Sigh of relief

I haven't blogged in ages, it seems. Doug and I went for our 20 week ultrasound 12 very long weeks ago. We learned two things that were a little unsettling. 1. I had marginal placenta previa (a very common condition that usually doesn't pose a threat to the mom or the baby, but could lead to a c-section and possible death for both - although the latter is extremely uncommon). 2. Lia had/has an echogenic focus (EIF) in her left ventricle (a soft marker that could possibly indicate a chromosomal anomaly - read Downs). While the odds of either worst-case scenario happening were astronomical, it still stressed me out.

I try very hard to keep my blog positive (with the exception of a few venting themed pieces). With these two things weighing on my mind, I guess I've had writer's block.

Today, we went for another ultrasound to check the previa. Praise be to God, it moved clear to the other side of my uterus. No more concerns - no more restrictions. While we were there, I asked the ultrasound tech about the EIF and got another medical professional's opinion on the matter. She was of the opinion that physicians shouldn't even mention the condition. She explained that it's supposed to be there and that some ultrasounds show the EIF as a brighter white. Essentially, it could have just been the way the EIF reflected in that particular view.

I've been stressed out about this for 12 full weeks and nobody bothered to explain that to me? I guess the thing that really irks me about it is that I didn't even realize how stressed I've been until Doug and I breathed a collective sigh of relief at this news. I wasn't even aware of how strongly I'd been affected by this teeny bit of (seemingly) insignificant information until the information was no longer relevant.

Point being, I'm back. I can get on with my life. I can pick Daniel up again. I can breath a little easier. I can stop worrying about having to plan for and pay for a scheduled c-section. I can blog again without letting my stress and my anxiety about these two details spill over into my writing. So. There ya have it.

Happy Thanksgiving, merry Christmas happy 2011, it's a girl - life is good.

I hate TV trays

When I was a kid, we ate about 75% of our meals in the car, somewhere between softball practice and home. I would guess that 24% of our meals were eaten at TV trays. The other 1% - Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter - were eaten at "the big table." Growing up, I never thought much about it. It's just the way it was. When you were involved in everything under the sun - from drill team to softball to band to Latin club - there wasn't much to be done about where you ate your dinner. I never thought to myself, "Man. I sure wish we ate more meals at the table."

When I met Doug, I'd heard about these legendary "Carey Family Dinner Discussions" and I was intrigued. What would we talk about? Was there an agenda? Or did you just sort of wing it? We didn't discuss much over dinner in my home. We watched Family Matters, we listened to 104KRBE, and we rushed from place to place. I'm sure we talked about the latest report card grades and wondered out loud about the Astros game on the TV, but sadly, I cannot recall one single TV tray dinner conversation we shared as a family. Shockingly (note sarcasm), I can recall, in detail, many of our dinner table conversations with the Careys. Now that "the Careys" includes my little family, I've become a dinner table Nazi.

Because we never ate dinner at the dinner table, I never understood needing to be dismissed from dinner. It baffled me that anyone would have to ask permission to take his or her plate to the sink and flop down on the couch to watch TV. Thinking back on it, that's because when I finished dinner, I pushed my TV tray around the side of my recliner and continued watching TV until the next commercial break. It was understood - commercial equals dinner's over. Now that I'm a wife and a mother, I can't even fathom allowing my child(ren) to just get up after he believes he's finished his dinner to move on to something else. The total lack of respect for not only the meal I prepared but also for our quality family time would send me through the roof.

When Doug, Daniel, and I moved in with my parents, we miraculously moved 99% of our meals from TV trays to the dinner table. It was so ingrained in my psyche after just 4 short years of being a Carey that I forced my parents to become a part of my dinner table world. I couldn't stomach the idea of spending the entire day alone with Daniel only to sit yards away from my nearest family member, half enjoying the meal I'd worked so hard to prepare and splitting my attention between family discussions and what happened to be on prime time.

In the end, I guess it's not so much that I hate TV trays. I suppose it's more that I can't stand the idea of ever going back to a world where my family is separated during one of the very rare set-aside times that you can actually spend time as a family. To me (in my old age), dinner is a time to spend together. It's a chance to talk about your day without having to worry about who's doing what or how many minutes are left on the meatloaf. It's a designated window where we can focus on each other, not on Baloo the bear or Steve Urkel. Perhaps I don't hate TV trays - I've just come to despise what they represent.

On pregnancy

When I first found out I was pregnant, I was pretty ecstatic. Let's face it - I'm still pretty ecstatic. I didn't tell too many people at first as I have known far too many people who have had trouble early on. The last thing I wanted was to have to send out a new and unimproved message stating that something horrible had happened and it was all a false alarm. For both of my pregnancies, we decided that prior to an OB visit, we would tell immediate family and best friends. No cousins, no aunts, and certainly no friends of less than a decade. It's worked wonderfully thus far.

There are a few standard questions people ask you when you tell them you're pregnant - When are you due? When did you find out? How do you feel? Do you have a feeling about the gender? The first two don't really lead to much of a discussion. The last question is just sort of a "thing" people say. That third question? That's what bugs me. I'm not sure what people want to hear, but evidently, most of them want you to be miserable. While a few of my friends have smiled gleefully and nodded enthusiastically when I say, "I feel great!" some of them have less-than-desirable reactions. That list includes (but is not limited to), "Oh you've got plenty of time to feel like crap." "Ugh. I hate pregnant women like you." "You're the pregnant girl people love to hate." "Do you think maybe you have some sort of hormonal imbalance? It's not normal to feel so good during pregnancy."

What? Really? Do people really ask you how you're feeling because they want to hear your latest I-ran-for-the-bathroom-but-didn't-make-it-in-time-and-puked-in-my-hand-at-the-bank story? Because honestly? That's horrible. I know misery loves company, but unless you're in your first trimester and you just had that experience yesterday, NEWSFLASH - You're not miserable anymore! Don't wish that upon me!

I'm not sure what I'm getting at here, but I really do wish people could just be happy for me. I wish more people just said, "That's great! It's like God made you to make babies!" So far, I believe three people have said that to me. It's wonderful that you're happy I'm making a kid and that you care about my due date and my baby's gender, but don't be so crass when I tell you I feel good. Because that's just petty.

Whew. There. I got it off my chest.

Plugged in mommies

Nearly everyone in the US has a cell phone. From what I understand, about 65% of those phones are smart phones. Most of my friends have iPhones. All of my friends use their phones responsibly (in my presence, at least). A few of them have the babycenter app. Several of them use apps I've never heard of. Almost all of them play Words With Friends (including myself, who nabs my husband's iTouch when he gets home from work to play this silly game with my friends). I've never seen one of them ignore their child (for more than three seconds) in favor of the iPhone and I haven't ever seen one of them do anything dangerous as a result of being distracted by the iPhone.

My phone does not alert me when severe weather is coming. My phone does not play a little jingle when x, y, or z stock does one thing or another. My phone does not allow me to access Facebook, Google, or any other website from the convenience of the OB's waiting room or from the front seat of my car. My phone rings when I'm called, beeps when I'm texted, and is always there to provide the time. When I'm out and about, my phone is generally in the diaper bag and out of sight/out of mind. On occasion, I'll send a text while playing with Daniel, but they are usually short and almost always have to do with him (playdates, doctor's appointments, updates to Daddy). I personally haven't jumped off of the "normal cell phone" bandwagon and after this weekend, I'm not sure that I want to.

Sunday, we stopped by a new park on our way home from church. A family of five arrived just as we did and boy, were they cute. The two older kids and the dad were on bikes; Mama pushed the youngest one in the stroller. I commented to Doug what an adorable family they were. And then the truth came out. . . Before the kids could even get their kickstands down, the mom pulled out her iPhone and totally disengaged from the family. Lord knows whether she was working, reading the news, or sending an email about a baby shower, but I was bothered. It was 72 degrees out, not a cloud in the sky, and her three kids were begging to play. The closest she came to playing was sitting on the swing next to her kids with her face buried in her touch screen. They were there less than 30 minutes, during which time I personally witnessed 3 incidents where she either couldn't find one of her children, one of her children was hurt and she (obviously) didn't know what happened, or one of her children was in a scuff with another neighborhood kid and she was completely unaware. Seeing what a mess of a distraction an iPhone could cause in a normal, every day situation disgusted me.

While I hope I would continue to use my phone intelligently (and appropriately), this woman was enough to make me think long and hard about upgrading my lowly little phone to something more powerful. I guess it's like anything else - if used appropriately, it could be a wonderful and powerful tool. If used irresponsibly, it could do some serious damage. It makes me wonder how a woman like that can set any limits for her children as she obviously cannot set any limits for herself. Thankfully, I can and do set limits. I suppose when the time comes that a smart phone is the only way to go, I'll continue to be thankful for those limits.

Empty

As full as my heart and my life are, our family has recently suffered a loss that has just left me. . . well, empty. Not completely empty, but there's definitely a hole there. As an only child, my cousins are my siblings. We grew up together, graduated together, partied together - I was even the Maid of Honor in one cousin's wedding. The first time I ever got drunk was with a cousin. The first time I ever got drunk enough to puke and pass out was with that same cousin.

My cousin C had a baby last week. Before Baby McK was born, they knew she would have many, many issues, some of which were not survivable. They knew that she had a fractured leg. They knew that she suffered from defects that are unheard of in most parts of the world. They knew she was likely a dwarf. But when Baby McK lived for an hour or so and went home to be with Jesus so quickly after she arrived, it just left me empty.

I think most of the problem is that C, B, and McK are in Alaska. I haven't seen C since before she knew she was pregnant. Traveling to Alaska isn't something one does on a whim. It's something that requires months of planning, preparation, and saving. Something that we're in no position to do right now, regardless of how dire the circumstances. I want more than anything to hug C and let her cry her eyes out. I want to tuck her into bed and tell B to go run until he can't feel his legs - to find some sort of release he can't find while caring for his broken and battered wife. I want to make breakfast, lunch, and dinner; do their laundry; rock T to sleep while C&B go away for an hour or two. I want to help.

Not being able to has not only left me empty, it's left me drained. It took me several days and many sleepless nights to put it all together, but my shortcoming has entered my dreams. The last 10 days or so, I've had wild, bizarre, and troublesome dreams. Today I realized that the theme of all of these dreams is helplessness. Whether I'm watching a bear maul a dog or trying to save the entire planet, I'm completely unable to help. I see the problem. I know the answer. And I can do nothing to change it.

Now that I've finally put my finger on it what's causing the dreams, hopefully they'll phase themselves out of my nighttime routine. Now that I'm able to recognize my guilt, frustration, and sadness about the situation, perhaps it will resolve itself. For now, I'm going to soak in a bubble bath surrounded by candles and classical music. For now, I'm going to think happy thoughts and try to envision paradise in my mind's eye before I drift off to Nod. And if that doesn't work? I guess I'll move on to Tylenol PM and a shot of warm milk. Heaven help me, because Lord knows I can't.

Seasons

I'm one of those people who just loves seasons. I love them all. Fall, Summer, Spring, Winter. There's something about each of those seasons that just makes me inherently happy. I look forward to each of them. After I've had my fill, I'm ready for each of them to leave. There are certain smells I associate with each season. Memories. Foods. Activities. Summer = Coppertone, snowcones, sand, salt, and swimming. Spring = Easter, shaking off chills, St. Patty's Day, Easter candy. . . Oh Easter candy! Winter = That bite of cold air that stings your nose and your toes, hot chocolate, CHRISTMAS! I have to admit, though, I do have a favorite.

Fall is on its way and I am as giddy as can be. Pumpkin lattes, gingerbread, Halloween, Thanksgiving, pumpkin patches, cooler air, lighter steps, my birthday, sweaters, hoodies - I just love Fall. Something about Fall just makes me wiggle a little. I'm sure it started when I was a kid. Of course your favorite time of year centers around your birthday, right? Who doesn't love celebrating their birthday??

As the years have gone by, Fall has come to mean a lot more to me than just getting older. To me, it's a new beginning. As a child, it was the beginning of a new school year. As an adult, it's the beginning of a new year of life - a new year of my life and a new year of my marriage. This October, I'll turn 31 and Doug and I will celebrate our sixth year of marriage. I'll eat lots of wonderful Fall foods (er, make that "Fall treats"), I'll make a Christmas list, and I'll Fall clean (which is really much better than Spring cleaning, mostly because it usually coincides with open windows and a loaf of pumpkin bread in the oven). I'll eat birthday cake, do something sweet for my husband for our anniversary, and I'll take more walks. I'll (of course) whine about my allergies, take more Claritin than is probably necessary, and bemoan the shorter days. But in all, I will look forward to each day (until the day after Thanksgiving - which is when I'll start wishing for Winter) and I will take advantage of all of the above with a better attitude than usual.

So come on, Fall! Come play and help me celebrate life in a pair of blue jeans and a hoodie. I've been looking forward to this.

Not me, Monday! Episode 5.

Today was a pretty rough day. Good thing it was not me who fell asleep on the couch while my son watched Toy Story for the fifteenth time since Friday. I'm not the kind of mama who believes in TV as a babysitter. In fact, I'm not really the kind of mama who believes in TV at all. When I first graduated from college, I didn't have cable because I couldn't afford it. Shortly after Doug and I got married, we didn't have cable because I realized that the introduction of something as mind-numbing and distracting as cable*** would be the death of our otherwise happy marriage.

See, Daniel hasn't napped since Friday. I know that in some circles, that's beyond a trend and is a new pattern that I should just adjust to and move on with life. But I'm not the kind of mama who decides that something is here to stay until it's really. Here. To. Stay. During our last napless run, I decided it was time for Daniel to have quiet time in his room for 30 minutes while I had quiet time in my head for 30 minutes to avoid spontaneous combustion. It worked. He played rather quietly while I dozed in and out of conciousness and rested just long enough to re-energize and tackle the rest of the day. Yesterday, that "quiet time" was rudely interupted by a very ill-timed diaper mishap. Today? Well, I guess it wasn't me who decided that a movie and a snack would suffice for our quiet time. Nearly an hour after I turned on the movie, I woke up (quite confused as to what I was doing asleep. . . ) and realized that 1. my house was still standing, 2. I felt human again, 3. my child was still in one piece, and 4. I had missed a text inviting us to play our napless afternoon away. Three out of four isn't bad.

So today, it wasn't me who said, "Hang the rules and half of my belief system - I'm taking a nap." It wasn't me who woke up from said nap with a new outlook on life. It wasn't me who ate my words in peace and quiet. And it most certainly wasn't me who shared all of this with the blogging world, outing myself and my moment of weakness.


***I didn't always feel this way about cable. It was only after falling madly in love with a man who has severe ADD that I developed these feelings. However, the longer I live without TV, the more I despise it. That is all.***