I took Ben to the grocery store yesterday.
Actually, my initial target was this shiny new arts-and-crafts store that just opened up around the corner. I wanted to check it out, even if I'm not going to be arts-and-crafting any time soon, and wandered around the aisles checking out yarn and scrapbooking supplies. The second I got into the checkout queue, Ben started to wail.
It was a really long line. He cried a lot... and everyone was looking at us, frowning at my ineptitude, shaking their heads at my poor mothering skills, judging. I'm sure of it.
The items I'd intended to purchase suddenly seemed superfluous, so I put them down and bolted for the parking lot, wailing baby and all. I put him in the car -- crying. Loaded up the diaper bag -- still crying. Packed up the stroller -- still crying. Started the car -- silent. He'd fallen asleep.
Obviously we couldn't just go home because he'd wake up when I took him out of the car. So we drove on, letting slumber take hold, and as we approached the grocery store I pulled in simply because there was nowhere else to go.
Once inside the store, the mental grocery list I always keep vanished from my brain. Get a cart? I don't know how to attach the car seat. I'll use the stroller. Stop to get a basket? Nah, I'll just get a few things... And so it began. I raced up and down the aisles at breakneck speed, desperate to maintain baby sleep status quo. Ooh, oatmeal. I need that. Ooh, salad dressing. Oh, we need yogurt. Oh yeah, I wanted to buy some nuts.
Suddenly I found myself with an armful of groceries, a giant stroller, and a sleeping baby. I couldn't slow down. I was miles from the baskets. I pushed the stroller with one hand. I dropped the salad dressing, knocked over several 1-kg bottles of honey, banged into the bulk food bins. I rammed the ankles of at least three other shoppers. I was a menace.
Ben slept the whole time. All in all, a successful shopping trip!
Showing posts with label baby. Show all posts
Showing posts with label baby. Show all posts
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Yum Yum Yum
I was such a jerk before I had a baby. I was an even bigger one before I got pregnant.
This is a post in which I eat my words. Good thing they're tasty.
The Things I Used To Say:
- I'm only going to gain 10 pounds when I'm pregnant (try 35.)
- I'm going to work out every day when I'm pregnant (if napping is a workout, maybe.)
- I'm going to eat healthy (cheese) organic (cake) wholesome (chocolate) nutritious (croissant) foods when I'm pregnant.
- I am going to do my hair (ponytail) and wear high heels when I'm pregnant (hahahahahahaha!)
- I won't get stretch marks (wrong again!)
- I'm going to try to have my baby without any interventions (had a spinal and an emergency c-section.)
- I'm going to breastfeed (still in progress.)
- I'm going to work out every day as soon as the baby's born (hasn't happened yet.)
- I'm going to be back in my pre-pregnancy jeans very soon after baby's born (not. pretty.)
- This baby isn't going to rule my life (!)
- I will be able to put the baby down so I can get stuff done.
- I can do it without help.
- I can do it all.
- I know exactly what I'm getting into.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Bringing Home Benjamin
Happy Birthday Ben! It's been one month since Ben's birth and I haven't told you a thing about him, for shame! Allow me to introduce you to the newest member of Team Chopsticks.
Ben was born 8 lbs 10 oz and with a full head of dark hair... when we say a full head of hair, we don't mean that his head was covered with typically baby-fine peach fuzz. We mean he was born with a FULL head of HAIR. Like, he has a mullet and the hair on the sides is growing over his ears. This kid has sideburns. His eyes are still blue, and like all good, superficial parents, we are secretly hoping they'll stay that way, even though we know they likely won't. My genetics background knows better.
He snorts when he's hungry, he buzzes like a tiny bee when he has to burp. When he drinks, his right eye closes and his left eyelid twitches up and down in rhythm with his gulps. Sometimes he brings his wee hands up and clutches them together under his chin. Sometimes he clutches at his cheeks in some sort of ecstatic frenzy (I do NOT like it when he does this, but it reminds me to cut his fingernails.)
He's a social fellow, our little Bento. He likes people. He likes to sleep ON people. One of his major pet peeves is being placed in a swing chair or crib once he's fallen asleep. Can you imagine the audacity! He is enraged. He'll sleep upright in your arms, or curled up under your chin, or sprawled across your chest; he's not picky. He just wants to be with people. When he's mad, he stands perfectly upright in your arms, little fists clenched. He throws his head back (because he's beginning to hold it up now) and cries stridently. He loves to rest his head on your shoulder, arms outstretched. When he goes to sleep in his crib, his arms must be thrown up overhead. If you swaddle him with his arms contained, he'll grunt and squirm until they're free.
At one month old, he weighs just over 10 pounds. He's beginning to track movement with his eyes, and he loves to gaze at our photo wall, though I think it's more the contrast of the black frames against the wall than the actual photo content. He's a champion sleeper... during daylight hours. At night he averages two hours between feeds, and he's very alert in the mornings, during his daily French lessons with Grandma. When he's drifting off to sleep we see him smile gently, sweetly. His Grandma says he's seeing angels, an explanation I like very much, because I tell myself he sees the people that would have loved him tremendously, had they been here to do so.
All in all, a typical newborn, but he's ours. Sometimes I still can't believe it.
Ben was born 8 lbs 10 oz and with a full head of dark hair... when we say a full head of hair, we don't mean that his head was covered with typically baby-fine peach fuzz. We mean he was born with a FULL head of HAIR. Like, he has a mullet and the hair on the sides is growing over his ears. This kid has sideburns. His eyes are still blue, and like all good, superficial parents, we are secretly hoping they'll stay that way, even though we know they likely won't. My genetics background knows better.
He snorts when he's hungry, he buzzes like a tiny bee when he has to burp. When he drinks, his right eye closes and his left eyelid twitches up and down in rhythm with his gulps. Sometimes he brings his wee hands up and clutches them together under his chin. Sometimes he clutches at his cheeks in some sort of ecstatic frenzy (I do NOT like it when he does this, but it reminds me to cut his fingernails.)
He's a social fellow, our little Bento. He likes people. He likes to sleep ON people. One of his major pet peeves is being placed in a swing chair or crib once he's fallen asleep. Can you imagine the audacity! He is enraged. He'll sleep upright in your arms, or curled up under your chin, or sprawled across your chest; he's not picky. He just wants to be with people. When he's mad, he stands perfectly upright in your arms, little fists clenched. He throws his head back (because he's beginning to hold it up now) and cries stridently. He loves to rest his head on your shoulder, arms outstretched. When he goes to sleep in his crib, his arms must be thrown up overhead. If you swaddle him with his arms contained, he'll grunt and squirm until they're free.
At one month old, he weighs just over 10 pounds. He's beginning to track movement with his eyes, and he loves to gaze at our photo wall, though I think it's more the contrast of the black frames against the wall than the actual photo content. He's a champion sleeper... during daylight hours. At night he averages two hours between feeds, and he's very alert in the mornings, during his daily French lessons with Grandma. When he's drifting off to sleep we see him smile gently, sweetly. His Grandma says he's seeing angels, an explanation I like very much, because I tell myself he sees the people that would have loved him tremendously, had they been here to do so.
All in all, a typical newborn, but he's ours. Sometimes I still can't believe it.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
The Countdown Begins
We had a doctor's appointment yesterday, and the first thing she said to me was, "You're what, 22 days from your due date?" And I was all, "We're counting in days now, not weeks???" Then I got home and realized that the expiry date on my yogurt was AFTER my due date of July 14th. People, this is happening.
Things have certainly ramped up around here when it comes to baby preparations. I have awesome friends -- two baby showers and four loads of baby laundry later, I think we have pretty much everything we need for the timely or untimely arrival of our little boy. We have a car seat, a stroller, a bassinet, a crib. We have something in the neighbourhood of 75 baby washcloths. We have a freezer full of pre-made meals. We don't have a name. We don't have hospital bags packed. We don't have a birth plan. We don't have a list of people to call when the BIG MOMENT arrives. As you can see, the focus around these parts has mainly been on shopping and cooking, and not on important necessities. BG keeps claiming that there's a giant bird's nest in the corner (i.e. I'm nesting, haha.)
I have three, only three, days of work left before my maternity leave begins. I want to bake a cheesecake. I want to make red pepper jelly. I want to bake banana muffins. I want to crochet more hats. I want to watch seasons 1 and 2 of True Blood. Oh jeez, I have so much to do.
My days are broken into two portions: I wake up to go to work, and then when I come home I have a nap so I can make it through until bedtime (but first, I need a cold shower because I am always too warm.) I wake up in the night more than a couple of times because I am too warm, and because I need to pee, and because sometimes I have a leg cramp. I have become a walking pregnancy cliche.
Only two weeks ago I was an active, participating member of society. Three weeks ago I single-handedly hauled 6 yards of mulch into our back yard and spread it in the garden. Today, I was short of breath standing in line at the grocery store. What will I be doing in a week? Two weeks? Three? Will I be holding my baby?
Things have certainly ramped up around here when it comes to baby preparations. I have awesome friends -- two baby showers and four loads of baby laundry later, I think we have pretty much everything we need for the timely or untimely arrival of our little boy. We have a car seat, a stroller, a bassinet, a crib. We have something in the neighbourhood of 75 baby washcloths. We have a freezer full of pre-made meals. We don't have a name. We don't have hospital bags packed. We don't have a birth plan. We don't have a list of people to call when the BIG MOMENT arrives. As you can see, the focus around these parts has mainly been on shopping and cooking, and not on important necessities. BG keeps claiming that there's a giant bird's nest in the corner (i.e. I'm nesting, haha.)
I have three, only three, days of work left before my maternity leave begins. I want to bake a cheesecake. I want to make red pepper jelly. I want to bake banana muffins. I want to crochet more hats. I want to watch seasons 1 and 2 of True Blood. Oh jeez, I have so much to do.
My days are broken into two portions: I wake up to go to work, and then when I come home I have a nap so I can make it through until bedtime (but first, I need a cold shower because I am always too warm.) I wake up in the night more than a couple of times because I am too warm, and because I need to pee, and because sometimes I have a leg cramp. I have become a walking pregnancy cliche.
Only two weeks ago I was an active, participating member of society. Three weeks ago I single-handedly hauled 6 yards of mulch into our back yard and spread it in the garden. Today, I was short of breath standing in line at the grocery store. What will I be doing in a week? Two weeks? Three? Will I be holding my baby?
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Reality Sinks In
Our cats are no longer interested in sitting in my lap -- perhaps because said lap is considerably smaller than it used to be.
I get offered seats on the subway pretty much all the time now. Yesterday a man bolted out of his chair and apologized profusely for not having offered it sooner. I guess I looked like I needed it!
My ankles are frequently so puffy that poking them with my fingers leaves them dented. I gave up wearing my precious wedding set months ago and invested in a ridiculously blingy thing as a surrogate. I've traded in my trademark stilettos and my hips no longer sway side to side when I walk. My flat-footed gait has developed what I refuse to call a "waddle", but is distinctly penguin-like in nature... and I should know. I've nearly grown out of maternity pants that I once held up in disbelief, wondering how I'd ever fill them out.
My belly has taken on a life of its own. It moves of its own accord, rippling and throbbing to its own rhythms. Sometimes it leans to one side. My belly button is indescribable; actually, it's not. It's just not really there anymore.
I've got eleven-ish weeks left of this pregnancy and I'm loving it. The things I describe above aren't making me miserable; the make me laugh and shake my head in disbelief. It's as though this is not happening to me. This is not my body. I am completely and thoroughly not in control of this ride, and I am enjoying every minute of it. These days, women don't get to be pregnant more than a few times throughout their lives. We're on a two-kid family plan, so I might just get to experience all of this one more time. The first time is the most magical, so I'm keeping that in mind and I'm savouring every wiggle and jiggle; I'm smiling at my aching back because I know it's for a good end.
Life is good.
I get offered seats on the subway pretty much all the time now. Yesterday a man bolted out of his chair and apologized profusely for not having offered it sooner. I guess I looked like I needed it!
My ankles are frequently so puffy that poking them with my fingers leaves them dented. I gave up wearing my precious wedding set months ago and invested in a ridiculously blingy thing as a surrogate. I've traded in my trademark stilettos and my hips no longer sway side to side when I walk. My flat-footed gait has developed what I refuse to call a "waddle", but is distinctly penguin-like in nature... and I should know. I've nearly grown out of maternity pants that I once held up in disbelief, wondering how I'd ever fill them out.
My belly has taken on a life of its own. It moves of its own accord, rippling and throbbing to its own rhythms. Sometimes it leans to one side. My belly button is indescribable; actually, it's not. It's just not really there anymore.
I've got eleven-ish weeks left of this pregnancy and I'm loving it. The things I describe above aren't making me miserable; the make me laugh and shake my head in disbelief. It's as though this is not happening to me. This is not my body. I am completely and thoroughly not in control of this ride, and I am enjoying every minute of it. These days, women don't get to be pregnant more than a few times throughout their lives. We're on a two-kid family plan, so I might just get to experience all of this one more time. The first time is the most magical, so I'm keeping that in mind and I'm savouring every wiggle and jiggle; I'm smiling at my aching back because I know it's for a good end.
Life is good.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Maybe the Coolest Thing Ever
I've been feeling thumps, bumps, and flutters for a couple of weeks now, and a quick look at this picture shows you why.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Boy, oh Boy...
It's a boy! Those of you that have done this before and are counting on your fingers are going, "Wait, she's only 16 weeks and the anatomical scan isn't done until 18, how does she know that it's a boy already?" Well, gentle readers, we recently had to make the first really difficult decision of this pregnancy -- not the decision about finding out the sex, not the decision about MD vs. midwife, not the decision of pickles with ice cream or just pickles.
We opted to have an amniocentesis.
As you may or may not know, I'm a genetics technologist by profession. At my place of work, that means I mainly do chromosome analysis, mainly on prenatal samples -- amniocentesis. Due to the large number of pregnant women in this world, and the time-sensitive nature of the test, amniocentesis is mainly offered when a pregnancy is "high risk" for chromosomal abnormalities -- something shows up on ultrasound, markers in the mother's blood screen positive, there's a family history of abnormalities (or previous pregnancies), or the mother is over 35 -- a condition called "Late Maternal Age".
Thankfully, we were none of these things.
I was not even considering the possibility of amniocentesis until BG mentioned it one day and thought it would be a good idea. This was around week 12, so we had a few weeks to make a decision. I thought about it. I spoke to coworkers and friends. I thought, and thought, and thought. One day a case came across my desk that made my mind up for me. Early pregnancy screens had been normal, but the baby had a chromosomal abnormality that was fatal. I thought, "I have to do the amnio." Both of us are planners by nature, me in particular. I don't even like surprise birthday parties; I had to know what was going on with my little baby.
I want to point out that even in high risk populations, chromosomal abnormalities are very rare. We test, as I said earlier, primarily high risk pregnancies, and the proportion of actual abnormalities is very small. Most women have a few weeks of anxiety between finding out they're high risk, and finding out that everything is fine. I still firmly believe that a woman having an amnio shouldn't fret too much (easier said than done) because the probability is that her baby is chromosomally normal.
So I asked my doctor to book an amnio. I had to go for a genetic counselling appointment, where we discussed the procedure and the risks and went through the family histories on both sides. I was relieved to hear that the risk of miscarriage after amnio, usually quoted as a 1/300 risk, is actually more like 1/900. I was relieved to find out that my age-related risk was something like 1/600 (I'm not 35 yet). I was relieved when the counsellor looked me straight in the eye and said, "It doesn't hurt." Only part of me believed her.
The morning of the procedure, I choked down my breakfast and tapped my feet nervously in the car, in the elevator, in the waiting room. I fidgeted nervously as BG tried to distract me with conversation, but I could not be drawn in and responded with curt, one-word answers. There was no reason to be nervous, I told myself. I had seen this done before as a student. I knew it was safe, I trusted the doctor, and no matter how much it hurt it was not going to be as bad as labour. Some friends from work came down to see me in the waiting room, and their presence was a relief.
Finally, I was called into the procedure room. I lay on the bed and was asked to pull the waistband of my pants down, further than I thought was decent. A quick flash of the ultrasound wand across my abdomen and we caught a precious glimpse of our baby's head and back. The doctor found a pocket of empty fluid, and said, "You will feel some pain now." Then he pushed the 7" needle through layers of tissue and started drawing out fluid. It felt so strange, but the counsellor had been right -- apart from the expected sting of the needle, it didn't hurt. I kept my eyes on the ultrasound monitor the whole time, seeing our baby and the needle next to it, so close, but not touching. At the end, the doctor showed me the tube of amniotic fluid he'd withdrawn, labelled with my name. The professional side of me noted the healthy quantity of clear yellow fluid and pronounced it a good specimen for testing. I could picture it being taken to my colleagues upstairs, and I knew it was in the best hands possible.
I spent the rest of the day resting -- really! I had a nap. I ate mashed potatoes. I had another nap, we watched a movie.
The next day, after my morning coffee, a preliminary screening result was waiting for me. I was relieved to see that our baby had no numerical abnormalities of chromosomes 13, 18, or 21 (the most common ones) and I was happy, choking back tears, to call BG at home and tell him that he was going to have a son.
Being on both sides of the process has been really interesting and educational for me. Sometimes, when you're processing 14 or 15 samples of amniotic fluid a day, you forget to see the human side. You forget that all of these samples came from a nervous pregnant woman that is desperate for her baby to be pronounced healthy. When you find an abnormality, it makes the day more interesting, in an academic kind of way. However, I find myself feeling a twinge of sadness when I think of how the lives of these couples is turned upside down in an instant. I will be thankful for every normal result that I see. I will not roll my eyes at the reason for referral, "Maternal Anxiety" (because, having fit no other criteria, this is what was written down for me). I believe that we made the right choice for ourselves and am so grateful that we had the opportunity to make this choice.
In the meantime, we're doing the usual things -- trying to choose a name, sifting through endless piles of baby gear to choose the things we'd like, and enjoying this new experience day by day.
We opted to have an amniocentesis.
As you may or may not know, I'm a genetics technologist by profession. At my place of work, that means I mainly do chromosome analysis, mainly on prenatal samples -- amniocentesis. Due to the large number of pregnant women in this world, and the time-sensitive nature of the test, amniocentesis is mainly offered when a pregnancy is "high risk" for chromosomal abnormalities -- something shows up on ultrasound, markers in the mother's blood screen positive, there's a family history of abnormalities (or previous pregnancies), or the mother is over 35 -- a condition called "Late Maternal Age".
Thankfully, we were none of these things.
I was not even considering the possibility of amniocentesis until BG mentioned it one day and thought it would be a good idea. This was around week 12, so we had a few weeks to make a decision. I thought about it. I spoke to coworkers and friends. I thought, and thought, and thought. One day a case came across my desk that made my mind up for me. Early pregnancy screens had been normal, but the baby had a chromosomal abnormality that was fatal. I thought, "I have to do the amnio." Both of us are planners by nature, me in particular. I don't even like surprise birthday parties; I had to know what was going on with my little baby.
I want to point out that even in high risk populations, chromosomal abnormalities are very rare. We test, as I said earlier, primarily high risk pregnancies, and the proportion of actual abnormalities is very small. Most women have a few weeks of anxiety between finding out they're high risk, and finding out that everything is fine. I still firmly believe that a woman having an amnio shouldn't fret too much (easier said than done) because the probability is that her baby is chromosomally normal.
So I asked my doctor to book an amnio. I had to go for a genetic counselling appointment, where we discussed the procedure and the risks and went through the family histories on both sides. I was relieved to hear that the risk of miscarriage after amnio, usually quoted as a 1/300 risk, is actually more like 1/900. I was relieved to find out that my age-related risk was something like 1/600 (I'm not 35 yet). I was relieved when the counsellor looked me straight in the eye and said, "It doesn't hurt." Only part of me believed her.
The morning of the procedure, I choked down my breakfast and tapped my feet nervously in the car, in the elevator, in the waiting room. I fidgeted nervously as BG tried to distract me with conversation, but I could not be drawn in and responded with curt, one-word answers. There was no reason to be nervous, I told myself. I had seen this done before as a student. I knew it was safe, I trusted the doctor, and no matter how much it hurt it was not going to be as bad as labour. Some friends from work came down to see me in the waiting room, and their presence was a relief.
Finally, I was called into the procedure room. I lay on the bed and was asked to pull the waistband of my pants down, further than I thought was decent. A quick flash of the ultrasound wand across my abdomen and we caught a precious glimpse of our baby's head and back. The doctor found a pocket of empty fluid, and said, "You will feel some pain now." Then he pushed the 7" needle through layers of tissue and started drawing out fluid. It felt so strange, but the counsellor had been right -- apart from the expected sting of the needle, it didn't hurt. I kept my eyes on the ultrasound monitor the whole time, seeing our baby and the needle next to it, so close, but not touching. At the end, the doctor showed me the tube of amniotic fluid he'd withdrawn, labelled with my name. The professional side of me noted the healthy quantity of clear yellow fluid and pronounced it a good specimen for testing. I could picture it being taken to my colleagues upstairs, and I knew it was in the best hands possible.
I spent the rest of the day resting -- really! I had a nap. I ate mashed potatoes. I had another nap, we watched a movie.
The next day, after my morning coffee, a preliminary screening result was waiting for me. I was relieved to see that our baby had no numerical abnormalities of chromosomes 13, 18, or 21 (the most common ones) and I was happy, choking back tears, to call BG at home and tell him that he was going to have a son.
Being on both sides of the process has been really interesting and educational for me. Sometimes, when you're processing 14 or 15 samples of amniotic fluid a day, you forget to see the human side. You forget that all of these samples came from a nervous pregnant woman that is desperate for her baby to be pronounced healthy. When you find an abnormality, it makes the day more interesting, in an academic kind of way. However, I find myself feeling a twinge of sadness when I think of how the lives of these couples is turned upside down in an instant. I will be thankful for every normal result that I see. I will not roll my eyes at the reason for referral, "Maternal Anxiety" (because, having fit no other criteria, this is what was written down for me). I believe that we made the right choice for ourselves and am so grateful that we had the opportunity to make this choice.
In the meantime, we're doing the usual things -- trying to choose a name, sifting through endless piles of baby gear to choose the things we'd like, and enjoying this new experience day by day.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Revelations
We saw some pretty spectacular things in 2008 -- age-old rock paintings, unparalleled monuments to love, mountains that were larger than life. We saw the counterplay of predator and prey in the battle of life, and we were touched by kind strangers in countries all over the world. But -- you already know this.
All of that, though, positively pales in comparison to what we saw this week.
It looks like we're going to have to buy another backpack.
How do I describe this feeling? That overwhelming heart-swelly feeling? Watching our baby cross and uncross its tiny wee hands, try to put its teeny thumb in its teeny mouth, flip over on its side in response to prodding by the ultrasound tech, and turn back to show us its perfect little profile, complete with a real nose and a chubby belly? How do I explain that I look at this picture every day in wonderment, that this little baby is ours, that it's with me all the time? How do I tell you that I put my hands in my coat pockets and spread my fingers over my almost-belly think to myself, "Do you know me? Can you feel me?"
Am I making you barf yet?
Updates to follow. The blog has been revived again, and we're traveling down a path that we know nothing about. Join us!
All of that, though, positively pales in comparison to what we saw this week.
It looks like we're going to have to buy another backpack.
How do I describe this feeling? That overwhelming heart-swelly feeling? Watching our baby cross and uncross its tiny wee hands, try to put its teeny thumb in its teeny mouth, flip over on its side in response to prodding by the ultrasound tech, and turn back to show us its perfect little profile, complete with a real nose and a chubby belly? How do I explain that I look at this picture every day in wonderment, that this little baby is ours, that it's with me all the time? How do I tell you that I put my hands in my coat pockets and spread my fingers over my almost-belly think to myself, "Do you know me? Can you feel me?"
Am I making you barf yet?
Updates to follow. The blog has been revived again, and we're traveling down a path that we know nothing about. Join us!
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