24 October, 2011

Adjustments all around.

So, we had our first full-body poo this morning. *grin*

I ate something in the last day or two (I'm suspecting onion in the pasta sauce) that really screwed with Madam's insides. She's been fussy and clingy for the last 24 hours or so, which saw us downstairs on the couch at 2am this morning so as to allow Himself some sleep. We migrated back upstairs when he left for work around 6am, and only regained consciousness when Herself began to stir around eight. I rolled over to give her a cuddle, only to find that in her nocturnal travels she'd managed to cover her entire front side in poo. We're talking, soaked through two layers of clothing and into the sheet. *lol*

This of course led to stripping the baby and the bed, putting the baby in the sink for a bath and the sheets in the wash along with her clothes and a fair amount of stain remover. She was massively unimpressed with the bath, even though I thoughtfully lined it with a towel so her little cheeks wouldn't catch a chill from the porcelain. She refused to voice an opinion about the washing of the sheets.

We also had our second chiropractor appointment this afternoon. The first appointment saw her left shoulder a little stiff, a few spots in her spine that weren't as "bouncy" as they should have been, and along with those bits she had her cranium adjusted. This visit, her shoulder is MUCH more mobile, her back is doing marvellously, she had her second cranial adjustment, and her epicanthic fold (the horizontal crease across the bridge of her nose) has completely smoothed out. Basically, she's perfect. *grin* She'll have one more appointment in ten days, after which she'll be discharged until she hits a growth spurt or exhibits symptoms of needing an adjustment (the chiropractor will give us a list of things to look for).

She's currently snoozing on my chest, apparently it's much more comfortable than the Boppy or the couch. I'm figuring out this one-armed life pretty rapidly... I've done laundry, cooked lunch, and been to the ladies' multiple times with a baby attached to my front and not dropped her even once. Bonus points. *grin*

She stirs. We have our first health visitor coming tomorrow, I'll update after that.

19 October, 2011

Welcome, tiny overlord.

Madam has landed. You'll forgive my lack of posts in the last week, we've been a little preoccupied around Chez Gabs.

Things didn't go quite as planned. We had hoped for a tranquil water birth, no pain relief except the soothing warmth of the pool... that was before my waters broke and 24 hours passed without major happening. After 24 hours, for those of you not in the know, the risk of infection precludes water birth and I wasn't allowed in. Fair enough, we're flexible, so we adjusted and moved on mentally to a natural non-pool birth, with the addition of a cannula in the back of my left hand to push IV antibiotics (which took three tries and eventually a doctor to insert, but we won't go into detail on that one).

That was, of course, until they decided things weren't moving as quickly as they would like, and took advantage of said cannula to drip syntocin into my unsuspecting body. Apparently I'm ridiculously sensitive to syntocin, because not only did things kick off, they kicked off a little too hard. Think six contractions in ten minutes. We won't go into detail there either, we'll just say that after an hour of fighting it, Himself finally managed to talk me into having an epidural.

Let's take advantage of the moment to take a little side trip down "How awesome is Himself" Lane, shall we? I honestly don't know what I would have done if he hadn't been there. "Rock" doesn't quite cover it. He was there to literally and figuratively hold my hand (and at one point, my feet) for every single second of the entire process, and toward the end when I was quite simply falling apart from the combination of not having slept in three days and a not quite effective epidural, he kept me sane. Join me in a round of applause for the greatness of Himself.

Did you clap? Yeah, I meant it literally. Thanks for humouring me.

We also ended up with a ventouse delivery and an episiotomy, but the less said about that the better. Suffice it to say, she's here and she's absolutely perfect. I'm assured it's not just my natural predilection for my own offspring that leads me to feel this way, apparently she's an uncommonly attractive and pleasant child. Don't believe me? See below.

How could you not bask in the glory of such adorable features? Go on, take a second to bask, I'll wait.

I find myself just staring at her. The TV has barely been on in the last week, she has reduced a houseful of adults into cooing idiots, and I do mean a houseful. *lol* My mother arrived on Saturday, and Himself's mother and her husband came up for the day, then on Sunday we had Himself's sister and her husband, then on Monday we had an old friend of mine who was over from Australia with his wife and son and... well, you get my drift. We've had a busy time of it. Unfortunately the madre could only stay a week and has to go home today, but the grandmadre is on her way over sometime midweek so we'll have another Texan presence in the house for a little while (lucky, lucky Himself). *grin*

Anyway, it's all true. You don't realise you can love a tiny person so immediately and in such an all consuming way until you've physically forced one out of your body. Yeah, it hurt, and yeah, pregnancy totally sucked for me, but look what I got out of it! She's simply... well, perfect.

09 October, 2011

Rumblings and ramblings.

This morning at twenty past three, Himself and I were awoken by a gurgling "hurk, hurk" noise from the foot of the bed. His cat had chosen that opportune moment to sick up in the floor in front of my chest of drawers. Both of us rocketed up out of bed, more out of sheer reflex than a belief that swift movement would change the situation in any way, shape or form. Himself cleaned up the mess (because he loves me, you see), I went to the toilet... again... and we went back to bed.

Twenty minutes later, I was suddenly awake, and not quite sure why. Something was weird, and JB was kicking up a storm (like, making a break for it kind of kicking). I stayed there, taking silent and still stock of my surroundings, and then it hit me. I leapt up out of bed as my waters broke, miraculously leaving the bed dry, and simultaneously scaring seven hells out of Himself. I blurted out "my waters have broken", he tossed me a towel, and I got straight on the phone as previously commanded by Sister One to let her know things were kicking off. She was understandably excited, this is HER baby, after all...

I then rang the midwife triage unit at the hospital to find out the appropriate course of action, and after a barrage of questions (have you had any contractions? what colour are the waters? are you certain it was your waters breaking? is it your first baby?) I was told to come in to be examined. This of course meant I had to... ahem... *mumbling* finish packing my hospital bag... *sheepish grin* Himself was, shall we say, unimpressed with my lack of preparation, especially given the amount of nagging he'd done over the last few weeks to make sure everything was ready should things kick off. We tossed the few bits I hadn't packed yet into the suitcase and headed to the hospital, still making calls to let people know that Madam was on her way.

When we turned up at the triage unit, the nurse took my blood pressure (good, as always) and hooked me up to the foetal monitor. Well, I say hooked me up, she actually tucked the two electrodes into the waistband of my jeans and went to deal with a lady who'd just arrived in what turned out to be a very advanced stage of labour (she had the baby not ten minutes later). When the other nurse came to check on me, she began to use what I can only assume was fairly foul language (I believe it was Chinese) under her breath due to the inexpertly applied electrodes, and swiftly got things sorted out properly to monitor Madam's heart rate (strong, as always) and my contractions. She then took the swab to check for infection and examined me to see how far along things were (not very, just one centimetre dilated) and commented that JB's head is still quite high.

She gave us a sheet of information (signs to look for that would require us to return to the hospital, actions to take during the day) and told us to call around eight pm tonight when we'll likely be asked to come back if things haven't progressed by then. I, of course, am hoping that JB will take the hint and get going on her own as I'd rather not need chemical assistance. So, I'll leave you there and update as the situation warrants. Wish me luck!

02 October, 2011

Call me bass-ackwards.

It's funny. I've always been backwards. Awkward. Abnormal. Whatever you want to call it. I didn't expect that to extend to pregnancy.

All my friends/colleagues/family members have said pretty much the same thing about when they were pregnant. The first few months (at least) were normally ridden with nausea, then things evened out and became... well, pleasant... until the last few weeks. In the last few weeks, the waiting game played havoc with their nerves/patience/fortitude to the point that misery ensued. The swollen hands and ankles, the endless bathroom trips, the constant indigestion, but mostly the incessant wondering as to WHEN THIS TINY HUMAN WILL VACATE MY BODY.

I've been the exact opposite. The first four months were definitely rocky with nausea until I figured out it was the dairy making me feel awful, but rather than things settling down I began to deal with the complications brought on by hypermobility. Constant pain isn't really conducive to enjoying pregnancy... and don't get me wrong, I have the swollen appendages, have to pee every five minutes, and I'm keeping Zantac in business. That said, the last week or two have been almost pleasant. Yeah, I'm enormous, and if I stand/walk for too long at a stretch my back hurts, but that's pretty easy to get around (sit down, right?). I've got more energy in the last week as well, which goes a long way toward feeling a little more like myself rather than the boneless slug I've become over the last nine months.

Of course, I'm excited about getting her on the outside (if mostly so I can hand her to Himself and say "hold this"), but I'm also not in the depths of despair. I'm aware that at most it'll be three weeks before they'll induce her out of me, and three weeks feeling like I do right now won't be that bad. I've actually managed to get a few bits done in the last week, several loads of laundry and a few of dishes, some cooking, even some clearing out of a few of my infamous "bags of bits"... you know, those bags that you shove the random receipts, pens, nail files, bits of post, and other various sundries into when you're tidying up. Yes, everyone does it. No, really, they do. Shut up.

Anyway, things are good. We've had a lazy weekend here at Chez Gabs, with the notable exception of a trip to the vet with El Gato de Himself... (Kit) She came downstairs on Friday night sporting a wicked limp, Himself and I both had a look and couldn't see anything wrong with her, but as we didn't fancy sharing the house with a three-legged cat we decided to take her to the vet on Saturday morning. We managed to make it all the way there without her having forcibly ejected anything from either end (a serious victory, in case you don't recall Kit's Car Adventures of previous posts) and got seen by the vet straight away. Turns out she had a puncture wound right at the edge of her little toe pad on her front right paw, and the vet reckons it was possibly from a set-to with a neighbourhood moggie, so he gave her a shot of antibiotic and a shot of painkiller as well as some painkillers to have for the next few days.

I don't know if you've ever seen a stoned cat, but let me tell you, it's pretty funny. She spent most of Saturday sprawled out on the bed looking dazed and making odd not-quite-meowing noises, and had a relapse this morning after we gave her today's dose. Rather than get up and jump off the bed, she sort of bonelessly slid off the edge and happened to land on her feet by what appeared to be a grand stroke of luck. Oh well, at least she's back on all four legs. Please see below for photographic evidence of her altered state...

Stoner cat. *snigger* Does it make me totally evil that I'm looking forward to tomorrow's dose? Oh well, so what if it does. I takes my amusement where I finds it. Speaking of amusement, Goonies is on TV, and I'm not paying it proper homage by multi-tasking during the screening. So, off to find the rich stuff.