SHE WILL BE ZGIRL

I honestly must confess that your comments are the only kind of baby shower anyone could ever hope for. To hear from so many that I haven’t in a while; and the self-proclaimed lurkers; and many I have stalked quietly and add that to you lovelies that willingly humour me routinely on my crappiest of days…Thank You doesn’t quite encapsulate my humble appreciation.

I promise that I’m not sitting around, baby-mooning and neglecting you. In fact, I’ve been dieing to get back on the computer but I have the most ridiculous excuse: my hands. Fortunately I’m enjoying the lovely effects of pain meds that make it tolerable. A good thing, too, because I have much to tell you, and none of it particularly interesting.

Wednesday morning as we prepared leave the house, I hugged XBoy and my mother who was going to stay with him until we called, and headed out the car. Of course, Mr. DD was gathering up things at the last minute (camera, wallet, sunglasses, etc.) and putzing around. As I sat in the car waiting for him, XBoy came out red in the face and teary. I opened the door and he practically fell into my lap. I assumed he had just hurt himself so I began the typical quizzing.

He hadn’t fallen down or smashed a finger or was denied candy by grandma (as if). Instead he was frantic for me not to go. The scene became so bad that Mr. DD had to carry him back into the house and grandma had to hold him back while we quickly backed out the garage and drove away.

It ripped my heart out of my chest…I’ll never forget that moment.

As far as any pre-op stuffity-stuff, all went fairly smooth. The only moment of tension was when the OB nurse warned me that the anesthesiologists have been adamant that the OB surgical cases come back already with a catheter inserted. She encouraged me to hold my ground and request the cath post-spinal.

Sure enough, the anesthetist’s nurse came in and tried to make me feel as if I was wasting their time by not agreeing to the cath before hand, but I didn’t give a shit. If I could get a pap with sedation, I would insist on that, too.

Jump ahead to me numbed and splayed on the OR table. Right before they allowed Mr. DD in, I began to cry. It wasn’t just the months of waiting, it was the years. All leading up to those next few minutes where I would finally meet this other child…which sounds so incredibly selfish, I realize. I felt overwhelmed and so helpless.

Mr. DD joined me and I saw the tears in his eyes as well.

I tried to memorize and file away each moment of the surgery. The anesthesiologist (who was actually very kind) narrated what was happening or what was going to happen. I remember being told that they had started the incision on the uterus and then suddenly I was told the baby’s head was out. I heard everyone exclaim over the amount of hair. I heard suctioning of nasal and oral passages. I heard the cries and suddenly someone said, “It’s a girl!”

And of course, I sobbed anew as my husband leaned over and kissed my forehead and he also cried some more.

We experienced for the first time her temperament as she went from typical newborn mewling and crying to all out banshee-like screaming. I was briefly introduced before she was handed back over to her Dad where I continued to blubber and sob (gotta love those hormones), and then I was stitched back up and taken to recovery while Mr. DD enjoyed those first precious moments.

Wednesday basically passed in a blur – strangely in slow motion – of snap shots, mental and digital, of ZGirl’s arrival.

OK, yes, maybe I have been baby-mooning just a bit. But there’s more to the past few days then these rare moments of peace. More on that later.

NOW AN UDPATE FROM ME

Just a quickie from me as I found out that the OB dept does indeed have wi-fi. Just the facts:

Born 12:47 p.m. via scheduled c-section.

7 pounds and 13 ounces

20 1/2 inches

Girl

We named her Hazel Anne: Hazel after my grandmother who died when my Mom was only three; and Anne is my Mom’s middle name and the name of one of Mr. DD’s favorite aunts who passed away a few years ago.

Here’s a picture. More later. I’m tired and my computer seems to be following suit.

AN OFFER TO UPDATE

Clover from Hidden Clover has graciously offered to update her blog with any immediate details, which I will text her with (maybe even a picture). Her blog is password protected so she will also stop by here and put in comments any information she is sent.

Clover and I go waaaayyyyyy back. She was the first SIF blog I read and she reached out to me knowing that our sad little genre covered those weird little gray areas of infertility after having children.

Thanks, Clover. Love ya, you cheeky monkey, you.

TIME

I started a rather serious post about how terrified I am right now: scared I’ll won’t bring home a baby – scared that I actually might.

Unfortunately, I just can’t spend a lot of time at a keyboard right now as each tap is like keying over shards of glass. That should also explain my limited commenting. That is, if you noticed.

Today I am supposed to finish up some preadmission bloodwork. Tomorrow I check in by 10:00 a.m. and if all goes well I will have my c-section at noon and meet Murdock. Sounds so simplistic, doesn’t it?

I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to update again. I suspect that I’ll be discharged by the weekend, barring any complications. Depending on how I feel, I might even be able to hijack a computer at the hospital since my laptop will be useless. And as I mentioned before, I will update via Twitter when I can.

As for the rest of my day, I will try to pack and work on convincing myself that I might actually be able to pull this off, this birthing a baby thing, without waking up and finding out that the past year has been nothing but an elaborate dream sequence of which the likes haven’t been seen since the TV show Dallas reincarnated Bobby (if you have no idea of what I’m referring to, I envy your youth). A year ago, I was recovering from my 4th miscarriage and my XXth Birthday, waiting for a donor match.

A million years ago…

A millisecond ago…

JUST CALL ME TIPPI

 No, no, not because if you give me a push I’ll tip over like one of those crazy punching toys that has had some air let out of them (I’d say weeble wobbles, but those lucky bastards wobble “but don’t fall down.” Me? I’d not only fall, but I’m fairly sure I would bounce at least once and not get up again), but because BIRDS seem to be out to get me.

Birds #1: Driving down the road a couple of birds were flying after each other. One hit my windshield (why I ducked, I have no idea – shut up). My husband looked behind us down the road and tried to assure me it flew away. I don’t know if I should believe him. I’ve seen my share of birds fly into the house windows, and that’s a stationary object, and usually it doesn’t bode well for the bird’s head.

Bird(s) #2: Went out to my backyard to try to figure out what the hell happened to my lovely tiger lilies that were thigh high with tons of buds on them just a few weeks ago. Now? Every. Single. Plant? Gone. Disappeared. Like they never existed! I thought maybe my husband mowed them over and then moved the yard ornament so I wouldn’t be able to tell, but no. Deer or gophers. I’m not sure, however either way, I’m pissed.

Oh, yeah, the birds. So as I was walking back up to the house, a small bird flew up out of the weeds and dropped back down a ways in front of me displaying a broken wing. Immediately I knew it was because I was very close to its nest. I looked around a bit and found the tiniest little nest, no more than a few inches across and four baby birds. If I had stepped on them, I would have had to throw away my crocs…gross!

Birds #3: Again, driving down the county road and I come up over a hill and there was a pheasant hen and one of her chicks trying to cross the road. No joke. Pheasants are notoriously dumb. That would mean that pheasant youth are really, REALLY dumb. Hen runs back into the ditch. Chick runs the opposite way, stops before reaching the safety of the ditch, and then heads back the other way. What am I doing? Slamming on my brakes on a gravel road to prevent myself from running over an animal that obviously doesn’t qualify under the heading, “Survival of the Fittest” within his community.

Are these signs of something coming, a “foreshadowing”? Or do you think I’m just building up to the time I’m outside and a bird eventually shits on my head – literally?

Postscript: Did you know that Tippi Hedron is the mother of Melanie Griffith?

Also, I highly recommend this youtube video, For The Birds, by Pixar (though I hate the sound editing which changed the voice of the big bird) (I tried to embed the video, but WordPress can be as fickle as Blogger at times).

I’M NOTHING MORE THAN A HORMONAL, BLITHERING IDIOT

At this point, the idea that I may have had to wait until at least the 25th – my actual due date – to deliver Murdock seems absolutely ludicrous.

If it wasn’t for next week’s scheduled c-section, I would not only have NOT given up using the riding lawn mower, I would have loaded up a suitcase or two and driven that sonofabitch to South Dakota this weekend.

Aside from the contractions I experienced a few weeks ago, I’ve only had what have been identified as “irritated muscles” by my OB. Trust me, it’s not just my muscles that are irritated. This morning I was trying to fish my contacts out of my case, except my fingers, which are nothing less than kielbasa sized, would not fit past the opening. Plus, even if I was able to get a pinch on a contact, I couldnt’ feel it. Cue helpless tears before finally getting contacts in.

XBoy has been quite a trooper. I especially appreciate his nimbleness. While I feel a deep guilt for asking him to pick up things I drop, he’s so damn cheery about it that I assuage my guilt a bit by thinking he must enjoy feeling useful to his blimp of a Mom.

I did catch him peeking under the frosted part of the shower door this a.m. I’m not sure if he was confirming what I have been telling him for ages and that is girls don’t have penises, or if he was checking for the unnatural eclipse of the recessed shower light.

A couple of weeks ago, I called one of my favorite photography places to get pictures taken of Murdock and XBoy for announcements (I know! …how presumptuous of me!). I told the girl who answered the phone I wanted newborn pictures. She informed me that the soonest opening was in September. Not sure about you, but Murdock won’t be a “newborn” in September. Mr. DD and I have decided to try to tackle this task ourselves. Frankly, I’m worried. Lots of camera toys and attachment a photographer does not make. For either of us.

Related to that, I asked OB what he thought of us bringing a camera into surgery. While he stated he has no problems with it, the hospital has a policy against it. I guess they are afraid of the chance there might be documentation of someone fucking up. No matter. We are bringing our small, pocket digital in with us. Actually, Mr. DD will be bringing it as I will be crucified to the table. It’s not that I want pictures of my uterus laying on top of my abdomen or anything as graphic, but I would like to have a picture of Murdock covered in cottage cheese and blood while being held up by his/her freakishly large head to put in my still yet to be purchased baby book.

Makes you almost want to be there, doesn’t it? You can be in a way if you have a Twitter account. I finally figured out how to tweet from my phone and since the hospital does not have wi-fi, (and even though cell phones are supposedly not allowed on the unit….like, seriously?), I will try to give some brief spurts of info through Twitter. You can either click on the link over there on the right if you don’t have an account, or if you “follow” me, you’ll get the info automatically.

I seriously am flattering myself thinking you care, aren’t I? Delusional or hormonal? You be the judge.

And with that, I suppose I will start a pool as a continuation of me believing you are invested enough to guess Murdock’s stats at birth:

  • sex
  • weight
  • length

I’ll put together a little prize package of some kind or another to send to the commenter with the closest guess. I promise it will contain either chocolate, liquor or a combination of both, as well as a plethora of foam peanuts or packaging pillows.

If you would rather not guess, your comments are always welcome.

(How’s that for comment whoring?!)

QUICKIES

Sometimes a quickie is just more satisfying, isn’t it? OK, this won’t exactly be a “quickie”, but just like when your man makes that promise and then falls through, so will I. I’ll at least apologize for the lack of foreplay and post-cuddle.

Still looking for drawer pulls for the “new” dresser. Zandra, I loved the idea of the blue/transparent legos. Unfortunately, they need to be a bit bigger – like duplos – but duplo doesn’t make transparent pieces. We’ve been toying with using band buttons (like Green Day, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Johnny Cash, etc.), but we’re still open to ideas.

Here’s the first-dining room/then-den/currently-spare bedroom, before:

 

And after:

The colors don’t come across very well via a photograph, but there it is. The sofa is a sleeper and my dough trough is peeking out in the lower right corner and stores quite a bit of bedding. It still needs some minor touches, but you get the idea.

My sincerest thanks to Scissorbill for the crib bedding; to Portlairge for the night-time soother; and to Katrinafor a stack of goodies (pictured below) for Murdock (and a little sump’n-sump’n for XBoy).

I have two NSTs remaining. One this Thursday and another yet again next Monday, which seems a bit much, especially since Wednesday is the c-section (scheduled at noon, which means maybe by 3:00 p.m. or later…stupid ENT and orthopedic surgeons – hogging the OR).

My edema has reached maximum capacity in my feet. To give you an idea, if you are a closet croc wearer, you know how roomy they are. And normally they are for me, too. Except now when I put them on, not only are they a bit of a squeeze, but when I take them off it’s like my feet have been put through a play-doh fun factory and every croc hole, bump and indentation is clearly visible.

Sure, you can say, “keep your feet up”, but that’s not possible with an office job. Nothing shy of laying absolutely verticle and on my side helps with the swelling. Add to that the continued discomfort in my hands, which I’ve nearly grown accustomed to, especially the non-stop tingling that one normally experiences when a limb wakes up.

So yeah. It’s getting down to the wire and I don’t feel any more prepared for us to bring home a baby than I did seven months ago. I have to remind myself constantly that after next week, instead of *it* finally being over (it = pregnancy), we are only just starting over.

Just as I had hoped, even as I have feared.