I've Reached a Parenting Milestone

Today my oldest daughter turns 16.
If you've ever had a teenage daughter, been around a teenage daughter or even heard of a teenage daughter, you realize the fact that she is not being forced to live in a little box shoved into the crawl space under the house with nothing more than a hamster-type water bottle and whatever food she can convince her sisters to bring her is a freaking MIRACLE.
Krystyne was born on December 11, 1994 at Loma Linda Medical Center in Loma Linda, CA just after midnight.  I was 17 years old.
I went into labor at only 30 weeks pregnant.  I was kept at the hospital for a couple days and then sent home with some medication that I had to take every four hours and strict bed rest instructions.  I even had a nurse that came in and checked on me every couple of days.  After about a week and a half I went to my doctor's appointment for a routine visit. After a cervical check he informed me that I was still dilating and that I needed to immediately go to the hospital and he would call L&D so they would be expecting me. This was just a couple days before Thanksgiving.  That year I spent Thanksgiving in the hospital.  I spent almost two and a half weeks in the hospital on bed rest.  I was allowed to get up to go to the bathroom and every other day to shower.  I read, I did homework and word search puzzles and watched a lot of TV. ER started that year. I spent a couple hours a day hooked up to a monitor for contractions. 
Early in the afternoon on December 10th my contractions started and didn't seem to want to settle down. By 7 o'clock the decision had been made that it looked like there wasn't much more they could do and I would be delivering soon.  I remember the contractions were starting to get painful. I remember being terrified because I didn't really understand what was happening.  I did remember that my mother had always told me that labor was the most painful thing that I would ever endure, but that it was necessary to have a baby (I'm glad I later learned that, at least for me, this is not the case).  My body was working against me and I was loosing control.  I called my mom and a good friend to come and be with me. I couldn't do this alone. I talked on the phone with my Aunt Tina through the contractions until they took me to L&D around 8 o'clock.
I had a great nurse who promised me he would do everything he could to get the anesthesiologist as quickly as he could.  My heplock was flushed, an IV started and the monitors set up.  I remember I almost cried when the anesthesiologist  made it in and started my epidural.  I finally had some relief from the child that was trying to rip itself from my body.  I could rest and relax. I was contracting, but could only see them on the monitor. I couldn't move my legs. The nurse told me to let him know when I needed to push. I told him I didn't know how I would know when that was.  He said "oh, you'll know. It'll feel like you need to poop". Oh great. He was right.
I don't know how long I pushed for. I know I pushed when they told me to. I remember having to tell my mom to please stop crying and count. I yelled at the doctor for hurting me when he was trying to stretch me and not give me an epsiotomy and help me not tear. 
Immediately after she was born they took her to the isolet to check her apgar and breathing.  She was six weeks early and they needed to make sure that everything was working the way it was supposed to.
She weighed 5lbs 2oz. 
I don't remember getting to hold her because the NICU team that I had with me wanted to take her right away.  I remember getting to see her wrapped in her little blanket on a warming pad.  I was told I could sleep and go see her later.  And that's what I did.
I spent two or so more days in the hospital. Krystyne spent 11. I spent 18 hours a day with her. She came home on December 22, 1994.
In the last 16 years I have made good decisions and bad decisions. Sometimes it's hard to tell which is which.  Some days they're the same decision.
Happy birthday baby girl. May you make better choices than I did. May all of your dreams and desires come true.  You were a beautiful baby and have grown into a beautiful young woman.  I love you with all my heart.
Please, don't make me kill you, this has been a lot of work!

It's a girl...

I know it's been a while. I just hit a rough patch.  I've actually been rough-drafting in my head the last few days and trying to carve out a moment to get it out.  I feel like it's been all Doom and Gloom around here lately and not nearly enough positive stuff.  That's what I was working on. I swear.
This is not that post. I don't think it's all Doom and Gloom but I won't be blowing little bits of sunshine up your ass either.
I had my 20 week ultrasound today.  And yes, it's a girl. 
Damn it.
I cried. OK truthfully, I bawled. I managed to wait until the tech got out of the room before I actually sobbed.  My husband is grinning like an 8 year old with a double-scoop ice cream cone and all I can do is put my head in my hands and cry. Don't get me wrong - I am happy to be having a baby at all. I am blessed to be having my 5th baby! But my dreams of having a son have just vanished.
I think most women want a little girl to do girlie stuff with. I've always wanted boys. I don't know why, but since I was a little girl I remember wanting boys. I think it stems from a childhood of feeling trapped in frilly dresses for every fricken holiday and not being able to run and play. Meanwhile, my cousin was free to run amok and get dirty.  It wasn't "lady-like".  I couldn't get dirt on my dress. I couldn't snag my tights or scuff my shoes.  You can't go on the monkey bars in a dress.  I wanted to BE a boy so I thought the next best thing would be to have boys of my own.  Then I became a teenager and decided I never wanted to go through that.
I guess God has a sense of humor after all.  More than just the platypus, I have five daughters. Very. Fricken. Funny.
I feel like such a horrible person.  Instead of excited for the possibilities I'm trying to find acceptance. Honestly there's a lot of joy that just got sucked out of this pregnancy for me. I know  it will pass, but right now it's not fun anymore.  I don't know if I just pinned all my hopes on the possibility of a boy.  I sure wasn't expecting this kind of reaction. I'm sick to death of pink and dresses and little tights and shoes with sparkles. I have no interest in hair bows or tutus. The thought of buying one more doll makes me want to hurl.  Yes, Fiona loves trucks and blocks and climbing on things. She loves to kick the ball and run as fast as she can and jump around. Still, not the same.
I will never know that special relationship that a mother has with her son.  It is something so different from what  I have with the girls.
Maybe part of my disappointment comes from the turmoil between Krystyne and I.  She's almost 16 and I swear I will happily sell her to the first band of Gypsies I can find.  Going through this not three but FOUR more times seem s like more than I can take. I'm not superwoman, I only wear that outfit on special occasions. (wink)
I am raising tomorrow's women. I am teaching our future mothers and wives.  What I teach my girls about being a woman and my thoughts on women's issues matter times five!  One of my biggest thoughts in my decision to leave my first husband was that I didn't have the marriage I wanted for my daughters. I didn't want them treated the way I was treated. I didn't want them to be the kind of wife and mother I was. It's a lot of fucking pressure and I was really hoping that someone else could take on some of that just for a little while.
I feel like I have cried all that I can cry but I know there's more in there.
I have apologized to my husband repeatedly.  I don't want to suck the fun out of this for him, too.  He is over the moon about our baby and the sex of that baby isn't important. I am blessed beyond belief to have a husband like I do.  We are so in love it's a little nauseating. Even to me. This baby was conceived in love and because of love.  (see what I mean, I think I just gagged a little) A healthy baby is the best thing that I can ask for. 
I don't want my youngest daughter to ever feel as if she was not wanted with all my heart. I promise you my little one, you are. You are not even born and we love you already.  To see your little heart beat today made mine stop.  You'll learn soon enough you're Mama is a crazy person. Sorry for that.

A New Schedule

We apparently have a new schedule in our house.
Miss Fiona is very much her Papa's girl.  She wants to stay up late and sleep later.  Since she was very small trying to put her down for the night before 10 was almost impossible. We tried everything, and every night we would spend however much time between the time we decided to put her to bed and roughly 10 o'clock with fussing and crying and the in-and-out that comes with a baby that is not ready for bed. Like any self-respecting parent with a willful child that refuses to sleep, we gave up. Fine. Bed time is no earlier than 9 - 9:30. We were rewarded with a child that would happily sleep 12 hours. This left me to my own devices in the mornings. I could get the older kids out, have some computer time, and get some work done! All before my littlest angel decided to grace the day with her presence sometime around 10.
With our increasingly busy activity schedule we (and by we I mean me) decided that maybe it might be a good idea for her to start waking up a little earlier.  While I'm not looking for a wide awake toddler at 6, 8 wouldn't be so bad. We might actually make a play-date somewhere close to on time. I might actually get a little snuggle time with my husband in the evening that isn't immediately followed by unconsciousness.
Changing her schedule was surprisingly easy! I started on Monday, waking her up at 8 to see how it'd go. She did really good. Tuesday she was up on her own at 8. Wednesday we were up much earlier because of an appointment.  She's napping fine, she's going to bed about an hour or so earlier now! There's peace in the house at night! 
Last night, just before 9, I heard her in her bedroom and went to go check on her.  She was standing on her tippy-toes, holding her baby doll over her head trying to get it into her crib. She caught me peeking and said "nigh'-nigh' Mama". Well OK! Apparently it's bed time. So I scooped her up, and put her in her crib.  She looked at me and said "how about a baba?" No problem! I gave her kisses, tucked her in and then sent her Papa in with the requested baba. We didn't hear a peep out of her for the last 11 hours! I can hear her in there now just chatting away.
We are making progress. 
My next trick? Trying to get her into a toddler bed.  Something tells me this won't be so easy!

I don't even know where to begin...

My heart is absolutely breaking. 
I came home yesterday from running errands to find Freddy laying on the landing and unable to get up.  My heart broke instantly.
Kraig and I got Freddy in late February of 2002.  He was 8 weeks old and weighed 15lbs.  Here we are almost 9 years later and he weighs 130lbs. He should have been bigger.  He's a Great Dane/Golden Retriever mix.  It was the first time I had ever had a dog of my own. Anyone that says you can't buy love has never bought a puppy.  He gained a pound a day for the first month and then about a pound a week after that. You do the math.  For nine years Freddy and I have been more than best friends.  When I left Kraig in January 2006 it was just as hard for me to leave Freddy with him as it was for me to leave the girls.  When Doug and I discussed moving in together 18 months later I had to have my dog with me.  Just like the girls, Freddy was part of the package.
If anyone asks, I wouldn't call him a "big" dog.  I know he's a big dog but to me he's still that fuzzy little puppy that went ass over elbows down the stairs because he wasn't coordinated enough.  I'm used to him.  The normal response when people first meet Fred is "holy shit he's HUGE!".  Yeah, well I guess he is.  He's still my lap dog.  He only takes up most of the couch.  A big dog would take up all of the couch.  I don't realize how big he is until I take him out of the house. Which, these days, is not that often. 
I got home yesterday and he couldn't get up.  After picking up the million pieces of my heart I called Bill. Fred lived with Bill for almost a year when I was in an apartment and couldn't afford the $500 deposit that was needed to have him with me.  Bill is Freddy's "Foster Dad" and as much of a part of Freddy's family as anyone.  Without hesitation he headed over. I don't want to know what kind of traffic laws he broke getting here as fast as he did.  I'm just glad he did.  It took Bill and a neighbor (thank you, too) to get him into the van.  I did have to take the seats out so he would fit. 
After an exam and X rays the vet came in and gave us the news.  There wasn't really good news/bad news.  It all pretty much sucked ass.
She had no real idea what was going on with him.  The x-rays showed us what it isn't. It's not a fracture. It's not cancer.  It doesn't look like a bulging disc.  Based on the manual exam of his leg and the fact that he wasn't bearing any weight and that he wasn't  "righting" it when she tucked it under she's guessing an ACL (anterior cruciate ligament - stabilizing ligament of the knee) tear.  He can have surgery to repair it.  Even surgery will not make him 100% better.  He's 9 years old. He's a BIG dog.  Life expectancy for him is 9, maybe 10 years - do the math.  He has bad hip dysplasia on his right side (at this time that's the "good" leg).  He has arthritis.  He's as healthy as a dog his age/size can be expected to be.  But he's old. And he's big.  Surgery will change his pain. He will never be pain free.  To not do surgery means that the bones will create arthritic type fibers that will help to stabilize the knee. He will end up bearing more weight on the right side with the dysplastic hip. It's a matter of time before either the hip gives out or the ACL in the other knee gives out from the strain. 
We could do an MRI to find out if it was something else - nerve damage maybe.  The x-rays cost me $350 - what the hell is an MRI supposed to cost?  And really, even if we called in Dr House, what real difference would it make?  He's an old dog. How long and what quality of life are we going to give him?
When the vet left I did the translation.  We're managing his pain. We're putting him on "comfort measures".  At this point it's just a matter of trying to make him as comfortable and happy as possible for as long as possible.  It could be another week before we have to realize that he's just not going to get better.  It could be a month or two before we have to acknowledge that he's getting worse. 
I've watched him lately get slower.  I've watched him stumble when he gets on the couch or tries to go up the stairs too fast.  I've seen him not be able to get his balance when trying to go from lying to standing.  I know that he can no longer get up on my bed.  He struggled the last time I tried to get him in the van.  When Allie wanted to take him for a walk he only went a block before he sat down and wanted to go home.  I've filed this all away to the place where we know things but don't want to acknowledge them.  I know that he's old.  I know  that he's not going to live forever. I know that he's starting to falter.  This is the first time I've been forced to face it.  Not only face it but face the possibility that I am going to have to soon make the decision whether or not we need to put him to sleep. 
I look at him now and you can't tell that he's old. While he's outside sitting in the sun with his nose and ears perked up to what's going on around him you can see the light in his eyes.  When he rolls over for a belly rub and speaks his "Freddy Speak" and grumbles, you can see how happy he is. 
When he whimpers and whines because he can't stand up and he has to go potty your heart just breaks.
There is a part of me that just wants to call the vet and take him in.  While he is in pain, he's happy. He's loved.  He loves.  He's hurt but he's not suffering.  Why should I wait until he's suffering?
There is the rest of me that has loved this dog for 9 years.  That has held him and cried because I was upset.  He has laid in my bed when I don't feel good.  He puts his head in my lap when I just need something.  He's goofy and just dumb as a dog can be sometimes.  He's convinced that a 12" board will keep him out of any room.  Hell, a well placed chair will keep him out of any room.  He lays under the kitchen table when we eat. He sits at Fiona's feet in her high chair - just in case.  And she frequently rewards him.  How can I make the decision to take his life away, no matter how little is left? 
How do I explain to the girls.  This will be their first brush with anything like it.  How do I tell my girls that their dog is going to die? And probably soon?  And that I have to be the one to make the decision?  HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO THIS???
I can't stop crying. I can't remember the last time that I cried like this. I can't remember the last time I cried this hard.  I can't breathe. I can't hardly see. My face is swollen and I look like Eric Stoltz in Mask. Maybe not that bad, but close. 
He's a good dog. He's a happy dog. He's a very, very loved dog.  He's MY dog.
I love you Freddy. No matter what. I love you. 

Overcoming The Fear

I'm struggling with overcoming The Fear.  In this instance The Fear comes in the shape of What If of a home birth. 
I had my first doctor's appointment yesterday.  Now, understand that I think I have found what I consider to be the best doctor ever. I heart him. He's been really great about everything we've seen him for. He's been great with Fiona and telling me " You've done this before, you know what you're doing". He was supportive and empathetic when I miscarried earlier this year.  He sees no reason I shouldn't be able to have a 3VBAC with this pregnancy.  The mention of home birth and he runs down the risks of rupture and better to be at the hospital and blah blah blah.  It's to be expected. Honestly I'm not upset with him. It's his job. It's what he's been doing for more years than I've been alive.  What I was not expecting was my reaction.
What if he's right? It's The Fear. The fear of the Unknown. The Uncontrollable. Fuck.
Here's the thing - I know better.  I KNOW better. I know what the risks are. From the most recent published studies.  I know what the latest ACOG recommendations are for VBAC and VBAMC. I know that I can do this. I have done it. I know that my body has the ability. I know it.  But what if something goes wrong?  Will I know that? Just In Case is the reason I went to the hospital with Fiona.  I wasn't feeling right and I went in Just In Case. I have no regrets about my birth experience with her, but there are things I didn't like. They were hospital policy things that I couldn't control. That in itself I didn't like.  I had to explain my allergy to adhesives because of the hep-lock. I couldn't squat to push (and I firmly believe that she would've been born faster had I been allowed to squat, but it wasn't a convenient position for the doctor). I had to pee in front of strangers. I had to beg to go home. Those things I didn't like.
I labored for 5 hours in that hospital from the time my water was broken until that 9lb 7oz baby made her entrance into the world. It was the most amazing, most powerful thing I have ever done.  It is not this pregnancy that I look forward to but the upcoming birth. I want to feel like that again. 
But what if something goes wrong? Something that we can't handle at home? I know that very few things that do happen are instant.  And the ones that do it doesn't matter where you are. I know that an experienced midwife can say "OK, it's time we get some help" long before it gets to critical. I know the risks are minimal. Almost non-existent. Almost.
But how to get over The Fear?  How do I get past it?  And where the hell was this last time? This is mind crippling. This has given me an understanding for those that are scheduling c-sections despite the risks and despite the research.  
The fear has power that I don't know how to shake.  I want a natural birth. I want drug-free, intervention-free, come-when-you're-ready-baby birth. I don't want to be stuck with needles, strapped to machines, told how and when to push (trust me, they don't need to tell you that) and have someone's hand somewhere it very much does not belong!  I want the sounds of my house, not the beep of machines. I want my husband's hands to be the hands that first touch our baby (this is his main reason for wanting a home birth - I can't make this shit up, ladies, I'm not that witty).  I want to not be afraid of what could happen if we aren't in the hospital. 
I've seen your little heart beat, I've seen your hands move and the outline of your little body. I know that my body is that which nurtures you and protects you and gives you life - how can I risk that?
How can I get past The Fear and have faith in my body when it's never betrayed me before?

I Heart Canada (and Denmark, India, Poland, Ghana and Russia)

OK, so when I started this blog I did it as a way to keep friends and family updated with my pregnancy. Since then it's evolved a bit into something else. It's a sneak peak into my random thoughts and world. It's become a sounding board as much as a poster board for what's happening in my life. It's just me. I don't claim to be a fantastic writer. I don't aspire to be TFB or Strocel - they are truly amazing women and fantastic writers. I don't post as often as I'd like to (truthfully I could just sit and write about random crap that pops in my head all day, it's how my brain works). I'm not trying to offer advice or guide anyone. This is just me.
So while I'm sitting on hold waiting for information from an insurance company for the 5th time today my mind starts to wander, as it's known to do. Honestly, I have the attention span of a senile and mildly retarded fruit fly. I decided to poke around on my blogger site and see what exactly some of those little tab things at the top were. I'm bored and have already checked Facebook 6 times in the last 45 seconds, nothing new there.
I clicked on Stats. As I expected it's a list of the percentages of stuff on my page. Number of views on my posts (42 for the one announcing my pregnancy - pretty cool!), where the traffic is coming from (mostly Facebook), and where my Audience is. So I figure it's just going to be some goofy something that maybe has it broken up by state and maybe I can see how many people I know in different states. Silly I know. Fruit fly here people. It breaks up page views by Now, Today, Week, Month, and All Time. This is where it gets cool. 7 people in Canada have read my blog this week! And someone in Denmark! How friggin' cool is that? Seriously, if you're in Canada and Denmark and reading my blog then a)OMGthatssofriggincoolIloveyou!!!! and b) drop a comment and say hello! Tell me how you found this and why in creation you're reading it. Don't get me wrong I'm totally and completely amazed that you would take the time, but I don't think I'm all that amazing.  I'm curious as to what had you so bored.
In the last month I have had people from Canada, India, Poland, Denmark, Ghana (apparently in West Africa, had to look that one up - sorry),  and Russia. Since May I have had traffic from China, France and Israel, too!
This is one of those things that is probably only cool to me. But, this is my virtual medicine cabinet and you peek at your own risk.
Seriously, probably the coolest thing that's happened to me in a long time.
I need to get out more.

Official Announcement

So here it is. Our Official Announcement!
I'm pregnant again!

I thought it best to answer some of the questions we've been getting...

1. You know what causes that right? - Yes, yes we do. And that's the best part of trying.
2. Are you trying for a boy? - I would like a boy. But, a healthy baby is what we are hoping for most. 
3. What if it's another girl? - Then we start our own volleyball team. 
4. How many are you going to have? - We figure we'll keep trying until we get an ugly one.  Actually, this is it.  Any more and we can't buy a car at a regular dealership. I'm not OK with that. 
5. When are you due? - April
6. April what? - Whenever the baby lets us know it's time. 
7. Where are you delivering? - At home.  No, I'm not nuts.
8. Who's your doctor? - I've got a great family doctor, Dr. Merrill in Enumclaw, and we'll have midwifery care as well.  
9. Is this the reason behind your increased Facebook posts on birth and delivery? - No, there has been an increase in discussion and information as of late. I think it's important to share the information with people who might not know that these changes are happening.  
10. When is your first doctor's appointment? September 27th.

That's it I guess. We're really excited.