You see, I have 9-inch flippers instead of full-length arms, so it's a real pain to get those damned sleeves the right length. And who the Hell invented dressmaker's forms - HELLO! NO ARMS! I'd like to thank you so much for your suggestion. I'll do what I can to improve my design. Email "suggestion" number Two: You also have to create at least one slit in the back skirting in order to look more like a coat and not so bland looking from the back. My thoughts: This is a BODICE, not a coat. Why would I want to make my BODICE look more like a coat? If I wanted to do that, I'd just make a COAT, wouldn't I? How I wish I had responded: Would the slit make it easier for me to crap in the woods? Because that's VERY important to me and my customer base. Actually, I think you might be onto something here. . . . I can call it my "Crap-in-the-Woods" bodice! I'll make millions! HAHAHA!!!!! This is GREAT marketing!!! . . . . Ummm. . . I don't have to give you a cut of the profit, do I? Email "suggestion" number Three: Velvet of any kind is just too hot to wear all the time. My Thoughts: Again: this was a custom-ordered item and the ORIGINAL customer ordered velvet. She could have purchased ANY type of fabric, so if complaints are to be issued, should they really be directed at me????? Granted, if I were to make one for myself, I'd use yummy velvet too. But blame me for the warmth of velvet ? How I wish I had responded: Well, we already offer a multitude of fabric options - I'm going to assume that you think they're all too hot as well, since you didn't mention approval of the other lighter-weight options. Maybe I could just take my super-cool jet black Sharpie and write "It's supposed to be a bodice" across your bare chest. Would that be cool enough? Email "suggestion" number Four: The closing of the front needs to be higher. My thoughts: The website advertises this item as a "low-cut bodice." Why would I want to raise the neckline on a very popular low-cut bodice? My customers are hot, happenin' ladies and they know what looks goooooooood. ;-) Just ask their significant others and they'll heartily agree. How
I know ALL of my well-respected fellow wenches would respond:
What kind of red-blooded Renaissance Wench wants to RAISE
the neckline of her bodice? Where would we shove the ice cubes on
hot days??? Where would men put the roses????? The acronym "TOAP"
would becometotally obsolete!!!!! What kind of a life are you suggesting?!?!?!
A world without FAIRE CLEAVAGE IS NOT A WORLD I WANT TO LIVE
IN!!!!!!!!!! My thoughts: Seriously???? After all that nice, friendly butt-kissing, you're now going to ask me to HELP you? Erin's suggested response: Sure! No problem! The amount due for one yard of brocade and one yard of cotton velvet is $4,683.29. And I *love* Paypal. Send the dough ASAP, because I really need a vacation. I've officially hired Erin to be my email filter. All non-customer written-only-for-the-sake-of-being-mean-and-nasty emails will be directed to Erin, who will respond any darn way she wants. Right now I've got other stuff on my plate, and besides, people like this get my blood pressure boiling, which makes my doctor REALLY angry. Trust me, you don't want to make my doctor angry. He will make you pee in the big red jug and eat cardboard. So BE NICE TO ME, and my doctor, and my sister, and the rest of the world - and we will all be nice to you too. :-) And if you're nice to Brian, he'll do the sexy butt dance for you. (OOPS!) My deep, reflective words of wisdom: Life's just too short, so don't send mean emails to people. K? Peace, till next |
| Sunday,
January 16, 2005 - Huge, huge, HUGE thanks to my wonderful (and very much missed) Dad (who is in Florida for the winter) for sending me the funniest pictures in the world, of his grandson, Ethan, who I am happy to report - although he looks nothing like his mommy, has all the attitude of his mommy. Here is a picture of Ethan in his brand new high-tech fort, which, as you can see, he adores. He loves this exotically duct-taped cardboard box a million times more than all of his other nice, expensive toys scattered around the room. In fact, he loves it so much, they can't get him to leave it.
"Ethan, come out and play with your zoopie-doopie-loopie bee-bopper!" Nothing. Just a pair of big blue eyeballs peeking out of the cardboard window. "Ethan, come give mommy a big kiss!" A
blank stare from the child hiding in the fort. Finally, a solution. But Ethan, who is DEFINITELY his mother's child, is just a little too smart for their simple tactics!:
Thanks, Dad! :-) Peace, till next |
| Saturday,
January 15, 2005 - Huzzah to Aunt Jackie's (AJ's) daughter, Rachel, who just completed the Walt Disney Marathon with a finishing time that would qualify her for the Boston Marathon! <gulp> I can't believe I actually know someone this athletic and healthy! <twitch, twitch> Rachel sent out an email saying: "Well I survived the marathon and here are some picture to prove it! :) Some good some not so good :P (We should all be so lucky to look this "not so good") Thanks
for all the support and I was happy with the results on Sunday! I
ran a 3:38:37 (qualifying time for the Boston Marathon!) and I was
443rd out of 7726 racers who finished. Thanks to my Uncle Jim I also
know that I was the 69th female!" Aunt Jackie sent me a message too: -----
Original Message -----
Me: "Ma, THAT is the body I want to have <pointing at Rachel> She is PERFECT! Skinny legs, perfect butt, flat tummy and curvy boobies - I want to look like that!" Ma: "It's because she's a runner. When she runs, it forces everything up into her boobies and it stays there." (Special note: Mom also told us that if we played with our belly buttons, they would come unscrewed and our a$$es would fall off. Another note: We weren't allowed to say "a$$es" back then, nor were we allowed to say "butt" or "fart" or "turd." We were only allowed to say "fanny," "fluffy" and "poopy.") So I concluded, "Dayyyyy-um. That's what I need to do then. Once this baby is born, I will breastfeed her until she is ten, I will start running to force everything else up into my boobies, and FINALLY I will have a big chest." I don't think I'll be able to do the Boston Marathon though. I think my doctor will be inducing in about a week and a half - the week of the 23rd. I'll be 37 weeks, which isn't too bad. They measured her last week and she's almost 5 lbs. (Although, she feels like she's fifty lbs!) I'm
cranky and uncomfortable and all I do is whine and complain, so Brian's
got a really special
life right now. It's no wonder he's off building sets for the comunity
theatre today! ;-) Oh, and acne has taken over my body. So not only am I puffy, bloated, blotchy, leaking, swollen, sore, cranky and miserable, I've got zits everywhere. YAY!!!! :-) I'm ready for this critter to be born! Love you too!!!!! Hester My whole life I have *never* had boobies. I'm not kidding when I say that before I got "knocked up" (as Brian likes to call it), I wore 31 AAA bras - and even they were kinda big on me. In high school, my well-endowed sisters with their fancy-schmancy C-cup bras would pick on me. Sisters: "Hey, BOY! Nice NUBBINS!" Stick girl Heather: "Yeah, well at least I can run out to get the mail without them slapping me in the face . . . " <offering them a visual demonstration by slapping myself in the face thwackthwackthwackthwackthwackthwack> <sisters look at me like I'm utterly brain dead, and offering a giant eyeball roll in my direction> Heather: and I can do it WITHOUT a bra on <sticking out tongue and doing a braless, graceless hoppity-moron-dance-jig> But then my lack of balance and gravity would kick in and I'd fall and smack my nose on a chair on the way down - sending my sisters into hysterical fits of laughter. So in my late twenties, this fabulous miracle was devloped: THE W-UNDER BRA. (altered the name to avoid any trouble) I bought one in a big fat hurry - a nice thick super-luxury padded one. And it had no straps, which meant I could wear it and people would think I wasn't even wearing a bra - they would just know that I was naturally curvy, busty and oh-so GIRLY. I was working as the editor for a local newspaper at the time, and I was all suited up - professional as could be. I had appointments all day, with politicians, school administrators, corporate entities - and I was feeling good. I had W-UNDER BRA on my side. Halfway through the day, I started noticing that people were actually looking at my chest. No, they were STARING at my chest. And I thought to myself: Damn! This thing really works, and I stuck my chest out proudly for the world to see. Toward the end of the day, I ran into the Gas n Sip to buy myself a cool refreshing beverage, and the counterboy, no surprise, was staring at my chest. But he was looking at it kinda funny. Like he was confused about world economics, or the state of the environment - or something really important. . . . . I thought, "Huh. Must be he doesn't see very many busty women during the day." and I thrust my magnificent chest out, and sauntered back to my car. As I reached to shift the car into "D" (for "Dumbass"), I caught a quick glimpse of my chest. My W-UNDER BRA had shifted. My strapless, magnificent, miracle-working W-UNDER bra had completely betrayed me, and one enormous padded breast was now located directly below my left armpit. The other massivley padded faux breast was located directly in the center of my rib cage. I had become a one-tit W-UNDER: A complete, absolute freak of nature. I was horrified. I suddenly realized that the whole world had not been ogling my glorious, magnificent chest with any amount of breast envy, they were gawking at my deformed W-UNDER BOOBIES, W-UNDER-ing "what the hell is up with this chick's breasts????" That was the day I gave up on ever having a lovely rack. Once I accepted my fate, I started to appreciate them. . . . . Until now. <grin> Now that I have boobies. As I slip on my UNpadded bras, I often catch Brian staring at me. "What are you lookin' at?" I ask him. "Honey, you - you - you've got CLEAVAGE!" he sputters with awed W-UNDER. I grin manically. He's right. I *do* have cleavage. Unfortunately my hundred-pound Elizabelly overshadows any magnificent breast-taking views I might be able to offer him. Lucky for me, he doesn't even seem to notice the belly. Nor does he notice the puffiness, bloating, blotchy skin, leaks, swelling, crankiness, miserable rotten acne-ridden me. He just smiles and tells me how beautiful I am. And that makes it so. ;-) Peace, till next |
| Thursday,
January 13, 2005 - To
listen to me whine I listened to a bit of Green Day yesterday and thought this song was appropriate for recent events. Me, every day, all day: whinewhinewhinewhine. I had another prenatal exam today - kidney function is only borderline crappy. BP is down to a good healthy level. There is still protein in my urine - but I asked the doc to explain it to me. Mine is in the 300 range right now, and I asked what range does it have to be in before it's "scary" and he said up in the thousands. "Ah, Pish!" said I. "No problem. I can avoid that." So I'm back to a goal of holding out for 37 weeks, and I think I can do it. It's ONLY less than two weeks away. Cake. So I'm trying to remember what I did yesterday that's different from every other day for the past few weeks. Because whatever I did, it made my BP go down, my kidney function improve, and I even lost a couple of pounds. So, what was the difference? Instead of eating ONLY my usual cardboard diet, I said to hell with low-fat, low-carb, low calorie crap, and added four Mallo-Cups, and an entire bag of hairi-bo gummi bears and two bowls of peanut butter cup ice cream to my daily lineup. It felt good. (still low-sodium, but big on flavor!). So after my appointment today I ate a bag of chocolate covered raisins and later, I'll have a dish of raspberry cricket ice cream. I'll skip the gummi bears and make my doctor happy. ;-) Today's temperature was 67 degrees at noon. Tomorrow it's supposed to be 30 degrees, and by next week, back down into the 20s. You have NO idea how badly I wish I could go roller blading today. It's killing me to see all this sunshine and warm weather - and be stuck on the couch. But then I remind myself that I'm giving birth to a gold-plated child of immaculate perfection, and that this will all be worth it to have such an angelically flawless, perfectly-behaved super-child. And then I realize that those gold-plated perfect children don't seem to run in our family, as I remember back to a phone conversation with sister Erin, who explained to me that she opened her pantry door, only to find her young Ethan perched naked on a sack of potatoes, shoveling dog food into his mouth, grinning like a fool. Yeah. I can just picture E-Beth and Ethan teaching each other funny little tricks of childhood trade to each other. Maybe I'll hold out for 40 weeks. . . . Peace, till next |
| Wednesday,
January 12, 2005 - No baby today, but we got one step closer. I went in for my regular appointment yesterday at 9:45, and my doctor was worried about my kidney function and decided to send me right over to the hospital to meet with a kidney specialist. I was admitted. I got an IV put in. I peed many times for them. I had blood drawn. And all the King's horses and all the King's men decided that I was far too whiney and complainy to keep in the hopspital any longer than absolutely necessary and sent me home at 5 p.m. I'm peeing in another big, red jug today. I have to go back to my regular doctor tomorrow for another BP check and pee in a cup, and then another NST and ultrasound on Friday. I feel very popular right now, and with all these appointments, it's ALMOST like I have a social life again. Throw in some movie theatre popcorn and it'll be a party! I had a dream the other night that I had the baby, and she was actually a HE. We brought him home and I put him on the kitchen counter. He was a very good baby, and never cried, and after three days, I said to Brian with an amazingly empty expression on my face, "Aren't we supposed to be feeding it . . . or something?" Brian piondered a moment, head stuck in the fridge, and finally answered, "Yeah, I think we are supposed to feed it . . . or something . . . " People tell me that these nightmarish dreams are pretty normal. Our childbirth class teacher told us that they are - but never really elaborated on the topic much. Or maybe she did - we wouldn't know because we dropped out after three weeks and failed the class. Same as we did with Doggie-Be-Good class. Speaking of Doggie-Be-Good, Skyeboy wrote his daddy an email this morning. Enjoy: ------------------------ i think yoo shood sta hoam in thu daytyme evuree day, all day with mee. wee ken send thee yello hayr ladee away to thee haaspittul lyk we did yessturday and then yoo ken kum hoam and bee with MEE all day and wee ken eet boanz and cat poo. oka? thee yello hayr ladee is stoopid and shee iz getting tu bigg in thu bellie and shee iz not az nys as yoo and i luv yoo waaaaa moar than hur beekuz yoo hav lazurz and boanz and frizbeez and glo-balz. i think thu yello hayre ladee is getting tu bigg in thu bellie beekuz shee iz eeting my toiz and that mayks mee want to eet hur armz awff. shee iz verreee meen. oah and stoopid tu.
luv,
------------------------ Peace, till next |
| Friday,
January 07, 2005 - No baby today, but that's ok. Every day she's allowed to cook lowers the risk of respiratory problems for E-Beth! My next appointment is Tuesday. We'll see what happens. I'm pretty wiped out from all the excitment (and because I didn't sleep well) so I'm off for a lazy-day nap. :-) Peace, till next |
| Thursday,
January 06, 2005 - I just got a call from my doctor's office and the nurse, Roberta, whom I adore, told me to bring my hospital bag to tomorrow's non-stress test appointment "just in case." I asked why, and she told me that the doctor isn't happy with my kidney function, and has ordered some additional tests to determine if E-Beth is ready to be born or not. If she is ready, he will go ahead and admit me tomorrow and by the weekend we could be parents. How messed up is that? We didn't even need a license! And they're gonna let us take home a little baby version of ourselves. I can't stand the excitement though - I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight! Anyway - if you email me and don't get a reply, it's because I'm HAVING A BABY and am probably either: screaming Either way, be happy for me! :-) Peace, till next |
Thursday,
January 06, 2005 - Oh, Dear Nona, How can I thank you enough for watching over me and bringing me the greatest husband on earth? Last night he proved his undying love and devotion and presented me with a plate of five glorious, crispy, make-the-dog-drool, golden, baked, low-salt onion rings. Let me tell you, those were the best mother-bleeping morsels of food I have rested on my dying palette in what seems like decades. To hell with the gastronomical side effects. Long live the onion. Give me onion or give me death. I am woman, hear my onions. Let them eat onions. We shall call her Elizabeth Onion Piper. We've packed our bags for D-Day. (We actually packed them back after the Thanksgiving scare, when we realized ANYTHING can happen at ANY TIME). After wearing hospital-supplied mesh-paper underpants for three days, I decided that a packed hospital bag was among the top priorities on our list of pre-baby "TO DOs" WHAT
I PACKED FOR ME: WHAT
I PACKED FOR BRIAN: WHAT
BRIAN PACKED: So, I guess we're ready, right? I'll remind Brian to pick up some onions, THEN we'll be ready. All hail the glorious onion. Peace, till next |
| Tuesday,
January 04, 2005 - Three weeks! I just got back from my weekly checkup and although my kidney function isn't all that great, my blood pressure is down, no protein-crud in my urine and if I can keep things status quo, I'll be having a baby in THREE WEEKS! Yep! That's right - mark your calendars for the week of January 23rd, because that's when the Elizababy will be making her grand entrance! Coincidentally, that will also be the date the I become Mark's (of Mark's Pizzeria) new best friend. I'm still on bed rest. I still have to eat cardboard for the rest of the pregnancy, and yes, I was given another big, red pee jug to take home. (By the way, I was overwhelmed with dozens of helpful email suggestions on how to handle the pee jug dilemma - thank you to all who wrote in!) Recommended
movie: So, that's it for today. I'm not feeling particularly funny - just particularly EXCITED that it's only THREE WEEKS UNTIL WE'RE PARENTS!!!!!! Peace, till next |
| Monday,
January 03, 2005 - I am not going insane. I do not want an enormous turkey club sandwich with extra mayonnaise and crispy bacon, with extra turkey, mayonnaise and bacon on the side. Pizza is BAD. Chocolate cake is for sinners. Cheesecake will destroy your life and you will wind up living in a cardboard box. I don't need General Tso's chicken to make my life complete. Donuts are over-rated, especially when they are Krispy Kremes. Cardboard is perfectly good food. If it's good enough for hamsters, it's good enough for me. I am not going insane. Four channels of local television, including the finest ghetto-Jerry-Springer-type-programming-America-has-to-offer is magnificent. Who needs cable? Cable is for the weak. I am not going insane. 10 minutes of daily allotted Dialup internet is more than enough for the average American. Five minutes to download SPAM and unwanted porn emails, three minutes to delete them, leaving two minutes to respond to friends and loved ones. Sure, that's enough. DIE SPAMMERS, DIE!!!!!!! I am not going insane. My fingers aren't twitching from sewing withdrawal. My mind isn't becoming an empty, cavernous void from lack of use. I drool because it's healthy. The blank stare is healthy. Sedentary living is healthy. Peeing in a big red jug should be the highlight of everyone's day. Convince yourself and others will believe too. . . . . I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. I am not going insane. . . . . . . Peace, till next |
Monday,
January 03, 2005 - They gave me a new pee jug. Lucky me. My belly is bigger than it was two weeks ago, and the hole to pee in is still only two inches wide. Could someone do something to fix this very obvious design flaw? Peeing on your hand at 3 am doesn't give you a warm cozy feeling, no matter what those freaking Arctic ice climbers tell you. It's actually rather disgusting. And it's worse when you have to trip over a spastic dog in the dark, fumbling your way to the kitchen skink because the bathroom sink is still in a disassembled porcelain heap in the corner. Hey, don't get me wrong I'm DAMN grateful to have a place to pee without having to haul my hundred-pound belly up a flight of stairs. I'll live without the sink, and I'll do it with a smile. A LOOK BACK AT OUR FAILURES FOR 2004: This past year we started out Skye in doggie-be-good class. He made it to the prelim "heel" lesson, where he learned to sit next to our ankles attentively, waiting for the HEEL command - and then we dropped out due to pregnancy and home remodeling issues. (We're such losers) So now Skye can do the beginnings of "HEEL," but then he just kinda stands there with his neck forcibly-leash cocked to the side as we try to drag him along next to us. Poor guy. We suck, and we know it.. Then we started our birthing classes - got almost to the point where we can successfully deliver a baby, and then we had to drop out because of my health issues. So now we don't know how to deliver this baby. Again, we suck. So, to help me cope with all these feelings of failure, I've written out my birthing plan. It took a few rewrites, but I think I'm finally pleased with the results. Those women who have previously given birth and have advice to offer, please feel free to drop a line. I'm always open to suggestions. Moms who are writing their own birth plans, feel free to use mine. Heather's Birthing Plan. Don't mess with it. VISITOR LIST The following people will be allowed in the delivery room: Heather
(Mom - has no choice) Special note: I don't care what Brian says, I did NOT authorize Skye to come hang with us in the delivery room. Skye is NOT our focal point for breathing exercises.
Brian's got some kickin' tunes that he's downloaded on his new Christmas MP3 Player. He'd like to play those, and I say "Sure" as long as they are relatively calm tunes. No heavy metal songs with lyrics like "KILL YOUR MOTHER! I AM THE EVIL CHILD OF DOOM COMING TO DESTROY YOUR WORLD!"
As much as I'd like to pretend that I can handle any amount of pain thrown my way - I'll admit it. I can be a real wuss. If I'm screaming, give 'em. Whatever, whenever, however. Just make me smile. K? If I can't have drugs, just give me pizza or chocolate cake. They all have the same euphoric effect on me.
If induction becomes necessary, I ask that non-chemical induction methods be tried before chemical methods (Including pizza and chocolate cake). Be sure to remind Brian that non-chemical induction does NOT include him repeatedly poking me in the head and saying, "C'mon, honey! Do it! Do it! Do it!"
Ummm, I prefer to not have an episiotomy if at all possible. 'nuff said? No needles over 6 inches. If you must stitch, give me pizza to divert my attention. DADDY'S ROLE Brian would like to be included fully in the “catching” of our child and cutting of the cord. However, he is not allowed to wear his baseball glove, and yell "Batterbatterbatterbatterswiiiiiiiiiingbatter", even though he thinks it would be funny. That's all I have for now. I'm sure I'll think of a few more things to add though, and as I mentioned, I'm open to suggestions, so please feel free to drop a line if you have them. Peace, till next |
