That Stupid Charlie Brown Song

Yay Christmas! For real, this is my favorite time of year. I will confess, I'd lost that loving feeling over the past several years, but that Christmas magic was just as potent this year as it was in grade school. My anticipation for Ava's reaction was beyond words. Watching her eyes get big in the face of soft, fuzzy, dancing, singing, lit up toys was hilarious. I cannot believe the generosity of those around my little family and am SO appreciative.

Adam did great, too! He put on a brave face for 48 hours and threw him into the lions dens' of the Nelson and Schmitt Holiday festivities and came out battle worn but no worse for the wear. I love that guy. It was wonderful to spend Christmas with him for the first time.

However, as the holiday season comes to an end, I find myself cursing that Charlie Brown Christmas movie with that one song- "Christmas time is here..."- it's the single most depressing Christmas song ever (perhaps with the exception of "Solider's Night Before Christmas" and "Christmas Shoes"), and it is rolling around in my head like a stale piece of stocking candy.

I suppose it fits my mood, though. Not that I'm sad, or melancholy... just reflective. This holiday season has also given me a great deal to mull over. For example, this was my first Christmas without my Grandma, and in a few days, it will be the one year anniversary of her initial admittance to the hospital. At Christmas, looking into the faces of my mom and her brothers and sisters... I saw what her passing had done. It has changed each and every one of us. Some are more caring and appreciative. Some are more reserved, hesitant to let down a wall and see too much emotion pour out. Others have become callous, cutting family out of their lives all together. The bad changes are few and far between. I felt like my Grandma swooped into our Christmas gathering for a little while, proud of her children and grandchildren, and in true Grandma fashion, flew back out to do her guardian angel thing with the rest of her ailing children.

I miss her very much. Somedays I don't think about it at all; it's like I could call her and ask her for a recipe any time I'd like. Other days I go to make that call and have the realization of her passing hit me all over again. Sometimes it's just a dull ache that won't go a way. I can't imagine what my mom is going through. Then I look at Ava... and I see both my Mom and my Grandma in her... and the tears turn a little sweeter.

Oh Ava. Another reason to reflect. It was right around this time last year that I found out she was comin' to town. At the time, I felt like I was a Santa Claus of my own, carrying around the heaviest gift load known to mankind, even if she physically wasn't that much at the time. My relative silence over her existence made last Christmas very strange indeed. In retrospect, she has been the best gift I ever could have dreamed, hoped, or prayed for. She has irrevocably changed my life and spurred me to want to change myself for the better. On Christmas, her pajamas depicted her as wrapped up with a tag that said, "Mom and Dad's Best Christmas Present Ever!" (Thanks Furg); truer words were never spoken (or written... or seen... whatev).

I also reconnected with some friends back home. Though only one of my marine boys is in town, the label I'd adorned him with for so long doesn't quite fit anymore. He's anything but a boy, and I was so proud of him. He's very much in love, mature beyond his years, and as caring and sweet as ever. I wish him nothing but happiness.

I also had a friend I'd lost touch with stop by. Though we'd sort of fallen away from each other under bitter and trivial circumstances... it was kind of like we just picked up where we'd left off. A nice feeling indeed.

Of course, Ava got to meet my two besties in the whole wide world, and while I'd been concerned that her presence might, I don't know... alter? the way we interact... nothing of the sort occured. Any "alteration" was merely the product of my own exhaustion.

However, my last reflection is the product of recent correspondence with someone from my past with someone I didn't know very well. I opened my email to find that a girl that I vaguely knew from high school had sent me a message on Facebook. When I opened it, I couldn't have been more shocked. She was asking questions about a situation that I, quite honestly, had no recollection of. As I read on, though, it made a lot of sense. Apparently, I had dismissed a situation involving her, paying it no attention, and in the end, wound up hurting her. Typical.

As we continued to exchange pleasantries (no worries, there's no ill will there anymore), I learned more about the young woman in a span of a few hours than I had bothered to absorb in four years of high school. She'd had the impression that I disliked her, which wasn't true at all. I began to wonder- how many other people did I hurt? Or ignore? How many people did I obliviously impact? I guess it just goes to show that we, all too often, are unaware of the way we shape the world around us.

This kind of ties into a conundrum I've been struggling with since I was little. I'm a very empathetic individual... probably too much so. Depending on when you've met me, this may or may not ring true with you. I've see sawed between this natural state of being and forced indifference for years. I don't know how many times I've been told I can't save the world (well... duh). At the same time, indifference doesn't sit well with my conscience. I try to balance it all out, and I know that in these early days of motherhood, I've resorted to indifference out of convenience, being too emotionally drained to be myself.

I guess this recent exchange has kind of been a wake up call. I can't afford to do that. It may be tiring or frustrating or overwhelming... but caring is what makes us human. I think of my closed off Aunts and Uncles, or of friendships that fell apart for like of trying, or other friendships that could meet the same fate without effort, and I know that indifference is no longer a luxury I can afford to partake in. When I think of my daughter, and how I want her to be brought up and who I want to help her become, I know that I will fail as a mother if I cannot be emotionally available and teach her to do the same. Does it invite pain? Yes. But without that pain, we don't know real joy, and we miss out on opportunities to really feel alive.

Well, I've finished my work work for the day, though I still have the house to clean. Perhaps I'll blast some music to try to clear the space between my ears of that melancholy Charlie Brown melody, without forgetting the lesson that accompanied it. Suggestions anyone?

Isn't She Lovely

Today was one of my favorite kinds of days. Adam didn't have work, I'm out of class, and Ava was content to lay between us. At least half of the day was spent lounging in bed, cuddled together. Ava would wake on occasion, and the only reason we would know is because she would start to kick her legs playfully and wind up socking us in the stomach or leg. After some cooing and bouncing, we'd give her a bottle, and she would drift back to sleep with us.

When we finally did wake up, she was still in a good mood. Her favorite thing to do is stare off at the lit up Christmas tree. I'll lay her under the branches, and she'll bat at the shiny, cheap, plastic ornaments like she has discovered an invaluable treasure. Her squeals and grunts could honestly entertain me for hours.

While I had originally intended to clean the house and do laundry all day today, my best laid plans fell right through my hands as I settled into the easy comfort of Adam's arms, Friday Night lights, and Ava's steady breathing. Between that and my ten cent poker games online, I now find myself gaping at the time. I'm leaving for Chicago not too long from now, and I've yet to wash the necessary clothes, pack for any of us, clean out the car or even think about the drive ahead. I think coffee, coffee, and more coffee will be the only thing that gets me home for the holidays tomorrow (or in 40 or so minutes, today).

I'm still waiting for my professors to post my grades. I'll have above a 3.0, thank goodness. I'm proud of myself. I know I talked a big talk about expectations for my school work this semester, but truth be told, I think I may have been trying to convince myself that I could do it. The only class that really tripped me up was statistics, but that's predictable. As I search for the grad school that will be a good fit for my fledgling family, I can breathe a little easier in the knowledge that, even with an infant, I can keep up.

Well, I probably should get things together for tomorrow. Wish me luck!

Don't call it a comeback...

It's been awhile, and I'm sorry for the delay, but life has been a little bit hectic, as I'm sure you can imagine. This has, all at once, been a semester from hell AND a blessing. Ava has transformed my life in ways I never thought possible. Sure, there's sleep deprivation, my new perfume (eau de baby puke), the perpetual mess I live in, and a constant stream of dirty diapers, but more than that, there's laughter, wonder and a tremendous sense of purpose. It is impossible to freak out about homework overload or memorization deadlines or debate assignments when you're watching Ava stare in amazement at the fish tank. It's a trip to watch her snicker with Adam's half-cocked smile, my chin, and her own mischievous sparkle in her eyes. I know I haven't kept up, but I promise I will start writing once a week. Unttil then, enjoy the baby girl's smile...

SHE'S HERE!

SHE'S HERE! Phew! After all that waiting, Ava Veronica Heugel has finally arrived! She was born at 10:10 pm on July 28th, 2008. She was 20 inches long, weighing in at 6 lbs 12 and 1/2 oz. What a day!

I had stayed up until 4 am that morning knitting what I hoped would eventually resemble a blanket, aware that I had a doctor's appointment at 9 am but not too concerned, as I was fairly sure that I wasn't any further dialated and I certainly wasn't having any further contractions. I just figured that I'd go in, have my membranes painfully stripped away AGAIN, and then go back and wince until I drifted off to sleep again.

How wrong I was. Well, partially.

I went in for my appointment, groggy and annoyed. Further fueling my annoyance was how late the office was running behind schedule. A half hour after my appointment was scheduled, bladder about to burst, they finally called me back. Lilyana, the office nurse, led me back to the exam room, took my blood pressure, and patted me on the knee, aware of my impatience to get the child OUT. 15 minutes later, my doctor finally arrived. As usual, she started out looking for the baby's heartbeat. Not as usual, she had a bit of a hard time finding it, and frowned when she finally did. She began the dreaded internal, again noting that I wasn't really any further dialated, but instead of the stripping I'd been dreading, she pulled her hand out earlier than usual. I looked up to see the same frown, but didn't think anything of it until I saw blood on her hand.

Bright red blood. A lot of it.

Before I could ask what was going on, she calmly stated that I needed to go over to Labor and Delivery right away for monitoring as the baby's heartbeat was not as strong as she would like. She rushed out of the room, saying she would call ahead and let them know I was coming.

I redressed myself, shaking. What did this mean? Why was I bleeding? Certainly that wasn't just my water breaking. Was the baby ok?

I called the boy and my mom on the way over. The boy had slept even less than I had under the same assumptions I had made and was probably less excited than me, but his concern overwhelmed any level of exhaustion. My mom asked why the baby's heart was slow and what had caused the bleeding, but hell if I had any answers. I just told her I'd call her once I knew what was up.

This visit to the hospital was a tid bit different than times past (obviously). I really had just assumed nothing big was up until they handed me the hospital gown. Before, I'd just hand to strip from the waist down and jump on the bed. Suddenly, things were looking far more serious. Still, though, there were no contractions or leaking water or even dialation, so it couldn't be today... could it?

Well, I was right about there being no signs, but concerned with the slower heart rate, the doctor decided we would induce. She prescribed an enema and a pictocin drip immediately. Like it or not, Ava was comin' out.

Well, so I had thought. At first, the contractions were no biggie. The boy dozed on and off in the chair next to me. I finally talked him into going to get something to eat when they put the catheter in, but aside from that, he just sat there trying to rest and jumping whenever the steady sound of the baby's heartbeat on the monitor spiked or lagged. Unfortunately, the contractions became more and more intense. Those of you who know me know that I am not good with pain. Like, at all. I put it off for as long as possible, knowing that I wouldn't get an epidural until I was at least 3 cm dialated, but soon I was begging for Demerol. An hour later, I needed another dose. An hour after that, I was begging for a c-section. My doctor told me she refused to perform one without medical need, and that she would now be breaking my water.

It sounds so simple. Like breaking a water balloon or something.

Yeah, right.

I screamed bloody murder, sobbing hysterically. Even after she stopped what she was doing, the pain continued. She had the nerve to get annoyed, saying the monitor wasn't even showing a contraction. Great idea- tell the hysterical woman she's being a baby. That'll get her to shut up right away. I continued to squirm and scream, convinced I was dying, blubbering that I wasn't strong enough to do this. Fortunately, I was 4 cm dialated, so I could finally get my epidural.

The boy had done very well. I knew he was scared, but he kept his cool as much as possible to help me keep what was left of mine. However, we both knew that getting the epidural would not be an absolute solution. Neither of us wanted to think about the length of the needle that was about to be inserted into my spinal cord, especially with me squirming in agony with each contraction. It was inevitable that a contraction would occur during the process, and if I didn't keep still, that needle could go in the wrong way, and.... I don't even want to think about it.

In any case, the anesthesiologist, Adam, and my nurse, Cristina (a saint, by the way) were all in the room. Adam was standing in front of me, holding my hands. They had just numbed the area, and a contraction kicked in. I was doing my damndest to keep still when all of the sudden...

"Now walk it out, walk it out, now walk it out..."

The far from soothing melody of one of the single most obnoxious songs to hear when you're in pain began to emanate from Adam's speaker phone. My blood began to boil and all capacity for rational thought vaporized in a split second. Quivering, I looked up with rage in my eyes.

"Turn.... off... that.... PHONE!!!!"

Poor Adam (yeah, there's no point in shielding identity anymore... and I'm lazy). He looked at me like a cornered animal about to be struck. He stammered something about not being able to get over to the phone because of where the anesthesiologist was standing, but such logic had no bearing on my demand. The nurse saw the beast emerging and moved to turn off the phone, but stopped mid-stride, giving Adam a funny look?

"Are you ok?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he said. "I should probably just drink something."

I let out a guttural yell, and she forgot Adam and moved towards the still ringing phone. At that moment, disaster struck. Adam went rigid, twitched, and began a fall backwards that seemed to last forever. He hit his head on the cabinet, fell to the side, and slammed it against a porcelain sink.

So there I am, needle being inserted into the spine, mid-contraction, love of my life unconscious on the ground, and totally freaking out. The nurse rushed to Adam's side as a flurry of other doctors and nurses entered the room and people started yelling things. I just kept crying as they brought him around. The only plus side to all of this was that I paid zero attention to the epidural being put in, and by the time they had Adam sitting up in a wheel chair, it was over and done with. They laid me down and began trying to convince Adam to go to the emergency room, but he refused (We still don't know why he passed out). This probably would have been more disconcerting, but within minutes the epidural kicked in, which is why the rest of the details from the hospital should be taken with a grain of salt, because DAMN those drugs were good.

While I departed to happy land, my mom and sister Brittany arrived. If I wasn't happy from the meds already, I was ecstatic then. I don't think anyone can truly appreciate their mom until their about to become one. In that moment, I was genuinely apologetic for putting her through hell for 36 hours before deciding to come out. I don't know how she did it.

The other thing, though, is that with the meds came a lack of conscious thought. As the nurses and doctors came in for continual examination, I didn't care anymore who saw what, when. Again, my mom had told me this would happen, but the evaporation of my modesty still seems rather mind boggling. My poor sister saw way more of me than she had ever anticipated.

Unfortunately, this happy fog was interrupted by the doctor coming in for an examination. My legs went up willingly, but came back down quickly as she shook her head.

"Lauren, you're still only dialated to four. We've given you all the pictocin we can. We're going to need to do a c-section."

These words cut through the fog like the knife she was proposing. Though just hours earlier I would have cried in gratitude, fear now seized me tightly. This was a major surgery. There were a lot of potential complications, and recovery was not supposed to be fun. Adam, my rock, even let his facade crack a little as fear flitted across his face. I gripped his hand.

"Is that really necessary?"

The doctor looked back at me with annoyance written plainly across her face.

"Yes."

I nodded, and she began barking orders to nurses for preparation. It was explained that they would up my epidural dosage so that I would be numb basically from the shoulders down. A bunch of questions were asked, but I don't remember a whole lot from this time span. I suddenly was freezing cold, and my teeth wouldn't stop chattering. I just kept trying to find my mom's face in the swarm, trying to stay calm and keep my grip on Adam's hand. I was panicked about the surgery, about the baby, about how prepared I was. This was it. She was coming out. Suddenly I was totally without confidence; was I really ready for this?

Little too late for that thought, huh?

They wheeled me down the corridor and into the operating room. This was even colder than my room and the hallways, and the walls echoed with instruments clanging about and my teeth smacking against each other uncontrollably. They strapped my arms down and I fought back tears. This was not how it was supposed to happen!

After what seemed like forever, they let Adam come in. At this point, they had put a sheet up in front of my face so I couldn't see my stomach being cut open. As much as I didn't want to watch, Adam was petrified. The whole time, as I fought to stay conscious, he held my hand and looked me in the eyes, telling me to stay with him. I don't think either of us have ever been so afraid. We couldn't hear anything at all, until in the middle of the sterile clanging...

There she was. Her cry, in that moment, was the sweetest sound I have ever heard. The doctor brought her behind the curtain, and Adam and I took in the sight of our dark haired, squalling, beautiful baby girl. Tears rolled down both of our faces. After months of waiting, wondering, dreaming... she was more wonderful that we could have ever anticipated.

He held my hand tightly while the took her into the corner to clean her up. You know, I know I've said it again and again on this blog, but wow.... I am so in love with this man.

The nurses called for him to follow them to the nursery, and I was again alone. Luckily, the emotional roller coaster and medical cocktail being pumped into my vein had left me exhausted, and I quickly passed out. I vaguely remember being rolled to "recovery," and I think I had an exchange with one of the nurses about how Madea's Family Reunion was better than Diary of a Mad Black Woman. At some point (I have no idea how much time passed), they rolled me into my room in the maternity ward. Adam, my mom and sister came in (I think) a few minutes later, followed closely by my beautiful little girl.

She is SO tiny. I mean, babies are small to begin with but she was was really small, especially for a child born into my family. She's like the size of a junior league football, and weighs less than my siamese kitten. But wow. She looks SO much like her daddy. Big, gorgeous brown eyes, a full head of dark hair, and the most precious little mouth you could imagine. I was in total awe. Let's be real- I still am.

At this point, the drugs were still thick. Over the next few days, they began to wear off, and I had to request pain killers. Modesty was still not a priority (as several of my visiting team mates found out the hard way), and learning to nurse was anything but easy (more on that later), but that Friday we arrived home, my new little family.

The past two weeks have been the most painful, joyful, tumultuous and miraculous of my life. Though some lessons have been learned the hard way, and there are many more to come, I am so blissfully happy.

Though this blog was originally intended to just chronicle the pregnancy, I think I'll keep it up. I hope you keep reading, be you friends and family far away, or just looking for a chuckle at our expense. It's sure to be a humorous adventure.

Bout to Pop

Ok, so now I'm just waiting. I'm soooo over this. I went to the doctor again this morning. She said the cervix is even more soft, the mucus plug coming out is a good sign, the baby dropped way low, but I'm no further dialated. In an effort to speed things along, she stripped the membranes. Again.

OW.

I think I've said enough about that, though. Needless to say, it set off some inconsistent contractions, but nothing more. Now I'm doing nothing with my time and waiting for her to pop out. I've now taught myself to knit and am trying to make the baby a blanket, but my arms get sore, so I have to take breaks. Usually I go on walks, but seeing as this blog is also a source of entertainment for some, I thought I'd provide you with what is, in my opinion, the best of YouTube baby videos. Enjoy!

Scared Kids:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XG0lQXR6gzA&NR=1 (have to wait till the end for the funniest part)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pup-Ydpn4z8&feature=related (again, wait for it)

Kids and bad language:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_pj2Nutu5v8&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uq05IcLBEBM&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zkkvoipubtQ&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1lOozkxLp1A&feature=related

http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/74

http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/33f2687080

Laughing at their expense:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q9yAkBSrMk0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OBlgSz8sSM

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pihygVBjAYU&feature=related (wait till the end)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nG6ieU89tJM&feature=related

Baby Laughter:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5P6UU6m3cqk&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_mBLWpdwnI&NR=1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cXXm696UbKY&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=41BvNhzl83Y

Teeheehee. Maybe one day I'll have such amusing videos about Ava.

Stripped

So I had my appointment yesterday morning. I went in thinking that perhaps my doctor would pull out a planner and ask if Wednesday at 9 am or Thursday at 2 pm was better for me for an induction, but no such luck. Instead, I walked in blindly to a rather painful experience. As the doctor performed the internal (which is uncomfortable to begin with), a frown crossed her face. Hand still thrust within she said, "Well, you're still not dialated enough to induce. What I'm going to do now is strip your membranes, hopefully get things moving."

OW.

Yeah, so that hurt. A lot. I sat there wincing, completely clueless about what the hell she was doing. As she snapped her gloves off, she said she'd see me at 9 am on Thursday and we'd see where to go from there.

OW.

The drive home was nerve-wracking. I was in so much pain, but it wasn't the wave-like pain that so many women describe when discussing contractions. Instead, it was like someone had stuck some kind of pole into my insides and was twisting slowly and deliberately- like my internal organs were functioning like a towel being twisted. I called my mom to let her know what was up, and she sounded just as quizzical as I felt. I begrudgingly crawled into bed, though sleep was probably a good hour away as I lay writhing in discomfort.

OW.

I didn't get up again until like 2 in the afternoon, and by the the pain had subsided somewhat. It was at this point that I decided to figure out what the hell my doctor had actually done to me. As I read, the pain suddenly made perfect sense. "Stripping of the membranes" is a practice that is used not necessarily to induce labor, but to bring it closer and make induction a possibility. The amniotic fluid sac is attached to the side of a woman's uterus by thin layers of mucus. A doctor who wants to "strip the membranes" will insert her fingers into the pregnant woman and swipe this natural adhesive away, functionally having it float around.

This can have a variety of effects. If the woman is already super close to labor, this will set off a chain of contractions, and voila, baby en route. If not, it puts more pressure on the sac via gravity which can cause the water to break and contractions to start. If you're really close to labor as it is, this will set off labor usually in the first 24 hours (no such luck here), but the typical window for it to get the party started is 72 hours. In my case, that will be the start time of my next doctor's appointment.

Well, further armed with knowledge about what was going on in my body, I decided to start walking around in hopes that all the jostling combined with the newly liberated status of the amniotic fluid sac would cause my water to break. No go, but it did cause some contractions. We'll see what happens on today's constitutional.

One interesting note, I think my mucus plug dislodged today. I know I had already talked about this occurring, but the plug can grow back, and given that its last appearance was spotting only, it's possible that it did not fully dislodge last time. However, this time around, the discharge was far more... plug like. I won't gross you out any more than that.

The point is, things are getting closer every hour. A bunch of people are in town this weekend for some of my coaches' wedding, so maybe Ava will arrive in time to meet the whole crew. We'll just have to wait and see. Time to go walk it out. Wish me luck!

I have less patience than my kitten

Well, my water hasn't broken. Contractions aren't regular. Only thing I can count on is my back killing me without a thing I can do about it. Like I've said before, though, I'm not going to go waste my time in the hospital to have them tell me that I'm not in labor yet- especially since I know that already. GAHHH. I just keep thinking about Monday- my light at the end of the tunnel. It's unlikely that my doctor will induce labor ON Monday if it's something she wants to do anyways; she's far too scheduled for it to happen that way. Still, answers or timelines or time "horizons" if you prefer Bush lingo would be FANTASTIC.

I'm more than ready. The car is packed, the house is clean, I've made Ava a dress that actually has a ghost of a chance of fitting for once, plans have been made for when the family will descend, and I even think the cats (subconsciously) are prepared for her arrival. I find myself continuously watching the clock without an end in sight. I'm staying hydrated and active- where is she!?