Normal

Update: I wrote this post a few days before I went to my doctor to ask for a prescription for Zoloft. And boy has it made a difference. I feel like my old self again. I still have bad days. I still have days when I feel a little hopeless or frustrated with life. But it's not like it was pre-Zoloft. Oh, and another positive side effect of Zoloft: I have a lot less mommy guilt than I used to. We're eating lunch in our pj's? Who cares! The house isn't spotless? Meh I'll do it tomorrow. I stay in Blake's room for quiet time so he can play while I nap? Yep. I'm finally starting to realize that my children won't always have such an open schedule. Much sooner than I realize, our days will be largely shaped by dropping off and picking up from school/tee-ball practice, etc. So I'm learning to enjoy the time I have with them now. So thank you, Zoloft. You brought back normal Whitney.


I was kind of hoping that once Trevor was born my hormones would stabilize and I would feel like my old self again. Normal.

But I'm realizing as time passes I don't think I know what normal is anymore. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel on a regular, mundane, not going to do anything exciting kind of day.

Because most days I feel...blah.

I can actually remember when I started feeling this way. It was after Blake was born. Motherhood kind of threw me for a loop. Not only was I learning how to care for a human being, but Evan started a job out here which left me learning how to live life without my husband around. It was weird. I think I had postpartum depression, but I just chalked it up to being stressed out and husband-less. I figured things would get better with time.

And they did. As dark as some of the days were with a newborn, I look back fondly on the time when it was just Blake and me. He'd sleep in bed with me, we'd lounge around the house and occasionally venture outside. Then I returned to work for the last week of school and began packing up our life so we could join Evan out here. I was excited to be a little family again. I had something to take my mind off the feeling blah thing.

But then I got here. And life was...hard. I am not a city girl. I've never had aspirations to be a city girl. I am suburban to my core. In fact, I think this place is turning me into a country girl. Some days I wouldn't mind living in a place where my closest neighbor is a mile down the road.

So my adjustment to living in Brooklyn wasn't a smooth one. In fact, sometimes I feel like I'm still not adjusted. And frankly I don't ever want to adjust to living here. I don't want this place to ever be normal to me. I'm biding my time, chalking it all up to experience, waiting to move on.

So I went from what I remember as feeling normal, to having a baby and reeling from that, to moving to Brooklyn and reeling from that, throw in some brief stretches of contentment, to this. The not-so-normal, can't-get-back-to-normal Whitney. And I've been blaming it on Brooklyn.

But, lately I've wondered, "What if it isn't all Brooklyn's fault? What if I will always feel like this? What if this is my new normal?" Overwhelmed, stressed, unmotivated. Hopeless.

Not all days are like that. In fact, most of them aren't like that. But the ones that are hit hard and make me wonder if I ever don't feel that way. And I can tell when those days are coming.

Take today for example: It was actually not freezing, low 50's in fact, so I packed up the boys (that's still so weird to say sometimes) and we headed to the playground. We spent several hours outside. And it was glorious. I even thought to myself, "Good. I'll be back to normal once it warms up and we can venture outside." But hours later, even after Blake gave me a good hour of quiet time and even hung out on my bed for another hour while I continued to relax, I felt those feelings creep in. Overwhelmed, frustrated, stressed, hopeless. I often easily lose my patience with Blake during these times and my internal dialogue keeps repeating, "You're losing control. You're slipping back into it."

These hard days lead me to believe that maybe it's not all Brooklyn. Maybe it's motherhood. And that makes feeling like this even harder.

I have always wanted to be a mom. I knew I would work professionally during different periods of my life, but I loved coming home from school and having my mom around to talk to. I want to do that for my children. It made me feel safe and secure. I love my children. I would give my life for my children. I would not trade them for anything in the world.

But a lot about motherhood is hard. It can be lonely and isolating. And there's no one around to say, "You did this many dollars worth of hard work today. Nice job!" When I was working full-time there were expectations to be met, deadlines, evaluations, and direct deposit that quantified my worth and validated the long hours of preparation and teaching I did. And there are expectations with motherhood and even evaluations in the form of people giving you advice you didn't ask for or judging your parenting style. But it's different. I know I'm worth a lot more as a mother than I am as a teacher. But I don't have a pay stub to prove it. And as much as I wholeheartedly believe a good mother's contribution to the world outweighs that of anything else, sometimes I miss the feeling of contributing something tangible to our family. Well, except babies of course.

So where does this leave me? I don't know. What I do know is I don't want these feelings to be my new normal. But nothing I do seems to bring me back to my old self. Aspects of motherhood will be stressful and difficult no matter where I live. I do feel city life has special challenges that I wouldn't face elsewhere. And as much as I want to "bloom where I am planted" I've tried and tried a little more, always circling back to that blah feeling.

I know I'm struggling with postpartum depression. Before I even had Trevor I fully expected to be on some sort of medication to help me out of this. But it was surprisingly difficult to admit this struggle to myself. In fact, I didn't really think I had it until my doctor's reaction confirmed my inklings when I told him how I was feeling.

I have never judged someone for struggling with this, but to find myself in its grip leaves me feeling disappointed. Why can't I overcome it on my own? I know telling someone who has depression to just get over it is like telling someone with a broken leg to just get up and walk. I know this. But for some reason I find it hard to accept for myself. I'm guessing it's because, like I said, most days are relatively good. I feel kind of normal, or what a good normal has become for me here, but when the bad days cycle around I feel guilty, wondering why I can't pull myself out of it.

Normal. I remember what normal Whitney is like. I miss her. I'll get her back some day.

Brothers

I wasn't really afraid that I wouldn't be able to love Trevor as much as I love Blake. I just wasn't sure how I was going to be able to show each child how much I loved them. It's kind of impossible to devote 100% of yourself to 2 things at the same time. There are times when I don't do a very good job of showing Blake how much he is loved. And of course there are times when Trevor and Blake both want to be held and I simply don't have enough arms to do that. 

But I love both of these boys more than anything in this world. I love to hear them laugh together. I love it when Blake runs over to a fussy Trevor and gently calms him by saying, "Shhhh it's okay, Trevor. I'm here." I love when Trevor sneezes and I hear Blake say, "Bless you, Trevor!" 

I hope they know how much they are loved. And I hope more than anything that they can be close all their lives. These 2 little boys make me so very tired. But they make me so very happy.

And I Love This Boy

Oh, Trevor. He's only been alive for 3 months and I can't remember what it was like before he was in our lives. He is delightful in every sense of the word. One night I found myself rushing to finish cleaning our apartment just so I could play with this little guy before we went to bed. And every once in a while he'll give me a preview of what his full-blown laugh will sound like. He is easy going and puts up with a lot of poking and prodding from his big brother. And when we are all together having a conversation, he interjects his thoughts with some pretty adorable cooing. I had no idea how I was going to love another child as much as I love my first born. Trevor makes it easy.

photos by Michelle Greer

I Love This Boy

Now that Blake is not the only kid around these parts, I find myself cherishing the one-on-one time I have with him. He is hilarious and sweet. He is quick to apologize and give me a kiss when he's done something that upsets me. He checks in with me a few times a day asking, "Mom, you happy?" And usually I can answer, "Yes, Blake. I am happy."

Delivered Part 3: The Ugly

Trevor spent Tuesday night in the nursery and I was able to get some decent sleep. I woke up Wednesday morning feeling pretty good. No headache. No neck ache. I knew a hot shower would feel really nice so I took one before the nurse brought Trevor to me. Wednesday passed quickly without much incident and I was excited to be going home the next day.

I felt bad that Trevor had spent so much time in the nursery so I decided to keep him with me that night. Around 1am he became inconsolable and I felt a dull headache coming on. I told myself that I was just tired and if I could get some sleep it would go away. I sent Trevor to the nursery once I calmed him down and tried to sleep. The only complaint I had about my roommate was that she liked to keep her light on all night and for some reason that night the light coming from her side of the room was making it impossible to sleep.

I woke up Thursday morning with the same dull headache. I tried not to panic thinking that the spinal headache had returned. I slowly sat up and the blinding pain returned. I texted Evan and told him it was back and that I needed him to get to the hospital as soon as possible because there was no way I could get all of my things together, Trevor ready, and be discharged without his help. Evan scrambled to get Blake ready and dropped him off early with Lindsay and made it to the hospital to find me laying in bed, a mess of tears.

Besides being upset that my headache had returned, I was terrified they were going to make me stay at the hospital. The on-call anesthesiologist came to see me and told me what my options were: 1) Another blood patch- This would be my third blood patch (I had a preventative blood patch while still on the operating table, then another one once the headache started) or 2) Lay flat and let it heal on its own, which could take a week.

I didn't really like either one of my options, but I decided to let the puncture heal on its own. After 2 failed blood patches I didn't want to risk being poked again and creating another hole in the membrane surrounding my spinal cord. I really needed my body to heal on its own so this headache would go away once and for all.

After coming to terms with the fact that I'd be leaving the hospital in a lot of pain, my focus turned to how I was going to manage being upright for at least ten minutes as we walked out of the hospital and waited for our ride home. The pain was so horrific when I had to sit or stand up, but I was willing to do whatever it took to get out of there.

One of the charge nurses came to check on me and said I should stay if I was in a lot of pain. I thanked her for being so helpful to me but told her that I absolutely could not stay at the hospital. I really just needed to be home.

My nurse came and had me sign a few forms and gave me a few instructions on taking care of myself and then we were free to go. Evan gathered all of my belongings, dressed Trevor, got him in the car seat, helped me out of bed and we headed out of the hospital room. Once I made it into the hallway the pain was terrible. I stopped by the front desk to turn in the necessary forms and walked as fast as I could to the elevator. I couldn't hold back the tears and didn't care who saw me crying. We finally made it outside and waited for our ride. At that point being vertical was too much to bear so I laid down. Outside. On a raised part of the sidewalk. I didn't care who saw me as long as no one rushed out and told me I needed to be readmitted to the hospital.

The Ugly

Melanie was giving us a ride and I'm actually grateful to her for taking some pictures. The corpse-like look I'm sporting here perfectly captures how I was feeling: like I was going to die. I tried to stay as flat as possible during the car ride home and the conversation was a welcome distraction from the pain.

We pulled up in front of our building and Evan helped me out of the car and into our apartment. I laid on the couch while he went back out to get Trevor and I just let all the tears I had been holding back for 3 days come gushing out. Even though having a roommate wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be (mostly because we complained to each other about how awful the nurse techs were and laughed about how pushy the hospital photographer was), I felt I had to keep my emotions somewhat in check because no one wants to be the woman who just had a baby and can't stop crying. So I just let everything come out. I was out of the hospital and couldn't be more grateful.

I wondered for a second as I laid on the couch whether I had made the right decision to leave the hospital. What if my headache didn't go away and I had to go back for another blood patch? It became very clear as soon as Evan returned from picking Blake up that he was going to be the best nurse I had ever had. And as stressful as it was for him to have to care for 3 human beings, he was up to the challenge. Being in the hospital was frustrating and stressful for me, but I gather that Evan was just as frustrated and stressed because he couldn't be there to help me. And I'm sure my frantic texts and weepy phone calls didn't help.

By Saturday afternoon I was taking prescription strength Motrin and popping caffeine pills every 3 hours to control the spinal headache. And it worked! My headache was gone by Sunday and I could finally live life like a normal human being.

I had survived pregnancy and giving birth in Brooklyn. None of it was easy and I will never do it again here. Ever. But having such a sweet baby like Trevor helps me look forward to our future as a family.

Worst Fear: Confirmed

Before Trevor was born I had one big fear: I was afraid Blake would start to feel less loved and cared about because of the time and attention a newborn requires.

Maybe it was inevitable. I don't know how to split my time between 2 little boys and it's becoming obvious.

When we first brought Trevor home, Blake was excited and curious. We made sure to help him understand how important being a good big brother is. And with Evan home from work and my mom and sister in town for a week to help out, Blake always had someone paying attention to him. But settling into real life when it's just me at home is bringing out the monster in me AND the sneaky/rude/angry little 2 year old who likes to provoke the monster, in Blake.

Tuesday was an especially hard day. I was exhausted from being up with Trevor in the night and had zero patience for Blake as soon as he was up for the day. And as the morning progressed and both boys needed more and more of my attention, I just got angrier and angrier. Lots of time outs and a few spankings later and I was ready to run away from this new life as a mom of two.

Wednesday was a little better. I was able to control my anger and did my best to stay calm when Blake threw a tantrum instead of flying off the handle like I had all day Tuesday. We went to a friend's house for a play date and while I was excited for Blake to be able to get out of the house and play with other kids, I didn't recognize the aggressive little boy who was pushing kids and angrily yelling at people. I felt like he was imitating my angry yelling.

Evan put Blake to bed that night and recounted a conversation he had with Blake. "Daddy, do you love me?" This isn't the first time Blake has asked this question. On a few occasions since Trevor was born, Blake has asked me, "Mommy, you don't love me?" or "Mommy, you don't like me?". He never asked that question before Trevor was born. My fear of Blake feeling unloved has been confirmed.

I knew life was going to be rough for a little while. And while everyone in our family is experiencing the struggles that sometimes come with big changes, I feel like Blake is feeling it the most.

After the nightmare that Tuesday was, I've started reviewing each day to look for what went well and what I will do better the next day. I can't go back and change the Tuesdays of each week where I've turned into someone I don't recognize. But I can make sure the next day is a little better so eventually both boys will get the love and attention they need and less of the anger and contention that takes over more frequently than I'd like to admit.

This motherhood stuff is hard.

Delivered Part 2: The Bad

Terms that will help you understand this post a little better (not that you don't know what these are, just a clearer explanation of the roles they played in my hospital stay)
Nurse: A registered nurse who was assigned to take care of me and Trevor (and a whole lot of other patients).
Nurse Tech: may help patients eat and bathe, observe them and record their vitals. Duties may also include preparing rooms, sterilizing equipment and escorting patients to examining rooms or to surgery. AKA the absolute worst part of the being in the hospital due to their bad attitudes, unfriendly demeanor, and apparent lack of social skills.
Charge nurse: Angels sent from heaven to advocate for me when I couldn't help myself. 

I woke up early Tuesday morning (because nurses don't believe in letting you sleep until at least 7) feeling overall rather crappy and with pain in my neck. I knew I wasn't going to be feeling great so soon after a c-section. And I was kind of dreading what Tuesday was going to bring: the "get out of bed and try to move around even though you've just been sliced open" time.

I remember it well with Blake, for two reasons. When I had Blake two nurses came to my room the morning after I had him and asked if I had been out of bed. When I said no, they told me I needed to get up at once and try to use the bathroom. Flanked on either side by a nurse, I was told to stand up as straight as I could and experienced an incredible amount of pain that I was not expecting. As they helped me hobble to the bathroom, it became glaringly obvious that no one had put a pair of those cute mesh hospital underwear on me and well, let's just say it was disgusting and kind of embarrassing. (Side note: that underwear isn't cute. Nothing about your post-partum body and accompanying functions is "cute").

So I knew what to expect for day two. And this time I made sure I had the necessary undergarments on before I got out of bed. The nurse tech entered my room around 6:30am and told me that I needed to sit in a chair for a while. Yay. I slowly raised my bed and what had started out as neck pain turned into the most blinding headache and neck ache I've ever experienced. I thought maybe I was just tired and extremely hungry, but I couldn't figure out why my neck would hurt if I was tired. The nurse tech pulled a chair over to my bed and helped me get my feet on the ground. And then she did something that confused me. She turned around and started messing with a blood pressure machine while she waited for me to get into the chair. By myself. A woman who was dealing with several fresh incisions. And a terrible headache.

I waited for a second to see if she was going to help me and when it became obvious that she wasn't, I somehow maneuvered myself into the chair. I don't even remember how I did it. And I easily could've passed out from the pain my headache was causing me.

"So this is what everyone was talking about. This is how it's going to be, " I thought as I sat in the chair fighting back tears. Most of the women I know who have had babies at this hospital had recounted their experiences to me and I walked away with this advice: "Just expect the worst during your stay and know that you won't have to stay there forever." Not the most comforting thing to hear, but it was completely accurate.

I sat in the chair while the nurse tech checked my blood pressure, leaning forward because that seemed to help the pain a little. I told her that my head and neck were killing me and she said she'd tell my nurse. Ten minutes later my nurse came into the room and asked what was happening. The pain was so bad I couldn't turn my head to look at her. I just started crying and told her I had an excruciating headache and that my neck was hurting. She tried to comfort me and told me it was probably due to lack of food (at this point I hadn't eaten in about 30 hours), but I told her that my hunger doesn't account for the neck pain I was experiencing. I asked her if I could have some crackers or something and she told me breakfast would be coming in a few minutes. With my head pounding, I asked her when I could get back in bed and she told me I needed to sit in the chair for about 20 more minutes. At that point I thought I was going to die. 20 minutes with this pain was an eternity.

Looking back, I wish I had just gotten myself back into bed once she left the room. I had gotten myself into the chair so I knew I could somehow get back into bed by myself. I knew the head and neck pain were because of my epidural, but when I tried to offer that up as an explanation, she brushed it off. So there I sat, my body completely rigid because any movement made it worse. The nurse took my blood pressure and told me everything was fine. Which is just what you want to hear when you are in incredible pain.

The nurse left and I sat in that stupid chair, crying uncontrollably. My liquid-only breakfast was brought in, and even though chicken broth at 7am was disgusting, I ate everything on my tray just to get some nourishment. Finally when the shift changed I had a new nurse. When she came into the room I immediately asked her to help me get back into bed. I told her about my headache and that I think my epidural was causing it. She told me she would call the anesthesiologist and tell him about my pain.

Once I was laying flat in bed, the pain subsided. I grabbed my phone and texted Evan to tell him not to bring Blake to the hospital. I was in no shape to see him, but Evan insisted they were both coming.

Around 8am, a charge nurse wheeled Trevor into my room. As happy as I was to see him, there was no way I could take care of him at this point. I desperately needed to use the bathroom but dreaded being upright for any length of time. I asked her if she could help me use the bathroom and started to put my bed up. The pain returned. With her help I made it to the bathroom, but the ordeal that ensued taught me a valuable lesson about surviving in this hospital: I knew my body and what it was capable of better than the nurses and was better off doing things on my own instead of waiting for a nurse to help me.

What needed to be a 3 minute bathroom trip turned into a 15 minute bathroom trip. By the time I got back in bed I was exhausted. The pain was unbearable and Trevor had started to cry. The charge nurse held him and rocked him, and then she offered to take him back to the nursery because it was obvious I couldn't take care of him.

I laid flat in bed, waiting for Evan and Blake to arrive. 2 nurses came to my room and asked me about my pain. As I explained to them that my head and neck hurt when I sat up but stopped hurting when I laid flat, I received some confused looks. It was so obvious to me that I was experiencing a spinal headache. I emphasized over and over that I was fine if I was flat on my back, but sitting up led to blinding pain. "Isn't that a tell-tale sign of a wet tap," I kept thinking as they continued to ask about the pain.

Soon after they left, Evan and Blake arrived. The look on Blake's face when he saw me sent me over the edge. He was scared of me. I looked so awful that I scared my son. And not the "I have no make up on and my hair is dirty" awful. He sees me like that all the time. This was the "something is wrong with Mommy and she looks scary" awful. I covered my face and started crying. I told Evan I was ok, just a little emotional. Blake walked warily toward me and gave me a hug. Then he quickly returned to Evan.

Trevor had been in the nursery all morning, so Evan and Blake went to retrieve him. It made me incredibly happy to see Blake meet Trevor and despite my early morning protests, I was happy Blake and Evan had come to the hospital.

After they left, the 2 nurses came back and explained what they believed was causing my headache: a post-dural puncture. I wasn't surprised at all by the diagnosis. In fact, if I had known the term they used, I would've just said, "I have a post-dural puncture headache and need a blood patch," when they came to my room the first time. As they explained what it was and how they could fix it, I was confident my pain would  be gone soon. A few hours later the anesthesiologist came and administered a blood patch and the pain was gone within an hour. I was so happy to be able to actually sit up for more than 30 seconds!

Things were looking up. I was feeling better. As long as the blood patch kept working I knew I could handle being in the hospital for another day and a half.

Delivered Part 1: The Good

A week ago today I was riding the R train to the 4th Avenue/9th Street stop, climbing those ridiculous stairs, catching the F train, hopping off at 7th Avenue, and walking to New York Methodist Hospital to have a baby. And while it may be too soon to write about this little "adventure", I want to do it now so I remember it all. The Good. The Bad. The Ugly.

Riding the train to go have a baby. I bet no one else on the train could say that!

Before I continue, I must explain that I had numerous offers from friends to be given a ride to the hospital so we wouldn't have to take public transportation. And 5 months into this pregnancy when Evan said we could just take the train when it was time to go to the hospital, I laughed in his face and said, "Uh, you can take the train. I'll be riding in a car." But as D-Day approached, taking the train didn't seem so bad and was a heck of a lot cheaper than calling a car service to take us to the hospital. And, because of the time I needed to be at the hospital, most of my friends were taking their kids to school. I'm sure we could've worked something out with someone, but riding the train wasn't bad at all and is part of the birth story I will get to tell Trevor one day. (I would not, however, recommend using public transportation if you are actually in labor. Pay the money. Take a car.)

A few days prior to my appointment at the hospital, I was scheduled to have a pre-operation check up in which I'd have my blood drawn and overall health checked so I could be cleared to have a c-section. As luck would have it, I wrote down the wrong day for the appointment and missed it completely. When I called to find out what I should do, I was told to just come early to the hospital on Monday and have it done. As understanding and kind as the nurse was who I spoke to, this little mishap bumped my stress level up to where the anxiety was bubbling just below the surface of my emotions. I tried to hold it together until Monday, but Sunday night it all came crashing down over a bowl of corn flakes at 11:30pm in one big, tear-filled confession: I did not want to have this baby. At least not the way it was going to happen.

I had convinced myself that my body's inability to go into labor with Blake was just a fluke. This time was going to be different. I visualized my labor starting and continuing like it was supposed to, only to end at the hospital with some pushing and the delivering of a baby the right way. None of this "slice me open" stuff like I had with Blake. Unfortunately no amount of visualizing was going to coax my body into labor. I tried everything short of castor oil to get things going, but nothing worked. So Sunday night at 11:30pm it finally hit me that a repeat c-section was most certainly going to happen. And all of the painful, horrible memories of Blake's birth came flooding back. I couldn't go through it again. But there was no choice. This baby had to come out.

Strangely, there was some sort of comfort that came from not being able to control this circumstance. I knew very well that this baby had to be born. I may not like how he was going to be born, but he absolutely could not stay inside of me forever. So instead of dwelling on the slicing and dicing part of this birth, Evan calmed me down and I began to focus on everything after the operating room.

Running late, but I needed a picture!

I woke up Monday morning and announced to Evan that I was ready to get this over with. After dropping Blake off with a friend, we arrived at the hospital where I had my blood drawn and was asked a flurry of health questions. A nurse escorted Evan and me to the labor and delivery floor where we were told to wait in the waiting room among laboring women who were waiting to be checked in and relatives who were waiting to meet the newest member of their family. After only a few minutes, Heidi, my labor and delivery nurse, came and got us and prepped me for surgery. My c-section wasn't scheduled until 2pm, but by 10:30 am I was laying in a hospital bed, hooked up to fetal monitors and an IV.

Pre-surgery. Feeling good.

Evan stepped out for a little while to grab lunch while I laid in bed and tried not to think about the juicy Five Guys burger he was eating a block away. I knew I should try to sleep, but that was impossible. So I stared at the TV trying to take my mind off my impending surgery.

Finally around 1:45 my doctor came to speak to me about the surgery. We were both disappointed I hadn't gone into labor on my own, but now it was time to focus on the matter at hand. Heidi tossed Evan some scrubs and told him to get dressed quickly because it was time to go. She helped me out of bed while Evan stumbled behind us trying to get ready. In his haste, he put one of his shoe covers on his head which the nurse pointed out as she opened the operating room door. I laughed as I followed her in, thinking it was the perfect thing for me to see before my body was cut open.

I sat on the operating table while nurses busily prepped the room. I noticed my heart rate starting to rise and tears forming behind my eyes. My doctor walked in and asked if I was cold. I said I was a little chilly but I was fine. He brought me some clean sheets that had just come out of the dryer and covered me. I was grateful for the warmth. He stood a few inches away from me and started a light conversation. At first I found this awkward, but I soon realized talking about trivial things was taking my mind off the surgery and had a calming effect. My heart rate returned to normal and I found myself starting to joke around with the doctor and nurses.

The anesthesiologist came into the operating room and began to explain the risks of an epidural. 1 in 200 people experience spinal headaches after an epidural, I was told, and then I was asked to sign a consent form. Without much choice in the matter, I mean, I have to be numb and I didn't want to be knocked out completely, I signed the form and the placement of the epidural began. The worst part was the prick of the needle to numb the area where they would be working. My legs started to tingle as the anesthesiologist finished up, and one of the nurses helped me lay down on the operating table.

At this point my body was positioned like one of those dead frogs high school kids dissect in biology class. Even though I couldn't see my body, I pictured it in my head and felt incredibly embarrassed. How many times in one's life do you carry on a normal conversation while a nurse is trying to insert a catheter, another nurse is placing electrodes on your chest, and a doctor is scrubbing your stomach of any germs or bacteria that could compromise the incision he is about to make? It was all very awkward. Not to them. Just to me.

Once everything was ready, they had Evan come sit next to me. Donning his scrubs correctly this time, he sat down beside me and held my hand. I said, "Hi Doctor Jordan!" and thought to myself, "He'd make a cute doctor."

After apparently pinching my stomach really hard and seeing no reaction from me, they knew I was numb and surgery began. I tried to keep my breathing steady and not think about what was happening behind that big blue curtain. I didn't feel anything until the nurse warned me of the pressure I'd feel when they pushed the baby down from his current position and pulled him out.

Trevor cried out. And I immediately started crying, just like I did with Blake. He was here! He was finally here!

Told you Evan would make a cute doctor!

I caught a glimpse of him as he was carried to the warming crib and checked by nurses to make sure he was ok. The doctor commented that he was not a small baby and the nurses confirmed it when they called out that he was 8 pounds 3 ounces, 20 inches long. Evan said, "You were right! He is bigger than Blake." I wasn't surprised at all by his measurements. I felt every inch of him inside of me!

Trevor Wesley Jordan

The doctor worked to stitch me up and then I was moved off the operating table into a bed. Trevor, Evan, and I were wheeled into the recovery room where I would spend the next 6 hours throwing up and having doctors and nurses push on my stomach to make sure everything was returning to normal. Women who had a vaginal delivery stayed in the room where they delivered their baby. Us c-sectioners had to recover communally. So everyone heard me throwing up. And everyone heard me writhing in pain when a nurse pushed on my stomach. But at some point you stop caring because you just want to feel normal again.

Finally a bed opened up and we were all transferred to the mother/baby floor. By this time it was almost 10pm. I sent Trevor to the nursery so I could rest and Evan left to pick Blake up and take him home. It had been an exhausting day, but I was healthy and Trevor was healthy. We had made it through. Now I just had to survive the  next 3 days in the hospital.

Conversations

Sunday, 9:30am:
Blake: You is Whitney. He is Evan. I is Blakey. We are family.


Tuesday, 5pm:
Me: It's almost time for dinner. What do you want to eat?
Blake: Suckers and marshmallows!


Thursday, 3am:
Blake: Mom! Moooooooooooooooom! Come here yittle second!
Me: (all sorts of grunting as I struggle to get out of bed) What do you need?
Blake: I question for you.
Me: Ok.
Blake: I want Toby.
Me: You want me to find Toby?
Blake: Yes. You help me?


Thursday, 9:30am:
Blake: What are you doing?
Me: I'm pretending your leg is a guitar and playing it.
Blake: That impossible!
Me: That's impossible?
Blake: That impossible for 'tar is weg.


Thursday, 1pm:
Blake: Moooooom! You come here?
Me: (enter Blake's room) What do you need?
Blake: You came! Good choicey!

Morning routine

3 out of my 5 weekday mornings go a little something like this:

wake up
breakfast
combination of laying on the couch/playing with Blake
convince myself we'll walk to the far playground since we haven't been there in a while
talk myself out of doing that (too far, too hot, it smelled terrible last time we were there)
convince myself we'll go to the not-as-far-away playground
talk myself out of doing that (still too far, still too hot, last time we went Blake threw the mother of all tantrums when it was time to go)
convince myself we'll go to the super close playground
talk myself out of doing that (we go there all the time, no shade, shirtless old men sitting around)
think of something to do on our stoop

By the time 10am rolls around I've gathered what energy I do have to get myself ready for the day and we're out the door to sit on our steps for a little while blowing bubbles, painting the sidewalk with water, or collecting leaves.

On the rarest of occasions I'll think of a fun activity we haven't done before and it will come together beautifully, with very little effort and planning on my part.

So today at 10:30 when it was apparent we weren't going to do any of the grandiose things I had laid on the couch thinking about doing, I thought I could handle walking to the closest 99 cent store, picking up some paint, and letting Blake paint outside for a little while. We got our supplies and headed home, where I was able to fashion some easels out of an old diaper box. Once outside, I explained to Blake the basics of using watercolors and let him go.

one for Blake, one for Mom

so focused he didn't notice me snapping pictures

chasing the fly that wouldn't leave him alone

Ahhh, much better

Gallery worthy

So that fills my good mom quota for the week, right? I don't have to try to come up with anymore fun stuff to do until next week, right? Ok good.

in training

When my mother-in-law asked me if I had any big plans for August, I thought for a second and realized this month is going to be pretty low-key. Well, let's be honest. Since I found out I was pregnant my life has been as low-key as it possibly can be with a 2 year old (which doesn't feel very low-key, but walking too and from the playground every day takes about as much energy as I can muster so that's pretty much all we do.)

So, a wide open August plus the fact that Blake has started to demand a clean diaper anytime he wets the one he is currently wearing have led me to the decision to begin potty training Blake.

Fears:
-I'm starting too early. I've heard if you start before your child is ready it can be a total nightmare to try to get them to learn how to use the potty.

-That's pretty much my only fear.

So that's my August. I will be potty training my almost 2 and a half year old. Prayers appreciated.

new momma

Recently I've been reflecting on the days when I was a brand new mom with a brand new baby...and how much I thought I knew but didn't. I thought about when my mom came to help me after Evan started his job in New York and how she never really offered any advice unless I asked for it. She let me be in charge of how I wanted her to take care of Blake while I was napping or at work. And I wonder if inside she just smiled to herself thinking, "One day she'll look back on this and laugh at how ridiculous she's being."

Because I was ridiculous.

I was telling my mom how to take care of an infant when she had raised 4 wonderful (wink) children. I mean, I wasn't telling her every single thing to do. But I balked when she wanted to give Blake a little bit of water.

"No, Mom. You were there when the doctor said he gets plenty of water with his formula. He doesn't need any water!"

Or when she had the TV on at night while she fed him.

"I'd rather the TV not be on at night if you're up feeding him."

Or if she wanted to grab a bite to eat or run to the store while I was at work.

"I don't really want him riding in the car that much."

Ridiculous.

With baby #2, I feel like I'm going to be less uptight. Water? Sure, give him (or her) a little sip. TV on while the baby's awake? Meh, why not. Car ride? Let's take a trip across the country!

My mom was a good sport. She allowed me to come into my own as a mother. Instead of stepping in and telling me how to take care of Blake, she let me take the lead, even if I was a little ridiculous and even if it wasn't how she would necessarily do things. I often forget with both my mother and mother-in-law that they have experience. They were in the trenches just like I am changing diapers, cleaning up after little ones, and trying to teach them how to be kind and respectful.

So I'm ready to let go a little bit. I'll have enough on my plate come November (and I'm not talkin' turkey and stuffing here people) that it will be nice to just go with the flow instead of trying to control everything.

There's a new sheriff in town

Naps.

I love them. I try to at least lay down for a little while every day. (No, this does not include the 2 hours I spend on the couch in the morning some days.)

Naps.

Blake hates them. He pulls out all the stops when it comes to nap time. "Mommy rock?", "Change diaper?" "Eww yucky!" (This one is to get me to come into his room to see what is yucky. Usually there's nothing yucky.) Blake used to be so good at just laying down and taking a nap. He would drift happily off to dreamland and would be out for a good 2 hours. Our recent visit to VA has wrecked any hope of those days returning. Now he cries for about 45 minutes until I come in and rock him to sleep. Then he sleeps for about an hour.

And it's killing me. Mean, scary, I'm-going-to-lock-myself-in-the-bathroom-and-turn-the-hair-dryer-on-to- drown-out-the-sound-of-him-screaming mommy is making a daily appearance and I hate it. I try to be upbeat about nap time. I try to just act like he's going to go down easily. But 45 minutes of screaming every day at nap time really wears on a person. And there's no way in you know what that I'm about to let my 26 month old give up the one nap he takes a day. He definitely needs a nap. This is not a case of me just needing a break and forcing him to take a nap.

I've been hesitant to seek any advice for the situation online. I feel like I was always on the computer researching how to solve some sort of issue when Blake was little or trying to find out if he was hitting his milestones. I'm kind of over that 2 years into motherhood. But today I decided to google, "2 year old refuses to nap" and even though the advice was exactly what I thought it was going to be, it was comforting. It's not out of the ordinary for toddlers to refuse to nap. And you just have to be consistent, calm, and firm. (I've been lacking the calm and exhibiting extreme firmness.) 

So, it's going to end. Well, the screaming will continue, but the coddling when it comes to nap time is ending today. I have a plan. It does not involve rocking because that's one way Blake stalls. It will mostly likely involve lots of crying and screaming. But that's no different than what's been going on the past 3 weeks, so I've got to change something.

My hope is that he'll remember with this new routine that nap time is for sleeping and that if he isn't going to do that then he'll have to sit in his crib until nap time is over.

Heaven help us, because if this doesn't work, I may just have to invest in a good pair of ear plugs. Maybe my old neighbor will be able to recommend some... ;)

New game

Blake has reached an age where he's started to pretend. And it's kind of the cutest thing ever. When he plays with his trains he gives a play-by-play of what's happening: "Thomas puffs away", "Thomas push cars", or "Oh no! Crash!" are common phrases in our house these days.

But in the last 2 weeks Blake has started playing a new game. It's called "baby sleeping" and it's a pregnant mother's dream.

baby sleeping

baby awake

Basically the game consists of Blake, who is pretending to be a baby, laying down and being tucked into bed with a blanket. Then he pretends he's asleep. He wiggles around and makes noises, waiting for me to ask if he's awake. When he pops his head up that means he's awake.

Besides watching Blake shut his eyes as hard as he can to feign sleep, the best part of this game is that I get to lay down while we play. And some days laying down is all I want to do.

I know you were trying to be helpful...

but telling my 22 month old that everything will be ok as he throws the tantrum of all tantrums is not helpful. At all.

See how he's just screaming? See how he can't even control his own body? See how he's so out of his mind that even if I said, "Here's a big ol' cookie for you to eat right now!" he wouldn't be able to comprehend that I was actually giving him something amazing and would continue to cry?

Ya, so you, a stranger, telling my son, who remember, is out of his mind right now, that everything will be ok is the opposite of helpful. It just clues me in to 3 things:

1- I look like a terrible mother because my son is out of control.

2- I look like a terrible mother because I'm literally dragging my son out of the store and am about 2 seconds away from just leaving him there.

3- You may be considering calling child protective services because you can tell I'm about to lose it. (Luckily, we took a few minutes to compose ourselves outside. Well, I did. Blake kept screaming.)

Really, I know you were trying to be helpful. And I thank you for not making a rude comment about our spectacle. You really were very nice about it all.

But next time, just ignore us. Don't make any jokes about how it must be nap time. Don't even look at us. Because at that very moment, the moment where you want to stare and say something, I actually want to be invisible. So just pretend like we are.

unfortunate change

A few weeks ago I was finally able to comfortably wear a pair of jeans I could wear before I was pregnant. I've been going to zumba classes a few times a week and trying to cut down on the amount of sugar I eat.

I'm not really a diet person. I don't like having to measure out my food, count calories, or put certain foods off limits. If I tell myself I can't eat something, then that's all I want to eat. I figure if I stay active and eat healthy foods then I'll be ok.

What I haven't really thought about is how my body has changed since having a baby. I kept blaming it on just being overweight before I was pregnant, being pregnant, and then not losing the weight after I had Blake.

But now that I've lost a few pounds, I've realized my body has changed. Unfortunately. So now I get to play "This fits me here, but not here. Oh and let's not bring attention there. Or there."

I already hate shopping so this "new" body I've discovered is not really helping. At all.

I'm totally in favor of this (7:57-8:30...or the whole thing if you need a good laugh):

I think I could rock a one piece silver suit with the V stripe and boots...

to leash or not to leash

It seems in the last few weeks, Blake has decided he hates his stroller. And forcing him into it usually makes me regret deciding to take him somewhere. So I've been contemplating getting him one of those "this looks like a monkey backpack but it's really a way for me to keep you from running out in front of a car" leashes.

But then I saw this:

And I laughed as I realized Blake would be exactly like the kid on the ground. As soon as I tried to pull him in the right direction on a walk around the nabe, he'd collapse to the ground and I'd be stuck either dragging him along or hoisting him over my shoulder and carrying him home (both resulting in judgmental looks from passersby).

Personally I think the little backpack leashes look silly. And before I had a kid I never thought I'd consider getting one. But I totally understand why parents use them. Especially if you are going somewhere by yourself and need to be able to keep track of multiple children.

I don't look down on parents who use them. If they work for your kid, great! If they don't (see picture above) then good luck finding something that does. I'm currently searching for a solution myself.

tired

Me too, kid. Me too.

sick

I'm on my second bag of M&M's today. I bought both of them knowing I was going to eat them as soon as I got home. It's been that kind of morning.

To be honest, it all started around 8pm last night. I was reading Blake his bedtime stories when I noticed he kept sticking his tongue out like he had a hair in his mouth. I didn't think much of it and tried to fish around in his mouth to see if there was anything in there that shouldn't be. No luck. Before I laid him down I took him into the kitchen for a drink of water to clear out whatever was in his mouth that had become so bothersome. And then he puked.

All of his dinner. Refunded. (Note to Blake: Let's try chewing your food from now on, k?)

I yelled to Evan for backup as Blake stood and pointed to the contents of his stomach now occupying the kitchen floor saying, "ewwww!". We got that mess cleaned up and swapped the barfy pajamas for some clean ones. Blake didn't seem to think he was sick as he ran around and played like normal. Freak barfing? We at the Jordan household are veterans when it comes to barfing so we took his temperature, gave him some water and decided he was probably ok since he was acting like he felt fine. Into bed he went.

30 minutes later: vomit.

This required the changing of sheets and new pajamas.

More water, mess cleaned up, no sheets-just a towel this time-and he was off to dreamland.

And then he threw up again. At this point there wasn't much left in his little tummy and it was horrible to watch him struggle. We decided to get him some pedialite and keep him up for a while to see if he'd keep it down. We finally wised up and followed him around with a little bucket to catch any upchuck that might decide to spew from his little body. Sure enough, he threw up a few more times before conking out.

Evan and I hopped into to bed and I said a quick prayer for Blake to be able to sleep through the night.

At 1 a.m. I awoke to the sounds of, well, you know. I called a 24 hour nurse hot line to get some advice on what to do. I really didn't want to take Blake to the ER, but he could not keep anything in his stomach and he was so exhausted that I was getting nervous that he'd need medical attention immediately. The decision was made to wait a while longer to see if he'd go back to sleep, but he threw up again for the seventh time. I tried to call the on-call pediatrician, but didn't get a return call until 2 hours later. By that time Blake was asleep and it was 5:30 in the morning. He had been asleep for 2 hours so I thought it was ok to wait and take him to the doctor when they opened.

Blake woke up around 7 and ate a light breakfast before we headed to the doctor.

Diagnosis: chest congestion brought on by seasonal allergies and drainage of mucus into the stomach causing nausea.

Treatment: nebulizer treatments 3 times a day for a week, antibiotic once a day for 5 days, prescription cough medicine 2 times a day for 5 days, and allergy medicine once a day until the end of November.

The nebulizer treatment is enough to make me want to assume the fetal position and hum to myself.

Thus, 2 bags of M&M's consumed within minutes of each other.

bad mom

Movies. TV. Impatience.

I've been a bad mom lately. As Blake gets older I'm finding it more difficult to keep him entertained. Guess what he's doing right now? Sitting quietly on the floor watching Toy Story 3. Guess what he was doing 5 minutes before that? Destroying our DVD player.

I hate using the television to distract him, but sometimes that's the only way I know how to keep him busy while I clean or make dinner. And as a 19 month old, his attention span with most other activities is only a few minutes. But when he watches TV or a movie I know I can get a pretty good chunk of time to do something. I see activities to do with toddlers and think, "Maybe I'll try that!" But as I read the details I think, "Well, Blake will just end up eating that." or "I'm going to take a few hours preparing an activity for him to be done with it in 5 minutes. And then what do I do?"

With the weather getting colder, I know our trips to the playground are numbered. Pretty soon it's going to be too cold to walk 10 blocks to the nicer playground and play for an hour. And after checking our expenses over the last few months, any fun outings we may go on this winter to relieve cabin fever need to be free. Better yet, we need to get paid to go do fun things.

I'm not the type of mom that will never allow her children to watch any TV (obviously). But I can't seem to find a balance between a little bit of TV a few times a week and fun, engaging, educational activities that Blake can have fun with. It's kind of turning into this vicious cycle I can't seem to break.

Tell myself no TV today.

Breakfast.

Playtime.

Eats crayons.

Crayons taken away.

Tantrum.

Redirection.

Playtime.

Tries to destroy our DVDs.

DVDs taken away.

Tantrum.

Snack time.

Reading.

Throws books.

Book hits Mom.

Patience is gone.

Tantrum.

Movie.


And it's not even noon yet.

I'm not complaining about how difficult motherhood is. I just hate feeling like a bad mom because of my lack of patience and willingness to plop my kid in front of the television for a few minutes of peace. Inevitably those few minutes turn into 90 minutes. I just feel kind of stuck in these bad habits I'm creating.