Thankful. (Peanut Allergy Awareness)

For 8 years I've been in classrooms and taught how to use EpiPens...if the day ever came. I never believed I'd ever use one. For 3 years, I've had a daughter who tested positive for a peanut allergy with a component for severe anaphylaxis to occur if ever ingested. I still never thought I'd use one.

Finding out Adly had a peanut allergy via a scratch test at 11 months old was a bummer for sure. However, I don't think either of us fully understood the gravity of the diagnosis. Yes, she now had a peanut allergy and it was going to make our life a little more difficult. But I didn't want that to stop us from living as normal people. I didn't want to be that overbearing mom I've seen plenty of times who refused to let my child "live" at restaurants, parties, and play dates. Plus, beyond a few spots on her face, I had never seen any type of reaction regarding peanuts. It is such an abstract diagnosis that it can be hard to fully comprehend the severity of it. Your child gets pricked with a needle yearly, some blood is drawn, and weeks later your notified over the phone whether the allergy is still present and the severity of it. As of age two, with the blood test results, we were told the following: Adly tested positive on a level 2 out of 4 in severity. However, she has a component within the allergy that identifies to present itself through anaphylaxis if ingested, which therefore makes it that much more serious.

We have been diligent about any food products we buy at home and making sure she always has her EpiPen on hand wherever we go. We make sure everyone close to us knows about the allergy, we inform any caretakers and send her to a peanut-free school with EpiPens. Because that is what you're told to do. But truthfully, I never really thought she'd ever be in a situation where she might have any kind of severe reaction. Because we're careful. 

This weekend, we were invited to a neighbors first birthday party where we didn't know anyone. We were both excited at the prospect of meeting new people with kids in our neighborhood. It was a hustle and bustle kind of night, trying to talk to and meet everyone while chasing around our wild one year old and simultaneously keeping an eye on our 3 year old. It was at that party that my very smart and knowledgeable daughter ate two Reese's peanut butter bell candies, across the room from us, with another little girl. In the final seconds of the act, Adam happened to notice Adly chewing something.

Neither girl would admit to eating anything. Adam smelled peanut butter on her breath. It was only after some coaxing that I was able to get the wrapper from the other little girl. My heart sank to my feet when I carefully unballed the red foil to read "Reese's". We looked at her, she was fine. No grabbing her neck because she couldn't breathe, no redness, no hives; all of which I had expected to happen were we ever in this situation. For the next 10 minutes we held our breath at the party, trying to remain calm. No symptoms. Maybe she wasn't even really allergic, I kept telling myself.

"Maybe she didn't even eat it," I hopefully said to a dad who was sitting near the girls. "No, she definitely did," he confirmed.

After some back and forth we decided to leave and go back home to observe her. There, we peppered her with questions. She was over it; tired and annoyed. She wouldn't answer us. "Do you feel itchy? Does your throat feel weird? Does your tummy hurt?" Lets be honest, does a toddler really know how to answer those questions? Probably not. But in that moment, it was all I could do to keep myself sane. 10 minutes later. She's going to be fine. It was just a fluke, Maybe she really didn't even eat it. She KNOWS she's allergic to peanuts. She KNOWS to ask before she eats.

10 more minutes. Call the pediatrician, they can tell me its all just a fluke and it will go away. There were still no visible symptoms, but she had started coughing. I made the call. Left a voicemail on the emergency line in which they respond within 20 minutes. Two minutes later, our pediatrician called back, asking for a rundown of what had happened.

The pediatrician stated with a firmness and urgency I'll never forget: "Get the EpiPen and administer immediately. Then get to the ER as fast as possible. I know you don't see much now, but when it happens, the reaction is going to come fast."

I hung up the phone. Walked to the bathroom like a robot and instructed Adam to pull her pants down. I pulled out the EpiPen that was in its trusty spot. I scanned the instructions, walking to the living room. I popped the cap. I held her thigh. I stabbed. She screamed. Adam and I counted out loud over her screams, "one one thousand, two one thousand..." I lost it, sobbing through the counting. Time slowed to a halt. 10 seconds in the thigh.

And then it was over. Just like that. I dried my own tears and went back into robot mode. Move the cars, I thought. I ran outside with no coat, moving Adams snow covered car blindly into the street. I ran in and got our other car keys, hearing Adly screaming at the top of her lungs. Brush off the car, warm up the car. Go, go, go....

All this time I had been thinking Adam would take her to ER and I would stay behind with Ellie. He is the calm one who knows how to handle these situations far better than I. However, I've been the one to handle her allergies, take her to her yearly summer allergist appointment and receive the EpiPen education. After a quick back and forth it was decided I should go. To the car. Go, go, go....

On the 13 minute drive to the hospital we hit every.single.light. Adly began declining rapidly in the car. She was talking nonsense and continuing to attempt to pass out. Like a robot, I'd shake her leg and make her tell me a story. Like a robot, I was complaining about the lights. "We should've taken a f*!king ambulance", I muttered at a light. I heard Adly quietly remind me from the backseat, "it's going to be ok mama." Of course. My beyond her years daughter could speak so wisely, yet she couldn't remember in that moment to NOT EAT THE CANDY. Why?? Because she's three. She's still a baby. My baby.

When we finally raced into the ER driveway and I got her out, I was shocked. She was mumbling, beet red red, and swollen. There was a line at the sign-in and all I remember is shouting about how she was in anaphylactic shock and needed to get in to get another shot. The receptionist grabbed us and led us back into the triage where they immediately got to work. Suddenly my baby was being stabbed in her other leg, IV going in her hand, mask on her face. She was screaming and crying inconsolably. The doctor came in and that is when I slipped from robot mom into ohmygodwhatishappening mom and lost it. I couldn't even compose myself to explain the details of what had happened.

 About an hour after being admitted to hospital. 

It wasn't for another few hours that the symptoms began to subside. She had eaten a good amount and they needed to keep her overnight to continue observing. It is common for the reaction to take hold again even hours after exposure, because of the fat content in peanuts. Thankfully, by morning and after a lot of drugs, she was completely back to her old self.

 Showing her handy dandy IV holder pad. 

 Checking out the snow the next morning from our room. 

Playing with her new Barbie our sweet nurse gave her in the morning. Fully recovered.

In the days since that awful night, we've done a lot of reflecting and talking between Adam and I and with Adly. A few days later, it came out in conversation with her that she actually had asked the little girl if it had nuts. She really did know what to say. But of course, what does an unknowing three year old answer to that? "There's no nuts. You're fine. Here you go, eat it."  For all that little girl knew, she was being nice to Adly and sharing her candy. To any other child without allergies, they know nothing about nuts and the danger of them. The bottom line is, so much education is required when it comes to these allergies, and sometimes, it's just not enough.

I wanted to share our experience to provide a helpful reminder to those with allergies especially during the holiday season. These allergies are serious, and can be life threatening. If you know your child has an allergy, do your best to assess all types of food available when going to gatherings. This is one of the things I always do. But on this particular night, I didn't. I saw random candies laid out carefully in pretty bowls and never stopped to personally remind Adly she couldn't eat them.

Adly experienced what is called a latent reaction. This reaction works its way from the inside out and therefore takes time to show any visible symptoms. Meanwhile, its wreaking havoc internally on the body. I often get asked how we even discovered she was allergic to peanuts. Common signs of any allergic reactions (and what we first experienced at 11 months) are red splotchy spots around the mouth. Any noticeable irritation after eating a certain food. We treated immediately with a dose of Benedryl and she was fine. It is important to note that reactions get worse the more times a person is exposed. Therefore, at 11 months, Adly's first exposure, the reaction was minimal. Fast forward two more years and it was life threatening.

We've now purchased Adly this bracelet she will wear day and night for as long as I can force her to. It was something I had considered buying but for whatever reason never did. No, this wouldn't have stopped that little girl from telling Adly the candy she wanted to give her didn't have nuts. But maybe it would've notified a parent who was standing closer than we were. Just maybe. Our child is very quickly leaving our very protective nest of safety, entering school, play dates, playgrounds, and gatherings where we can't keep our eye on her every little move. I can only hope she continues to be protected from any more incidents.

Ever since Thanksgiving, Adly has loved to randomly ask what I'm thankful for. Yes, we could have done a lot of things differently but I think if anything, I'm thankful we now know just how serious it is. I'm thankful we caught her eating it. I'm thankful we had the EpiPen. I'm thankful we have responsive pediatricians, no matter the day or hour. I'm thankful for the ER staff who knew what to do right away to make her better.

But above all else, I'm thankful my sweet girl is still here with us today.

Eleanor Farrell

Bringing Eleanor into this world was vastly different from bringing Adly into the world. Enter lesson 1 for mama: Eleanor is not Adly.

Beginning around the start 36 weeks, I went from having regular Braxton Hicks to having some big contractions. Just a few, and not regular. It is crazy how quickly you remember "that old feeling" of a good tight squeeze from back to front. At 36 weeks, 4 days, I spent the better part of the day dealing with contractions. Of course, I was teaching so I had no time to count them. All I knew was they were consistent. By the end of the day, I called my doctor who ordered me straight to hospital. Adam and I headed in around 4:30. When I got in, I was 2cm dilated and still contracting regularly. They had us walk the halls for 2 hours to check for any changes. After two hours of walking my behind off, there were none. So we were sent home. I was grateful. Having an early baby can bring a whole host of complications and if we were able to avoid it, I was ok with it. By then I had started my weekly checkups, and when I saw doc the following Monday, there were still no changes. Nor had I experienced anymore powerful contractions, just your usual Braxton Hicks.

Counting contractions at home. 

Ready to head in. 

During the next week, I experienced my bloody show, mucus plug loss and more sporadic contractions. I didn't experience any of this with Adly so it continued the rollercoaster of "is this it?!". At my 38 week appointment I had progressed to 4cm dilated without much effort. My doctor was convinced I wouldn't make it to 39 weeks, but in the event I did, she allowed me to schedule a voluntary induction. I figured at that point, my body had been progressing through labor for a few weeks, it would be ready by 39. Contrary to everyones beliefs, little miss Ellie hung on for another week. She even gave mama one last scare of thinking my water broke. But that turned out to be just another form of liquid leaking from my body. (Pregnancy is the sexiest time in a woman's life EVER!) 

So on Tuesday, November 10 at 6am, we packed our bags and headed to the hospital one last time, ready to have our sweet little girl. 

I was happy to end up with an induction because I was induced with Adly. While it can take a while, I was so far along already, as soon as I was checked in I began hearing "oh, this will go fast" from all the nurses and doctors. I was also happy to be scheduled so I could ensure I didn't go too fast to get the necessary drugs to not feel the birth. 

I know drugs aren't for everyone, but they're for me. I don't deal well with pain, and thanks to medicine, I was able to "enjoy" my delivery of Adly (despite the exhaustion for pushing for an hour and fifteen minutes). I wanted that same (hopefully shorter) experience with Ellie. Soon after starting pitocin I was also hooked up with anesthesia and then began the waiting game. 

At noon, I was still only 4cm but my contractions were ramping up and becoming more regular. So doc broke my water. Soon after that, I began noticing I could "feel" my left side and move my left leg, while my right side was completely numb. I began asking the nurse what could be going on, she called in the anesthesiologist to check it out. She couldn't figure it out either, so she began moving the needle in my back to try to realign the insertion. They also had me turn on my left side to see if the drugs would naturally take to the left side. By now, my contractions were STRONG. So the left-sided-laying-experience involved me curled up in a ball, crying my way through each awful contraction. 

The anesthesiologist came in once more and tried to readjust the insertion point. That still did no good. By this point I was full on sobbing yelling to the nurse to get the anesthesiologist in there again and do her f*%*ing job! (I mean come on, hell hath no fury like an in-pain-Kelly). 

In that time, I suddenly felt that old feeling. "Oh my god I'm going to poop. I have to push!" I yelled. The nurse asked if I was sure and I yelled yes. She dashed to call the doctor in, and she came in no time. With Adly, we had 5-6 people delivering her. This time, it was so quick it was just Adam, the nurse and my doctor. The doctor immediately told me to get on my back because Ellie was crowning! I panicked and began crying and yelling, "I can feel everything!! I don't want to do this without druuuugs!!!" But it was too late. Doc yelled for me to push, I pushed my hardest and then she was yelling for help. I panicked and she said she couldn't get baby out. She told me to push harder than I've ever pushed before. I screamed screams I never thought possible, and pushed harder than I ever thought possible and then just like that, Eleanor Farrell was on my chest. She came so fast, the assistance the doc needed, which was because her shoulders were stuck, came in after she was already on my chest. Crazy, right? According to Adam, when the doctor came in, she had looked at him and said he was going to have a baby by 3:15. When he looked up at the clock, it was 3:10. She arrived at 3:14pm. 

I spent the next 15 minutes with Eleanor on my chest sobbing my eyes out because I was still so upset over "feeling everything". It was not the way I had wanted it, and I was still reeling from it all. Not to mention she came SO FAST I was in complete and utter shock. 

As soon as the shock wore off I realized no matter how painful it was, SHE WAS HERE! At last. I had waited 39 loooong weeks to get to meet her. And she was perfect. 

They do things differently now from the 2.5 years it's been since Adly. They allowed Ellie on my belly for what seemed like an hour. It was a good chunk of skin to skin. I'm grateful for it, but it was a long hour of Adam waiting excitedly to get his own hands on his baby girl. When they took her to weigh her, she was a very healthy 8lbs, 9oz.

I have to note, I later found out the anesthesiologist was actually doing her job. The problem was, Ellie had dropped down so fast and far down the birth canal that she was blocking any of the drugs from reaching my left side. In hindsight, that would've been a big clue she was coming, but it's ok. It's all a guessing game for the most part. Also, in hindsight, the pain wasn't that bad, it just wasn't what I had in mind. So those of you drug-free mama's I applaud you. But I also applaud all mama's for going through the act of childbirth in general. What an incredible act of strength it is, no matter which way you go about it!

We are so very thrilled to have this beautiful addition to our family. She, like her sister, has already begun writing her own story, from the very start of her sweet little life.

Welcome to our family, Eleanor! We love you to pieces.

Family photo. 

Dada getting some time with his girl. 

Recovery Snuggles

You know how they say cats, dogs and other animals just seem to have a sixth sense as to when someone is sick or dying? Like when my grandma entered into hospice a few years ago, the workers there told us the tale of the wild turkeys who would gather outside a persons room in droves right before the person would exit this world. Then they showed up for my grandma and soon after, she left us. Morbid, I know...but I've always believed in it. I also now, more than ever, believe that babies have some sort of sixth sense too. Maybe not as morbid of one, but just an idea that something is different or that mom or dad might need some extra loving once in a while.

Adly has always seemed to have a knack for knowing exactly when mama needs just a little more reassurance. An extra push of, "it's ok mommy, you can do it!" Back in January, when my return to work was impending and I was definitely sad about it, Adly took a moment the night before to give me her first slobbery kiss. It was just what I needed from my lovebug before I embarked on the big change.

The night before my knee surgery, I was once again on the verge of tears and so sad as I was putting her to bed for "the last time for the next 6 weeks". As I laid her down on her changing table, she took that moment to be silly and go ballistic; kicking, thrashing, and yelling non-stop like a crazy lady.  So I started imitating her acting like a wild animal. My impression was met with hilarious, gut-busting baby giggles that will melt anyones heart. It was the perfect little push to remind mommy that everything will be a-ok.

Since returning home from the hospital, a certain someone has been perfectly content playing right by my side. The afternoon and evening of the surgery, she spent the entire time snuggled up against me,  calmly sucking her thumb, and playing with her blankie. In the days following, she has been completely happy just playing with her toys next to mama on the couch. Every once in a while she raises her arms up, asking to come up on my lap for a snuggle, and then goes right back to playing next to me. It is the weirdest thing! This is coming from a formerly crazy, on the verge of crawling 8-month-old who rarely sat still. I swear she knows. She knows mama needs the extra comfort. She knows mama shouldn't be home, but she is. She knows something's different, but she wants to let me know, as always, it's OK.

An infants' snuggles seriously have amazing healing powers. I cannot wait until I can once again carry my sweet pea without any fear of my knee giving out or pain. Soon enough....

Best view in the house! 

This Crazy Life

We're big fans of calamity in our daily lives around here, so per usual, there never really is a dull moment for our family of three.

As I mentioned previously, we were recently in the process of moving. As I also mentioned, I was also facing a pretty major knee surgery. Of course, according to the way our lives go, all of these things culminated at the same time. Throw in a little grades being due, conferences, and Adam's impending return to work and we've had ourselves an F-5 sized life-tornado in the last month. And just as we had said after all the birthing and new parenthood craziness, we once again reminded ourselves, "if we can make it through all of this in the first 2 years of marriage, we can make it through anything!"

First, it was the opportunity to get out of our incredibly small apartment. As I've said, I loved that apartment. But it was just too small. Day in and day out, I found myself swearing up and down we needed to move out as soon as possible. Then one day the landlord randomly called and said if we wanted to get out of our lease early, we could, no problem. We jumped at the chance and within a few days found a new apartment that was twice the size. We sat on the apartment and went back and forth over whether we should take it or not. The plus-side was that it was HUGE. So. Much. Space. The downsides were no AC, no in-unit laundry, and the kicker...on the 3rd floor. Despite our hesitations, we just couldn't pass up the space. So we signed on it, preparing to move in April 1.

Two days later, my knee dislocated in front of my school. In the severe fall, I landed on my face, and was suddenly, literally smacked in the face by the realization that Adly very easily could have been in my arms. And when my knee dislocates, there is nothing to stop me from falling. This has been an ongoing issue I've been avoiding for years because, well, frankly it sucks. The surgery sucks and so does the recovery. Instead of repairing it, I had resolved to just "dealing" with the occasional dislocation and fall. This was all, of course, before having a child. Funny how they change your perspective on so many things.

This time I knew I couldn't just ignore it, so I set up an appointment with a top orthopedic specialist in Chicago and then within a week had a surgery date set for March 28th...a mere three weeks later. Suddenly we realized we needed to push up our move and ohmyword we were moving to a THIRD FLOOR apartment only one week before knee surgery. Such luck.

In the last three weeks, we've moved, we've unpacked quickly, and then I went in for surgery. Everything appears to have gone just fine. Or, as fine as possible. It was a major surgery. Three incisions. Lots of internal mending, tying, grafting, screwing and rebuilding. Let's just hope to everything thats heavenly above that I never have to deal with a loose kneecap again.

Thankfully, to aid in my repair has been my loving husband and daughter, as well as our family and friends...because, oh yeah, we have an 8 month old that needs constant care too. Suddenly, our household has become one of one parent and two babies. I can't do anything without his assistance, and neither can Adly. But, just like everything we've encountered in the last year and a half of marriage, we will get through it. We will come out stronger thanks to our love, the support of our family, and our endlessly amazing friends.

But let me tell you, I thought we'd hit rock bottom that early morning in the hospital room, bleary-eyed, hours after delivery with that awful spray bottle in hand. But no. There's lower. You haven't really experienced marriage until your husband is holding your leg up by the side of the tub, cheering you on as you try your best to squeeze out a non-existent poop after taking constipating pain medications for four days straight.

Yes, that, my friends, is true love.

 Call it what you will, this little one has definitely known something's not right with mommy. She's been my little snuggle bug since I returned from the hospital on Friday. 

I have nipples Greg....

You guys. I have something to admit.

This one time, up north, I had to milk my boobs. With my own hands. 

And it was the worst experience.

I know, I know. Some people swear by hand expressing. I, myself, however prefer to rely solely on the modern technology of electric pumps. While I have felt like a cow at times, you've never really felt like a cow until it's 4am, and you're in a bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat squeezing the crap out of your boobs with your hands in an attempt to get some relief (I was sitting on the toilet because my legs got tired). Producing milk by only the power of your own two hands is not an easy task!

When we went up north, I packed everything. Or so I thought. When we got there, I realized I had everything but this little, tiny part to my pump called a flange. I never knew that without this little flange you can't pump. Once I discovered this, I thought maybe I'd still be ok. Maybe I wouldn't even need to pump after all? That thought lasted until the first morning when I woke up with Pamela Anderson sized boobies and a soaking wet shirt. Sigh.

Of course, my child could've relieved this quickly. But I'd jump in front of a semi before I would ever wake a sleeping baby, so I knew I had to figure something else out. I tried the pump just for giggles and of course, it still wouldn't work. They hurt so bad I knew I just had to get the milk out as soon as possible.

While I sat in desperation, this came to mind....

"That's it!" I thought. I can "milk" my boobs... just like I think you would a cow (or a cat) and sure enough, it actually worked! Within 45 minutes I had relief from the pain and a whole bottle of milk. I then patted myself on the back and immediately went to get a bag of ice to ease the tendonitis that was quickly appearing in my hands from all the hard work.

While I hope to never have to do it again, at least I know there are options out there. And now, whenever I get frustrated at having to set aside 15 minutes and pump, I bring myself back to that rock bottom moment of sitting on a toilet seat, in the dark, milking my own "teats".

letdown

Yesterday I had my weekly checkup with the doc. Sunday night I had a sleepless night as I began having some painful contractions, lower back pain and if I'm honest, loose bowels. All of which are signs of labor in progress. I was so glad I was going in to the doc's that morning so she could reassure me of what was going on and that I was actually contracting.

Well, reassure me she did. She checked for dilation and I had increased from 2cm to 3cm in the last week, which I thought was HUGE. Based on all the things going on, she informed me I was definitely in "early labor".

Wooooooooo-hooooooooooooooooooooooooo! Was my reaction. THIS IS IT.

She was concerned about my increased blood pressure, so throughout the appointment she had it taken 3 times. She then told me she was on duty in the ER the next day and she thought for sure she'd be able to deliver me then. She wanted me to go into triage at the hospital right away though, to rest and get the BP down. I asked if I could go home, relax, and count contractions. She agreed with that plan because she was convinced I'd progress and end up in triage that night  or the next morning for delivery.

So with that knowledge, Adam and I both jumped on our phones and got the families all riled up. My dear Michigan family jumped in their cars as soon as work let out and headed down. By 7pm, Adam and I went into triage with me having contractions every 6-8 mins and high blood pressure. I was convinced that due to the high BP, even if the contractions weren't close enough, they'd induce.

This is it. We both thought. And we were SO excited.

Well, turns out my blood pressure was fine by then. The contractions just weren't close enough. And when they checked me I was still dilated to 3cm. Therefore, I was given the option to "wait it out" in the ER or head home. To me, waiting it out in the hospital really means "you're taking up precious bed space, so we're going to c-section you." So we decided to head home.

Let me tell you, it was more depressing than I could've imagined to leave the hospital with no baby girl. As of Monday morning, I hadn't even begun to process the idea that Adly could be joining us in a day or two. But by Monday evening I had pumped myself and everyone else up to believe that it was happening and it was happening now.

But it wasn't. So Monday night, I finally slept for 6 hours and then woke up this morning with no contractions. None. Nada. WTF!?!?

So I put on my exercise gear and decided I was going to walk this baby out of me today. I mean, my whole family is here...everyone is on standby. This HAS to happen and fast. So I walked. And walked. Throughout today, the contractions have definitely increased in their painfulness. However, they are still sporadic and still frustrating the hell out of me.

I read so much about first time preggo's being admitted to the ER, only to be turned away hours later to go home and contract. I was convinced that would never be me. I'm far too anal about such things to mess up in that way. But let me tell you, the power of thinking you are going to meet your precious bundle any minute is unbelievably overwhelming. The enthusiasm of my doctor alone was enough to make me want to head in right away. Of course, they don't know for sure it's going to happen right then and there (this being said without your water breaking or without them needing to induce). They can guess...but no one knows for sure when it's going to happen.

So here is what I have learned in the last 24 hours about the stages of labor:

-Early Labor: Dilated 0-3cm, contractions are 5-20 minutes apart, can last for 12 hours or longer (for days or weeks).
-Active Labor: Dilation from 4-7cm, contractions are 3-4 minutes apart. This is when you head to the hospital.
-Transition to Labor: Dilation 7-10cm, baby heads down birth canal.
-Labor: This is when you push and life's greatest gift is your reward for all this pain.

**If your water breaks, all bets are off on the "stages of labor" and you head in immediately to be induced as the baby is then open to infection. Problem is, only about 8-10% of mommies break their water naturally. Crazy, huh?

So for now, we wait. And contract.

Burning up from the inside out

Today, I took my last personal day of the school year. Of course it won't be just a "relaxing" day as I have doctors appointments to attend and errands to run. But at this moment, I could not be more grateful to have had a day off.

Last night, I surprised hubby with a little date night. He's been working a ton so I made reservations at a restaurant by our house we haven't eaten at and when he got home we wandered on over there. The food was quite tasty. Both of us had the burger which had been recommended by a lot of people on good ole Yelp. I even had a fantastic "pho-jito". I seriously love it when restaurants list and price NA drinks.

I don't know which one looks better...my handsome husband or the delicious drink.

I had half of the burger, some fries, and dessert. I was full, though not stuffed beyond belief. But shortly after dinner, trouble started. I couldn't stop burping and was beginning to feel the effects of heartburn coming on right as I was going to bed. So I took 3 Tums...just to be safe and fell asleep.

Then I woke up at 2am....dying inside. I have never had such bad heartburn. Flames were shooting up my throat...I'm not kidding. I ate 2 more Tums and then spent the next two hours tossing and turning trying to find a position that would stop the incessant fire breathing dragon from shooting flames out of my throat. If you can imagine burning liquid coming up your throat over and over again, you might begin to scrape the surface of the pain I was feeling. (I know, I'm dramatic....but again... I'm not kidding). Let me mention on top of that how difficult it is to find a comfortable position "normally" with a 10 pound sack of weight in front of you that hiccups, kicks, and punches throughout the night.

It was then that I remembered a co-worker saying she would have to sleep sitting up sometimes when her heartburn was too bad. So at 4am, out of desperation, I made the move to Adly's rocker/recliner. At that point, my husband also woke up moaning and groaning from my movement waking him up and excruciating heartburn. He chugged some water, munched on some Tum's, and we laughed at the current predicament we were both in. Then he stumbled back off to sleepyland.

Must be nice. 

I've never truly experienced heartburn until late in pregnancy. And what happened last night was beyond hellish. Needless to say, sitting up didn't work for me so around 5am I gave up and went back to bed next to my snoring husband. I then awoke at 7:30am for good, still feeling the burn. If anything, I am SO happy I do not have to go to work today as I am definitely running on one cylinder. On top of that, I vow...no more burgers and definitely waaaaay less greasy food. I don't ever want to feel that bad of a burn again!

Alright, all you non-preggos...who wants to get knocked up and join in the fun!?!?

Learning Curve

The other day, I thought I had my first experience of something lovingly known as Braxton Hicks. These are the "trial" contractions that happen before birth. They can begin in the 2nd trimester and last through birth or you may never experience them at all. As everything in pregnancy goes, it just depends on the person/pregnancy.

My first episode went like this: I felt good, was sitting on the couch relaxing when my stomach started cramping up. It hurt pretty bad and then I started to feel sick, so I laid down. I then proceeded to pass out for an hour or so. When I woke up, I felt fine. My first thought was, if that was like a contraction and I can just sleep through it, than I'm all for this labor thing! If only it would be so easy.

Yesterday, they came back with a vengeance after lunch and with such ferociousness, all I wanted to do was stop teaching and curl up in a ball on our classroom couch. When I had a moment, I quickly googled Braxton Hicks to learn more about them since I don't know squat. Turns out, being dehydrated can definitely make them more painful and that was when I noticed my half-full bottle of water. Oops. So that must be it, I thought. 

After talking to a teacher friend who has actually been through this pregnancy rodeo, she suggested I call the doc just to check in, since the pain sounded a little too harsh to be Braxton Hicks. After talking to the nurse and reviewing my last day and a half, turns out this was not Braxton Hicks contractions. No, instead it was most likely cramping due to dehydration.

I started out this journey dedicated to drinking at least 32oz of water at school and trying for another 32oz at home in the evenings. Well, it is quite difficult to keep up with that level of drinking and peeing when you have 41 students you are catering to all day. So I'll admit I've kind of fallen off that wagon in recent weeks. And now with the warmer weather, it was not a good combination. I was instructed to immediately fuel up with loads of water and Gatorade and to continue a regimented schedule of downing water non-stop until birth.

So there you have it, a major amateur move on my part. Luckily, since I've stepped up the liquids in the last day, the cramping has gone away. It's amazing how quickly you can be reminded you are responsible for the care of another human being- even if she's not here yet, and every one of my actions effect her directly.

On another note, thank goodness I won't have to deal with that painful business for the next two months. I can't even explain the gripping moment of fear I had as it was happening thinking, "I can't do this. I can't go through labor. It hurts too bad. I WANT OUT!!"

Good thing I have two more months to work on psyching myself up for the biggest (most painful) event of my life. 

The Patient and the 6-month Preggo Lady

Adam had major surgery yesterday. He had his four wisdom teeth removed. Icky, I know. But to make it real fun, all of his teeth were bony impacted, meaning they were stuck in the bones never to come out. This wouldn't be a problem if, in twenty years, they weren't going to start pushing all his teeth forward and out ruining his beautiful grill.

So, like the kind, caring, person (nurse) that I am, I drove him to the doctor bright and early and waited for the surgery to be over. Poor guy has never been put under and was quite nervous. I, on the other hand, also known as Knees McGee, have been put under multiple times. I know the fun that comes when you wake up and have no clue what you're talking about or the rambling that is liable to happen.

The last time I was put under for knee surgery, I had to be put in a gathering room of sorts right after surgery while they waited for my room to be ready. This was where there was (if I can remember correctly) around 8 other patients who had also just come out of surgery. What followed was an impromptu comedy show, led by yours truly. I thought I was on stage and everyone was dying laughing along with me. I cracked joke after joke, making friends and crying laughing. It's only now, as I type this, that I realize all of that could have been not real. I know there were other people there. What I don't know is if they were all laughing with me, at me, or even laughing at all. All I know is, I had the best time ever and I was the funniest person in the room! That is, until the drugs started to wear off.

Ok, enough about me. I was really looking forward to the fun I was going to have with Adam after he awakened. Sure enough, he did not disappoint. As soon as I came around the corner he jumped up and did a little mini dance. I think he was trying to show me how great he was feeling. He then sat down and whipped out his phone so he could use his camera to see himself. So vain, even when he's high as hell. All the while, he's talking non-stop to me about who only knows what, as I couldn't understand a damn word he said with all the gauze in his mouth.

The nurse came over, gave me instructions. Then the doctor came over, gave me instructions. All while Adam is talking away, staring at himself. He even snapped a picture!

My face is a face of a scared wife. His clearly demonstrates he was not on this planet. 

When it was time to go, he jumped off the bench and told me to give him the keys because, "he was fine to drive". I said "Sure! When we're outside." Of course, when we got to the lobby, I, ever the irresponsible one, could not find the damn car keys. "Even when I'm drugged I'm more responsible than you" is the comment I got for that one. I swear, this pregnancy brain is killing my credibility. After dumping out every item in my purse, I finally found them. In my coat pocket. By then, Adam had forgotten his desire to drive. Ugh. I have to do everything around here. 

The car ride was the best. We got off at our exit where the usual bum was there, looking for money beside the cars. This is where Adam yelled (through his gauze, window up), "No, what do you got for ME!? I don't want to give you anything! I want YOU to give ME something. What kind of drugs you got for me? Huh?"I laughed so hard I peed a little. It was awesome. 

Then as we're driving further, I see him texting furiously. I could only imagine what kind of goodies he was typing so I asked what he was saying. He tells me then that after surgery, his pants were unzipped. He didn't know why. So he was texting his mom telling her he thought for sure the receptionist took advantage of him during the surgery. Ah, yes. Just what a mother wants to hear. 

He also asked me to tell him the instructions the nurse gave me. Three times. And after each time he asked, he told me he had to know because he knew I would forget. Hmph. The guy knows me too well even when he's out of his mind from drugs. 

I finally got him home, dropped him off, patted him on the head and raced off to fulfill his wishes and needs. It was only when I got home that we learned he doesn't remember any of the doctors office ("What!?! You're so mean!! Why would you say I took pictures of myself in the doctors office?!?!"). Love it when I have evidence!

I tell you what, this waiting on people thing is hard business. I'm already ready to go back to him waiting on me, the six month pregnant lady. I like that much better. In the meantime, its back to taking care of my dear husband. I guess it is good training for when I will have to take care of another human being 24/7 in ohmygosh a little over three months. 

Growing Pains

Baby B has been on the move. At least I hope whats going on. That little bugger has been causing me some serious stomach pains since last night. Its kind of a hard to describe pain, but I'll try anyways. Kind of like cramps, kind of like what I imagine contractions to be, kind of like when you try to touch your toes and your muscles in the back of your legs burn- only in your abdomen. Maybe its what it feels like when you get cramps from running- but I wouldn't know such a thing. I don't participate in activities that require a lot of energy and/or sweat.

I imagine my stomach muscles pulling and ripping and stretching all at once. Baby B is making its way out of its comfy little home nestled in my uterus covered by stomach fat and out into the world for all to see. Coincidentally enough, my pregnancy app sent me a notification today that said this:

Thank you, Baby Center! Now I know why it feels like my insides are going to come flying out at any minute. My little babe is on its way to doubling in size. Now I know why I wanted to curl up in a ball and whine my day away. (Have we figured out I'm a total wimp yet??) Note to self: seven year olds don't have much sympathy when you tell them your tummy hurts. So selfish, they are! Anyways, I guess this is all good news as I am FINALLY starting to get the bump I've been wanting. The bump that I am positive, as soon as I have it fully, I will be annoyed with and want it gone. Immediately. The bump that I keep telling myself I've been lucky to make it this far without.

Here is my little avocado's bump at week 16:

K

Phantom Pains

So, a coworker told me when I first got pregnant or forewarned me for that matter, that in pregnancy there's a thing called a Phantom Pain.

The Phantom Pain will appear in one spot one day and in another spot the next day. It never goes away. Well folks, the Phantom Pain has made its debut on this road I'm currently traveling. It started in the upper back...you all know about that one. It was AWFUL and it hung around for about a week. Then, earlier this week it just, disappeared! I was overjoyed. Today, my friends, the Phantom Pain has reappeared in my hip. Yes, my hip. I spent the entire second half of my day walking around with my hand on my back hip limping along. Ooooh it aches. I can't wait to be 85!

Now I sit wondering, whats next, huh Phantom Pain?!? Where you gonna show your face next!?! I'm on pins and needles with excitement. (That last sentence was meant to be dripping with sarcasm).

Also, earlier this week I had A's cousin Emily over for some Bachelor action. While she was here, I somehow managed to wrangle her into a DIY project I've had on my mind for a while. Its going to be so awesome in the end, but a real pain in the ass to make. I knew she was the perfect person to torture...and hey, who can say no to a pregnant lady? Below is a picture of what I'm envisioning for Baby B's nursery rug. We're going to take strips of cotton jersey and knot it through a latch and hook rug from the craft store. Fingers crossed we both make it through the project without killing each other and that it actually looks this good. Stay tuned!

In other news, guess what I saw when I came home the other day?

Looks like somebody wanted to "Snoogle". I don't know if you can tell but he decided to wrap himself in my beloved snoogle and take a little napper. Shhh....don't tell him I put this on here.

xo,