Lucy at Lucille's

We took my mom out for dinner at Lucille's (I may or may not have chosen that restaurant on purpose *wink*).  My dad and brothers were able to come along.  We were a bit worried since dinner was at 4 p.m., which is the start of cranky time.  But she was pretty good.  I picked that time because I knew the restaurant wouldn't be crowded, so she'd be able to be passed around the table.  My mom had held her once before, but my dad and brothers had not.  She did pretty good for most of the meal, at least until it was my turn to eat ; )  
My dad gave her a bottle, which she didn't want and I knew that meant it was i'mtiredbuti'mnotgonnasleepsucka time, and I offered to take her back.  I mean, she can really wail when she's fighting sleep.  But my dad just held her and soothed her while she freaked out, until she fell asleep.  It was cute.  
My mom and brother Jared got some quality holding time, which was really cute.

uncle jared

with grandma

grandpa

Photo bomb!

Just realized today I haven't posted any photos of Lucy.  They are kind of in chronological order, but I'm not hip to Blogger and I also am posting this with a sleeping infant on my chest.  You do what you've gotta do.  Enjoy!

No wires or tubing...I believe this was day three or four

Six weeks...what a difference from the previous photo.

hearing test.  The nurse told us to take a picture of this so when she's a teenager and pretends she can't hear us we can prove otherwise.

Last day in NICU...she gassy!

car ride home!

First week home

One month old

Seven weeks...getting ready to go get coffee with mommy and a friend who recently just had a baby herself

Eight weeks...hittin' the gym

I'm so inept when it comes to Blogger, sheesh!  This is three weeks

Huhfusion

There should be an adjective to describe the look that people get when they walk up to our stroller and I spit out a briefing about Lucy's condition before they automatically stick their faces up close to her.
It's a look of confusion, disbelief and huh?
Maybe huhfusion?  Or disbehuh?
I find myself playing zone defense on outings even with people I know, love and trust, with the following disclaimer before I let anyone look at my child, usually said all as one word:
Shehasalowwhitebloodcellcountsoyoucanlookbutnottouchandstaybackfromthestrollertwofeet.
That's usually followed by the look of huhfusion.
Then we sometimes get the: well why are you out in public?
This is why I asked the doctor for a doctor's note when he said we could take Lucy out in public as long as it's not too crowded of a place, such as the mall, grocery store, park, lightly populated restaurants, etc.
Because I knew everyone would think we were making that shit up.
We're not. 
And buh-leave me, I'm glad we're not making it up, because if I had to stay in the house all the time for the first six weeks of her life, I would have gone nuts.
But luckily, threat-level-midnight has been lifted and people can now come into our house as long as they're not sick, and she can be held by people other than us.
We've done such a good job of keeping her healthy, and most people we run into are very polite about her condition and looking at Lucy from a distance.
Until yesterday.  When I learned that I have no problem physically restraining someone getting too close to my kid.
I ran into a former Starbucks co-worker outside of Target when I was wheeling my squalling infant to our car, saying to her, "I told you we were leaving, here we go!"
I was excited to see her, but not very excited when she said, "Ooh you have a baby!" and proceeded to walk up to my stroller and start to open it up all while her face was a food away from the baby.
I grabbed her.  Grabbed her by the arm and told her she couldn't get close to my baby because of her condition.
She looked horrified and apologized, and I made brief small talk with her and then kept on walking.
I couldn't get that mad at her, because she didn't know.
But had to stop her, because a) I don't know if she is sick or not, since I had only seen her for a split second and b) she had five children with her, and children are germ buckets when it comes to my kid.
I think it's incredibly rude to go up to a stroller and put your face in/touch the baby/touch the stroller/open the stroller without even asking.
I would never do that, no matter how well I know the person.
It's crazy what lengths I'll go to keep her safe.  I am extremely neurotic when it comes to people washing their hands and then sanitizing them before touching Lucy.
When she's crying in public, I get scared that a well-meaning grandmotherly type will suddenly appear out of nowhere and try to get to close to the baby and help me.  (Not too far off after yesterday's close call.)
I freaked out at Starbucks last week because someone sneezed while we were there.
Before handing my daughter off to my mother-in-law in Target, I told her once she was holding the baby she couldn't touch anything in the store.  This resulted in consolidating two carts and a basket worth of items into one cart to prevent this.
Whenever I give my spiel to someone I know before letting them see the baby, I feel relief and then immediately I think of how I must look to others due to the look they get on their face, because I know I look scared any time someone approaches her.
The look of huhfusion usually happens with acquaintances/people we haven't seen in awhile, because they are the ones who have no idea what we're going through with her.
This makes me think it's not common for people to guard their newborns as closely as we do ours.  
Sometimes I think people feel we're overprotective and neurotic about her health.
And that's fine, because we know that not taking the steps we have truly is the difference between life and death for our little one.
 

My panic attack birth story : )

I say panic attack because my health was never in danger at any time yet I freaked the eff out during my c-section until the baby was out.
Because lets face it, major abdominal surgery freaked me out more than the thought of squeezing a watermelon through a lemon sized orifice.
We found out I'd have to have a c-section about two weeks before Lucy was born.  At my 36 week check-up, the doctor discovered that the baby was breech, so the next day I went in for an ECV, the acronym for pound and push on my stomach in an attempt to make the baby flip head down.
Looking back on it after all we went through, I'm glad she was stubborn and didn't flip downward.
We were pretty bummed about having to have a c-section, because again I know I'm cray cray but Andy and I were both looking forward to experiencing a natural drug free childbirth together.  
But as my dad says, Lucy is smarter than we all think (I'll get to that in a bit).
So I was absolutely terrified at the prospect of being cut open, even though I've never known anyone who has perished during a c-section (both of our moms each had three of them, after all).
My first hurdle was getting over the IV, but luckily I expressed my wuss-dom to the nurse and she numbed the site first before putting it in.  Note to nurses:  it's a nice thought to offer to lidocaine to everyone getting an IV!
Then came the spinal.  It was all good, didn't feel it going in.  But then it traveled too far up my spine, making it feel like an elephant was sitting on my chest and my arms got all tingly. 
So of course I start gasping and saying I can't breathe.  They gave me oxygen and then said if I could tell them I couldn't breathe I was fine.
They were supposed to bring Andy in right after the spinal, but they had already cut me open by the time he came in.  I guess I looked terrified so he decided to sit by me and not look on the other side of the curtain.  That was very appreciated since I was indeed terrified!!
They got Lucy's butt out first, and she started peeing and pooping as soon as she was out.  Then I felt pushing up near my rib cage, and knew they were working on popping her head out since that's where my ribs hurt all the time.
She didn't cry until the nurse gave her a shot, which was about five minutes after she was born.  I was a little freaked out by that but everyone assured me she was doing great.
I loved the look on Andy's face when she was born.  I can't really describe it, but it was a combination of proud, happy and excited plus some other adjectives I don't have the words for.
I was able to hold her right after she was born while they were still sewing me up, which was a great distraction from being sewn up.
Andy stayed with her when they took her out to recovery to be examined and have her first bath.
When I was finally rolled out into recovery, Andy told me the nurse agreed she looked more like a Lucy than a Sophie.  I didn't know it then, but the nurse who was taking care of her would become an important part of our lives for the next few days.  She became our favorite nurse during Lucy's stay in the NICU because she had helpful advice for us when it came to feeding and taking care of Lucy, but also let us do our own thing because she had faith in our parenting abilities. She was also really funny, and shared stories about her relationship with her daughter, her husband's relationship with her daughter and life in Poland before she moved to the U.S.  Some of my favorite moments were when she would not understand an idiom I used.  My favorite was when I said I was going to run to the bathroom, and she looked horrified and told me not to run because of the c-section.  I assured her I was not going to run, but it was just an expression.

As Eva the nurse and the pediatrician started handling her, and as I started nursing her and holding her, she started getting these little spots on her skin that I'd later find out were small bruises under her skin.
She was born with an extremely low platelet count, and was whisked away to the NICU for a platelet transfusion.
The doctor told me it was a matter of life and death for her to have the transfusion and asked if I wanted Lucy to have it.  I exclaimed yes and practically shooed him out of recovery.
I didn't sleep that night knowing my daughter was downstairs in the NICU by herself.  Andy was great and went down to check on her every couple of hours, waking up at 3 a.m. to do so.
The next day, around 5:30 a.m., the nurse came in and had me stand up.  It really wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be (probably because of the drugs) and I was able to be wheeled down to see the baby.
Our NICU adventure will have to wait, since let's face it, she's napping, so I'm working on borrowed time here.

Learning curve

Hopefully soon I'll have the time and energy to write her birth story.
Her as in Lucille Marie, AKA Lucy.
Yep, we had a baby.  She was born at 18:48 on Sept. 1, weighing in at 7 lbs 5 oz, 19 3/4 inches long.
Gotta make this short since who knows when she'll wake up!
Here's a couple things I've learned in the past ten days:

• C-Section recovery not as bad as I thought it would be
• My husband is an amazing father.  I knew that before she was even born, but now I really know it, if you know what I mean.  He's better at changing diapers than I am, and absolutely adores Lucy.  They kind of just hang out together, it's really cute.
• It sucks being stuck to one room with her, due to her low white blood cell count.  And not having visitors is hard.  But anything to keep her safe we're willing to do.  But she's basically quarantined for a month.
• Face masks make my skin really dry.  I caught a cold in the hospital, and while I feel better, I have to wear a mask around the baby until my cough goes away.
• I can get by on sleeping in one hour chunks during the night, but should probably nap more during the day.  I tend to forget I just had major surgery and try to take on the world (chores) even though Andy reminds me not to overdo it.
• Lucy is a noisy sleeper, but can sleep through anything (dogs barking, videos on the laptop)
• I don't think I realized just how busy we would be between feedings, diaper changes, burping, pumping breastmilk, nursing, napping, baby laundry and finding time for the dogs. I should totally be sleeping right now.

• I never thought making a phone call would be a task.  I don't normally enjoy talking on the phone, I'm much more of a texter/IM'er.  But now it's like, okay, she just fell asleep, so what should I do with that precious time in between?  I usually choose nap or read a book.  I feel bad for those who would like to talk with me on the phone, but sometimes I just can't drum up the energy to do that.  I never thought a phone call would require energy.

I'm sure I'll be learning lots more as the days, weeks, months and years go on.  I'm so glad we did this, I think that's the biggest thing I've learned.  I love my daughter, and hopefully her immune system will be up to par soon and she'll be able to meet everyone who loves her already.

Late pregnancy frustrations

This had better not come back to bite me in the butt one day, but I hope I stay able-bodied and independent for the rest of my life.  I know, you're thinking, "That's a pretty obvious thing to say, Steph."  And I don't want anyone reading this to think that I'm not excited about our daughter's impending arrival.  I have never wanted something more in my life.  Being a mom is a title I've wanted for a long time.
I'm getting to that point in pregnancy where it's getting harder and harder to do stuff on my own or without a lot of rest before hand, and for someone as independent as I am, it's really frustrating.
I'll be 34 weeks tomorrow, and I know I've only got a few more weeks.  But it's going to be a long few weeks, I feel.
The day I can't fit behind the wheel I think will be hardest.  I'm doing good so far, but even the short five-minute drive to The News Messenger is getting taxing.  Not because I'm exhausted, but because the baby likes to jam her butt under my ribs when I get behind the wheel for some reason.  Try sitting up straight to see over the dash when you're already short but have something that is demanding you be reclined.  I can't even sit on the couch to watch TV because of where she likes to hang out, I usually have to lay down.  She's cooperating right now as I write this.  And I sound like a mean mommy by complaining about where she likes to hang out, which makes me feel bad.  I just wish I had more real estate to offer her right now.
I like being able to drive around town and go to the library or Target or wherever else on my day off, and that's getting harder and harder.  Going to my friend's shower in Granite Bay last Saturday was so taxing I was K'O'd on the couch for the rest of the night.
I have at least three more Tuesday night meetings to cover until I go out on leave.  My crappy abdomen real estate makes that a chore, too.  Last Tuesday at City Council, I tried sitting to type, but I felt like a T-Rex, because I'd find a comfy position and then butt would go in ribs again, so I'd have to sit bolt upright but that would mean not reaching my laptop's keyboard.  Finally I just slouched and dealt with the uncomfiness for a couple minutes until she chose to not stick her tush in the air.  I even tried hooking the chair in front of me with my foot, sliding it closer and putting my feet up.  That offered temporary relief.  Eventually I took up my post standing in the back of the Pavilion to type, but then my feet started to swell and hurt so I had to go back to sitting.  I guess the police chief noticed my antics because he asked how I was holding up at the end of the meeting and said it was entertaining to watch me find the most comfortable position to take notes in.  And I'm only getting bigger from here, folks.  I want to cry thinking about how I'm going to survive the next few Tuesday night meetings.
I'm dreading going to a local museum to interview the executive director for a story, because I know it's going to take longer than it should because some of the docents are going to sideline me and want to talk about my pregnancy/the baby.  And it's not that I don't want to talk about it.  It's that I have work to do and don't have an hour to shoot the breeze when I've got six other stories in the hopper for the following week.  But I need to be polite, so I'm faced with a conundrum.  And this happens all the time.  I'll be on assignment and people will want to talk about what's going on in my uterus, but I'm working for goodness sake!!  Just because I"m prego doesn't mean I can just totally slack off and not get my other stuff done.
But I want to slack off.  I'm tired.  I'm huge.  Halfway through the day, I just want to take a nap.  But I also don't want to stop working yet.  
When it comes down to it, I'm just not used to being physically limited, and it's really hard for me to not be able to do more and more stuff.  I know it's just the beginning of what's to come.  I know that I won't be able to go out on Friday and Saturday nights like I'm used to, and that's fine.  Because I'm really excited to be a mom.  
It's just hard being physically limited, like having to go to bed early or not being able to drive far distances or needing to lay down and rest more often.  I know out social lives and sleep schedules will be limited, and that will be hard, but extremely rewarding.  But being physically restricted is hardest because I like being able to do things for myself, like putting groceries away or even grocery shopping without having to pee three times while there.  Or not being able to wash dishes, load the dishwasher, fold laundry or cook dinner because I'm having Braxton Hicks and have to lay down.
I had no idea late pregnancy would be such a challenge.  This gives me all the more reason to hit the gym on a regular basis after she's born so that I am in shape and won't be at risk for health problems that could physically limit me later in life, like heart disease, diabetes or obesity.  Because if I can't take six weeks of being limited like this, I sure as heck couldn't handle the rest of my life in a similar fashion.

Feathers

Not sure if this could be considered nesting, but I had a burst of energy to conquer a couple of projects around the house tonight even though it's Wednesday and I'm usually beat.  I was tired when I got home but suddenly was overcome with the need to do the following:

• Sanitize and put away all 10 pacifiers we received at last weekend's baby shower.
• Completely take apart and wipe down with Lysol wipes the hand-me-down high chair we recently received.
• Wash receiving blankets and the aforementioned high chair cushion.
• Organize diapers in the baby's closet with the newborn ones the most easily accessible.

• Fight the urge to drive to Target and purchase a hamper and laundry detergent for the baby's clothing so I can start washing it. 
• 
  

It doesn't help that I've had numerous people tell me they think I'm going to be early because of my height.  But if my height was a factor, wouldn't I look 12 months prego by now?  Come on, peeps.
Regardless, being 32 weeks is just a reminder that I've only got five to go until the baby is considered full term.  I feel like we're running out of time to get stuff done, but then again, she has a place to sleep, clothing, a place to have a diaper change, food and two parents who can't wait to meet her.   What more could she want or need?