One handed woes

I had forgotten the intense frustration of NO HANDS with which to communicate with the world.  

Tongue tie problems mostly resolved, though Righty still has problems.  Contemplating whether ; LC would help enough to be worth bother, as sometimes it's okay.  Problem: Babies are lazy and have tiny mouths. Solution: keep trying.

Tatoe is being a complete nightmare (i.e. reactively, clingy and needy); unfortunate feedback loop where the more he screams, the less I want to do aaaaanything with him.  Also see: lack of sleep.

Bug is still hitting Tatoe and Tatoe is still doing the I'm-being-murdered shriek, except now he's extended it to "I'm frustrated about Legos" and "I can't find my teddy".  

The higher dose of antidepressant - to deal with the weepy anxiety which left me sleepless - made me un-weepy, but prone to startle awake ever 20 minutes at the least noise (e.g.: furnace fan coming on). FAIL.  Trying lower dose as I'd rather be depressed but able to sleep.  

Very much hoping that the unable-to-sleep gets resolved before February, i.e. when my mom has to return to her own job/life.  Trying to arrange school pickup for Bug because benzodiazapenes and cars don't mix.

Good things, lest you think I am nothing but WOEFUL: my family helping, my friends helping, healthy and mostly happy baby, mainly decent health insurance, a very helpful spouse, my sister who came down to help, lots of tasty meals that I didn't cook, and the luxury to spend a month doing nothing but feeding the baby.

Revelations

I have just realized that my rabid dislike of co-sleeping is because my baby nurses all day and all night and I want, so help me, a few hours where nobody is TOUCHING me.

Sadly, she will only sleep while touching a person.  A couple hours of waking me up every 15 minutes is very effective conditioning (on me) to discourage Putting The Baby Down.

In Which I Have a Terrible, Horrible, No-Good Week, and Lose My Tiny Mind

Dear Readers, I will summarize briefly while I have two hands (the baby is making grunting noises so I suspect pants).

1) Hospital.  The world's most hostile pediatrician, who did not listen to a single word I said, nearly refused to let us go home after 24 hours (I would have signed her out AMA with much strife, if necessary; also a hospital full of RSV and influenza is NOT a good place for a healthy baby).  For example, she said "Do you know why we give HepB at birth?" and I said "Because the initial CDC study showed better continuance but slightly worse immunity" and then she launched into "Newborns have immature immune systems..." which is true but ALSO functionally irrelevant.  Now imagine a half hour of this.  I was too upset to sleep afterwards.  She was the single most hostile bitch of a doctor I've ever met, and heaven knows I've met a few.

For bonus points, every single 'hospital policy' was designed to make the blood boil.  Want to walk down the hall with your baby so your spouse can sleep?  Against hospital policy.  Etc.

2) Tongue tie.  She had one.  The hospital nursery and the hostile ped both marked on the discharge report "tongue tie not noted".  Y'all, if it's bad enough that I can see it, it's there.  I thought it would be okay, until she was five days old, at which point it was all pointy daggers while you nurse.  Sadly, that was a Sunday.  On Monday, our regular doctor was out of town; his idiot receptionist  offered that I could talk to him the following week.  Um, NO.  So I cried on more receptionists until someone saw us that day (actually a really great doctor! naturally, the mother of one of Dr. S's students) and she arranged an  ENT appointment the next day to have it clipped.  At 6:45 AM at the hospital 45 minutes away, so I...

3) Left town.  I went to stay with our dear family friend in Next City Over so she could drive me around and feed me because actually, I hadn't slept more than 2 or 3 hours a day in... a week, by then.  And I stayed a second day because I finally realized that I had...

4) Severe postpartum anxiety!  Like being chased by a bear, but all the time!  The nice midwives ALSO gave me an appointment that day and asked me all the usual questions ('Have you had thoughts of harming yourself or others?' 'No.  I just want to SLEEP.') and then gave me a large-ish prescription for benzodiazapenes.  Which are great, and now I can sleep, but I cannot also have...

5) A stiff drink.

However, a net improvement of A LOT over last week.  Tomorrow Dr. S goes back to work.  I have given myself a full month to be a non-productive member of society and therefore have arranged our lives such that my sole non-baby commitment is to pick up Tatoe from preschool once a week.

And HAPPY New Year To You, Too.

Baby girl.

12/31, late at night:

10:45: Water breaks dramatically, movie-fashion.
11:00: I conclude that I am not going to be able to sleep through this.  I start timing contractions. 4 minutes.  7 minutes.  4 minutes.  I get up.  2 minutes, 2 minutes... I lay down.  4 minutes.
12:00: I think, "Perhaps I can lay here in peace for a while before we have to drive to the hospital."
1:00: I think, "Perhaps I am completely irrational.  Because I am in labor.  Maybe I should call them."
1:02: L&D advises me to come in an hour ago.
2:30: We finally get there after waking up friends, having them come over to watch the children,  driving 45 minutes, and going to the poorly-marked, wrong, locked entrance - twice.
2:45: Two minutes apart and doubled up.  I insist that I want an epidural NOW.  NOW NOW NOW. My favorite midwife is there.  She is dubious (and pretty sure this baby is coming out really soon) but willing.
3:00: Someone asks me "Can you state your full name and date of birth?"  I think about it briefly, and say "NO."
3:10: The platelet count is done, the anesthesiologist arrives and tries to informed-consent me, then I sit up so he can stick a needle in my back.
3:13: He sticks a needle in my back.
3:18: The baby is born after three VERY intense minutes and no damn epidural.  However, my favorite midwife is the most awesome and nothing tears and she's fine and thank GOD I am not pregnant any more.

In Which I Whine Some More

You've been warned...

40 weeks!  (40-weeks-ish.  Being as, well, yeah.)  Here, let me summarize: MISERABLE.

Still with the contractions - now painful enough to wake me from a sound sleep!  With unpleasant flashbacks to end-of-Tatoe pregnancy, when I had painful contractions every 15 minutes for a WEEK.  (And then there was an epidural and pitocin, and the angels sang, and the child was born three hours later, six days late.  That one I was sure of the dates on.)

I don't think anyone, no matter how desired, difficult, or perilous their pregnancy, has to be grateful for being in constant pain.  I certainly don't think anyone must be grateful for nine months of constant pain, and everyone at the end of pregnancy is pretty miserable and longing for it to be over (with healthy baby and mama) as soon as damn possible.  So, I am not grateful.  I am PISSED.  And fucking exhausted.  And my sweet children, with whom I would normally do fun things, are still off school and I am no fun at all.

I try to repeat to myself "Be here in the moment."  But my subconscious can't help adding a running commentary about how it would rather be in all kinds of other moments.

(Maybe I should try some echinacea.)

Whiiiiiiiine

39 weeks.  WATERMELON.

I am now a full watermelon.   "How do you feel?" everyone asks.  Insert words inappropriate for my small children to hear.  My children are out of school for two weeks and I want to lay on the floor.  GREAT!

Bug is going through an unfortunate whining-and-lying phase right now - probably related to how Mama is not entirely present - and my patience is the size of a FLEA.
My spouse persists in his delusion that he will not have to take any time off teaching, not even, say, two days.

Eeeeeevvvverything hurts.  However, at least I don't have weird double vision!  Or migraines!  And the baby is fine!  Please, let her make an exit SOON.

In Which I Am Called Mrs. Scientist Again...

... and don't really mind.

Every few weeks, I drag Tatoe to elementary school with me and spend an hour coaxing kindergarteners to practice their writing.  This being a small town, I know half of Bug's class (they are always very excited to see me).  And Bug's teacher refers to me as "Mrs. Scientist".

(There are several parents who do this for his class and they are all, in fact, Dr. Somebody, and all their spouses are also Dr. Somebody - though they encompass an MD and a veterinarian- because everyone who volunteers is a professor or the spouse of a professor.)

I think it doesn't bother me because I am there solely as a parent.  My authority as Dr. Somebody is not at issue.  I have authority at elementary school because I'm an adult, doing something for the teacher; being Dr. Anyone is irrelevant, especially as I'm hardly an expert in kindergarten education.