Some of it’s wonderful, like the evolving routine I have established with “E”, my nearly 3 month old baby boy. And some of it’s bad. My 93 year old grandma passed away suddenly on December 5th. Due to her worsening eyesight over the years, we had a monthly routine where I would help her with errands, pay her bills, and read letters out loud from her many friends and family. For nearly 4 years, I looked forward to those visits where it was just the two of us and the Monkey, who would run around her house and inspect relics such her 8-track tape player and bubble-gum pink rotary phone. My grandma and I would chat about her childhood growing up on a farm, the 5th of 13 children. She would talk about how, after she trained to become a nurse, she left her homestead in North Dakota and took a train to California for work. She joined the military to nurse injured soldiers back to health during World War II and became a 2nd Lieutenant. She worked until she was 70 years old, all the while supporting her three kids after my grandfather had a stroke. Her story was fascinating to me and she was a huge influence and inspiration for my own path in life.  Despite her old age, her death was a shock. Only 2 weeks earlier I was with her in her small yellow kitchen as she helped my Aunt and Mom prepare vegetable soup and cornbread.

I started 2011 without my paternal grandparents since both of them died in 2010.  And now I start this year without any of my grandparents.  I know I’m very lucky to have had such positive and incredible grandparents in my life for 34-35 years. My new reality begins without them, but they will always be seared in my heart and remain in my wistful memories.

A wonderful organization close to my heart, Help a Mother Out, has introduced Diaper Action Week for the week of November 14th through November 18th in an effort to raise awareness about this problem and help make policy changes with The Diaper Act. The Diaper Act legislation aims to amend the Child Care and Development Block Grant of 1990, which will increase child care access and relieve a financial burden on families who cannot otherwise afford a sufficient  amount of diapers for their children. The Diaper Act does not ask for additional federal funds. If Congress enacts the Diaper Act, eligible child care centers will have the flexibility and choice to provide diapers (disposable or cloth) to their neediest families.

So how can you help? By spending a minute to sign a petition for The Diaper Act and let Congress know that you want to see changes made for struggling families. You can also help spread the word about Diaper Action Week and The Diaper Act!  Blog, Facebook, and Tweet about #DiaperAct. It sometimes only takes a minute of your time to help make a difference.

Thank you!

Still wearing my favorite maternity shirt complete with a "what the hell just happened" expression.

A scream that the baby is coming. Tires squealing out of the driveway. Racing to the freeway. Running red lights. Barreling towards the hospital at 100 miles an hour. Throwing the car keys at the ER valet. Getting rushed to a hospital room. Nurses scrambling and the doctor rushing in mid-push.

These things aren’t supposed to happen during labor. The birth of a baby isn’t usually a crazy emergency situation…or, at least, that’s what they tell us in all those birthing classes. But it can happen like that. I know, because it happened to me.

It’s a good thing I didn’t have a birth plan for my baby boy. Because no amount of planning could have prepared me for what happened the night my son “E” was born. My son was born on October 14th, his initial due date, at 11:27 pm. We arrived at the hospital at 11:20 pm. Want to know how that happened? Read on:

Knowing that my doctor would plan an induction if I went past my due date, I spent the week leading up to 14th trying out some natural induction methods. The past few weeks had been filled with a surge of Braxton Hicks contractions and I felt optimistic that I could go into natural labor before the doctor broke out the pitocin. So, I visited my acupuncturist/chiropractor. I ate eggplant parmigiana and pineapple. I went for long walks and bribed seduced my husband. A friend of mine swore by the breast pump to kick-start things, which I tried the morning on October 13th. Later that afternoon, I visited a reflexologist for an hour long massage. By that evening my contractions were coming along more steadily and intensely, but never painfully. I didn’t think much of it since I had been dealing with pre-labor signs for weeks.

The morning of the 14th, I had two appointments – one with my OB/GYN and another with a Maternal Fetal Health Clinic. Due to my elderly maternal age of 35 and Pregnancy-Induced Hypertension, I had been deemed “high-risk” and had been monitored with NST and ultrasound exams twice a week since early September. My doctor checked me and I was barely dilated nor effaced, which wasn’t a total surprise. I was barely dilated with my first son 90 minutes before he was born. We discussed my previous labor, which we had discussed many times already, and talked about the plan to induce the following week if the baby didn’t arrive on his own. I then headed to another floor for my NST exam. The nurses noticed a decrease in the baby’s movement. I had felt him several times that morning and even during the exam, but their concern had me worried. After a discussion with my doctor, they scheduled me to go to L&D the next morning for further monitoring. I knew there was a good chance that they would keep me in L&D and induce me at the first sign of a problem. I silently begged my body and my baby to get things rolling.

I was home by 1:00pm and started timing my still relatively painless contractions. The Dude had stayed home from work that day and my mom stopped by to watch the Monkey.  We took our dog for a long walk, which got the contractions coming a little more consistently and intensely. By 5:00 pm, my mom had left and I was getting restless so I decided to go to Trader Joe’s with the Monkey. While waiting in line to check out, a woman with three small children started chatting me up. A contraction came during that time and she must have read my expression because she asked if I was in labor. I replied that I didn’t think so because the contractions didn’t really hurt. She gave me a look as if to say “uh, yeah you are!” and wished my luck.  When I returned home, the Dude decided to run out and grab us some Indian take-out. By the time he returned at 7:00pm, I felt things were moving more quickly and that we needed to visit the hospital. When he pulled the car in the drive way, I yelled out to him to leave the car there and not bother pulling it into the garage – we were going soon. While the Dude quickly ate, we called his mom to come over and watch the Monkey. She was there within minutes and we took off. We arrived at the hospital at 7:30 pm.

The admitting nurse checked me and I was at 2cm dilated and 60% effaced. My mom had met us at the hospital since I thought for sure things would be moving quickly. The contractions were coming along between 2-4 minutes apart and had become stronger and somewhat painful. I walked around the halls with the Dude. I would brace myself against a wall during a contraction while he massaged the pain in my lower back. The nurse checked me again after an hour. No change. My doctor stopped by at that point and could see that I was in pain and the contractions were coming on more regularly. She ordered a shot of Demoral to take the edge off  and then told me that I should go home and labor for a few more hours and then come back. She also told me that she would probably see me later that night or early the next morning but, because I was still at 2cm, they couldn’t admit me yet unless I was in a serious amount of pain. My contractions were painful, but not unbearable, however the Demoral did nothing for me except make me a little woozy. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep through the contractions, but I thought I could at least go home and be comfortable while I labored. I joked about getting some Krispy Kreme donuts on the way home as a last calorie-busting hurrah before starting my post-baby diet. The nurse kept asking me my pain scale number and mentioned a few times that she thought I had a high tolerance for pain. I thought it was a weird comment since I was only at 2cm but, looking back, I realize she was trying to clue me into saying that my pain level was higher than I said so they would have to admit me. I wish I had.

We left the hospital at 10:30pm. I would be giving birth in less than an hour.

A block from the hospital the contractions were rapidly becoming stronger and painful, but they were still manageable. Considering we live so close to the hospital, we still decided to go home and wait it out a bit longer. Big mistake. We got back home and I went upstairs thinking I needed to use the bathroom. The contractions had become so powerful that I remember thinking that I could actually be in the transition stage of labor. I could do nothing but moan in a primal tone and brace myself during each hit. Between contractions, I sat down on the toilet and quickly realized that I didn’t need to use the bathroom after all – the pressure I was feeling was the urge to push! I screamed for the Dude and he rushed in to help me pull my pants back on. I yelled that we needed to go back to the hospital  and fast – I didn’t want to have my baby on my bathroom floor! His mom heard the commotion and asked if she should call 911. The Dude yelled back no as we rushed out the door and into the car. He opened the passenger door as I ran to the back seat. There was no way I could sit upright. As he peeled out of the driveway, knowing that he was about to drive much more recklessly than usual, he asked in a somewhat panicked tone for me to put my seat-belt on. I yelled back “DRIVE!!!” which he did both dangerously and beautifully. Thankfully, it was late at night and there were very few cars on the road. We arrived at the hospital at 11:20pm.

The Dude threw his car keys at the ER valet, who caught them as if he had seen this situation a few times before. A wheelchair came out of nowhere and they ran me to the elevator to head to L&D. I could only half-sit because of the pressure, so I held up my body on the wheelchair arms. The ER was filled with people and I could see a few nervous faces.  A woman called out, “looks like it’s time – congrats!” The wheelchair attendant, a teenage volunteer, happily talked about how this was his favorite part of the job. The Dude asked him to pick up the pace and that we needed a room fast. We got to L&D admitting where I could no longer sit down because I could feel the baby in the birth canal. I yelled “the only thing keeping this baby in is me keeping my legs closed!” An off-duty nurse heard the commotion and waved us all into an empty room. At least 8 other nurses rushed in at that time and I somehow got onto the table and out of my pants. My doctor was nowhere to be found so the nurses yelled out that they were ready to deliver. The instinct to keep my legs closed was overwhelming, probably because I was in shock about what was happening, and I remember a few nurses prying my legs open. I yelled out “wait, I need an epidural!” and everyone laughed. One nurse replied, “honey, you’ve done the work already – the baby’s head is here!”  The Dude was looking down at me, telling me that it was time and that our baby would be here soon. I focused on him and his words. The urge to push became incredibly intense and I looked down to see my doctor arrive as I pushed for the first and only time. I felt the baby rapidly descend from my body and out of my womb, a feeling I vividly remember with my first son. An incredible and euphoric feeling that is unlike anything else in the world. I didn’t feel any pain, only relief and awe. I was still wearing my own shirt, so they laid a blanket on my chest and placed my new baby boy on me for a matter of seconds before they rushed to check him. The Dude later told me that immediately after I delivered, they gave me a shot of pitocin in my leg to reduce the chance of hemorrhaging. I don’t remember that. The entire chaotic scene was a blur of activity with nurses running around and my doctor yelling about how she couldn’t find me.

I was in a state of surreal shock. I heard the baby cry, which made me happy to hear, but I didn’t feel anything else at all. I could not wrap my head around what just happened. The past hour had become the most intense and crazy hour of my life and it was hard to believe that my baby boy was here and in my arms. When my first son was born, I immediately burst into tears of joy after his birth. With this experience, the shock didn’t wear off until the following morning, which is when I finally became an emotional mess. My boy was here. He was healthy and safe. Looking down at his beautiful scrunched up face with folded down ears and a crease around his forehead from the birth canal, I whispered that I would do it all again in a heartbeat for him. For the rest of my life, I would do anything for him.

What just happened? The Monkey and me, shortly after he made his dramatic entrance into the world.

My maternal great-grandmother gave birth to 13 children. All but #13 were born at home and none of them were delivered with medicinal pain relief.

My maternal grandmother delivered 3 children without any medicinal pain relief.

My own mother delivered two out of three of her children without any medicinal pain relief.

That’s pretty awesome of them. But, as for me? Bring on the meds. Maybe.

I’m in the homestretch of my pregnancy and expect to meet baby #2 within 2 weeks (or possibly later tonight if that famous eggplant parmigiana recipe really works). If I were to have a birth plan, the only plan would be to ask for the epidural as soon as I check into the hospital. You see, my last labor and delivery, which was an induced labor at 41 weeks, was approximately 90 minutes from the time the pitocin hit to when my son made his entrance. Going from 0 to delivery in an hour and a half was excruciating and exhausting and the epidural that I managed to beg for when I could actually catch my breath came much too late. It was not the birth experience that I had wanted and certainly did not anticipate. Considering my doctor barely made it in time (and my doula never made it at all), no one anticipated it. In the end, all that mattered was that my son was born healthy and I was OK…but it would have been nice if our first introduction to one another was during a much less dramatic circumstance.

Whether it’s laboring for 24 hours without meds, as my own mother did with me, or having a planned and wanted C-section, it would be great if every mama could have the birthing experience that she wants. But we all know that’s not always possible. What I also know is that no one has the right to judge, criticize, or give otherwise self-righteous opinions to another woman for how she delivers her baby. If mama wants an epidural to help make her labor and delivery a more enjoyable and relaxing one, good for her. If she wants to go through labor and delivery at home, that’s fantastic. Mama should get what she wants and be given support from her doctor/midwife, partner, family, and friends.  There is nothing wrong with a mom trying to make the best of her labor and delivery experience, in whatever capacity she sees fit. No one gets a cookie or gold star for delivering a baby a certain way. The only prize we could hope for with any delivery is that of a healthy baby and mama.

I was actually half-joking when I mentioned that epidural earlier. Unlike everything else in my somewhat orderly and planned everyday life, I’m more of a let’s what happens kinda gal when it comes to my labor. If I go into labor naturally and the pain is tolerable, I’ll try and go for it. I managed to get through 90 minutes of an induced labor and delivery without meds, so I have no doubt that I can do it. However, if the pain starts to wear on me and, in that moment I feel like meds will help me enjoy the process more, someone page the anesthesiologist. And fast.

This time around, no plan is my best birth plan…no matter what anyone else might think.

Noah

We had a few dogs growing up but they weren’t really mine. They belonged to my mom. One dog died when I was very little and two others came into our lives when I was a teenager and rarely home long enough to spend much time with them. I have no memory of cleaning up after them, feeding them, or taking them to the vet. That was all on my mom. While I was away at college, my mom had to give up her dog because she was moving. Although I felt sad for her, it didn’t really faze me at all.

When I met the Dude, he often talked about his family dogs. He treated all of his dogs like they were his siblings and, whenever a dog passed away, it was devastating for the entire family. I was moved by their dog stories, but I didn’t really get it. However,  the Dude and his family loved their dogs and I knew that to be married into this family meant having a dog of our own one day.  It took me a while to get used to that idea.

I really did like dogs, but I didn’t necessarily like the idea of one living with me. They shed, they bark, they drool, they chew and, in general, they’re a big responsibility. Plus, we were living in a San Francisco apartment and I didn’t want a dog living in such a cramped space without a backyard. Then we had our Monkey and there was no way I was going to take on a new dog with an infant in the apartment.

By the time the Monkey turned 2 and we had already moved into a house, I finally came around to the idea that a dog would be a good idea. I had no doubt that a dog to grow up with would be an incredible experience for our kid. But when a few rescue agencies did their home inspection and informed us that it would take a long time to place a dog with us because of our toddler, I began to lose interest again. Yet, over the course of the next year, it became more and more evident that the Monkey loved dogs. He was fascinated by them. I could no longer refuse my kid the opportunity to grow up with his own dog.

A few months after the Monkey turned 3, and after much research, we found our ideal dog. The Portuguese Water Dog. Yes, just like that adorable dog in the White House. The PWD doesn’t shed, loves water (obviously), is great with kids, is incredibly smart and trainable, and doesn’t get that big – 50 to 60 pounds max. Sure, we were told that the puppy stage lasts a bit longer than other breeds, that they are very “mouthy”, and also jabber-jaw to communicate, but I felt those were all things I could deal with…kinda.

We brought Noah home in March when he was about 8 weeks old and 8 pounds. He was very much a puppy. He pooped and peed everywhere, chewed on everything, and would steal the Monkey’s toys. The Monkey was not amused. In fact, he really didn’t enjoy him very much for the first few months and would shy away from him. It was strange to see my son, who loved to chase 80 pound Labradors around, be a little nervous about a small furry creature under 10 pounds. It was like there was a Gremlin living in our house. And one who wasn’t even house-trained, to boot.

As for me, I quickly came to the conclusion that bringing a puppy home was nearly as challenging as a newborn baby. We would have to wake up a few times during the night to take him outside and also deal with multiple daily accidents. We couldn’t leave Noah alone for very long for several months. He would jump up on the table and steal food. He chewed a few rugs, table legs, two electronics cords, a duvet cover, and countless toys. Now at 7 months old, he still jumps too much and occasionally chews the wrong things, but we’ve recently hired a trainer to help us with those issues. I also had to get used to the fact that I will never be able to keep my dark hardwood floors as clean as before. I’m still getting used to that.

It was quite an adjustment to have a dog in the family, but it’s safe to say that we are now a dog-family. The Monkey went from running away from the tiny fur-ball to pouncing on the now 40 pound dog as if he was Hulk Hogan. The dog will sometimes run away from the kid these days, but it’s pretty obvious that they adore one another. I often find them snuggling on the couch together and Noah tends to end up on the Monkey’s bed during the night. It’s a beautiful thing. As for me, I can’t imagine living without Noah. As a stay-at-home mom, Noah is mostly my responsibility. I feed him, clean up after him, walk him, and take him to the vet. In turn, he follows me everywhere and gives me, as well as the Dude and the Monkey, unconditional love.

I recently told the Dude that Noah is just another reason why we could never divorce  – because I am unwilling to ever give him up. It really hit me in that moment that I have officially become a dog person. It was about time.

This newly updated blog has been a work in progress for well over a month and nearly all credit must be given to the Dude – lawyer by day, web designer/developer by night. No one else could have possibly been able to capture my vision, make it functional, and exceed all my expectations…or maybe they could of, but certainly at a much higher rate. Being married to your web designer does come in handy.

During this time, the Dude captured a few images of the work in progress. Click through the images below to see the evolution of the AYMB design process:

We are still working out a few kinks here and there, so please let me know if you come across any issues.

Hope you like the new site and come back again soon!

In the meantime, I will be attending Blog Her ’11 this weekend (if you’re also attending, please let me know!) and working on fresh new blog posts for your reading pleasure.

Thanks for sticking with me during this transition and I’ll see you back here real soon.

]]> http://www.aintyomamasblog.com/new-and-improved-aymb-coming-soon/feed/ 0 http://www.aintyomamasblog.com/giveaway-glen-ivy-hot-springs-giveaway-winner/ http://www.aintyomamasblog.com/giveaway-glen-ivy-hot-springs-giveaway-winner/#comments Thu, 07 Jul 2011 23:14:15 +0000 Aimee http://www.aintyomamasblog.com/?p=6013 According to random.org, the winner of the Glen Ivy Hot Springs spa giveaway package is:

Comment #5 – Victoria!!!

Congrats, Victoria! You have a full day of relaxation and pampering ahead of you and I have no doubt that you will enjoy your Glen Ivy spa package. Have a great time!

If you’re from Southern California, there is a good chance you’ve heard about Glen Ivy Hot Springs in Corona. Perhaps you’ve even had the pleasure of enjoying an afternoon relaxing in the mineral baths, saline pool, or had a spa treatment there as well. If not, let me tell you what you’ve been missing out on.

I’ve been going to Glen Ivy Hot Springs for a few years now and, as you can obviously guess, I’m a big fan. Set in the gorgeous desert-like setting of Corona, California, Glen Ivy Hot Springs offers a beautiful oasis to relax, enjoy time with friends, and get pampered. From minerals baths, lounge pools, the bath house, dry saunas and mud baths to the Grotto experience and the extensive menu of spa treatments, there are plenty of ways to relax and take some much-needed time for yourself. In addition, Glen Ivy also offers a fabulous restaurant with fantastic menu options (my personal fave is the roast chicken and pear salad).

Ready to hear about the giveaway yet?!?

The giveaway includes admission, lunch, Grotto services, and a 50-minute massage! The entire giveaway package is worth over $200.

The contest will end on Wednesday, July 6th. To enter the giveaway, please leave a comment below about why you need a day in paradise! For additional points of entry, you can do the following (please leave an additional comment for each point of entry):

• Follow Glen Ivy Hot Springs on Twitter and/or Facebook
• Follow AYMB on Twitter and/or Facebook
• Tweet this giveaway
• Post this giveaway on Facebook
• Blog about this giveaway

Although this giveaway is for a Southern California destination, the giveaway is not limited to Southern California residents only. Any legal resident of the U.S is eligible to participate.

Good luck!

Glen Ivy Hot Springs Spa
25000 Glen Ivy Road
Corona, CA  92883
58 miles from Los Angeles, 34 miles from Anaheim, or 87 miles from San Diego.

FTC Disclaimer: I was not monetarily compensated for this giveaway.

While I watched the nurse remove the IV tube from my son’s little hand, I later learned that a tragedy was unfolding at that very moment only a few miles away. A repeat drunk driver, with a blood-alcohol level of 0.20%, slammed his truck into a car carrying four high school girls. One of the girls, 14 year old Ashton Sweet, was left brain dead while another girl remains in critical condition. At the request of her grief-stricken parents, Ashton Sweet was kept alive on life support until six of her organs were donated.

Reading about the loss of this beautiful young girl struck something deep within me. At 1:15 am on Sunday morning, I was feeling a sense of relief, renewed optimism, and nothing short of grateful for the improved health of my little boy. I distinctly remember looking at the glowing clock in the hospital room so I could etch that moment in time within my mind forever. I could finally breathe again. But now I know that as I was about to fall back asleep on the hospital cot next to my son, able to sleep more deeply and comfortably with the unquestionable knowledge that he was going to be OK, a family across town was about to wake up to the most horrible news that any parent could possibly receive.

Someone told the Dude the other day that you haven’t really experienced the lows of parenting until your child ends up in the hospital. The thing is, I knew that my little Monkey was going to leave the hospital eventually. I knew he was no longer in danger once the nurses started the IV drip. He was going to be OK. It’s the not knowing that is undoubtedly one of the ultimate lows of parenting. It’s when you can’t bring your child home from the hospital that is undoubtedly the lowest form of human suffering. And it’s those stories that are painful reminders for the rest of us that while parenting has it’s challenging moments, each moment – good, bad, and everything in between – is truly a gift that is a tragedy in itself to take for granted.