TMI tuesdays: does a body good.

pleasant-associations
It’s official. My boobs have gone from pleasers to feeders.

Since my largesse has made me an insomniac, I spend an inordinate amount of time browsing the innerwebs. I alternate between Pinning and researching all manner of baby stuff.

Peanut is due practically any day now, and I’ve been wondering at what point will my milk start to come in? Every time I shower, I squeeze and (wo)man-handle the girls in an attempt to produce some kind of response, but alas, nothing but dust. I started to worry that if my babe came early, she’d starve, ’cause her mama’s newfound tatas are only good to look at.

And then I came across this article, and realized that my technique was all wrong. Curious (and, I admit, dubious), I whipped off my top right there in my computer chair and began using the method described. Instant success. I couldn’t believe it. The secret is all in the hold. Previously, I’d just been tweaking the nipples (which, I’ve since learned, can actually induce labour) and coming up dry.

I can NOT get enough of my new trick. I’ve been trying it out as often as I can, marvelling at the output. Mind you, it’s certainly not gushes by any stretch of the imagination; it’s not even possible that I’ve produced a half-millilitre of anything. But still! My boobs! They make…stuff!

When I told the boy that my milk had started coming in, he gave me a confused look, and then put up his hand. “Uh…high five?” He offered.

“Yes!” I squealed, and smacked his palm. “It’s good thing! It means I can feed Peanut.”
“Oh. Awesome.” He nodded in approval.

I thought about actually showing him, but he freaked out at the size my stomach the other day, so I spared him the demo. I also opted not to tell him that I’d tasted it*. He probably would have run screaming from the room.

(*Oh, like you’ve never tasted your own? Please.)

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if it ain’t one thing…

00090_8
I have one of these about once or twice a month. Well-done. With bacon. Now verboten. This makes me so sad. Thanks A LOT, Aisha. 😦

I was back at L&D bright and early Sunday morning. I got my dad to drop me off, and texted the boy to meet me later. Upon my arrival, I didn’t even have to re-process; I showed up and explained why I was there, and the reception nurses were all, “oh, yes… you were here last night, abdominal pains, come right in.”

I was set up on a bed in triage, hooked up to the NST monitors again (netting, dopplers, and movement clicker thingy) and told to hang tight while they located an ultrasound tech.

Even though it was empty, triage is a white-noise cacophony of the whirs and buzzing of various machines. Over the rapid “squooshing” of Aisha’s heartbeat on the fetal monitor, I could hear the primal, pained vocalizations of a lady in the throes of labour down the hall. After about ten minutes of grunts and sceams, there was momentary silence… and then the faint wail of a baby. I smiled, recalling how much I enjoyed hearing that sound during my stay last September. Continue reading

repeat offender.

GB-sludge-mass-9a
This time, it ain’t my baby that ails me.

I just got back home from being in hospital – again! This makes visit number five since September.

I went in yesterday evening for sharp, stabbing pains at the top right of my abdomen. It’s been ongoing since Peanut dropped sometime on Thursday night, and I worried (briefly) that it might be placental abruption. There has been no bleeding and no nausea, chills or fever, so I was pretty sure I wasn’t in the throes of anything serious. However, the area was tender to the touch, and since my name is not Doc McStuffins, I thought it would be better if I made a visit to Labour & Delivery to get checked out.

The nurses at L&D at my home hospital are more than familiar with me, so admission was a breeze. Besides, it’s rare that anyone wanders into L&D after 10pm, so it was a light night. I was set up in a bed in triage, asked to give a urine sample and squeeze into the netting that holds the various monitors required to assess me, and was told that a nurse would be in momentarily.

I was hooked up to sensors to follow Peanut’s heartbeat and movement, and after about 30 minutes the printouts from the machine led the nurse to determine that the baby was fine. Since I’d come in complaining of abdominal pain, she wondered if it might not be some kind of heartburn? And perhaps if I took sodium citrate I might feel better? Continue reading

kvetch me if you can.

Black-Baby-Crying
Suck it up, buttercup. You wanted this. 

It’s 5:37am, and I’m up because I’m wholly uncomfortable.

Today is 33 weeks. Peanut is the size of a pineapple (another one of my least-liked fruits/veggies) and I read someplace that this is around the time that she will settle into her final position before birth. She’s always been active, but lately her movements are bigger – stop-me-in-my-tracks shocking – as if she’s a rabbit burrowing a den for the winter. I’m feeling her feet (hands? elbows? heels?) dig into parts of my body she never bothered with before. I’m pretty sure my ribs are bruised from the inside.

Pelvic Girdle Pain has set in, making it near-impossible at times to walk with my legs together. I look like I just got off a horse, or as though someone gave me a good, hard boot to the crotch. I alternate between pain that keeps me awake, and pain (mostly from the back) that knocks me out. I’ve also developed Restless Legs Syndrome, which hits me hard at night. I literally feel as though I have ants in my pants (or under my skin) and constantly have kick and rub my legs and frequently change positions to get the sensations to stop. Continue reading

new highs.

weighty matters
What a pretty pedicure. These certainly aren’t my feet; I can’t even bend to put on my socks, much less paint my toes.

Had an appointment with Dr. Freedman today…

Only, when I got to the office, receptionist Laura informed me that Dr. Freedman was absent due to a family emergency. In her place, a Dr. Diamond would be filling in.

The office was packed, as per usual, and the wait was long, as per usual. The boy grew restless (as per usual) and griped at me about it (as if I set the appointments?). We whisper-argued back and forth, and I reminded him that he volunteered to come with me, and next time he was more than welcome to stay home.

My name was called shortly thereafter, and as he walked ahead of me to the examination room, I made a funny face at his back, eliciting giggles from a few of the ladies sitting in the reception area. Continue reading

a moment with my daughter.

I was lying on my bed, lost in thought, as I mentally reviewed earlier exchanges I’d had with a cousin and the boy in two separate disagreements. I’m not nearly as thin-skinned as I used to be, and in fact, I’ve grown rather proud of my tolerance for being disliked.

(In spite of my armour, I always find it unsettling when people resort to barbs or the casting of aspersions to illustrate/disguise their point. I don’t fight dirty – mainly because I don’t like having to take back something I’ve said; It seems like a waste of words…And really, if I utter it, it’s more likely true than not.)

Uncomfortable, I rolled slightly to my right to alleviate pressure on my back. The motion caused a wee point to appear below the surface of my abdomen. Foot? Knee? Elbow? I wasn’t quite sure. I returned to centre, and pulled myself into a seated position.

The point appeared again, and I realized it was a hand. I watched it trace an arc across my stomach, and followed it with my finger. I felt tears forming and let them fall. I was suddenly moved by the timing of it all, as if my little one was reaching out to me to remind me that she loved me, regardless of what anyone else thought of me at that very moment.

I love her right back.

Newborn holding mothers thumb. A little grain, shot at 250 ISONever let me go.