So at the request of Influenster, I decided to watch the video below.
It is an awesome kid's language learning video that teaches young children the most common two hundred words in the language. Personally, I've always wanted to learn another language, so maybe I'll be able to learn with the girls while we watch it!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WZAsubUSqWE&feature=share&list=PLlBlltNtETtTjhsO8ERGRcYz5uj8IaLaJ
It's very cute, indeed! Why Japanese, you ask? Because I have ALWAYS wanted to learn it, so I decided to check it out. You should, too! ;)
Friday, November 30, 2012
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Husband was in the hospital for a week.
While most of this blog will be dedicated to my children, I feel it necessary to share my troubles this past week and a half... mostly to get it off my chest.
Last Thursday, my husband noticed little red bumps (later identified as petechiae) all over his body. We were a little concerned, but he chocked it up to an allregic reaction, took some benadryl, and headed to bed. Friday morning at 4:00am, he woke up with a ping pong ball-sized blood pocket in his mouth. We immediately went to the hospital.
Five hours later, we learned that his platelet count -- the blood cells that clot the blood -- was at 3,000. A normal person has over 150,000 platelets in their body at any given time. He could have stubbed his toe and literally bled to death at that point. The doctors diagnosed him with ITP -- Idiopathic thrombocytopenia. Basically the cold he had a couple of weeks ago caused his body to freak out and start attacking his platelets. The process took a little while, probably over a week, and there were no outward symptoms, which is why his count go SO low before we noticed anything.
To top it all off, his blood pressure shot through the roof, so he had to be rushed to the step-down ICU.
He was there for almost a week. It felt like an eternity, though. With all the running back and forth from the hospital to home, I was pretty sure I was going to go crazy. His arms were black and blue from the blood pressure cuffs, and I couldn't do anything to help him with the pain.
It was rough, but he's finally out and looking much better than before. Hopefully this never happens again because I don't think my heart could take it.
Last Thursday, my husband noticed little red bumps (later identified as petechiae) all over his body. We were a little concerned, but he chocked it up to an allregic reaction, took some benadryl, and headed to bed. Friday morning at 4:00am, he woke up with a ping pong ball-sized blood pocket in his mouth. We immediately went to the hospital.
Five hours later, we learned that his platelet count -- the blood cells that clot the blood -- was at 3,000. A normal person has over 150,000 platelets in their body at any given time. He could have stubbed his toe and literally bled to death at that point. The doctors diagnosed him with ITP -- Idiopathic thrombocytopenia. Basically the cold he had a couple of weeks ago caused his body to freak out and start attacking his platelets. The process took a little while, probably over a week, and there were no outward symptoms, which is why his count go SO low before we noticed anything.
To top it all off, his blood pressure shot through the roof, so he had to be rushed to the step-down ICU.
He was there for almost a week. It felt like an eternity, though. With all the running back and forth from the hospital to home, I was pretty sure I was going to go crazy. His arms were black and blue from the blood pressure cuffs, and I couldn't do anything to help him with the pain.
It was rough, but he's finally out and looking much better than before. Hopefully this never happens again because I don't think my heart could take it.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Ciara's Birth Story
It's been almost a year, and planning things for my second bundle of joy has gotten me thinking that I should probably chronicle the first birth story before I head into the second one. This is what I remember of the day before and of that wonderful adventure.
The day before I had Ciara was hot. Boiling lava hot. We had no air conditioning in the truck, so I was feeling it quite miserably as we headed into what I was praying to be my last appointment. Up until this point, I had fought valiantly against gestational diabetes and kept myself from having to take insulin. However, GD requires that I have weekly appointments with the doctor AND head into the hospital once a week for stress tests.
I was done with doctors.
It was August 9, 2011, and I was almost 40 weeks to the day. We were about three-fourths of the way to the office when our tire lost the entirety of its tread. No joke. It rolled off that rubbery underside like a banana peel.
Did I mention that I was 40 weeks pregnant in the middle of the hottest summer God has ever given the Carolinas with NO a/c? Good, because that should help explain the hysterics that followed. I wailed and cried because I was absolutely sure this was the appointment that the doctor would take pity on my misery and tell me it was time to have the baby. If I missed it, my life would end and I'd be carrying this child forever. (Note: My husband was remarkably calm through all of this. I love that man.)
Thanks to my wonderful father and his foresight to get me the Verizon "Rescue Me" plan on my phone (I don't know what it's really called, but as I seem to be the Grim Reaper of cars, Dad insisted.) and my mother-in-law, we got the tire changed and managed to make it to the appointment.
We had our ultrasound while we waited on the doctor to get back from lunch. I had a beautiful baby girl, though I did pause when the u/s tech told me she was over 9 lbs. I nearly had a heart attack.
Enter the doctor. He looked at my chart, then back up to me.
Now, before we go any further, let me explain that I'm pretty sure this man came over on the Ark. He's old, blunt, and wonderful. I wanted a doctor that would explain things to me and know what he was talking about. I like old doctors; they're knowledgeable AND are all for the vaginal birth route. I didn't want a C-section unless it was necessary, and Dr. Reynolds hated participating in them, so we were all good.
Now, he looked at me then back down to the chart. "You're looking good," he said finally, and my heart sank. That was what he told me two weeks before he sent me out to wait some more. Dear God, please don't make me wait two more weeks.
"But it looks like your baby could be well over 10 lbs." Heart attack? No, I had a blood vessel in my brain blow. 10lbs of baby was NOT what I needed coming out of my nether regions. I eventually wanted to be intimate with my husband again. Oh, please, not 10lbs.
He then proceeds to explain the risks of having such a big baby naturally. Not only would I need an episiotomy, but the shoulders could dislocate while coming out of the birth canal. But he wanted to try because "Your hips are flexible enough to do it, and you strike me as the kind of woman that will try." He basically told me I had birthing hips. Thanks Doc.
A c-section was in the cards if things didn't move quickly enough for his taste, though. I was alright with that. At least I would be able to try, but in the end I wanted a healthy baby.
He was on call the next day, so he literally had me bumped to the head of the line for an induction while he was there. He wanted to be there to make sure everything went right, and I'll love that man to this day because of it.
That night was insane. I didn't sleep at all. I packed and repacked her diaper bag. What should I bring? Should I completely forego the newborn clothes? A baby that big couldn't possibly fit into them. I was a basket case full of dread and excitement, happiness and grief all at the same time. Yes, I was miserable at this stage, but tomorrow I wouldn't be pregnant anymore. After nine months of sharing my body with this sweet little life, it was hard to swallow.
My husband? Slept like a baby all night. Not a care in the world.
Morning came, and I was at the hospital bright and early. I got set up, put on the meds they needed to induce, and then it was the waiting game.
I don't remember much of the actual labor in the first stages. I remember asking for a doula (who was wonderful!), and I know my husband was there with me the whole time. The doctor came in and busted my water with a HUGE crochet hook. I swear that's what it was. After that, things get a little hazy. At some point, I asked for some pain meds in my IV (big mistake, I will just go for the epidural next time). They didn't help. At all. The pain was unbearable. My back seized up, blood pressure shot up, and I hated them for making me lay on my left side. I almost ripped my husbands manly bits off. Pitocin makes everything worse, and after about four hours of agony I caved and begged for the epidural.
The epi felt like cool water on a summer day, like a cold glass of milk after a warm cookie, or unicorns frolicking in the meadow..? I'm terrible at imagery, but you get the idea.
It was finally time to push after 6 hours. Two and a half hours of pushing later, we had our beautiful baby girl in our arms. Ciara Elizabeth was born at 5:52pm on August 10, 2011. She was only 7lb 12oz. So much for u/s accuracy.
I can't say that I included all the little adventures in this blog. Like when my oldest stepdaughter got sent to the bathroom to read for an hour because they thought I'd like the lights off. Or that my mother-in-law and grandmother-in-law stayed with me for hours, and I can't remember them being in the room at all.
It was the hardest, most rewarding thing I have ever done. There were points where I was sure that I couldn't do anymore, I couldn't push, couldn't breathe. I swore if I could just survive this, I'd never have another baby. Two minutes after she was out, I wanted another one.
If you're reading this because you are pregnant and scouring the internet for birth stories like I did, all I can say is that you are so much stronger than you know. You will push yourself to the brink and then fall down the chasm only to climb your way back up. No matter how you get there, vaginally or c-section, the moment you have that baby in your arms you will forget every single bad thing that happened during the pregnancy and birth. The pain is gone and all that is left is a love so profound it is terrifying.
It is one of the best days ever.
 |
| The last picture of me pregnant with Ciara. |
The day before I had Ciara was hot. Boiling lava hot. We had no air conditioning in the truck, so I was feeling it quite miserably as we headed into what I was praying to be my last appointment. Up until this point, I had fought valiantly against gestational diabetes and kept myself from having to take insulin. However, GD requires that I have weekly appointments with the doctor AND head into the hospital once a week for stress tests.
I was done with doctors.
It was August 9, 2011, and I was almost 40 weeks to the day. We were about three-fourths of the way to the office when our tire lost the entirety of its tread. No joke. It rolled off that rubbery underside like a banana peel.
Did I mention that I was 40 weeks pregnant in the middle of the hottest summer God has ever given the Carolinas with NO a/c? Good, because that should help explain the hysterics that followed. I wailed and cried because I was absolutely sure this was the appointment that the doctor would take pity on my misery and tell me it was time to have the baby. If I missed it, my life would end and I'd be carrying this child forever. (Note: My husband was remarkably calm through all of this. I love that man.)
Thanks to my wonderful father and his foresight to get me the Verizon "Rescue Me" plan on my phone (I don't know what it's really called, but as I seem to be the Grim Reaper of cars, Dad insisted.) and my mother-in-law, we got the tire changed and managed to make it to the appointment.
We had our ultrasound while we waited on the doctor to get back from lunch. I had a beautiful baby girl, though I did pause when the u/s tech told me she was over 9 lbs. I nearly had a heart attack.
 |
| Look at that foot! |
Enter the doctor. He looked at my chart, then back up to me.
Now, before we go any further, let me explain that I'm pretty sure this man came over on the Ark. He's old, blunt, and wonderful. I wanted a doctor that would explain things to me and know what he was talking about. I like old doctors; they're knowledgeable AND are all for the vaginal birth route. I didn't want a C-section unless it was necessary, and Dr. Reynolds hated participating in them, so we were all good.
Now, he looked at me then back down to the chart. "You're looking good," he said finally, and my heart sank. That was what he told me two weeks before he sent me out to wait some more. Dear God, please don't make me wait two more weeks.
"But it looks like your baby could be well over 10 lbs." Heart attack? No, I had a blood vessel in my brain blow. 10lbs of baby was NOT what I needed coming out of my nether regions. I eventually wanted to be intimate with my husband again. Oh, please, not 10lbs.
He then proceeds to explain the risks of having such a big baby naturally. Not only would I need an episiotomy, but the shoulders could dislocate while coming out of the birth canal. But he wanted to try because "Your hips are flexible enough to do it, and you strike me as the kind of woman that will try." He basically told me I had birthing hips. Thanks Doc.
A c-section was in the cards if things didn't move quickly enough for his taste, though. I was alright with that. At least I would be able to try, but in the end I wanted a healthy baby.
He was on call the next day, so he literally had me bumped to the head of the line for an induction while he was there. He wanted to be there to make sure everything went right, and I'll love that man to this day because of it.
That night was insane. I didn't sleep at all. I packed and repacked her diaper bag. What should I bring? Should I completely forego the newborn clothes? A baby that big couldn't possibly fit into them. I was a basket case full of dread and excitement, happiness and grief all at the same time. Yes, I was miserable at this stage, but tomorrow I wouldn't be pregnant anymore. After nine months of sharing my body with this sweet little life, it was hard to swallow.
My husband? Slept like a baby all night. Not a care in the world.
Morning came, and I was at the hospital bright and early. I got set up, put on the meds they needed to induce, and then it was the waiting game.
I don't remember much of the actual labor in the first stages. I remember asking for a doula (who was wonderful!), and I know my husband was there with me the whole time. The doctor came in and busted my water with a HUGE crochet hook. I swear that's what it was. After that, things get a little hazy. At some point, I asked for some pain meds in my IV (big mistake, I will just go for the epidural next time). They didn't help. At all. The pain was unbearable. My back seized up, blood pressure shot up, and I hated them for making me lay on my left side. I almost ripped my husbands manly bits off. Pitocin makes everything worse, and after about four hours of agony I caved and begged for the epidural.
The epi felt like cool water on a summer day, like a cold glass of milk after a warm cookie, or unicorns frolicking in the meadow..? I'm terrible at imagery, but you get the idea.
It was finally time to push after 6 hours. Two and a half hours of pushing later, we had our beautiful baby girl in our arms. Ciara Elizabeth was born at 5:52pm on August 10, 2011. She was only 7lb 12oz. So much for u/s accuracy.
 |
| Right after she was born. This was the only picture we got of those few minutes. |
I can't say that I included all the little adventures in this blog. Like when my oldest stepdaughter got sent to the bathroom to read for an hour because they thought I'd like the lights off. Or that my mother-in-law and grandmother-in-law stayed with me for hours, and I can't remember them being in the room at all.
It was the hardest, most rewarding thing I have ever done. There were points where I was sure that I couldn't do anymore, I couldn't push, couldn't breathe. I swore if I could just survive this, I'd never have another baby. Two minutes after she was out, I wanted another one.
If you're reading this because you are pregnant and scouring the internet for birth stories like I did, all I can say is that you are so much stronger than you know. You will push yourself to the brink and then fall down the chasm only to climb your way back up. No matter how you get there, vaginally or c-section, the moment you have that baby in your arms you will forget every single bad thing that happened during the pregnancy and birth. The pain is gone and all that is left is a love so profound it is terrifying.
It is one of the best days ever.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Just a simple post..
I celebrated my first Mother's Day this past Sunday, and I couldn't feel more proud to be the mother of a beautiful and intelligent baby girl. I remember last year, as she moved around in my belly, that I couldn't WAIT to meet her and hold her on that very special day.
I did, however, realize something very important. No matter how much I wanted this day to come; where I could show off the fact that I had survived my pregnancy and brought this beautiful child into the world, I didn't need to be celebrated in order to feel like a mother.
It's the little things that happen every day that I celebrate. Like when my little girl picks up a cheerio and eats it on her own (who would have thought THAT would be a milestone in my life, eh?), or when she babbles at me with this brilliant smile on her face. She knows that I'm her mom, and the look on her face when she sees me is enough to fill my heart with so much love that I think I'll burst.
I don't know how I am going to survive another baby. My heart couldn't possibly get any bigger, but I am certain that it will find a way. Two little girls are going to be an adventure.
I did, however, realize something very important. No matter how much I wanted this day to come; where I could show off the fact that I had survived my pregnancy and brought this beautiful child into the world, I didn't need to be celebrated in order to feel like a mother.
It's the little things that happen every day that I celebrate. Like when my little girl picks up a cheerio and eats it on her own (who would have thought THAT would be a milestone in my life, eh?), or when she babbles at me with this brilliant smile on her face. She knows that I'm her mom, and the look on her face when she sees me is enough to fill my heart with so much love that I think I'll burst.
I don't know how I am going to survive another baby. My heart couldn't possibly get any bigger, but I am certain that it will find a way. Two little girls are going to be an adventure.
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