Heartbroken

Something horrible happened to an old friend of mine last week…something so horrible that when I heard, I grabbed my children and just held them as close as I possibly could until Piper finally wriggled free.  I don’t often think about how very lucky I am to have these two beautiful, healthy, happy babies…and it is so heartbreaking that it took a tragedy such as this to force me to realize this.   

My friend was pregnant with twin girls…finally pregnant after years of trying.  She gave birth to her girls at just 20 weeks pregnant; those girls were just 13 oz each.  They lived for two hours. 

I just can’t imagine the sorrow she must feel.  I myself feel so helpless; I wish there was something I could do or say to help her through this terrible, terrible time, but what can I do?  What can I offer that would take away her pain? 

All I can do is hug my kids a little tighter, kiss them a little longer, love them for as long as I live, and never, ever take them for granted.

Thanksgiving

Well, my first two attempts at cooking a Thanksgiving feast have been somewhat successful, last year moreso than this year…in that we ate two hours later than I originally had planned for.  I did, however, make the same mistakes two years in a row:  forgot to take the cranberry sauce which I had so lovingly made the night before out of the fridge to serve it, and forgot the bag of giblets in the back of the turkey.  Neither of which have really affected the dinner, but I’m still left with an entire bowl of cranberry sauce and not enough turkey to eat it with. 

Anyone have a recipe that calls for leftover cranberry sauce?

Beckett Ryan Jeffery

Wow…what a weekend!

My little pumpkin Beckett was born at 4:36 AM Halloween morning at a whopping 9 lbs 9 oz and 21.5 inches. I went in Friday night after my contractions were getting steadily stronger and closer together only to be told my cervix STILL hadn’t changed (I had been dilated to 4cm for almost a month by this point)…so was fully expecting to be sent home again. The nurse came back in and made my day…since I tested positive for Group B Strept and Beckett was so close to being fully engaged anyway, they decided to go ahead and admit me and induce labor. I was absolutely thrilled; this past month has been miserable, painful, and just plain exhausting.

They broke my water around 9:30 PM and started the pitocin drip shortly after…I got my epidural soon after that since we were fairly certain things were going to move quickly and I wanted to be sure it was working when it came time to deliver.

I was fully dilated at 4AM and started pushing, and miraculously, Beckett, my giant of a newborn , was born 36 minutes later.

I feel fantastic…much better than I did the day I went into labor. My doctor was fantastic and helped A TON so I didn’t even tear, which I think is why I’m feeling so well. I’m just sleepy…but that’s to be expected.

Beckett is a sweetheart, and only really cries when I’m changing his diaper (he’s not a fan of being naked). I’ve already been peed on once…although it wasn’t really preventable (I was putting some ointment on his circumcision when he decided to empty his bladder in my general direction). He’s a fantastic nurser, which I’m thrilled about, since I didn’t get the chance to breastfeed Piper. Just gotta get used my body used to it, and we’ll be golden.

Piper’s doing really well; she loves Beckett, and asked me if she could hold him today which was adorable. She keeps saying how cute he is, and is just tickled pink when he looks at her.

I swear I’ve given birth to my husband; I know everyone said Piper looked like him when she was a newborn but I never really saw it as much….with Beckett, I can’t look at him without seeing Brandon. He’s got his eyes, his frowns, his browline, his nose…everything except the mouth (which is mine ).

Anyway, I just wanted to fill whoever in on the details…I’m off to the store to grab a few things I didn’t get a chance to get before he was born. Thanks for all the congratulations and comments on the pics! Love you guys.

Deployment.

Brandon was told yesterday morning he would be going to Iraq next week for a four month deployment. 

We knew he was eligible to deploy this month; it was his flight’s turn to go…but they had already tasked everyone and Brandon was not chosen.  Then H1N1 hit the dorms.  An airman caught it, and because she’s sick, she can’t deploy.  Brandon gets to go in her place. 

Obviously we’re sad about the whole situation.  Brandon’s going to miss not only the birth but the first few months of our little Beckett’s life.  We knew what we were getting into when he enlisted…we knew this day would come and will probably come more than once throughout his career.  I think it’s just the short notice that is making this deployment so difficult…that and those damned pregnancy hormones. 

We’re trying to be positive…trying to find the good points, and surprisingly, there are more than I realized.  Although I would much rather have my husband with me, our financial situation will be drastically improved during these four short months apart.  It’s already benefitted us; Brandon was issued four new sets of ABU’s, two new pairs of boots, gortex gear, and more….over $1000 worth of uniforms we won’t have to purchase in the future.  I’ll be able to pay off a few of our debts while he’s gone, and the kids and I will have plenty of “fun money” to keep us distracted.  I’ll have less laundry and dishes to do…and won’t have to shuttle Brandon to and from work whenever I want to leave the house during the week. 

I’m going to miss him terribly, of course.  We did go to Best Buy last night and purchase a netbook for him to take…he’ll have internet access which will help with the distance. 

I’m not worried about doing everything alone; between friends and people in Brandon’s squadron I’m fully expecting to have TOO much help rather than not enough.  My mom is going to come visit too…which I think is going to help Piper, who’s little three-year-old mind is going to have to adjust to not only a little brother but daddy being gone too.  I worry about her, mostly.  We tried to talk to her yesterday, but I just don’t think she understands.

I don’t want anyone to worry about us; we’ll be fine and Brandon will be completely safe.  He probably won’t even leave the base the whole time he’s there. 

Anyway…just thought I’d let you guys know what was going on. 

This whole healthcare thing.

So, I know that in the grand political scheme of things I mean absolutely nothing. No one is going to care enough about what I write here to overthrow the ridiculousness that is going on in America currently. What I believe won’t help America’s healthcare get the makeover it so desperately needs any faster. My opinions will not save the 18,000 Americans who die unnessecarily each year simply because they do not have access to proper medical care.

I’m just Sophie. I don’t have a job…I stay at home with my three year old every day while my unborn son confuses the insides of my uterus with a punching bag. I love my husband and am very proud of his career in the United States Air Force.

I have medical insurance. My children have medical insurance. We never have to worry about so much as even a co-pay. If Piper comes down with a fever we just can’t get rid of, we go to the hospital. One of the first things I did when I found out I was pregnant was to call the hospital and schedule my first prenatal care appointment. If my husband is vomiting and just can’t stop, we go to the hospital.

How much more glorious would America be if no mother had to forgo prenatal care because she didn’t qualify for Medicare? How wondrous would our country be if every child made it to every single well-child appointment? How great would America be if no father had to refuse medical care when he so truly needs it because feeding his children is more important?

America is the only major industrialized nation in the world that does not offer a public option for it’s citizens. Sure, we spend the most on healthcare, but where does all that money go? The quality of care, the availibility of care, the accessibility of care, or lack thereof, has ranked us at 37th in the nation by the World Health Organization. Thirty-seventh. Guess who’s number one? France. Guess who’s number 38? Slovenia. Above us, Germany, Austrailia, Sweden, Luxembourg, Switzerland, Ireland, United Kingdom…in other words, the other major industrialized nations. Below us, the rest of the world.

God forbid this country misses out on the opportunity to achieve the quality of life its citizens so truly desrve due to the ignorant slanderings of a political party of whom the majority still believe our President is not an American citizen. These people have somehow got it into their heads that the only way to get their views across is to do so by creating chaos…by taking over townhall meetings with their boistrous, innacurate claims…by filling their timeslots with men and women who feel it’s their duty to spread fear and untruths. They create fantasies; one woman misread a clause in the bill and blew it so far out of proportion that children are holding signs saying Obama will kill their grandmother.

Unfortunately, it’s working. The right-wingers have succeeded in creating such a distraction that the people who really do have EVERY Americans (not just the middle/upper class) best interests at heart are spending time debunking these fantasies instead of spreading their own truths.

I’m not going to get into the individual falsities (“death panels”, etc). I just wanted to get my view out there…and let it be known that while I once considered myself smack dab in the middle of the political line, I am moving further and further to the left with every picture I see of a middle class, white man screaming at his representative because he’s too arrogant to shut his mouth and open his mind to the truth.

Letting 18,000 people die each year is like letting six 9/11′s happen every year. How many of those are children? Better yet, how much larger would the number be if it included the miscarried babies of mothers who could not seek proper prenatal medical care?

Sit down and really think about these rumors and fantasies the republicans are creating. Research them yourself and find out the truth. Then tell me what you really think…because I’m done listening to ignorant, conspiracy theorists.

Where’s the baby?

I’ve really been making a conscious effort to involve Piper as much as possible in this pregnancy…hoping that when the tiny, wrinkled, screaming baby-who-mommy-will-have-to-pay-attention-to is finally here, Piper will have some clue as to what is going on.  I think about that day at least once daily…not only because I’m hoping this baby will look at least a little like me so people believe me when I say, yes, this is my child, but because I’m a little bit (okay, a lot a bit) anxious about Piper becoming an older sister. 

Not that she’s spoiled or anything; she’s a fantastic kid and sometimes I can’t even believe how lucky I am to have her.  It’s just that “Mommy and Piper” have had so much time together these past three years and played so many games of Candyland and went to Target so many times that I wonder what is going to happen when it’s “Mommy and Piper and Baby” going to McDonald’s or walking to the playground or painting our fingernails or baking cookies. 

Piper was the first person I told when that pregnancy test read “Pregnant”.  She didn’t understand, of course, and I’m not sure she really understands now, but she’s been to every doctor’s appointment with me so far and has seen the ultrasound pictures and has walked to the Shoppette willingly with me whenever I’m craving peach iced tea.  I’ve told her the baby is in my tummy, and every week I hold my hands apart to show her how big the baby is now, to which she invariably replies, “It’s so tiny!” 

Last weekend we were at a BBQ (one of three we went to…I only had to cook once all weekend!) with a bunch of our friends, and someone asked Piper if she was excited about becoming a big sister.  She looked at them blankly, so I decided to show them our little trick and said, “Piper, where’s the baby at?”  She hesitated for a second, then grinned her mischievous little I-look-so-much-like-Daddy-right-now-it’s-ridiculous grin, pointed to my left boob and said, “Right here?” 

The room erupted in laughter, which only egged her on, because when I asked her again, she just pointed to my right boob and said between giggles, “Here, Mommy?” 

My daughter, the comedian. 

16 weeks down…24 to go.

People keep asking me how I feel (which is, THE question to ask a pregnant woman..right along with “How far along are you?” and “What are you having?”), and honestly, I feel fantastic.  Sure, some afternoons I feel so sleep deprived I feel like I’ve already had the baby.  Sure, my ‘girls’ are still super sensitive and I want to die when even the shower water hits them.  Sure, I’ve lost every ounce of patience I ever had and last week had such a horrible day I spent half an hour at bedtime cuddling and apologizing to Piper for being so angry all day.

But honestly, I feel fantastic. 

I’m in my 16th week now, and will be four months along in a week.  I’m thrilled that I’ve only gained about 3-4 pounds, considering the fact that somedays I look 6-7 months pregnant already.  I can feel the baby moving, especially after a big glass of juice or a piece of fruit.  I’ve really only been craving drinks (iced tea, root beer, gatorade, etc.), and rarely does fast food appeal to me.  I can’t even really handle sweets…I can only eat one or two oreos or half a cupcake before I feel like I’m going to puke. 

It’s crazy how very different this pregnancy is from Piper’s.  Really, it’s the exact opposite.  I can’t even remember the last time I cried; I was lucky to go two days without crying with Piper.  I actually had to go back on anti-depressants while pregnant with Piper.  A lot of that probably has to do with the circumstances, though: I was unmarried, her father and I had only been dating for a couple months, I had just quit going to church a few months prior, and was forced to deal with a ridiculous amount of judgement and negativity from people I thought would be my friends for life.  This time around, everyone is just thrilled when I tell them the news…which, honestly, makes me a bit sad. 

I’ve found myself wishing Piper’s pregnancy was like this one, in that aspect.  I wish everyone was as excited to meet her as they are to meet her brother/sister.  I wish I would have felt as elated as I did when I saw this baby’s positive pregnancy test…instead of curling up into a ball and feeling like my life was over, as I did with Piper.  It took me a long time to get to the point where deep down I felt like I WANTED Piper.  I spent so much time and energy convincing everyone else it was going to be okay that I really never took the time to convince myself. 

I think part of me will always feel a little guilty for not taking the time to really grow to love Piper while she was growing inside me.  Of course I loved her the second I saw her…I still love her more than life itself.  I just wish I had been happier about her pregnancy.

So Big Like a Diamond…

I’m not sure where she got it from, but around the time Piper learned all the words to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star she started describing things by saying, “It’s So Big Like a DIAMOND,” with enough enthusiasm to suggest not only that DIAMOND deserves to be in all caps, but every other word in the sentence needs a capital letter as well.

Yesterday Piper and I went on a tour of the local playgrounds with my friend Manda and her darling baby girl Bianca. We’d walk to one playground, let Piper play until she decided she was too cool to be seen playing here, and then walk to another playground. It’s probably my favorite thing about where we live…the abundance of playgrounds within walking distance.

We reference said playgrounds by their predominant color; the one in front of our house is the yellow playground, the one by the shoppette is the red playground, the one by Manda’s house is the green playground, etc.

Anyway, over the course of this two hour walk, we found a playground which Piper dubbed the “Rocket Ship playground”, which was basically two large jungle gyms that were somewhat the shape of a rocket ship. She ran around inspecting every square inch of the jungle gyms, stopped dead in her tracks, turned around, ran up to me, and in her most concerned voice said, “Mommy, there’s no slide.” It was almost as if someone had just told her all the cows in the world died and there would no longer be cheddar cheese.

In a calm voice (in order to avoid hysterics), I agreed that there was no slide here, but if she’d like to, we could walk to the orange playground which does have a slide. She thought for a second, then said, “Okay,” and set off in the direction of the orange playground. A few steps down the sidewalk Piper stopped and said, “OHHHH! I tink-a the orange playgwound has a slide!”

Manda and I both burst out laughing, and then she said to me, “Sophie, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but sometimes your daughter sounds like an old Asian woman learning to speak English.”

Sunshine…glorious sunshine.

Alaska has decided to give us a nice summer this year…and I am beyond thrilled.  Granted, it’s still only 50 degrees outside, but it’s 50 degrees IN MAY!!!  We were lucky to get 65 degrees in July last year. 

Piper face and I have definately been taking advantage of the sunny sunshine…playing outside a couple hours a day every day for the last week (except for yesterday and the day before when Alaska remembered it’s Alaska and decided to be cloudy and windy and rainy).  All this running around various playgrounds and kicking soccer balls and drawing with chalk and learning to ride her bike has had an unexpected effect:  My daughter is no longer the spawn of satan. 

Now, I love my daughter more than life itself.  I’d gladly give my life for her without even a second thought.  But these past few months have been…how do I say this without being over-dramatic…WORSE THAN THE FIERY PITS OF HELL. 

Piper screaming in the middle of the grocery store because I can’t find an airplane shopping cart. 

Piper throwing herself onto the floor kicking and screaming because it’s time to leave wherever we are. 

Me dragging a screaming Piper out the door of the BX because I commited the unforgivable sin of saying, “No.” 

Piper glaring at me like I’m the worst excuse for a mother because I refused to let her eat a cupcake for breakfast. 

Piper throwing a temper tantrum at 7PM every night for a week because Brandon and I want to watch a show on TV that won’t teach us the alphabet or how to share or what to do if we’re scared. 

 

I don’t know if it’s the sunshine or the exercise, but whatever it is, it’s given me back my darling daughter that I missed so very much.  I can leave the house without wondering whether I have the energy to drag a 42 lb 3 year old out of wherever we are.  I don’t have to put up with rude stares from strangers (I’m sure none of whom are thinking, “Oh what a cute little girl!”).  I don’t have to cross my fingers hoping we’ll be able to accomplish whatever it is I was to do on the day I managed to steal the car from Brandon. 

I’m glad you’re back, Piper.  I missed you.

What was I thinking??

I’m blaming pregnancy brain for my momentary lapse in judgement last week at Walmart when Piper asked for a toy and I suggested a squirt gun. A squirt gun, when we live in a state that is essentially a snow globe…where it is warm enough outside for t-shirts maybe 2 months out of the year…where I have become what is quite possibly the palest version of myself after living here for more than a year.

At least I was smart enough to make her promise not to squirt me with the stupid thing. The only downside to this is that from the second Daddy walks in the door to the second I finally get her tucked into bed, Piper is asking, “Please I gotta squirt Daddy?”

As I see it, I have three choices:
1. Smash the damn thing into a billion pieces of cheap florescent yellow plastic.
2. Ignore the begging and keep saying, “Maybe if it’s above 40 degress tomorrow we can take it outside.”
3. Finally quit being such a mean mom and learn to live with soaking wet couches, carpet, glasses, and laptops.

Who needs to be dry anyway?