Ambergontrail – A Trip of a Lifetime

and why I hate it.
No, not because I want to be pregnant again (honestly, the idea of two babies just barely over a year literally scares the hair off my arm), but because my insurance SUCKS for birth control. Generics only? Nope. Only the pill? Not a chance. Does my insurance cover ANY birth control?

NO!

I should have known, really. Paul works for the Catholic School System. Of course, in the scheme of things, they paid all but $250.00 for my emergency c section with a 5 day hospital stay and massive pain relief (which amounted to 40k with surgeons), and pay for all of Piper’s bills (minus co-pays), so it’s not too bad.

What a stereotype! Catholic Diocese will pay 100% of pregnancy and birth, along with childhood treatments up to 18 (21 if she’s a student), but refuses to pay ANYTHING for birth control. No tubes tied, no IUDs, and apparently… no birth control- pills, rings, patches or shots.

Yeah.

Now I have to pay out of pocket $94.00 for a three month supply, which adds up to:  $376.00 a year to NOT get pregnant. I seriously would SAVE money if I got pregnant.

For other birth control options: condoms. We’re much too spur of the moment for that. FAM: I have such a wacky schedule with Piper and her sleep habits that I couldn’t rely on temping and whatnot. I could always go to a family planning center, but I’m 30 years old, I’m too old for that.

So, out of pocket it is. Really, though, Catholic Diocese insurance- you’re really all for propagating the Catholic-species, aren’t you?

So, I’ve been thinking about this post for a very long time. I think I’ve been a teensy bit depressed lately, but nothing too bad. I’ve mentioned before how much I adored being pregnant. I’ve also mentioned how much I absolutely adore my daughter, Piper.

Now this is where it gets nutty. I miss pregnancy so much I’m depressed that I’m no longer pregnant. Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t love and fawn over my daughter any more than I possibly do, so it’s not that I’m resentful that she’s here. It’s an odd feeling, this sort of depression.

At night, while she’s sleeping, I scroll through the belly pics in my facebook album, crying because that time is gone. I get up and stand by Piper’s bassinet, and stare at the being that was created by us, who not too long ago kicked me in the same way she was kicking at that moment- only from the inside. I smile to myself because this baby is MAGIC. She’s a wonder, really.

Then, I get back into bed, resolve to stop looking at those belly pics and turn on my side, my hand resting on what now is a flappy belly, cris-crossed with stretch marks. My belly has not forgotten her residence there, so how can I?

It’s hard to pin down exactly what I could do to stop feeling so melancholy about not being pregnant now. It’s not like I can cram her back in there. Then again, I don’t WANT to be rid of Piper, I want her here, within arm’s reach.

Still, I hate this feeling. I hate feeling jealous of people announcing pregnancy. I get sad knowing we’re only going to have 2, and the next baby won’t be for years. I don’t just get sad, I get wistful, and have to force myself to stop visiting the pregnancy boards online because it just makes me sadder.

People laugh at me when I say I wish I could be pregnant forever, but I mean it. Mother Nature may be playing a small trick on me, making me forget whatever was bad about my pregnancy. I do remember one of the few moments where I’d throw up, but still crouch there, smiling because I knew what was going on was great, and pretty soon I’ll feel better anyway.

I guess the only way to avoid feeling so utterly crushed by not being pregnant is to avoid it when it’s around me. As much as I’d like hundreds of children, even having a third isn’t feasible for us.

So, I’m not sure if I’m feeling baby blues or not. This has nothing to do with Piper, really, I just miss all that time I carried her around, when everything was a surprise and I would just lay there in bed, my palm resting on her bottom. Now, my palm rests on her bottom, but it’s a little more vocal now.

So, a search term that brought people to my blog:

“My gigantic bra”

That’s all I need to say, isn’t it?

I think:

• I wonder if I smile in my sleep, too?
• She definitely has my chin.
• … and the rest of her is Paul
• I wonder if my brother is sad he’s missing this?
• She’s the cutest baby in the entire world.
• Are her cheeks really bigger than other babies?
• I wonder if her height will catch up to her weight.
• I can’t believe I’m HER mother.
• How did this beautiful thing come out of ME?
• Please don’t wake up yet.
• I wonder if she can giggle again, or if that was a cough.
• She grows so fast, soon she’ll be out of these clothes, too.
• It’s sad that I even love her pooping noise.
• Please wake up soon, my right boob is bursting.
• I honestly can’t believe this perfect baby is mine. Ours.
• I wonder when I’m supposed to remove her newborn head supporter.
• How lucky am I to be able to bring her to work with me?
• I really hope the red marks on her face will fade with time, I’d hate for meaner kids to make fun of her.
• I wonder if my grandma can see us now.
• If Grandma can, I wonder if Paul’s dad can. Hello, Pete, are you proud?
• I want another one.
• I think she’ll be beautiful when she gets older.
• We’re going to need a shotgun.

I’ve been a Bee since November of ‘06. I blogged for the entire year leading up to my wedding (this was before you had to start blogging a certain amount of months before your wedding), and loved it. I loved our generation of bees: flowers, fruit and veggies. I also loved my fellow bees, and it seems that because we’ve all been dropped into a sort of “fame” we can relate to each other better than most people who have (in some cases) never met in person.

Then again, as with many groups of women, there is cattiness and snark behind the scenes in a few cases. I think this is normal. Honestly, I know for a fact people have talked about me. Does it bother me? In some instances, yes, because why wouldn’t it? In other cases, no, since it’s incredibly hard to know the real someone by just blog posts and message board messages. Do I love the bees any less? God no. Am I thrilled and honored to be a Bee? You bet your sweet ass.

I’m so excited that doing something I loved (blogging) got me connected to a group of women who continuously evolve, and grow. Look at me, for instance: I got married and had a baby. Are there other bees in the same spot? Yes! How lucky am I to have a built in group of friends who may (or may not) be in exactly the same period in their lives?

There is  a huge bee meetup in Las Vegas in a month. I . AM. SO. JEALOUS. I’m still trying to convince Paul to drive out there for a night, JUST so I can see Corn and Dumpling (other Bee mommies so we can get our munchkins together (are there any other mommies going along?), as well as Snow Pea, my non-related cousin who I have talked to for years now.

So, while some of my fellow bees may have been offended by the mention of Bees talking smack behind your back (sorry, it rhymed), I think it’s inevitable that a group of women THAT LARGE would avoid any smack. I’ve felt the brunt of it, and I’m not any more bitter than I would have been normally. I love them like sisters, since I know that if I had a sister, I’d smack talk her constantly. Sadly, I was blessed with just a brother, and all my smack is futile.

Being a bee is like having a built in posse of gals waiting to kick ass for you, and comment on your blog if no one else does. When I was in the hospital having Piper, I felt nothing but support, and the rooting on was inspiring (that means you, Corn, I really enjoyed reading your comments).

Although I am technically “working”, sometimes the baby is asleep and I have nothing to do, and being on the computer makes it APPEAR as if I’m working.

So, that brings me to:

Formspringme is the newest thing, really (picture me rolling my eyes at myself). Readers and friends can anonymously or NOT anonymously ask you questions! So, go ahead, I’m ready. For quick linkage, visit the widget to the right!

Here is the link itself. Happy asking, folks! Ask anything you wish, my dears.

I consider myself lucky. Not only do I have great family and great friends, but I’m blessed with people who really have interest in us and our lives. Before Piper was conceived, I had close friends and family rooting me on, knowing I couldn’t want anything more than a baby.

A week before I took my pregnancy test, a box came in the mail. It was from my friend Tricia, and it came full of books I had lent her during her pregnancy, a stuffed giraffe, and various other entertaining items. When I sent Tricia a text with a photo of the positive pregnancy test, she was thrilled. Her wonderful husband was thrilled! Funny thing is, I met Tricia (and her husband and daughter) for the first time in person in July, yet she gifted me with these things before she ever saw me. She’s like that, the most giving and loving person, all behind the most sarcastic facade ever. Yeah, THAT is why we’re friends! Throughout my pregnancy, Tricia rooted me on, as well as PASSING on hand-me-downs and gifts from her family to our soon to be family, which was incredibly touching. When I finally met her, it was like family. Now that the baby is here, she’s the first person I turn to for baby advice and tips. Tricia and hubby are truly good people.

I mentioned calling my OTHER internet friend Bluebell when the second pink line appeared. I also mentioned it was the first time I had ever spoken to her! Now, with this internet friend, I have “known” her since October of 2005. I have never met her, but conspire to run away to see her pretty much daily. Now that Piper has arrived, that seriously tosses a wrench in my plans to just take off. Anyway, Bluebell is my best friend. I’m not ashamed to admit that my best friend is someone I’ve never met. In fact, I sometimes wonder what it’ll be like when we meet, like we’ll just end up texting each other at lunch or something. She has been so supportive of my TTC process and subsequently my pregnancy and motherhood. She’s a giver, while I’m most definitely a taker. I’m not good enough to be her friend, but somehow she takes pity on me and ignores it. I think that’s because I am very bad at scrabble, and she always beats me. I honestly can’t say more about her other than that- she’s too good for me. It’s like I married up. For fans of How I Met Your Mother- she’s the settler!

My family. So many times a cycle would pass and I’d hear from them, those who are followers of my blog. When I saw those two lines, I emailed them- thrilled but terrified. I got advice and referrals, and virtual hugs (since they have young families of their own and time is a precious commodity), and tips about sales and whatnot. I got hand-me-downs and gifts, and love galore. Now that Piper is born, she was the last of SIX- count ‘em, SIX children born to my Dad’s side in 2009. She is the only girl, but with a coach for a Daddy, I’m sure she’ll be tumbling and biting with the best of those boys.

Other friends, both real life and virtual. One friend, Emily, had stalked my fertility friend chart, and saw the positive test before I even mentioned it to anyone. It was pretty hilarious when I got that email from her about it. Now she is pregnant with her own little boy, and I can’t wait to watch her grow with him (from afar, of course, since she’s one of those Bee friends that are so precious, but so hard to meet). Another friend, Melissa, was pregnant alongside me, due a few months before. She’s been my commiseration buddy, and helped me teeter from the line of insanity.

The Bees, how can I describe them.  Being a bee is like being in a family, you don’t always like each other, and there is a lot of crap talking behind backs, but you’re part of a group that will always be there. We’ll always be Bees, and we’ll always have that to keep us connected. I’ve met a whopping two bees in my life, and I hope to meet more.

There are so many more people I want to thank, but Piper is rousing from her nap and the baby will want her food.

In short: I love you guys.

So many women have their birth plan all set in their heads, they expect and PLAN for their birth to go that way, and should something happen to change that plan they are depressed or feel like they failed.

Not me. From day one I knew I’d have a few things working against me: 1.) Asthma. It’s hard enough to take a breath during my normal every day life (I typically breathe about 65% of what non-asthmatics breathe, with medication), that we were positive I would need some sort of oxygen to aid in the labor process. 2.) Vasovagal syncope. That’s the technical term, the “Ambered” term is: fainting when I get hurt. Seriously. 3.) a very big baby for a very tiny pelvis. Hey, I wear a size 6 shoe (a little bigger now, post baby) and I’m five feet tall- I gots no room for my husband’s gigantic progeny.

Now, I knew what I wanted, but I was very flexible. I just knew she’d have to come out one way or another. I preferred a vaginal birth, but as our OB had brought up right after our last ultrasound, she was getting pretty big and it would be work to get her out. Well, okay, I’ll just read up on all I can since I couldn’t practice pushing without something disgusting coming out. The OB thought it was definitely possible to have her vaginally, and I was all cool with that. I also preferred to do it naturally, as I was really looking forward to Piper latching on right away, and I heard they do so much to you post-medicated birth that the chance isn’t often there. I also wanted to wait for her to come out on her own, as I was terrified of inducing, and had heard many the story from friends about their induced deliveries.

As it happened, I pretty much had none of those things happen. From the start, Paul and I went in during our 39 week appointment, my due date a mere three or so days later. I was huge. People gave me scared looks when I waddled into the waiting room, horrified that was their future before them. Our favorite nurse let out a gasp when she patted my belly, and the OB said, “Wow, you’re still here?” (since she had been on her own maternity leave up til then)  Still, I was a spry preggo, spending hours at a time on my feet, and still sleeping soundly through the night. I had no complaints and was more than willing to let her take her time out.

The OB had a different idea. “You’re pretty big, already, and we know it’s not from excess amniotic fluids. I think we need to talk about inducing if she’s not here by your due date.” I told her my concerns, namely hearing that inducing leads to c-sections, and possible complications and crap and she told me that it was really not that bad, and cited a bunch of stuff. All I heard was, “The baby will be here by the 24th.” OB then stripped my membranes (OW) to loosen the amniotic sac and that was that. We scheduled my induction for the day after my due date.

When I got to the hospital, everything went so fast, yet amazingly slow.  Instead of laboring quietly, I was given mighty doses of pitocin, which made labor intolerable for me. So, I then got the epidural. The epidural was more painful than the labor, because it was a different kind of pain. It was a sharp poke, that turned into a cold burning. They made Paul sit down, because many Dads end up passing out. Instead, I began to pass out. That damn vasovagal syncope struck again. I must say, I loved the epidural. I really did. The odd thing, though, was that because I couldn’t feel the real pain that went with labor that the birth of my daughter felt a bit like it was happening to someone else. It was a waiting game until I got to 10 centimeters, where I began to push. Even then, my body and mind was so exhausted from a full day of constant alertness (and getting the insides kicked out of me) that I was literally passing out and coming back to during the contractions which felt like pressure. Basically, my body gave up.

I couldn’t muster up enough energy to push, and I couldn’t sleep to get more energy. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. When my doctor hesitantly mentioned surgery, I was so quick to agree, I think I may have cut her off. I honestly couldn’t do it anymore, the pressure was so huge, so damaging that I still feel repercussions of the hours of pushing I went through.

So, despite wanting to do everything different from how it turned out, I am not upset about it. Sure, my c-section scar is ugly, and suuuure, my thigh and pelvic area is still numb (I’m asking about that tomorrow, I promise), and I will have to fight to try to get a vaginal birth next time, but I’m okay with that. In the end, Piper arrived healthy and whole. She wasn’t doped up from the epidural, and she didn’t have a cone head. She latched on immediately after and fed for 45 minutes, both of us falling asleep during the session. If you think about it, the only lasting effects from my labor and delivery (surgery and medication parts)  are: numb thigh and pelvic area, a scar, and my daughter.  My truly horrible lasting effect is in my butt.

Yep. My butt. Despite having an epidural, I was able to push, and feel the pushing. They had ceased “re-filling” it when they knew I was getting close. So, I felt it. I felt the pressure of the contractions and her head cramming down in my cervix. I pushed and pushed. I put my foot in Paul’s hand, and the other in the nurse’s hand,  and pushed until I saw stars. They put the oxygen mask on me, and told me to try to breathe during the breaks. Unfortunately, the breaks weren’t very long, and I was so very tired. Still, I pushed. I pushed until I pooped. Forever, I will know my husband looked down at my nether regions to watch his daughter be born, and instead witnessed his wife defecating on the table. At the time, I knew what was happening, and begged him to look away. Then, I fell asleep.

Despite not eating anything for over 24 hours, I still pooped on the table. Sigh. After all that, pooping and pressure strong enough to bring me to tears, I didn’t even push her out! She was lodged in there, that little monkey. Now I get to enjoy a constant sensitivity in my butt when I’ve been sitting for awhile, no matter how cushioned the area. I don’t poop normally anymore, and sometimes I hurt when I DO go. These are all things I’m going to ask tomorrow.

Funny, after being so afraid of having labor and delivery interventions, the lasting effect is from pushing- the only natural part of my labor.

It appears I’m a rare bird. At just 6 weeks post-partum I got my period. As of  yesterday, I was ovulating. What the hell. Good thing Paul and I haven’t decided to try the post-baby sex yet, as I can only imagine: it takes a year to get pregnant the first time, then two months after the baby I get pregnant again.

It’s strange, I’m not used to letting an ovulation go by without temping and peeing on sticks and crossing my fingers. Actually, I felt sad that another month went by without trying to conceive. Of course, then Piper stayed up all night and I told Paul to get his filthy man hands away from my lady bits, as I was.not.going.there.

Then I thought about it… I want to be pregnant again. No, I don’t want another baby right now. Yes, I want to be hugely pregnant with a vicious kicker who gives me carpal tunnel from all the swelling. I want to feel that slight nausea I had, knowing it was all for a good cause. I want to feel the butt pushing out from my belly, and press on it, knowing that’s our baby in there. I’ve never felt more beautiful than when I was pregnant. I glowed, if I have ever been good at anything in my life, it was being pregnant. The other night I flipped through my facebook album of belly pics, and got very sad as I realized the next time I get pregnant would be years from now.

My pregnancy seems so far away, it’s hard to believe that literally two months ago, I was in hospital, still feeling Piper inside me, just kicking away, oblivious to the pitocin that would make her very uncomfortable in a few hours. Now, I see updates on Facebook of other people’s bellies, and I get a little jealous that they get to experience the magic of pregnancy all brand-newy. I want to tell the ones complaining that I’d be happy to carry their babies for them, just let me know where the drop off point is.

The other day, I was giving Piper some “tummy time” on a blanket on the floor of my office. As it was raining like the world was ending (seriously, it HAILED!), I picked her up when she couldn’t stand being on her tummy any longer, and pulled her into my lap, the two of us gazing out at the rain. I sniffed her hair (a daily occurrence) and thought that this was the last time I’d have her in my lap, at that age, when the rain is new to her. I got a little melancholy when I thought about how fast these babies grow- almost as fast as my pregnancy went. The difference is, pregnancy is fleeting, and having children is never-ending.

Yes, I want to be pregnant again. I’ve just moved our date for the next baby up from 5 years from now to 3. Ask me again when Piper stays awake all night.

When I was pregnant, I had plans: we’re going to send a diaper home with Dad to give Woofie while we were in the hospital. Well, as we were in the hospital for longer than we expected due to the emergency c, things got overlooked a bit, and we forgot.

Then, it was going to be: introduce Woofie and Piper on neutral ground so Woofie doesn’t think she’s encroaching on his “territory”. Well, again, that blasted c-section snuck up and cut me, and I had a hard enough time getting into bed, much less get dressed to go outside for that neutral meeting.

Finally, it was treat Woofie really well when she cries so he knows it’s not a bad thing. Yeah, well, that went out the window, as her cries were like a knife in the heart, and I would scramble to soothe her.

So, we pretty much did nothing to warn Woofie that he was being usurped as our #1 child. Actually, and I’m ashamed to admit it, if it wasn’t for Paul Woofie would have been neglected. My arms were literally full, I couldn’t scrape together enough time/energy to cuddle my Woof-man. Instead, I was knee-deep in baby, and he was left to fend for himself on the couch.

By the time Paul went back to work (2 weeks after we checked into the hospital), I was able to do a little more, like put pants on. I tried to bring Woofie and the baby out for a walk together… yeah, after letting Woofie do his business, it was back in the house for him. Poor thing. Honestly, had he nipped Piper in resentment I wouldn’t have been surprised.

Luckily, despite not knowing who or what this new being in the house was, and WHY were her cries so piercing? Woofie has managed to come to terms with the new baby. Okay, so he DOES walk under her swing and bark, when she’s sleeping. AND he does sniff her a lot, but mostly it’s just avoidance. She’ll scream and he’ll give her the side-eye, like, “What the HELL is making that noise??”

Of course, we’ll see how he is when she’s able to grab things. We’re hoping they’ll be the best of friends, but you can never tell, really.