No, I am not referring to wine, despite it’s smooth taste and mind soothing abilities. I am referring to a little mentioned and completely under-appreciated substance that has made my life, the life of millions of women and even the lives of some men and children more comfortable.

I knew I had to come shout it from the rooftops when I caught myself caressing the bottle and murmuring lovingly. I read it’s label over and over as though it contains some sort of biblical revelation; I swear it brings me closer to God.

When it works, I weep with unbridled joy, when it doesn’t I’m left wondering where my singing angels and golden gates have gone…

Stool Softeners, how do I love thee?

In many more ways and details then I should account for in a public space.. Just know you have a special place nestled in my heart and medicine chest.

“Mama, wanna swing with me?”

“No baby, Mama can’t swing right now”

“It’s ok Mama, your butt is big but it still fit on the swing”

Later when I was telling The Hubster about Mira’s powers of observation Mira piped up with

“I like your big butt, Mama”

Free at last, free at last!! It’s been a LONG week spent bruising my tail bone and channel surfing through the weirdest cable line-up known to man. Until noon today I was stuck in my local anti-partum ward, cursing room service and blowing IVs left and right.

Tuesday morning I started bleeding some and by late morning it was enough to scare me. My OB sent me straight to the hospital. They did an ultrasound to check out Baby Boy (affectionately dubbed Bubba by one of my sweep staking friends). Once everyone saw that there were no problems with the baby or the placenta, they checked me and realized I had dilated to 1 and had effaced to over 50%. They still weren’t sure where the bleeding was coming from. That plus the contractions were reason enough to admit me.

The 1st attempt at an IV blew the valve in the back of my right hand, turning it a lovely shade of purple-black. They then moved up to the crook of my right arm. Eventually the IV catheter must have gotten twisted in my vein as my IV was no longer running. They pulled that one out and inserted one into my left wrist. Then they flooded me with fluids to try and slow / stop the contractions or maybe just to point and laugh every time I had to waddle from my triage room to the shared bathroom. It was during one of those trips that my sheet got caught on a supply cart and my ass emerged in a full moon of the nurses station. Thankfully I only had to endure a few more blushing trips past the nurses station before they secured me a private room and bath.

By the time I got into my room I was seething over my treatment down stairs. Without my consent, they gave me a shot of terbutaline to stop the contractions.. Terbutaline and I are NOT friends and I had decided that there was no way I was going to accept it or magnesium sulfate to stop things. Baby boy is about 5 lbs, Ive had the steroid shots and I was at a hospital with an excellent NICU, there was no reason to endanger MY health (and in turn endanger HIS health) with a medication that has proven to be problematic for me in the past.

While I was sobbing on the phone to The Hubster a nurse appeared with a shot, one that I assumed to be my heparin. The doctor had made ZERO mention of terbutaline. As a matter of fact, I had told him not even 10 minutes before that I had turned down a terbultaline pump that the high risk OB wanted to give me.

Moments later I started shaking uncontrollably and the nurse returned with the one medication I had agreed too - Visteral.

“Um, what was in that shot?”

“Terbutaline”

“Oh god no! (shake twitch shake) I did not WANT terbutaline, no one told me they intended to GIVE me terbutaline. I thought you were giving me my Heparin!!”

Nurse looks at the monitor “Well it worked didn’t it?”

I was seeing RED and vibrating. My eyes were twitching and I shrieked “NO ONE is to give me anymore terbutaline nor will I accept mag sulfate.”

10 minutes later I was still in full spaz mode and my contractions reappeared spaced 3 minutes apart, despite the evil terbutaline.

On Wednesday evening, my 3rd IV infiltrated my vein. All the fluids were pouring into my body tissue and I started to swell severely. My left hand bloated and even my eyelids became squishy. Out came the IV and they once again stuck my right arm, this time also on my wrist. Luckily this was only a hep-lock in case I needed medication or fluids but considering how swollen I was they backed off mainlining me bag after bag of saline.

Later that same night the baby’s heart rate began dipping with each contraction, leading them to cancel my walking papers for Thursday. Thursday afternoon the dips continued and I was in pain with every contraction. Bubba apparently found a very cozy nook. With each contraction he was nailing one of my nerves sending pain up through my abdomen, in the process he was also compressing his own cord! By Thursday night I had convinced him to take up residence elsewhere and the heart dips petered off, though the contractions still raged on.

At the time I my release I was still dilated to 1 but now 70-80% effaced. I hope not to see the inside of the place again until it is really go time. This coming Monday I will be 34 weeks and though that is early, the hospital no longer is frantic to stop labor. I’m going to spend the weekend with my legs crossed and come Monday, go on with my life. When he is ready, he will come and I will be someplace where they are equipped to deal with any issues that may arise from him putting in an early appearance.

This is Melanie. I am here to give an update on Fidget. She went into the hospital tuesday because she was bleeding and having contractions. The bleeding is under control now but the baby’s heartrate keeps going down with the contractions. She is hoping to be able to come home by Monday at the latest. Please pray for her and the baby.

Sunday I woke up to bloated purple legs and decided to have The Hubster wrangle me into my stylin’ compression hose…

I can’t think of anything hotter then 200 lbs of undulating flesh poured into too tiny medical grade compression hose. Unless of course, you spot such a sight pimpin’ around town on this:

Why yes that IS a crushed velvet banana seat and spiral tire forks!

I was super excited about the bike until I realized I was about a foot too tall. My nephew is now one happy kid.

One of my goals after popping this kid out, is to get back into a shape that does not resemble a watermelon or bloated jellybean. I have been pondering how best to go about this since we let our gym membership lapse during my short bout of bed/pelvic rest early into this pregnancy.

My neighborhood isn’t exactly pedestrian friendly, making walking (my favorite way to drop the pounds) a dangerous prospect. Only the main road of the neighborhood has sidewalks and most people blow through here like it’s a freeway on-ramp. If you want to try to cross the street, you need a rocket booster or police escort to avoid getting mowed down.

The nearby park, which has plenty of walking space also harbors unemployed men on stolen bikes hugging 6 packs between their knees from the hours of 5 am till 9 pm, another unsavory choice.

I do have some videos which I used after Tessa was born but they are all so hard to follow. How do I know if I am getting the poses and positions right?. I had all but given up on the idea of videos when my friend found THIS . Problem solved. Now I just need The Hubster to install the blinds and curtain rods.

brought to you today by The Hubster

“Close your mouth and open your mind”

Baby boy at 32 weeks exactly. My heart almost burst clean open as they worked the wand over my belly and revealed his tiny lovely face. Tears welled up in my eyes and to keep my self from openly weeping right there in the office I had to make a smart ass remark,

“Aww look, he has my scowl!”

You’ll have to pardon my pause in posting. I was just released from an extended weekend stay at my local maternity hospital. While the facility is stunningly beautiful and modern, it is not the most restful place.

Vitals taken every 4 hours, meds on various staggered schedules, meal service that takes 45 minutes to 2 hours, monitors, IV lines, Pulse Ox monitors, beep beep beep. Not to mention that everyone within a 2 floor radius has to come and prod their fingers in your lady clam to decide if you are merely a finger tip dilated or maybe more.. and how effaced does she feel? Hmm I’m not sure let me check AGAIN.

Then there is the indignity of being the “trial” patient for a new test and laying splayed out over an upturned bedpan while the nurses scuttle to get it right, breaking the kit, searching for a new one- all while every vertebra in your spine and in that darn hip that falls out of socket screams in agony.

It’s really fun when they discharge you and you are ordered to ignore the contractions, some of which cripple you to the ground- “Oh those aren’t real contractions, your uterus is just irritable”

So question.. um how do I know if I need to go back?

Well, if you are in labor

But, um, wouldn’t painful contractions that I have been ordered to ignore be some kind of sign?

Only if they are changing your cervix

And I would know this how??

…

I can tell the next four weeks till the safer zone will be a nail biting roller coaster for us all. Welcome to the ride.

Sometimes Tessa just astounds me.

“Mama, I got a problem”

“Really, baby? What is wrong?”

“My juice container is square and my cup holder is a circle, Mama. It doesn’t fit.”

I am briefly stunned. She is 3 and somehow can express her self so matter-of-factly that I am sometimes jealous. Given the same scenario, despite the 25+ years I have on her, I would probably be gesturing wildly searching for words while I foamed at the mouth. “It no fit… arghhhh! Damn juice box, stupid.. cup holder” mutter mutter.

Mira on the other hand does her best expression through art. The small nuances of interaction and the words that sometimes fail her all fall perfectly into her master pieces. Though I can understand how it all tumbles out in that way, she still shocks me with the intricacies that lace through each piece. There are things that she can not verbally express and thus I have often assumed she just didn’t get or pay attention too. That is simply not the case; she just doesn’t know how to otherwise talk about it.

What is so amazing in the differences between these girls is the basics of how they view life.

For Mira, everything is black or white. It simply is or is not. Right or wrong there is NO maybe- maybe just simply means yes or no to her, depending on who utters it. Her drawings may be full of color but her view of truth is stark.

Tessa, straight shooter that she is, see the world in shades and tones. She reads your face, body, and voice. No, said without emphasis, really could mean yes. Why not try?