Whimsically Crazy

If Cameron could talk right now, I would first ask, “What’s so great about Left Boob?”

And then, “What’s so horrible about having your fingernails cut?”

Since I’ve had my nipples abused in so many ways since he’s been born, sometimes where I’d swear he was biting me if he had teeth to bite, I wondered how I’d know when he actually bites me. It turns out the scream before I had time to consciously react gave it away.

I screamed.

He laughed.

I gave him a stern, “No” and set him down.

He cried.

I wondered why he was crying when I was the one being used as a chew toy!

Lately Cameron has been wanting to grab my nipple while nursing. Not the other nipple, like I read being common, but the same nipple. This is a problem for a couple reasons, besides the logistics involved. For one, there’s his razor sharp claws… er… fingernails.

He’s also doing the pulling-off-without-unlatching thing again. Or not necessarily off but just straight up pulling. Hard. Hard enough to make me yell out in pain at one point, which made him laugh. (I know he doesn’t understand, but I do with my baby didn’t laugh at the fact that he caused me pain.) I remember this one because I set him on the floor afterwards, deciding it was time to start enforcing the ‘if you hurt mommy we stop for a bit’ rule in preparation for future biting.

It was some combination of those that I assume is responsible for the raw spot on my nipple I noticed while preparing to shower. I should put some lanolin on that, I thought, it might not help but it certainly won’t hurt.

Examining my nipple was what led me to notice the network of blue veins clearly visible on my boobs. (I know, that’s a pleasant visual for you, isn’t it?) But it’s not just my boobs, but all the way up the top of my chest, and across to my shoulders, making me look like a walking circulatory model. I wondered if there’s anything that could be done about that. Tanning, I guess, so no. Apparently I’m pale enough to be functionally transparent.

While marveling at my personal freak show I waited for a couple red scratch marks on the right side to die down so I could survey fully. These are the kind of marks left from scratching yourself so absentmindedly that it’s plausible to not remember if you had actually done so or not a mere second ago. I tried to remember, because they didn’t die down, and along with examining the surrounding skin I realized… are those stretch marks!?

Fledgling, baby stretch marks. I forgot they start out red. I think my prednisone stretch marks started out looking-like-I’ve-been-ripped-apart silver/white. I’ve finally gotten over my prednisone marks, and I know a wrinkly, stomach is a motherhood badge of honor, but somehow I thought my boobs would be spared. Especially seven months out. My one (previously) perfect body part.

My fan club will be disappointed, I thought. Yes my breasts once had a fan club, many years ago but I’ve assumed it still exists, if dormant. With Cameron’s existence, I’ve joked that it has a new member. So he’s the reason I’m letting them be “ruined”, I remember. That’s supposed to make it okay, but I still don’t like it.

So what’s the consensus – how long is it still considered acceptable to go out in public with spit-up on your shirt?

And is it better to be oblivious to the spot, or to attempt badly to clean it up and only manage to smear it around?

I know it’s not relevant anymore, but I never did figure out what a receiving blanket is.

Since Cameron was born I’ve had a number of strange, notable, and unpleasant dreams.

There was the dream where I realized I actually had twins, and I had no idea how much, if any, either one had been fed since I was just being given a random baby in the night to nurse.

There was the dream where I found a baby in the middle of a field, and his older brother tells me he’s starving and begs me to feed him. (Feeding was a common theme in those early days.) I said I’d be happy to, but I needed permission from their parents first since I’m on medications. This was followed by a disturbing scene with the dad mad at the boy for getting someone else involved, where I got the impression that he was adopting babies like they were pets and then neglecting them.

There was the dream I think of as the “Halloween dream” because it occurred just days before the holiday. A Final Fantasy-style imp was trying to scare me (being Halloween) by transforming into various cartoonish “scary” monsters. Then it realized the scariest thing it could show me and I was given the image of a NICU baby, tiny and covered with wires, fighting for its life. Then it stopped, in front of my eyes.

More recently, that was topped by the dream where I let Cameron drown in the bath.

This one was unfair beyond words because I was just dropped into the situation and never made the choice to walk away. I started out standing in the living room talking to Andrew, and then I remembered Cameron was in the bath in the sink. I rushed back to find him already still under the water. While I woke up before finding out for sure he was dead, it was almost certain.

It took a long time to get over the intensity of this dream, and to try to accept it as a warning to never, ever let that happen.

I feel a bit like I’m being punished right now in exchange for enjoying good things.

Yesterday Cameron took an actual, extended nap in the crib. This meant I got actual, extended time for myself during the day, which I used to clean the kitchen, and then guilt-free (since the “chores” were done) time playing FFXIV, followed by some organizing, (followed by some naked-time which triggered Cameron’s ‘someone else is touching mommy’s boobs’ radar and caused him to wake up).

I was in a great mood after all of this. Then I was punished for enjoying my daytime time to myself with a baby who would not settle down and go to sleep even though it was past his bedtime. And who wouldn’t go back to sleep after his 5am wakeup. Or let me sleep in to my alarm even with him in bed with me.

Today I got a massage, the last of my saved LivingSocial deals. It was wonderful – I may have found my new person for that hypothetical day we have money to spare for this kind of thing on a regular basis. Then I was punished for getting to relax with a generally stressed-out feeling without a direct cause, but may have started with a baby being uncharacteristically fussy while we were still far from home, and a husband being characteristically frustrated being stuck behind a slow driver.

Then bad mommy moment strikes again.

I had to give Cameron a bath because he had smelly feet. (Who knew babies could have smelly feet? Is mine defective?)

I left the washcloth sitting on the table so I called Andrew to bring it to me. Cameron is being extra squirmy these days, and rolling over practically every chance he gets. While I was looking at Andrew, Cameron grabbed the faucet handle and turned on the water. I immediately jumped to turn the water off since he could burn himself if it is set to hot, and while I’m looking that direction, he slips out of my hands his head goes under the water. I jumped to pull him out just as quickly, and he cried in a way I’ve never heard him cry before and wouldn’t stop until I nursed him.

The entire thing happened in the span of a second but I keep replaying it in my head trying to figure out if I did something wrong. He soon acted like nothing ever happened, but I keep remembering seeing his head underwater for that instant matching my dream.

In the shower I just noticed that my areolas are looking lighter. I kept looking because something seemed wrong, but eventually realized that if they get darker during pregnancy, then they must just be going back to normal. I should be happy but I find it strangely depressing, like a part of me is fading, literally.

Somewhere along the way sunscreen seems to have become controversial. Apparently it causes cancer while it prevents cancer? Or something? When it comes to myself I have a pretty ‘whatever’ attitude about these kind of things but with this tiny-bodied person I’m now responsible for, I’m much more likely to jump on the panic wagon.

I researched lists of baby-safe(r) products, looked at the Amazon reviews which told me what was wrong with all of the best ones per the previous list, and eventually set that whole project aside for a while.

Then it got hot.

On Wednesday we went for a long walk, ultimately to Virginia Mason where I finally got my third Hepatitis A/B shot. (My gastroenterologist was making sure I was up to date on all of my vaccines). That evening I noticed Cameron’s cheeks were looking rosy. As if I didn’t already have my bad mommy moment* for the day, I may have let my baby get sunburned as well!

Even with Amazon Prime I’d be stuck inside for two sunny days waiting for whatever obscure brand came out on top to arrive. So the plan updated to ‘walk to Walgreens and buy whatever has “baby” in the name’. Which turned out to be Neutrogena, the brand I already buy for myself. Which probably causes cancer. Or something.

*My bad mommy moment: Cameron has made a breakthrough in sitting upright unsupported, now lasting for minutes rather than seconds before he falls over. I sat him down in his play yard, and put a blanket behind him to soften the fall if he went backwards.

Since this is a confession I’ll admit I was on my computer, rather than being vague enough to sound like I was hovering overhead and just not able to catch him in time. He picked the one direction I didn’t anticipate, a backwards diagonal, and hit his head on the only obstetrical around, the plastic part on the edge of his bouncy seat which I didn’t even realize was in range.

There was a thud, and real crying, and a big red spot next to his eye. I grab him and instinctively offer him a boob, (I hope this isn’t a latent instinct that comes out at inappropriate times when he’s older), which he didn’t want so the “magic boob” no longer makes everything better. Hugs, kisses, bounces, and pats instead. It’s horrible to have your child in pain and not be able to fix it immediately, and I know I’m absurdly acting like I’m the first person to ever experience this. The rest of you are rolling your eyes; it was just a bump. Big red spot faded to a small red spot over the rest of the day.

At least it wasn’t directly my fault, I thought, until it came back to me at night while I was trying to sleep. I started thinking from the perspective of a baby and how horrifying it must be to not have control of your own body, after someone else sets you in a position you can’t maintain, to end up with your head free-falling towards a hard object. ‘Bad mommy’ became ‘worst mommy’.

Side note: I actually just used The Oatmeal as reference to make sure I was using the semi-colon properly.

I originally told myself that by a month’s time things would have settled down enough for me to write, first the birth story, followed by the post-birth story, and so on. Then it was six weeks, three months, four months… skipped five months as a goal, and now six months I gave myself as a hard deadline because the next big leap would be a year and I just can’t excuse not updating for a whole year’s time. Then a true and proper excuse befell us – the family got sick.

Friday Cameron had a bit of a cough, and at bedtime he was feeling warm. 101 point something fever according to the temporal thermometer (which I now know how to use properly, by taking the cap off first). Cameron hates the thermometer and tries to turn his head out of the way because he has no concept of what the alternative would be. (*cough*rectal*cough*)

Cameron’s bedtime is 9pm and mine is about 1am. Starting at 1:30 he started waking up crying every hour or so needing me to comfort and nurse him back to sleep. This is one of those times that I felt like a real mother because I knew what to do to actively take care of my baby. It’s also one of those times that I felt the inequality behind parenting, because as the holder of the Magic Boobs I am the one, by necessity, getting up in the middle of the night. There’s no ‘I got him last time’ when you’re full-time breastfeeding.

The longest stretch of sleep we both got was between 4 and 7am, when it had then crossed the morning threshold where I’m comfortable bringing Cameron into bed to sleep-nurse. Unfortunately he didn’t agree and we were up up for the day while daddy slept. I was doing math in my head trying to figure out what time I could wake him up to take over without feeling guilty (because Andrew has quite the ability to sleep through my staring and willing him to wake up on his own.) I decided on 9, and after explaining that I didn’t care if Cameron slept as long as I could, I climbed back into bed alone for a couple hours then a couple more with a nursing Cameron next to me. After getting some sleep I thought we were surviving his first cold pretty well.

Originally were were going to be leaving Cameron with Shannon to babysit on Saturday while we went to a going-away party that had been deemed Not-Child-Friendly. I didn’t want to leave him alone even though he seemed a lot better and in a good mood, though somewhat clingy, understandably. Luckily the party had been extended through the weekend and we rescheduled for Sunday. We got to play a few games and there didn’t seem to be any screaming involved. Yay! (Every time I worried I had to remind myself that Shannon has a lot more parenting experience than I do. She even got him to nap.)

Well over those few days I felt a little phlegmy, a bit of a cough myself, but I never progress past the ‘getting a cold’ phase of getting a cold so I didn’t even think anything of it. It hit me, pretty much at once, last night. My head started feeling woozy, which is the best word I can think of for the feeling that makes me think if it were being depicted on a show like House there would be a jarring camera effect and sound effect to illustrate every time I stood up or moved my head. It feels a little like I’m in danger of falling over when upright, but also like it would be overdramatic to imply that might actually happen. It’s been so long since I’ve come down with a full-blown cold I started off thinking this must be something worse, but after some Tylenol and sleep and more Tylenol I have to admit that this is what the people in the cold medicine commercials seem to feel like.

Today Andrew started in with the sore throat and stuffy nose, and Andrew never skips out on a cold. He brought home the good orange juice and Kleenex.

Meanwhile Cameron has progressed onto the sneezy, gross phase of his illness. I have to check to see if he needs his face wiped every time he sneezes, hopefully before his hands get involved. Baby sneezes are adorable, but sad when he’s not feeling well. The coughing is even sadder when it comes through the monitor. Still, I’m hoping he’ll stay asleep on his own because I’m also experiencing the reality that moms don’t get sick days. Or nights.

So maybe I do have an excuse if I don’t post for a year. I did have a baby, after all.

I suppose I should at least post the announcement…

Cameron Alexander was born on October 20th, 8lbs 1 oz.

His birth has a story. The story will come when the stars finally align to let me create content again instead of just consuming it. (I spend a lot of time with my phone, reading. Writing is much slower on a touchscreen.)

In the meantime check out this funny story I found while trying to look up something one night – Dead Vagina Walking.

A couple small updates:

On the bad, stressful, universe is out to get me day, I forgot the part where I found my GPS power cable broken before having to drive to Bellevue. It’s a small thing to edit for now, but every time I look over that post it doesn’t feel like it fully expresses the frustration I was going through that day. Then later I found out I had picked up an old, broken cable and not the new one I replaced it with. (Why did I keep the old one then? Good question, I know.)

The “1`ass” that randomly made it into a recent post, I’m blaming on cats. Even though I don’t remember cats near the keyboard while I was writing… the only other explanation is that I’ve developed pregnancy Tourettes and have done a good job at hiding it even from myself.

The vulva pain I blamed the waddle on went away after that day. It’s also come back, and will go away again. I’ve learned that all pregnancy complaints are temporary and everchanging. That said, I’ve found there’s a good list of things that can be responsible for the pregnancy waddle:

– Baby is crushing my bladder, oh god I have to pee. (This is usually followed by a feeling of, ‘that’s it??’ afterwards.)

– My thighs hurt like I’ve been doing 1000 reps on a Thighmaster. (Why won’t *this* one go away?)

– There’s a bowling ball in my stomach.

– Baby’s head is rubbing against my pubic bone. (Ouch)

– My foot is swollen to the point that it looks like it has a double chin.

I had no idea that I would end up so sore, or that getting up or out of bed would actually be such a challenge. There’s so much going on behind the scenes that just feeling like you’re in a fat-suit doesn’t explain.

(Note: If there’s some awkward sounding editing, it’s because I was trying to make this not sound like I actually started writing seven months ago, and just finished tonight.)

When I was still in the “unofficially pregnant” stage, I was Googling how to encourage Baby Blastocyst to “stick”, even while knowing there’s no such way. One of the things I ran across was an article titled, “Things I Wish I Knew During the First Trimester”. One of the things on that list was how common miscarriages are. I’m sure that’s meant to be reassuring to women who have gone through miscarriages, to know that they’re not alone, but THAT, I think, is the last thing I wish I knew. Blissful ignorance would have been nice. I was not going to be able to relax until I could feel the baby moving and don’t need a doctor to show me all is well (and then find something new to worry about.)

As I waved goodbye (and good riddance) to the first trimester, I started making my own list of things I learned for myself along the way – the list that I didn’t have the energy to write then because…

1. My relationship with sleep completely changed.

As a die-hard night owl I could never believe that I’d be going to bed at 9pm like I kept reading is normal in pregnancy. And I’m not – but I did start going to bed at 10:30 instead of my usual midnight or 1am. If I didn’t get 9 hours of sleep I’d start out the day in zombie mode, and if I did, zombie mode would kick in a few hours later.

Turns out I was anemic too, and since taking iron supplements I’m only normal pregnancy tired and not needing to nap in my car at lunch to make it through the day. Unfortunately I found my bedtime slipping back to my old time… oops.

2. My relationship with food completely changed.

First there was morning sickness. I knew that morning sickness didn’t necessarily limit itself to the morning, but it’s also not necessarily the dramatic throwing up in the morning they always use to signal someone is pregnant on TV. For me it was a constant, all-day and ‘ugh’ feeling.

Instead of cravings, I had foods I could stand the thought of eating at any particular time, and that has almost the same power considering it meant go out my way to obtain that food or eat nothing. Soup was my savoir. My mom sent me a care package with some pregnancy magazines and foods she remembered me saying I could eat – chicken soup, peanut butter granola bars, and Life cereal. It came right around when I was coming out of what I call my “not eating phase” but it was still a really sweet thing to do.

3. My relationship with drinks completely changed.

And I don’t mean alcohol (although I did find myself indulging more than normal for me before we conceived – I think it was a combination of the holidays, the forbidden fruit appeal, and rediscovering Irish cream.)

I had thought giving up caffeine would be difficult but morning sickness made me just not want my tea anymore. Instead I started craving water like it was going out of style. I remember picking up Thai food for lunch where I had decided to indulge in a Thai Iced Tea. Watching the waitress pour ice water for a table made me want to ask to change my order to that ice water, at the same cost!

My skin was also constantly dry, making me think the parasite was just sucking all of the moisture out of my body.

4. Pregnancy orgasms feel different than non-pregnancy orgasms, and they all felt different than each other as well. This did normalize over time, but it’s still hard to get over the feeling that there’s someone else involved.

So skipping out on my sigmoidoscopy finally came back to haunt me. I think it was something in the words ‘blood and mucus’ that made my gastroenterologist say, “We need to get her in ASAP” and when a specialist wants to see you the same week, you know it’s serious. I lost 20(!) pounds and I ended up having to have a sigmoidoscopy after all, unsedated. But, bonus, no prep! The doctor who was assisting commented that it looked like I had done one anyway, which both shows how bad off I was, and I took as a pseudo-compliment. (“Your bowels are so naturally cleaned out”?)

I had to go on prednisone temporarily, and started Humira indefinitely. Between the prednisone and iron supplements, I felt an overnight difference in my energy level and being able to eat again. This time the appetite and weight gain side effect of prednisone was a good thing. The Humira, I was once terrified of self-injections, but after the loading dose of four shots done on my own in my living room I felt like I could get through anything. Also it’s so much easier and faster than Remicade to deal with.

Humira also appears to be my miracle drug. I was sent to a high risk OB for a consultation since active IBD (inflammation) has a risk of preterm labor, however after getting stable they mostly set me free to work with the midwives. I got some additional ultrasounds (also bonus) but everything looked good.

Labor Day weekend I ended up with a bad Humira pen. Of course (of course) these things always have to happen over a long weekend… With the delay I ended up doing my injection five days late, which was long enough to start feeling what I thought of as ‘the ick before the flare’. A day and a half after my injection, I felt fine again.

This makes me feel like I made the right decision to stay on the Humira throughout pregnancy, instead of the original plan of stopping at 36 weeks, which my gastroenterologist supports as well.

I remember back when I first had the meet & greet with the midwives, I was happy surprised that they’d even be willing to take me with all of my issues. (I’m sure that wouldn’t be the case if they weren’t working in a hospital setting.) So I shouldn’t really be surprised at how many specialists and medical professionals have ended up being involved in my pregnancy.

Counting the midwives as a single entity…

1. Midwives
2. Gastroenterologist
3. High-risk OB
4. Hematologist
5. Psychiatrist
6. OB who did the version

Then, I wasn’t counting the ultrasound technicians separately because I consider that part of the package, however,

7. Ultrasound technician who scanned my leg for blood clots.

A few weeks ago now I fell while we were walking to the store. Scraped up and bruised my left side – foot, leg, and elbow – pretty good. A few weeks later, I’m still bruised, scraped, and my foot was painfully swollen beyond even my regular sandals. My ankle was turning purple. I waited until the weekend was over to call the midwives and they had me come in. Tuesday I got sent for an ultrasound to make sure I don’t have a blood clot (which was my concern when I called.) Wednesday I had my regular appointment, and thankfully no clot. It seems to be just a combination of the fall/bruising multiplied with the normal pregnancy swelling. I’m supposed to stay off of it, which contradicts with the walking I’m supposed to be doing daily.