Ava gave her momma a delightful birthday surprise, as a thank you for renting her a womb for 9 months and giving birth to her an all. I’m sure.

We went to Target and DID NOT BUY DIAPERS! In fact, I have a full drawer of extras that ARE NOT GOING TO BE NEEDED!
That kid is POTTY TRAINED !!!

She’s been doing the tinkle thing for a while, and the past couple weeks we went big and just left her in “dries” as she calls her underpants.
And finally the bugger figured out she could poop in the toilet, and we’re done! Voila!
That was not even that hard, I tell ya!

(yes, this blog now includes topics on poop. Deal.)

She stays dry going out running errands, can go to the ladies room by herself, (at home) and probably the cutest thing ever… when she gets TWO M&M’s for a little poopie doop in the toilet, she picks out her favorite color (yellow) and hands the other one to me as a gift.
NO diapers AND she shares.

wow. kid.

I still put her in a night diaper, mostly to save myself the laundry. She’ll stay dry most of the time, but in her defense, it’s her habit to drink a LOT of water and milk in the evening, and she sleeps almost 11 hours at night without waking. I’m not too worried.

I’m so proud of her, and it’s just delightful to see that same look of pride on her face.
At each stage of her life I keep saying “this is the best stage ever!”
But this time I really mean it.
(until next time)

Happy Second Year, kid.
You rock.

Saturday March 8th 2008. She was due March 17th, but we were going to be induced that following Friday or Monday if I wanted. She was big enough. We were ready.
I had been having contractions for about 2-3 weeks, and that week there were some that really kicked my butt. So I thought. But the night before my water broke, I had none. I slept great. (well, as great as you can with a huge belly) I woke up for my usual pee, and when I got back into bed, I felt like I didn’t finish or something. Went back in, and things were wet. Not a lot. But enough. I waited a few. Check. Yup. Wet. This shiver and rush of nerves came over me, and it was the EXACT feeling I had when I saw two lines on the pregnancy test. Same same. I giggled and went over and poked David. “Hey, you won’t have to go to work today. Buddy! My water just broke!” (long pause…) “It’s Saturday, numbnuts.” And he just layed there. Unshocked and unrattled. I laughed a lot because I had a training day scheduled at work, and really didn’t want to do it. My sweet co-worker Mary would have my HEAD if I went into labor, meaning she would have to do it. I laughed non-stop when I called her to tell her the news!

I got some things together, and David calmly made some coffee and watched the morning news. (see video). We wanted to wait until 7am so we could drop Baloo off at Doggy Daycare. I had very little activity going on in the bellay. So we waited.
Dropped Baloo off and stopped at Burger King for breakfast. We had a lovely drive out to Wack, and both just kinda giggled and laughed a bit. Our lives were about to change. Shouldn’t we be running red lights or something????

Sat 8AM – Waddled into L&D with a towel between my legs. We found out I got the idiot old doc on call. Dr. N was old-school and talked to women like they were idiots. I was warned by my fabulous nurses, who all had 3 little girls, it seems. We had a long talk about staying away from c-sections and pitocin. He didn’t listen. He was telling me how to push within 2 seconds of meeting me. WEIRD doc, to say the least. So bummed Dr. F was not on that weekend. So bummed.

Sat 8:01am – Started walkin’ the halls. David saw a couple of co-workers and was just GIDDY with excitement. It was too cute. Didn’t see that when he was with me, but with them it showed. We called Poppa Nelson and some others, and made arrangements with Scott to get going on, what would soon to be called “that damn basement.” I had already called M&D, they were waiting to hear the plan. I waited to tell them. LoL.
M&D came later that morning to see what was going on. Nothing was. Nothing. The doc was still pushing his junk on me, and when I hadn’t had hardly a contraction, and certainly was not dialating past 3cm, I started to consider. M&D took David out to lunch (what?) and we reluctantly agreed to start the pitocin. I got jacked up on fluids and we began the game. About 3 minutes after David left for lunch, the pitocin was started. About 4 minutes later, the contractions came in with full force. The nurse said no way was it because of the drugs, just coincidence. Great, now I had my body doing what it was supposed to, but now it’s being stimulated into overdrive by artificial drugs. And my husband is having a cold Blue Moon and juicy burger. Dammit!

The contractions hurt a bit, but were manageable. I sent M&D home. Or so I thought. I knew she’d try to go hide down the hall, but Dad promised he would take her home. I was joking about it with the nurses, telling them to call security if they saw her lurking.

I delayed the epidural a few, to see what I could take. That didn’t last long. I was squacking for it by 4cm. The nurse put the call into the anesthesiologist. She barely got the words “scoliosis and thorasic fusion” out and he hung up the phone, saying he’d come right up. Well, longest story short, I got the surprise of my life when he said he was not comfortable giving me an epidural. WHAT? You don’t tell someone the opposite of what they’ve been thinking for 9 months!! (well, longer, a gal thinks about these things!) He cited “infection” and even if he could get in, he was skeptical that it would even work. I had brought my surgical notes and xrays, and everyone I talked to didn’t see a problem with it. Although he really knew what he was talking about, “Dr. Moose and Squirrel” as we called him (he was Russian with a very thick accent) made my day a little bit worse. David was willing to listen to him, I begged to differ. HE should give birth then! We took some time to talk about it, and the doc even came back with some literature about it. David googled some things, I had a meltdown or two, and we talked it out. In the end, we decided that if he was willing to give it a TRY, I would be understanding if he couldn’t do it. He took two tries, and got right in. I tolerated the “bee sting” fine, but he hit something that made he jump, feeling like he hit a bone or something. (he didn’t). It was not that traumatic. In about 15 minutes I had lost the horrible back contractions, and after he gave me “old trick” juice, I felt nothing. Not a thing. Nuffin. It was beautiful. Shamefully Beautiful.

Before that, from noon until 5pm I labored, au natural, for 5 hours straight, all jacked up on pit. Made it to a mere 6 cm. I am incredibly proud of myself on my laboring efforts. The nurses all said I was doing a great job, whatever. I was able to stay totally calm, and basically moan through the pain. That in itself irked David, but I didn’t care. The pain was DISGUSTING. Seriously. I got a 10 second break between contractions. Wanted to save all drugs (stadol, etc) for the hard part, should I not be able to get the epi. The best position ended up being sitting on the edge of the bed with the table & pillows in front of me. David would press really hard on my lower back during the contractions, and even had the nerve to tell me his hand was starting to hurt. Bruuhhaaaa!!!!!!! Poor baby!

So by 6-7pm the epi was working great, and I requested antibiotics and a witch doctor to stop the pending infection (able to jump sterile field, lol) to which they obliged. We agreed to yank epi the second I give birth and repeat the ancef.

By 7:30’ish I was dialated to 9cm and she was already crowning a bit without my pushing. Lots of activitity in the room, parents came in one more time, then went to pace the halls. It ends up my mom hid downstairs in the ER lobby ALL DAY. She thought I didn’t know this but I tricked my dad into busting her. Poor nurses were trying play defense, but I told them they could visit quick. They were very loyal nurses. Love them. (all 20 of them, a lot of changing of the guards)

8pm “laboring down” a couple practice pushes. Nurse went nuts, told me to cross my legs and don’t push.

8:30pm Doc finally graced us with his presence. He struck me as a Doofus right off the bat. I swear he had several episiotomy scissors all lined up in his holster, ready for action. We had a nice talk about putting them away. I didn’t want one. (I was actually OK with whatever was needed to not be ummm, damaged, but don’t get greedy, boss) He agreed to try everything possible to avoid a snip. He was full of chit.

9pm –I did a couple of pushes. She didn’t even do the “turtle thing” where she slipped back in. She slid down, and stayed down. Doc was shocked. As was this mommy. I still didn’t feel a darn thing, and somehow was pushing the right way. I took a peek in the mirror. Gross. Put that thing away. Yikes. (David later said “you didn’t see what I saw!” Uh, yeahIdid. )
Gown up, get everything ready…
9:20pm – game time.

9:29pm on Sat. March 8th, 2008…, after only about 4-5 rounds of contractions, (to which I usually went 4 times not the wussy three!) the little ladybug just SLIPPED right out! I heard him say “ok, one more for the shoulders…” (what?) and I saw her little hand reach up for me. “Hi Honey!” Plunk came the baby, hollering and immediately made eye contact with me. What pain? what labor?
By request, I held her for a long while. We both just starred at her…the most precious thing of a daughter. The doc kept making comments about he wish he knew how much she weighed, but I would not let them take her yet. Who cares, call her “8” and leave me alone. Later when I watched the video, I could hear him saying “now we’re going to push on your tummy to get the icky stuff out” WHAT? I’m 34 damn years old, AND I’m a nurse. Talk like a big boy you idiot! I also was surprised to hear that the clanking and clicks of the hemostats were, indeed, an episiotomy. I was not happy to be left out of the discussion. I made quite a deal about it later to my OB. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Oh well. Bygones.

10 fingers on huge hands, 10 toes, zero flippers or orange stripes. (grin)

Tons of darker hair, which when later cleaned up as downy soft brown fluff with white highlights. We’ll see what happens to it, but it was hilarious. 8 cow-licks? really? I don’t see how she gets the nerve to be so darn cute! Is she kidding me????

She was slightly smaller than U/S thought, at 7lbs 13oz. 19.5 ” long. She bears NO resemblance to me whatsoever. She almost has that same “asian” look that I thought David did a tiny bit in one of the 1st piks I have of him. Weird. She was very puffy, and wailed like heck on the clean-up table! Watching mom and dad see her was very cool, and dad kept saying “she has such muscle definition!” and sent text messages to everyone.

To say “I’m in love” is nothing. It’s like I just got to reunite with an old friend I’ve known for years. Too much to catch up on, but so much you feel you already know in your heart.

After much deliberation, Nemo’s real name is Ava Claire. (after my dear grandma)

She is perfect.

Don’t believe me?
See for yourself:

Later in the evening, she grabbed her books and hopped into my lap. It’s something I look forward to each night. And without fail, she starts this time out by putting her head on my chest, arms flung around my neck, and says “my momma.”
Post-snuggle, we read.

But during tonite’s pre-read snuggle, I held that lil’ bugger a moment longer. As much as I was looking forward to her birthday, which for some reason I thought was tomorrow… but of course I’m nostalgic about her growing up.
I inhaled the smell of her head, and it was almost like I was instantly back 2 years ago, that 1st nite we met… it was dark, and quiet, and it was just her and I. I whispered to her…
“Don’t turn two just yet. Stay this age just one more day, kid.”

I swear sometimes this kid just KNOWS what I’m saying, and she starred me straight in the eyes and seemed to say “OK, mommy. I get that.” What she really said was “Boo Boo pew!” and for the 10th time today Davez blamed his stank on the dog.

We finished up our story time and made our trek upstairs for bed. She walked up the steps, NO railing, NO hands or “lift” and scampered down the hallway. It was only then I realized she does not turn two until monday. (March 8th) I goofed at what day I was on.

Tomorrow I get one more day at her being right where she’s at.
I’ll deal with two on monday.

:::nip:::

So in honor of my baby all grown up, let’s go back a year+ and re-watch her take her 1st steps.
And then you can all leave comments on what a rotten mom I am teasing her with candy.

Ready girl? Let’s walk.

as much fun

as play time.

Only because she’s so dang cute!

Then in January of 2006, we quit our jobs and sold our house, and ran around the world for six months.

And for that I am grateful.

When we returned from this adventure of a lifetime, we decided to start a family.
Anyone who knows me knows I was grateful for THAT step.
I was meant to mother.

I even got a nice nest to hatch them in.

Grateful. Grateful. Grateful.

A couple of bumps in the road, but March 8th, 2008…
We got the best gift of all…
Ava Claire.

Um, my heart is so full of gratitude for this kid.
She is my LIFE. I love her guts.
She loves me back. And makes me laugh. And makes me put one foot in front of another.
And for that I am grateful.

And even though our road since Ava’s birth has been filled with tears, and troubles, and trying times…
My husband has put up with it all, my doctor (and his nurse) have tolerated me in the most caring way, and friends and family around us have done what they can to help. My adorable “Mom friends” (some I’ve only met online) have donated leftovers generously to our fertility efforts, send lucky rocks and bracelets that have good juju…wished and prayed and hoped for us… and knew just when to stop talking and just help me kick and scream: This sucks.
And for them, I am so very grateful.

After several losses we have finally gotten some answers as to WHY.
I have an autoimmune disease called “antiphospholipid antibody syndrome.”
Basically my blood makes clots that have been blocking or stopping healthy pregnancies.
How Ava got here, and how I’ve escaped a deadly bloodclot or stroke, we don’t know.
Sans babymaking, this thing is no big whoop. Easily treated. Usually benign.
But since we so very much want another big whoop, I’ll be taking shots daily to help my body and potential babies.

What’s wrong with me?
Well, now it has a name.
We know.
We have a diagnosis.
Oh how I am grateful.

As I sat in the Hematology and Oncology clinic yesterday, waiting to see a specialist about this, I was surrounded by all kinds of people. Some were bald, some were yellow. Some were getting sick in lil’ bags as they waited to get back to the infusion lab, to get yet another round of deadly poison pumped into their bodies, in order to live. Maybe. A lady next to me getting her blood drawn said “I just became a grandma. I can’t have cancer. I’m not supposed to spend my thursdays getting chemo. ”

Of course, I wish I was “normal.” But really, who is?

I don’t have time for “poor me” anymore.
I’m gonna go kick some clot’s ass, and take names after.

I can still kick some ass.
And for that I am grateful.

“Life is pure adventure, and the sooner we realize that, the quicker we will be able to treat life as art; to bring all our energies to each encounter, to remain flexible enough to notice and admit when what we expected to happen did not happen. We need to remember that we are created creative and can invent new scenarios as frequently as they are needed.”

Maya Angelou

Although my life kinda feels like a Picasso at the moment, according to this gal:
it’s still art.
OK. If you say so, lady !

Speaking of art…
look what I made:

Well, today we’re driving, A’s listening to her songs and singing, and I’m just doing my thing, thinking too much, trying not to cry… etc.

The song stops, and she blurts out of no where: “I yove eww mommy.”

Someone said to me yesterday: Don’t get so caught up with the one in the bush that you forget about the one in the hand.

Thank you (both) for that reminder.

Anyone else grateful?