False Labor Is Fun!

But it didn’t feel false.  It hurt like hell.  For three days.  Here’s some hospital pics.

And that was triage my friends!


Letter From a Touchy Pregnant Lady

Dear People Who Look At Me Like I’m Crazy For Having A Third C-Section:

I know you’re just curious and you probably don’t mean to be rude.  I’m a big believer in natural childbirth myself, and tried to do so with my first baby.  After 36 hours of labor (without an epidural) and only getting to 4cm and -3 station, I was exhausted, okay?  I ended up giving birth to a 10 pound, 10 oz baby boy via c-section.  Yes, that’s a big baby.  He was healthy and I recovered well.

As for my second pregnancy and why I chose to have a c-section… it’s really nobodies business.  Yes, in hindsight I wish I had tried for a VBAC, but my situation was personal and I don’t wish to share it with the world. I had good reason to go with the c-section and let’s just leave it at that.  In the end, I had a healthy nine pound baby girl.

And yes, can you fucking believe it?  I’m having a third c-section. I must be a victim to the over-medicalization of birth… but at this point it is what it is.  I probably could have tried for a VBAC but my only luck in this area for a VBAC after two c-sections is getting a mid-wife and giving birth at home.  I support home births… and actually encourage them… but I’m not willing to risk any complications that may occur as a result of my two previous c-sections.

And yes.  I’m aware that c-sections are major surgery.  I know this. I recovered from them myself.  I also know that each c-section gets riskier, but there are also risks involved in having a VBAC after two c-sections.    So think what you may.

Also, to the people who ask me: “Why are all your babies SO big?!” Because they are.  They just are.  It’s genetics my friends.  And if I DID have gestational diabetes, it’s none of your business.  I have never gone up to a woman who had a tendency to have small babies and asked, “Why are all your babies SO small?!” Because it’s rude.  Because she may just have small babies.  And anyway, it’s none of my business.

I know a lot of it is curiosity, and I know most of you are nice peeps and all.  But perhaps you should think before you speak… and just you know… stop judging.

Sonja the pregnant lady having ANOTHER c-section and victim of the over medicalization of childbirth

Beckett Update

So I’m 37 weeks today.  I had a check-up yesterday and I found out that he’s dropped and I’m 50% effaced (for those who don’t know, it just means that the cervix is thinning out and getting ready for dilation).  No dilation yet though.  Last week I wasn’t effaced at all.  I’ve been having pretty strong and consistent Braxton Hicks contractions for the past few days, so that’s whats doing the trick, I think. Not that any of this really matters because I’m having a section anyway.  But it means we’re getting close, and that’s exciting.

They also did another sono because I told them that I had felt reduced movement on Tuesday.  I didn’t call the doctor’s office because when I actually ate something and rested, I felt about 20 movements in an hour.  You want to feel at least 10 movements in an hour… so I wasn’t too worried.  Then on Wednesday he was moving like crazy, so that was reassuring.  Anyway, because I go to an extremely intervention-happy OB/GYN, they wanted to do a sono… which I thought unnecessary but whatevs.  I’ve resigned myself to the fact that no hospital in the DC area will do a VBAC on a two-time cesarean mama… so might as well just stick with the hyper-intervention practice.  So they did the sono to make sure he’s doing okay, and yup… he’s doing okay.  The pics they gave me were pretty blurry so they’re not worth posting, but my sweet baby boy was sucking his thumb!  He was trying to stretch out and was pushing his head against my cervix.

Hey kid.  You’re not coming out that way.  I wish you were.  So stop it.  You’re making me uncomfortable.

I really can’t wait to meet him.

Fun With Photos

We went to Glen Echo Park about a month ago.  It was hot.  It was miserable.  We stayed for only an hour.  But it’s a cool park.  It’s old and probably really eery at night.  So I took the liberty of making some of the pics look all scary.  Because it’s close to Halloween and all.  
Deep dark forest.


The totally awesome carousel.

Kiera on the carousel, but I made her look all freaky.


Fancy carousel.

All done.

She’s going to eat you alive.


Crystal Pool.  All that’s left is the entrance.  Eeeeery.

I’m pretty sure they saw a ghost.

This one is just a weird picture.

The Good Mom

I woke up in the middle of the night last night… as I do most nights.  I had to pee for the thousandth time, and I slowly rolled back into bed, my legs and thighs aching with the weight of our unborn son.  My thoughts turned to my children…

Especially Ryan.

Bringing another little boy into the world has made me think about how I’ve been raising Ryan and what mistakes I’ve made.  As a result, a world of regret came crashing down around me… at three o’clock in the morning.

Ryan is my first born.  I had him when I was young.  I wasn’t ready to be a mom, but I thought I was.  At the time, I was congratulated for being a “good mom.”  I breastfed, I read him stories, I cuddled him and loved him fiercely.  But I didn’t like being a mom.  I didn’t like the responsibility; the constant attention that one must give a child.  And sometimes this would manifest.  Sometimes I would get angry and resentful.  Sometimes I would expect my son to do things that were beyond his capacity of doing.  I was hard on him.

Too hard sometimes.

Not abusive by any means… but enough for me to feel the guilt. Some may say that the guilt I feel is normal parental guilt… especially when it comes to first children.  After all, the first child is likened to the experiment.  The first child is an introduction to parenthood.  The first child is like the alarm that goes off at 6am… waking you up from a blissful sleep to reality and responsibility.   How do you handle it?  How do you not make mistakes when you’re so bleary eyed and confused?

My son is sensitive.
He’s creative and loving.
He has a lovely smile.
He’s goofy, and has some really silly dance moves.

But he’s also spacey, and lacks focus.  He’s been diagnosed with ADHD.  He cries at the drop of a hat.  He apologizes profusely if he does something wrong.  He desperately wants approval.  I worry about him.  Sometimes my expectations are still too high… and I have to force myself to back off.  To let him be.  But I’m trying to show more patience.  He’s such a rare little soul.  As unhealthy as it may be to think this way, I still wish that I could go back and do things differently.  I know this thought process won’t change anything… and it certainly won’t help me feel better.  But I’m human.  And maybe the mistakes I made will help me be a better mom to all my babies.

Dorkies and Daydreams

Yesterday afternoon was a bit of a dramatic affair.  Ernesto worked from home and was able to pick the kids up from the bus stop.  The bus stop isn’t far, but it’s up the street… which is up a hill… which is not up my alley as I’m now hugely pregnant and tire easily.  So off he went.

About 30 minutes later they arrived at the house.  I had assumed the bus was slow in arriving because of the rain. But as Ernesto and the children entered the house, my darling husband let out a “Jesus Christ!” and I knew something was amiss.  Ryan appeared before me with a look of fright and bewilderment and then I found out what had happened.

Ernesto was waiting for the bus, and when it arrived he noticed that somebody important was missing.  Kiera got off the bus, but Ryan didn’t.  And then the bus drove away.

Uh, we’re missing a kid here?

And of course at that very moment of panic, my husband didn’t have his cell phone.  Doesn’t it always happen that way?  Kiera insisted that Ryan had been on the bus.  So luckily, one of our neighbors and a fellow parent of one of the students offered Ernesto a ride in her car to chase down the bus.  Ahhh yes.  A dramatic chase. A mystery to be solved.  And parental panic sky high.

I’m so glad Ernesto was the one dealing with the situation… what with my delicate emotional condition and all.  I swear I would have peed my pants in sheer terror that my child was missing.

Long story short, they were able to flag down the bus, and ask the bus driver if there was a Ryan Loveless on board.  The bus driver said no.  He said Ryan was still at school because he cut his hand and his parents needed to pick him up.  Yes, let’s add even more confusion to the whole situation.  Not to mention the fact that Kiera had insisted that she saw Ryan on the bus.  Anyhow, Ryan ended up being on the bus, completely oblivious to the fact that he had missed his stop.  Apparently he was engrossed in his library book called “Special Effects,” and he was daydreaming about his future scientific inventions.  My little boy, his head in the clouds could’ve ended up at the school bus garage… or wherever those buses go at the end of the day.

So we had to have another conversation about paying attention. Another conversation about how daydreaming should be reserved for moments when he doesn’t need to focus on anything. And that perhaps he shouldn’t read on the bus.

On a lighter note, Kiera was being her normal precious self this morning.  As I perused the newspaper at the breakfast table, she decided to look at the classified section.  She found two Yorshire Terriers for sale and insisted that we buy them.  I told her that they were Yorkies, and that they are expensive and  does she have $500 to pay for them?  She insisted that she had the money to buy the “Dorkies.”  Why, as a matter of fact she has a few coins in her piggy bank.  I told her that the YORKIES were too expensive and that if we decided to get another dog, it would be from a shelter. But she didn’t listen.  She just smiled and said that she wanted a “Dorky,” and that she would get a girl “Dorky,” and she would get one of those fancy carriers that had a little rug and pillow to keep her “Dorky” comfortable.  And that she would name her “Dorky”, Layla.