Oh, don't worry, it's nothing quite as dramatic as the title promises.
I'm just finding that this space doesn't call my name as often as it used to. I feel a bit guilty for only having newsy updates...and nothing really juicy and creative for you. So I think a little time away is just what I need. Hopefully, after my "trial separation," I'll feel a renewed spark and return with all sorts of interesting bits of my life to share.
Farewell for now.
Showing posts with label Feelings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Feelings. Show all posts
Monday, June 14, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
For now...
This week has been full of everything from sadness to joy.
A friend, Erin, from college just lost her younger (and only) brother to suicide. So final...and such a terrible, tragic loss. The one slightly bright side is that through this tragedy, our little circle of girls will be reuniting to support Erin at the prayer service tomorrow evening.
Avery attended his first buddy birthday party on Sunday. The birthday boy's family rented an inflatable Mickey Mouse play center that was comparable in size to my first apartment. Oh, what fun they had! Mama even climbed in to jump with the kids! Somehow my camera has been absent from my arms over the last few months...I'm regretting that more and more every day.
Matt's parents arrive Thursday evening for a visit. We've all tried to live healthier in the last 4-6 months, and the proof is clearly visible in Matt and his parents (I, on the other hand, just seem to grow, grow, grow!). Saturday they will test themselves at Fargo's marathon...though they will only be taking on the 10 K.
Eek! I still have carpets to steam clean, bed linens to freshen, bathrooms to scrub, and a kitchen to organize before they arrive!
So, this little snippet of an update will have to do until I get this laundry list of chores finished.
Ah crap - nearly forgot about the laundry...Better get moving!
A friend, Erin, from college just lost her younger (and only) brother to suicide. So final...and such a terrible, tragic loss. The one slightly bright side is that through this tragedy, our little circle of girls will be reuniting to support Erin at the prayer service tomorrow evening.
Avery attended his first buddy birthday party on Sunday. The birthday boy's family rented an inflatable Mickey Mouse play center that was comparable in size to my first apartment. Oh, what fun they had! Mama even climbed in to jump with the kids! Somehow my camera has been absent from my arms over the last few months...I'm regretting that more and more every day.
Matt's parents arrive Thursday evening for a visit. We've all tried to live healthier in the last 4-6 months, and the proof is clearly visible in Matt and his parents (I, on the other hand, just seem to grow, grow, grow!). Saturday they will test themselves at Fargo's marathon...though they will only be taking on the 10 K.
Eek! I still have carpets to steam clean, bed linens to freshen, bathrooms to scrub, and a kitchen to organize before they arrive!
So, this little snippet of an update will have to do until I get this laundry list of chores finished.
Ah crap - nearly forgot about the laundry...Better get moving!
Saturday, May 8, 2010
IntelliGender Confusion
For some reason, I've been slightly convinced that this little bean I'm carrying just might be a girl. (Really, this is only supported by two very weak facts: 1. I've been crazy-sick this pregnancy, and 2. Baby's heart rate has been in the high 150's to low 160's range.) It's been killing me that we have to wait so long to find out the sex of the baby! I mean, hey, Matt and I have agreed that this is our last babe, so it's sort of our last hoorah - or something.
Anyway, our ultrasound is scheduled for May 28th. Woohoo. Great. Whoop-dee-doo. That's still another 3 weeks away! My in-laws are coming the week before, and it would be fantastic if we knew, and could celebrate, when they're here. I even considered calling my physician's office to see if we could move our appointment a week earlier. Then I remembered I'll just be 18 weeks on the 28th...and since the window of optimum heart imaging is between 18-20 weeks, I figured we'd better not push our luck. So I gave in.
Then I talked to my friend, Sara, last night! There is something called the IntelliGender Gender Prediction Test. As my pal was explaining this to me, I was thinking that it's probably about as accurate as dangling a pendant above your belly and waiting to see if it moves from side to side, or in circles (By the way, I did this one, too...and it made circles - which is supposed to mean it's a girl!). But apparently, some actual "doctors" claim that this test is 90% accurate, and can be performed as early as 10 weeks into your pregnancy. It detects hormones in your urine, indicating by a color code the sex of your baby.
Ok, so I wasn't exactly convinced yet...but I sure was curious. So this morning I headed to my local CVS pharmacy and bought a test ($40 plus tax!!!). Now, I didn't take photos of my results, but I can tell you they looked like the girl results on this page! I'm not about to rush out and buy everything pink and ruffly I can find, but it's sort of fun - especially if it's accurate! If, on the 28th, however, we're told we're having another boy, I will definitely regret the purchase price. My husband will surely have something to say on the matter, as well.
Anyway, our ultrasound is scheduled for May 28th. Woohoo. Great. Whoop-dee-doo. That's still another 3 weeks away! My in-laws are coming the week before, and it would be fantastic if we knew, and could celebrate, when they're here. I even considered calling my physician's office to see if we could move our appointment a week earlier. Then I remembered I'll just be 18 weeks on the 28th...and since the window of optimum heart imaging is between 18-20 weeks, I figured we'd better not push our luck. So I gave in.
Then I talked to my friend, Sara, last night! There is something called the IntelliGender Gender Prediction Test. As my pal was explaining this to me, I was thinking that it's probably about as accurate as dangling a pendant above your belly and waiting to see if it moves from side to side, or in circles (By the way, I did this one, too...and it made circles - which is supposed to mean it's a girl!). But apparently, some actual "doctors" claim that this test is 90% accurate, and can be performed as early as 10 weeks into your pregnancy. It detects hormones in your urine, indicating by a color code the sex of your baby.
Ok, so I wasn't exactly convinced yet...but I sure was curious. So this morning I headed to my local CVS pharmacy and bought a test ($40 plus tax!!!). Now, I didn't take photos of my results, but I can tell you they looked like the girl results on this page! I'm not about to rush out and buy everything pink and ruffly I can find, but it's sort of fun - especially if it's accurate! If, on the 28th, however, we're told we're having another boy, I will definitely regret the purchase price. My husband will surely have something to say on the matter, as well.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Goodbye, First Trimester!
We won't be missing you!
That's right! We finally hit the 13 week mark. No more progesterone supplements, no more vomiting (at least, not in the last week+), and the exhaustion levels have certainly decreased.
On another positive note, I had another OB check yesterday. Baby's heart rate is still in the high 150's, and my doctor is confident that things will go smoothly from here on out! I had been going in every two weeks to monitor the baby's heart rate and make sure everything else was progressing normally, and after yesterday's visit, I was told I didn't have to come back for 5 weeks!
So, on May 28th we will do another ultrasound (and if things go well, we should find out the sex!) and an appointment with my doctor. During the ultrasound they will focus in on the four chambers of the baby's heart, to make certain our new little one doesn't have any congenital heart defects. Since Avery has a couple issues in that department, our chances are slightly higher that we'd have another child with a similar problem. There has been nothing thus far to indicate that this baby has anything abnormal going on, but knowledge is power in this sort of situation, and the medical staff would like to be aware should our baby need any special care upon birth.
(*Praying that isn't necessary whatsoever!)
In other news, Avery is immensely enjoying "listening" to the baby in Mommy's tummy :) It makes me happy, too, knowing he's excited about the prospect of a new sibling. Let's just hope that good-natured attitude keeps up once the little one is here and wailing 'round the clock!
Happy weekend to you all.
That's right! We finally hit the 13 week mark. No more progesterone supplements, no more vomiting (at least, not in the last week+), and the exhaustion levels have certainly decreased.
On another positive note, I had another OB check yesterday. Baby's heart rate is still in the high 150's, and my doctor is confident that things will go smoothly from here on out! I had been going in every two weeks to monitor the baby's heart rate and make sure everything else was progressing normally, and after yesterday's visit, I was told I didn't have to come back for 5 weeks!
So, on May 28th we will do another ultrasound (and if things go well, we should find out the sex!) and an appointment with my doctor. During the ultrasound they will focus in on the four chambers of the baby's heart, to make certain our new little one doesn't have any congenital heart defects. Since Avery has a couple issues in that department, our chances are slightly higher that we'd have another child with a similar problem. There has been nothing thus far to indicate that this baby has anything abnormal going on, but knowledge is power in this sort of situation, and the medical staff would like to be aware should our baby need any special care upon birth.
(*Praying that isn't necessary whatsoever!)
In other news, Avery is immensely enjoying "listening" to the baby in Mommy's tummy :) It makes me happy, too, knowing he's excited about the prospect of a new sibling. Let's just hope that good-natured attitude keeps up once the little one is here and wailing 'round the clock!
Happy weekend to you all.
Monday, March 8, 2010
6 Weeks and 3 Days
That's how far along we are in this pregnancy! Phew -- I've been debating whether it's too early to announce it to the world, but I've been at my bursting point for way too long...so announcing it I am.
I'm not foolish enough to believe we're in the clear yet, though. After all, I was eight weeks when we lost one before. However, as soon as I saw the two pink lines on the pregnancy test, I called my physician's office, went in for lab work, and discovered my hormone levels weren't spiking as they should have been. I've been on progesterone supplements since we found out about this little bun in my oven, and thankfully, they seem to be doing their job.
We had our first ultrasound on Friday, to make sure things were developing as they should. We got to see the baby's heart beat! And here is the craziest part: our ultrasound tech informed us that a fetus' (I don't particularly care for that term...) heart starts to beat between five weeks five days and five weeks six days, and according to her findings, I was at five weeks six days on Friday. She told us it was entirely possible that the little heart had just started beating within hours! Honestly, I didn't really care when exactly it had happened as long as we could see proof that things were going well so far. And that little heart beat sure calmed my fears for a good while.
So the plan is that I'll stay on the supplements through the first twelve weeks of pregnancy, when we are most susceptible to issues. We have another ultrasound scheduled at the end of March, just to make sure everything is still on track. We will also have our first doctor's visit, so hopefully by that time we can be even more confident that this pregnancy will result in an addition to our little family.
I've been praying, and praying, and praying. And I don't think I'll be stopping anytime soon.
Let this be the one!
I'm not foolish enough to believe we're in the clear yet, though. After all, I was eight weeks when we lost one before. However, as soon as I saw the two pink lines on the pregnancy test, I called my physician's office, went in for lab work, and discovered my hormone levels weren't spiking as they should have been. I've been on progesterone supplements since we found out about this little bun in my oven, and thankfully, they seem to be doing their job.
We had our first ultrasound on Friday, to make sure things were developing as they should. We got to see the baby's heart beat! And here is the craziest part: our ultrasound tech informed us that a fetus' (I don't particularly care for that term...) heart starts to beat between five weeks five days and five weeks six days, and according to her findings, I was at five weeks six days on Friday. She told us it was entirely possible that the little heart had just started beating within hours! Honestly, I didn't really care when exactly it had happened as long as we could see proof that things were going well so far. And that little heart beat sure calmed my fears for a good while.
So the plan is that I'll stay on the supplements through the first twelve weeks of pregnancy, when we are most susceptible to issues. We have another ultrasound scheduled at the end of March, just to make sure everything is still on track. We will also have our first doctor's visit, so hopefully by that time we can be even more confident that this pregnancy will result in an addition to our little family.
I've been praying, and praying, and praying. And I don't think I'll be stopping anytime soon.
Let this be the one!
Monday, February 1, 2010
Success and Positive Thinking
1. Success!
Avery is going potty on the toilet. Hooray! I have to confess: I was really stressing over the idea that he may not be potty trained by his third birthday. Then, last Saturday morning, he woke up and wanted to wear some BBU's (Big Boy Underwear). We've tried this approach a couple of times in the last year; putting underwear on and telling him he can't go potty in them, placing him on the toilet, etc. He was excited about this whole idea previously, but never had the patience to sit and wait for the potty to come. Last weekend, though, he stayed on and peed like a champ! Occasionally, after that first successful attempt, he would reject the suggestions I made that he try to sit on the toilet again (usually in about 1/2 hour intervals). So to entice him, I used these little incentives:
- A squirt of baby soap in the toilet, so that when he went potty, he made bubbles!
- A Potty Poster - one star sticker for potty, two star stickers for poop (which we haven't succeeded at yet). Once the poster is filled, he gets to pick out a new toy from the toy store.
- One M&M for each time he even sat on the toilet the first day (thankfully, he forgot about this incentive by the second day, and was more focused on the bubbles and star stickers).
- Fun Disney character underwear. He was so excited to pull those pants down and see his Bob the Builder (actually, I don't think this one is Disney, but you know what I mean), Batman, and Finding Nemo undies every time we went into the bathroom!
It has now been just over a week since we started this potty training shove, and we've only had a handful of accidents. So far, he hasn't made a #2 deposit (he is still wearing diapers overnight and has saved the pooping for then), and aside from making sure he gets lots of fiber and drinks plenty of fluids, I'm not sure what to do to make this one happen on the toilet. I'm trying to be patient, though!
We have an adapter seat on the standard toilet that Avery usually goes potty on, but I've read that doing the "big job" on something so high up makes them feel nervous, which means they're unable to relax enough to poop. (I'm sorry, by the way, if anyone reading this is offended by my topic today. It's a Mama thing, and I doubt I'll offend other Mamas out there. Anyone else can just skip this first portion and go straight down to the Positive Thinking section of my post.) We have a little potty chair in both bathrooms (three kid toilets total)...so we have just been using each of the different ones randomly throughout the day, thinking that maybe he'll find one is "The Perfect Pooper."
So, the point is: I'm open to suggestions. How do I speed this process along? Or at least keep it on track?
2. Positive Thinking
My subtitle for this blog is a quote by Norman Vincent Peale. While I love the quote, I honestly hadn't even heard of Dr. Peale until I Googled famous quotes about zest for life. I decided it's quite uneducated and ridiculous, really, to quote someone about whom I know nothing (I just spent the last 10 minutes trying to figure out if I had written that last sentence properly).
To solve this issue, I decided to order this from Amazon last week. Since Dr. Peale was a minister (preacher?), much of his focus is on the role God plays in one's life. I would say that I'm spiritual, if not overly religious. The reviews I read before purchasing this book were pretty impressive - one reviewer even goes so far as to say the book is like a pocket psychotherapist. Hm...
I have barely begun reading it, but already it has me thinking about my beliefs. I have always questioned why Catholics believe their version of Christianity is better than all others. I have also wondered why each niche religion insists that what they believe is different from the beliefs of others'. From my standpoint, many - if not all - beliefs are centered on the idea that there is a greater power, and that we, as believers, followers, humans, disciples, etc. are to keep that in mind while going about our lives. We are not to feel entitled to everything the world has to offer, but to feel thankful when we are blessed with good things and experiences, and to reflect spiritually - internally - when those things or experiences are not so good.
If the intent of old Norm's book is to make people realize that sometimes we are not in control, I've already figured that out, thank you. I'm hoping I can take something more than that from this collection of three books in one, though. In the first few pages of The Power of Positive Thinking, Dr. Peale declares that the answer to diminishing self-doubt is to fill those doubt-filled spaces with God's love, support, and dependability.
Now I understand this idea...really, I do, but doesn't this thought process also give away responsibility for one's successes and failures? If I put God into every nook and cranny of my being, the way I'm told to, does that really solve my feelings of insecurity? It is my belief that we are ever-changing individuals - and we are intended to be this way. I think, for instance, that I could be a more generous, giving person...doing more to impact the lives of people who are less fortunate than I. But (unless I'm taking Dr. Peale's thoughts too literally) if I just fill this shortcoming with the knowledge that God accepts me as I am, does that really help me to become a better person?
Perhaps I haven't read far enough into this book yet. Maybe there are more defined, proactive steps to bettering myself than I have found in my initial 26 pages of reading. So far, though, I find myself a little doubtful that this book will be the magic tool I use to improve my quality of life.
Avery is going potty on the toilet. Hooray! I have to confess: I was really stressing over the idea that he may not be potty trained by his third birthday. Then, last Saturday morning, he woke up and wanted to wear some BBU's (Big Boy Underwear). We've tried this approach a couple of times in the last year; putting underwear on and telling him he can't go potty in them, placing him on the toilet, etc. He was excited about this whole idea previously, but never had the patience to sit and wait for the potty to come. Last weekend, though, he stayed on and peed like a champ! Occasionally, after that first successful attempt, he would reject the suggestions I made that he try to sit on the toilet again (usually in about 1/2 hour intervals). So to entice him, I used these little incentives:
- A squirt of baby soap in the toilet, so that when he went potty, he made bubbles!
- A Potty Poster - one star sticker for potty, two star stickers for poop (which we haven't succeeded at yet). Once the poster is filled, he gets to pick out a new toy from the toy store.
- One M&M for each time he even sat on the toilet the first day (thankfully, he forgot about this incentive by the second day, and was more focused on the bubbles and star stickers).
- Fun Disney character underwear. He was so excited to pull those pants down and see his Bob the Builder (actually, I don't think this one is Disney, but you know what I mean), Batman, and Finding Nemo undies every time we went into the bathroom!
It has now been just over a week since we started this potty training shove, and we've only had a handful of accidents. So far, he hasn't made a #2 deposit (he is still wearing diapers overnight and has saved the pooping for then), and aside from making sure he gets lots of fiber and drinks plenty of fluids, I'm not sure what to do to make this one happen on the toilet. I'm trying to be patient, though!
We have an adapter seat on the standard toilet that Avery usually goes potty on, but I've read that doing the "big job" on something so high up makes them feel nervous, which means they're unable to relax enough to poop. (I'm sorry, by the way, if anyone reading this is offended by my topic today. It's a Mama thing, and I doubt I'll offend other Mamas out there. Anyone else can just skip this first portion and go straight down to the Positive Thinking section of my post.) We have a little potty chair in both bathrooms (three kid toilets total)...so we have just been using each of the different ones randomly throughout the day, thinking that maybe he'll find one is "The Perfect Pooper."
So, the point is: I'm open to suggestions. How do I speed this process along? Or at least keep it on track?
2. Positive Thinking
My subtitle for this blog is a quote by Norman Vincent Peale. While I love the quote, I honestly hadn't even heard of Dr. Peale until I Googled famous quotes about zest for life. I decided it's quite uneducated and ridiculous, really, to quote someone about whom I know nothing (I just spent the last 10 minutes trying to figure out if I had written that last sentence properly).
To solve this issue, I decided to order this from Amazon last week. Since Dr. Peale was a minister (preacher?), much of his focus is on the role God plays in one's life. I would say that I'm spiritual, if not overly religious. The reviews I read before purchasing this book were pretty impressive - one reviewer even goes so far as to say the book is like a pocket psychotherapist. Hm...
I have barely begun reading it, but already it has me thinking about my beliefs. I have always questioned why Catholics believe their version of Christianity is better than all others. I have also wondered why each niche religion insists that what they believe is different from the beliefs of others'. From my standpoint, many - if not all - beliefs are centered on the idea that there is a greater power, and that we, as believers, followers, humans, disciples, etc. are to keep that in mind while going about our lives. We are not to feel entitled to everything the world has to offer, but to feel thankful when we are blessed with good things and experiences, and to reflect spiritually - internally - when those things or experiences are not so good.
If the intent of old Norm's book is to make people realize that sometimes we are not in control, I've already figured that out, thank you. I'm hoping I can take something more than that from this collection of three books in one, though. In the first few pages of The Power of Positive Thinking, Dr. Peale declares that the answer to diminishing self-doubt is to fill those doubt-filled spaces with God's love, support, and dependability.
Now I understand this idea...really, I do, but doesn't this thought process also give away responsibility for one's successes and failures? If I put God into every nook and cranny of my being, the way I'm told to, does that really solve my feelings of insecurity? It is my belief that we are ever-changing individuals - and we are intended to be this way. I think, for instance, that I could be a more generous, giving person...doing more to impact the lives of people who are less fortunate than I. But (unless I'm taking Dr. Peale's thoughts too literally) if I just fill this shortcoming with the knowledge that God accepts me as I am, does that really help me to become a better person?
Perhaps I haven't read far enough into this book yet. Maybe there are more defined, proactive steps to bettering myself than I have found in my initial 26 pages of reading. So far, though, I find myself a little doubtful that this book will be the magic tool I use to improve my quality of life.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Hmm...
For the most part, I don't like to delve too deep into the more personal, darker corners of my life here on Zesty. Occasionally, though, it's one of the best places to vent my frustrations, concerns, and painful experiences.
In October, I talked about this. However difficult it was (and sometimes, continues to be), I have stayed hopeful and mostly positive about the prospect of adding to our little family. So we waited until we got the go-ahead from our doctor, and started again.
The short version of this story?
Pregnancy test taken (two, actually...and done two days apart just to be sure).
Positive results.
Hours later...GONE.
Doctor visit (failed pregnancy).
More blood work.
Waiting for results.
Ugh. The waiting. I know I voiced my frustration about waiting for medical staff to return calls in my earlier post, as well. I truly do understand that I am not the only patient waiting for results...really, I do. But it doesn't make me want my results any less.
Matt asked me last night at the dinner table how I would take it if we got the news that I wasn't able to have any more children. Ohhhhhhhh, how I didn't want to go to that place. Voicing fears that had been tip-toeing around in my head for the last few months is so painful. So I took the safest route possible, and joked that we'd just have to con one of my sisters into being our surrogate. Really, I just wanted to yell and cry about how unfair that would be, and that he is never allowed to say things like that in my presence ever again.
But I didn't. And dinner continued with light conversations about things like the -87 degree wind chill (only a slight exaggeration) and what Avery did earlier in the day.
So today, hopefully, I'll finally get a call with my results. Again, I find myself praying harder than I probably have since October...and again I'm wondering why that is, and whether it's realistic for my prayer to be answered. I'm reminding myself that prayers are answered everyday, and in the next breath I'm reminding myself that prayers sometimes aren't answered at all how we'd like them to be; sometimes there's a whole different plan in store, and we have yet to find out what or why that is.
In October, I talked about this. However difficult it was (and sometimes, continues to be), I have stayed hopeful and mostly positive about the prospect of adding to our little family. So we waited until we got the go-ahead from our doctor, and started again.
The short version of this story?
Pregnancy test taken (two, actually...and done two days apart just to be sure).
Positive results.
Hours later...GONE.
Doctor visit (failed pregnancy).
More blood work.
Waiting for results.
Ugh. The waiting. I know I voiced my frustration about waiting for medical staff to return calls in my earlier post, as well. I truly do understand that I am not the only patient waiting for results...really, I do. But it doesn't make me want my results any less.
Matt asked me last night at the dinner table how I would take it if we got the news that I wasn't able to have any more children. Ohhhhhhhh, how I didn't want to go to that place. Voicing fears that had been tip-toeing around in my head for the last few months is so painful. So I took the safest route possible, and joked that we'd just have to con one of my sisters into being our surrogate. Really, I just wanted to yell and cry about how unfair that would be, and that he is never allowed to say things like that in my presence ever again.
But I didn't. And dinner continued with light conversations about things like the -87 degree wind chill (only a slight exaggeration) and what Avery did earlier in the day.
So today, hopefully, I'll finally get a call with my results. Again, I find myself praying harder than I probably have since October...and again I'm wondering why that is, and whether it's realistic for my prayer to be answered. I'm reminding myself that prayers are answered everyday, and in the next breath I'm reminding myself that prayers sometimes aren't answered at all how we'd like them to be; sometimes there's a whole different plan in store, and we have yet to find out what or why that is.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Merry and Bright
Avery and cousin, Teghan, received bouncey horsesfrom Grandma and Grandpa Weatherby.
Ride 'em, Cowboy (and Cowgirl)!
One of the cutest ornaments...
from a Christmas when my husband wasn't quite three.
Coincidentally, it's the same age Avery was for this Christmas.
I love the mix of old and new ornaments.
Nebraska sunrise the morning we left to come back home.
Beautiful!We hope your holiday was full of the glow from Christmas lights,
gorgeous sunrises,
and the love of those you hold dear.
gorgeous sunrises,
and the love of those you hold dear.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Untitled
We wake,
Work,
Love,
Hate,
Worry,
Conquer,
Celebrate!
And during the moments
in between,
we take a deep, steadying breath,
and close our eyes.
Cherish these quiet moments.
This life is
so very fragile.
Work,
Love,
Hate,
Worry,
Conquer,
Celebrate!
And during the moments
in between,
we take a deep, steadying breath,
and close our eyes.
Cherish these quiet moments.
This life is
so very fragile.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
"Dinah, won't you blow your horn?"
This post and my next one are devoted to my Grandma Micki. Her real name's Pearl Maxine, but many, many years ago, she decided that was an old lady name. I'm not exactly sure how she chose Micki, but I sure can't imagine calling her anything else.
The following are some of my most prominent memories of her.
~Grandma always carried Tic-Tacs in her purse, and Sundays during church, you could hear the Skunes kids jiggling the container. In retrospect, she should have had larger treats - they'd have kept our mouths closed a little longer!
~When my sisters and I were sick during childhood, occasionally we'd be dropped off at Grandma's for the day. We'd spend it cozied up in her bed, watching "The Price is Right" and eating Campbell's chicken noodle soup.
~The first thing she ever taught her grandchildren was how to play poker - not Go Fish, not Uno...but poker. I thought it was great.
~In one of her extra bedrooms, there was this gigantic round box that she had filled with "dress up" clothes: an emerald green cocktail dress from her younger years, a Hunter Hornets basketball jersey, an Arthur Knights baseball jersey (Arthur is the closest town to the farm), random dress clothes of hers and Gramps' that either went out of fashion or became too big/small. There were lots of photos taken of all the cousins dressed up in items from that box, and they were some of my happiest memories.
~She knows the words to every Judds song ever written. When we'd ride in the car with her, she'd be-bop away, dancing and singing from the driver's seat.
~She buys boxed wine. And LOVES it. Occasionally she opens it wrong and ruins the seal on the box, so she dumps it in a regular juice pitcher and drinks from it for weeks - even after it's started to turn to vinegar.
~She can throw the most random ingredients into a pot or baking dish and come up with something scrumptious for any meal.
~She uses Pond's cold cream to remove her make-up. The smell of that stuff is something I'll remember forever.
~Grandma is continually outraged that young people these days have to shower daily.
~She is a bridge player - and a damn good one.
~She can finish a crossword puzzle faster than anyone I know. She can come up with the most random, little-known word or phrase in a millisecond. It is her I thank for my initial love of words.
~She taught me to use newspapers and vinegar water to wash windows.
~Grandma has macular degeneration, and can no longer drive. She has a golf cart at their vacation home in Mesa, Arizona, though...I don't want to imagine what will happen the day she's told she's too dangerous to be meandering the streets of their retirement community.
~Even though she can no longer see what's 20 feet ahead of her, she can navigate you through Mesa/Phoenix like she was born there, announcing every street by name.
~One does not debate her orders; I can clearly recall my father and grandpa begrudgingly doing as they were told on many occasions...things that may or may not have been done incorrectly, but they didn't dare dispute the topic.
~She makes rearranging furniture look like a profession. We joke sometimes that if my grandpa comes home in the dark, he'd better turn the lights on or he'll end up flat on his face tripping over the sofa.
~She would do anything for anyone she loves. Once, when a friend's family member passed away, she and a couple of her church buddies went to help the family clear out the house. In return for cleaning out the attic, she was told to pick any item she wanted, and she chose a World War I bugle.
I remember that because I played my father's old cornet in middle/high school, I was the only grandchild able to play that bugle. We had heard my grandma tell the story numerous times about how she acquired it, but I'd always thought the story had been stretched over the years, and it was some worthless piece of trash that should have been thrown out long ago.
Then, a few years ago when my grandparents sold their lake cabin, every family member was able to choose an item during their own clearing out process. My Grandma Micki told me I should take the bugle, and knowing you don't argue with grandma, I took it.
Since that day, it hasn't always had a prominent resting place in our home. It does now, though. It sits on top of the hutch on my desk, and every time I see it, I think of where it's been. I can honestly say it feels right to play Taps on that horn. And it brings a misty smile to my face when my son now totes it around, calling it his tuba, and blowing his own clear, bright tone from its bell.
The following are some of my most prominent memories of her.
~Grandma always carried Tic-Tacs in her purse, and Sundays during church, you could hear the Skunes kids jiggling the container. In retrospect, she should have had larger treats - they'd have kept our mouths closed a little longer!
~When my sisters and I were sick during childhood, occasionally we'd be dropped off at Grandma's for the day. We'd spend it cozied up in her bed, watching "The Price is Right" and eating Campbell's chicken noodle soup.
~The first thing she ever taught her grandchildren was how to play poker - not Go Fish, not Uno...but poker. I thought it was great.
~In one of her extra bedrooms, there was this gigantic round box that she had filled with "dress up" clothes: an emerald green cocktail dress from her younger years, a Hunter Hornets basketball jersey, an Arthur Knights baseball jersey (Arthur is the closest town to the farm), random dress clothes of hers and Gramps' that either went out of fashion or became too big/small. There were lots of photos taken of all the cousins dressed up in items from that box, and they were some of my happiest memories.
~She knows the words to every Judds song ever written. When we'd ride in the car with her, she'd be-bop away, dancing and singing from the driver's seat.
~She buys boxed wine. And LOVES it. Occasionally she opens it wrong and ruins the seal on the box, so she dumps it in a regular juice pitcher and drinks from it for weeks - even after it's started to turn to vinegar.
~She can throw the most random ingredients into a pot or baking dish and come up with something scrumptious for any meal.
~She uses Pond's cold cream to remove her make-up. The smell of that stuff is something I'll remember forever.
~Grandma is continually outraged that young people these days have to shower daily.
~She is a bridge player - and a damn good one.
~She can finish a crossword puzzle faster than anyone I know. She can come up with the most random, little-known word or phrase in a millisecond. It is her I thank for my initial love of words.
~She taught me to use newspapers and vinegar water to wash windows.
~Grandma has macular degeneration, and can no longer drive. She has a golf cart at their vacation home in Mesa, Arizona, though...I don't want to imagine what will happen the day she's told she's too dangerous to be meandering the streets of their retirement community.
~Even though she can no longer see what's 20 feet ahead of her, she can navigate you through Mesa/Phoenix like she was born there, announcing every street by name.
~One does not debate her orders; I can clearly recall my father and grandpa begrudgingly doing as they were told on many occasions...things that may or may not have been done incorrectly, but they didn't dare dispute the topic.
~She makes rearranging furniture look like a profession. We joke sometimes that if my grandpa comes home in the dark, he'd better turn the lights on or he'll end up flat on his face tripping over the sofa.
~She would do anything for anyone she loves. Once, when a friend's family member passed away, she and a couple of her church buddies went to help the family clear out the house. In return for cleaning out the attic, she was told to pick any item she wanted, and she chose a World War I bugle.
I remember that because I played my father's old cornet in middle/high school, I was the only grandchild able to play that bugle. We had heard my grandma tell the story numerous times about how she acquired it, but I'd always thought the story had been stretched over the years, and it was some worthless piece of trash that should have been thrown out long ago.
Then, a few years ago when my grandparents sold their lake cabin, every family member was able to choose an item during their own clearing out process. My Grandma Micki told me I should take the bugle, and knowing you don't argue with grandma, I took it.
Since that day, it hasn't always had a prominent resting place in our home. It does now, though. It sits on top of the hutch on my desk, and every time I see it, I think of where it's been. I can honestly say it feels right to play Taps on that horn. And it brings a misty smile to my face when my son now totes it around, calling it his tuba, and blowing his own clear, bright tone from its bell.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
10/14/06
Today marks our third year of marriage. Three years ago we stood in front of our friends and family and exchanged vows. With our baby growing inside me, you promised to love, cherish, and be faithful; I promised the same to you.
We've been through a lot together, Matthew, and I feel it has only made us stronger - as individuals, as partners, and as friends.
I dream of having more of your babies; seeing the best of both of us in them.
I look forward to the days when we are blessed with wisdom that only age and experience can bring us, and of our children's children bouncing on our knees and giggling into our joyous faces.
You are so much more than my husband, and I love you dearly.
Happy Anniversary.
Happy Anniversary.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Seeing Red
*If you have a weak stomach, please don't read the rest of this post. Please.*
Sunday.
I went grocery shopping.
Concocted Pioneer Woman's Baba Ghanoush.
Made scalloped potatoes and ham for supper.
Tried to tell Avery he didn't need to watch Spiderman 3 for the fourth day in a row.
Washed the supper dishes.
Baked cookies for my grandma, who helps with her church's version of the "Welcome Wagon."
Washed baking dishes.
And started to miscarry.
Being nearly 8 weeks pregnant, the last thing I expected when I took a bathroom break was to find red-tinged toilet paper. My mother is a nurse, as I've mentioned, and she calmly and confidently told me not to get too worked up; that some women have spotting during pregnancy. I was to just monitor the situation and call my Dr's office in the morning.
So I did. I monitored the situation like a fanatic.
Every couple of hours I would sit straight up in bed, unable to shut off my mind and return to sleep. Is it worse? Has it stopped? I would try to fool myself into feeling confident, trying to walk slowly to my bathroom like I had all the reason in the world to take my time.
Like my brain wasn't clanging against my skull with jittery nervousness.
Like my hands weren't shaking uncontrollably.
Like my heart wasn't trying to pang its way out of my chest.
Like it wasn't a strong conscious effort to take a deep breath.
So with those shaking hands, I swiped again with the toilet paper. It was redder, darker, and there was more of it. And was it just my mind overworking, or was I feeling some cramping?
Each time I went to check, it was worse than the time before. My heart was plummeting to places that were shady with their incredible sadness and negativity, and each time it dove down there, I reeled it back in, attempting to stay positive.
When morning finally came, my husband kissed me and told me everything would be okay. He left for work, and I called my OB nurse...and left a message. I felt like I watched every damn minute tick by until she finally called back - nearly two hours later. She told me that some women experience bleeding between their 6th and 8th week of pregnancy, when the embryo burrows down into your uterine lining. She told me this doesn't happen to every woman, and it doesn't occur during every pregnancy. I was to come in for some blood tests to check my hormone levels. I was also told that some women's bodies don't produce enough progesterone to support pregnancy, and that if I had low levels, they could supplement them to help my body be more stable for the baby growing inside.
I called Matt. He was coming home to watch Avery so that I didn't have to keep track of a two-year-old while I had blood drawn.
I put in Spiderman 3 and headed for the shower. I undressed and looked down at my barely-showing belly.
What's happening? I wondered for the hundredth time in about 8 hours.
I said a little prayer and stepped into the shower. (Why do I only think to pray when things are scary or not going well? What makes me think my prayers will be answered? For someone who isn't incredibly religious, it seems a bit pathetic to reach out to God when I don't regularly make Him a part of my daily life.)
As I felt the hot water stream down my body, I looked down. And saw clots. Horrible, deep scarlet splotches dropping to the floor of my shower, and being quickly whisked down the drain. I made myself look up and continued showering. I finished, stepped out of the shower, and hoped the worst was done.
The cramping wasn't my imagination, and it continued.
Matt returned home, and I left for the clinic. After I registered, I entered the lab waiting room. Do you know how many large, pregnant bellies one sees on a Monday morning in the lab? Thirteen. I counted. And that was in a 20 minute time frame. Finally my name was called, and I followed the phlebotomist back to have my blood drawn. I have "terrible veins" apparently, and watching the vile woman wriggle that needle in my arm, searching frantically for my vein just about put me over the edge. But I just closed my eyes, grit my teeth, and imagined bashing her head against the Band-Aid dispenser.
I was told that it should take only an hour to have the results back. I was to call my OB nurse again and let her know we were awaiting my results. I had left the clinic at 10:45 that morning, so by my calculations, I should have my results by noon - at the latest.
I tried to show I was cool, calm, and collected - I waited until 11:51 to call. And left another message. I endured their insanely long, informative but infuriating voicemail message about pregnant women needing to get flu shots, and how their line is answered "between the hours of 8 am and 5 pm. We are not available to take your call right now, so please leave your name, date of birth, chart number, your doctor's name, and contact number, and we will return your call as soon as we are able."
Which turned out to be three minutes before 2 pm. Do you know how evil your mind can be in that length of time? Very.
It turns out my Hcg (pregnancy hormone) and progesterone were extremely low. I was told that the normal level for a pregnant woman's progesterone is 20 - mine was 1.4. And the tale I was told about getting this hormone supplemented, should it be lower than normal? Apparently a pregnancy is only worth "saving" if your levels are 10 or above. The OB nurse informed me that it's best "just wait and see how things play out. We don't want to try and save a bad pregnancy."
Wow. Did this woman take lessons to become cold and careless with her words?
I sat propped against the pillows in my bed.
I tried to stay calm.
And dammit, I needed to pee. I was beginning to despise the bathroom. Every time I entered, I would cling desperately to the hope that maybe this time I wouldn't see blood. And every time the bleeding was worse.
I hadn't cried yet after hanging up with the nurse. On my way out of the bathroom Matt asked me how I was. Evidently he hadn't heard the phone ring; he didn't know of our news. All I could manage was, "The nurse called back. Not good." Then I scurried back into my cave/room and burrowed into the covers. I just wanted to sink in and never surface again. I rolled onto my side, facing the closet, and saw all of the maternity clothes hanging there. I looked down, and at the foot of my bed was the double stroller I had purchased at a garage sale only a couple weeks earlier.
I was sobbing so hard I thought surely I would wake Avery from his nap.
How could this be happening? We wanted this baby. It was no accident that we were expecting! And after two unplanned pregnancies before this one with no problems to speak of, why this? Why us?
---------------------------------------------
I have to go in today for more blood work. They will need to check whether my body has done its job and pushed everything through, or whether a doctor will have to assist with completing that job. It's called a D & C. And I am desperately hoping that it's not necessary.
I believe I'm a strong woman.
I know I will get through this. And I know we will try again when we're told it's safe. But I know there will be fear of this happening again. And I believe it will make me more reserved and cautious about announcing a pregnancy, should we be fortunate enough to have another.
The absolute only positive thing that has come from this is that I look at Avery and see a miracle. The stars aligned, we were blessed, everything went as it should have with his fetal development.
Of that, I am now so incredibly grateful.
Sunday.
I went grocery shopping.
Concocted Pioneer Woman's Baba Ghanoush.
Made scalloped potatoes and ham for supper.
Tried to tell Avery he didn't need to watch Spiderman 3 for the fourth day in a row.
Washed the supper dishes.
Baked cookies for my grandma, who helps with her church's version of the "Welcome Wagon."
Washed baking dishes.
And started to miscarry.
Being nearly 8 weeks pregnant, the last thing I expected when I took a bathroom break was to find red-tinged toilet paper. My mother is a nurse, as I've mentioned, and she calmly and confidently told me not to get too worked up; that some women have spotting during pregnancy. I was to just monitor the situation and call my Dr's office in the morning.
So I did. I monitored the situation like a fanatic.
Every couple of hours I would sit straight up in bed, unable to shut off my mind and return to sleep. Is it worse? Has it stopped? I would try to fool myself into feeling confident, trying to walk slowly to my bathroom like I had all the reason in the world to take my time.
Like my brain wasn't clanging against my skull with jittery nervousness.
Like my hands weren't shaking uncontrollably.
Like my heart wasn't trying to pang its way out of my chest.
Like it wasn't a strong conscious effort to take a deep breath.
So with those shaking hands, I swiped again with the toilet paper. It was redder, darker, and there was more of it. And was it just my mind overworking, or was I feeling some cramping?
Each time I went to check, it was worse than the time before. My heart was plummeting to places that were shady with their incredible sadness and negativity, and each time it dove down there, I reeled it back in, attempting to stay positive.
When morning finally came, my husband kissed me and told me everything would be okay. He left for work, and I called my OB nurse...and left a message. I felt like I watched every damn minute tick by until she finally called back - nearly two hours later. She told me that some women experience bleeding between their 6th and 8th week of pregnancy, when the embryo burrows down into your uterine lining. She told me this doesn't happen to every woman, and it doesn't occur during every pregnancy. I was to come in for some blood tests to check my hormone levels. I was also told that some women's bodies don't produce enough progesterone to support pregnancy, and that if I had low levels, they could supplement them to help my body be more stable for the baby growing inside.
I called Matt. He was coming home to watch Avery so that I didn't have to keep track of a two-year-old while I had blood drawn.
I put in Spiderman 3 and headed for the shower. I undressed and looked down at my barely-showing belly.
What's happening? I wondered for the hundredth time in about 8 hours.
I said a little prayer and stepped into the shower. (Why do I only think to pray when things are scary or not going well? What makes me think my prayers will be answered? For someone who isn't incredibly religious, it seems a bit pathetic to reach out to God when I don't regularly make Him a part of my daily life.)
As I felt the hot water stream down my body, I looked down. And saw clots. Horrible, deep scarlet splotches dropping to the floor of my shower, and being quickly whisked down the drain. I made myself look up and continued showering. I finished, stepped out of the shower, and hoped the worst was done.
The cramping wasn't my imagination, and it continued.
Matt returned home, and I left for the clinic. After I registered, I entered the lab waiting room. Do you know how many large, pregnant bellies one sees on a Monday morning in the lab? Thirteen. I counted. And that was in a 20 minute time frame. Finally my name was called, and I followed the phlebotomist back to have my blood drawn. I have "terrible veins" apparently, and watching the vile woman wriggle that needle in my arm, searching frantically for my vein just about put me over the edge. But I just closed my eyes, grit my teeth, and imagined bashing her head against the Band-Aid dispenser.
I was told that it should take only an hour to have the results back. I was to call my OB nurse again and let her know we were awaiting my results. I had left the clinic at 10:45 that morning, so by my calculations, I should have my results by noon - at the latest.
I tried to show I was cool, calm, and collected - I waited until 11:51 to call. And left another message. I endured their insanely long, informative but infuriating voicemail message about pregnant women needing to get flu shots, and how their line is answered "between the hours of 8 am and 5 pm. We are not available to take your call right now, so please leave your name, date of birth, chart number, your doctor's name, and contact number, and we will return your call as soon as we are able."
Which turned out to be three minutes before 2 pm. Do you know how evil your mind can be in that length of time? Very.
It turns out my Hcg (pregnancy hormone) and progesterone were extremely low. I was told that the normal level for a pregnant woman's progesterone is 20 - mine was 1.4. And the tale I was told about getting this hormone supplemented, should it be lower than normal? Apparently a pregnancy is only worth "saving" if your levels are 10 or above. The OB nurse informed me that it's best "just wait and see how things play out. We don't want to try and save a bad pregnancy."
Wow. Did this woman take lessons to become cold and careless with her words?
I sat propped against the pillows in my bed.
I tried to stay calm.
And dammit, I needed to pee. I was beginning to despise the bathroom. Every time I entered, I would cling desperately to the hope that maybe this time I wouldn't see blood. And every time the bleeding was worse.
I hadn't cried yet after hanging up with the nurse. On my way out of the bathroom Matt asked me how I was. Evidently he hadn't heard the phone ring; he didn't know of our news. All I could manage was, "The nurse called back. Not good." Then I scurried back into my cave/room and burrowed into the covers. I just wanted to sink in and never surface again. I rolled onto my side, facing the closet, and saw all of the maternity clothes hanging there. I looked down, and at the foot of my bed was the double stroller I had purchased at a garage sale only a couple weeks earlier.
I was sobbing so hard I thought surely I would wake Avery from his nap.
How could this be happening? We wanted this baby. It was no accident that we were expecting! And after two unplanned pregnancies before this one with no problems to speak of, why this? Why us?
---------------------------------------------
I have to go in today for more blood work. They will need to check whether my body has done its job and pushed everything through, or whether a doctor will have to assist with completing that job. It's called a D & C. And I am desperately hoping that it's not necessary.
I believe I'm a strong woman.
I know I will get through this. And I know we will try again when we're told it's safe. But I know there will be fear of this happening again. And I believe it will make me more reserved and cautious about announcing a pregnancy, should we be fortunate enough to have another.
The absolute only positive thing that has come from this is that I look at Avery and see a miracle. The stars aligned, we were blessed, everything went as it should have with his fetal development.
Of that, I am now so incredibly grateful.
Friday, October 2, 2009
The Great Medical Facility Debate
We've had to make a decision about where we are going to doctor with this little baking bun.
I've been a medical receptionist off and on for almost five years, and I've worked for both medical facilities in our small community. They each have their pros and cons, so it was sort of daunting to decide where we will spend our considerable bun-birthing dollars.
There are a number of factors that played into our final decision. The first, and probably most important, is that both of my previous deliveries took place at Innovis Health. I had no prenatal care with baby number one (that's a story for another time...), but feel that the birthing process and the care given were certainly as accommodating and genuine as one could have hoped for in that situation. (Did that make any sense?)
Four years after that first delivery, my husband and I found ourselves in need of an obstetrician for our first baby together. So who would we choose? Why, the same man who delivered baby number one, of course! Dr. Greg Glasner is an extremely likable, caring, and knowledgeable physician. However, he is now the CEO of Innovis Health, which means he now spends more time attending board meetings than he does delivering babies. Bummer for us.
So now we virtually have a blank slate. Who to choose?
After Avery was born, his heart condition required us to see a pediatric cardiologist (he has an ASD and a VSD, in case you're wondering). It turns out the only one in town was located at MeritCare. So off we went, MeritCare newbies, lost in a maze of criss-crossing hallways and a sea of other patients. And while Dr. Rodrigo Rios took wonderful care of our worries and our tiny boy, we were never tempted to turn all of Avery's care over to MeritCare.
Perhaps it could be said that most of my loyalty to Innovis (formerly Dakota Clinic) is due to family roots. My mother is a nurse, and has worked for Dakota Clinic for many years. Growing up, I was always taken there for illnesses, check-ups, and annual sports physicals. This is also where my parents were hospitalized each time my dad had a heart attack/stroke, and my mother had cardioversions to treat her congestive heart failure. Anyway, you get the point: lots of strong, deep roots.
Then, when I went back to work full time after Avery was born, I just happened to get a position with MeritCare. To be honest, I felt a bit like a traitor. But take the job, I did, and I can honestly tell you it was the best fit I've ever had in the employment arena. (I say this past-tense only because my child apparently has issues with daycares, and I am now his full time care provider again.)
Ok...back on track, Megan.
For insurance coverage purposes, one who is employed by MeritCare doctors with MeritCare (otherwise you get screwed up the wazoo with out-of-network costs). So we chose a new pediatrician for Avery, and Matthew and I chose MeritCare providers for ourselves.
So, do we stick with our new network of caregivers? Or do we go back to the providers we know and love...a network of people we've known for years and years?
The unknown is scary. Would the MeritCare labor and delivery nurses be as good, as compassionate, as patient as they were at Innovis? Would the lactation consultant be as understanding, helpful, and encouraging? And possibly the most important question: Would the doctor who has gotten to know us during all of our prenatal visits be the one to deliver our baby? Would he remember my name? My husband's name? Our son's name? Whether we were expecting a boy or a girl - or, heaven forbid, more than one baby?
Also, I have given birth twice without an epidural. I have not needed the surgical expertise of a medical doctor. If this area offered one, I may even have opted for a birthing center, rather than a hospital setting for this baby's birth. I plan to go as naturally as possible again this time.
The answer is that for us, Innovis Health is the right choice. We know them. We don't always love every teeny tiny thing about them, but at least we know their flaws, and we can accept them. We have chosen Terry Burrell this time around. After Dr. Glasner moved on to administrative duties, I saw Terry for an annual check-up, and liked him. He's also a CNM, which means I will be one step closer to a more natural birth. MeritCare, I discovered, does not offer any midwives for prenatal care or delivery.
Sometime in May (most likely), you will find us on the sixth floor of Innovis Health. I'll be exhausted and uncomfortable, but I'll be content and happy, too, knowing we made the right decision for our little family.
I've been a medical receptionist off and on for almost five years, and I've worked for both medical facilities in our small community. They each have their pros and cons, so it was sort of daunting to decide where we will spend our considerable bun-birthing dollars.
There are a number of factors that played into our final decision. The first, and probably most important, is that both of my previous deliveries took place at Innovis Health. I had no prenatal care with baby number one (that's a story for another time...), but feel that the birthing process and the care given were certainly as accommodating and genuine as one could have hoped for in that situation. (Did that make any sense?)
Four years after that first delivery, my husband and I found ourselves in need of an obstetrician for our first baby together. So who would we choose? Why, the same man who delivered baby number one, of course! Dr. Greg Glasner is an extremely likable, caring, and knowledgeable physician. However, he is now the CEO of Innovis Health, which means he now spends more time attending board meetings than he does delivering babies. Bummer for us.
So now we virtually have a blank slate. Who to choose?
After Avery was born, his heart condition required us to see a pediatric cardiologist (he has an ASD and a VSD, in case you're wondering). It turns out the only one in town was located at MeritCare. So off we went, MeritCare newbies, lost in a maze of criss-crossing hallways and a sea of other patients. And while Dr. Rodrigo Rios took wonderful care of our worries and our tiny boy, we were never tempted to turn all of Avery's care over to MeritCare.
Perhaps it could be said that most of my loyalty to Innovis (formerly Dakota Clinic) is due to family roots. My mother is a nurse, and has worked for Dakota Clinic for many years. Growing up, I was always taken there for illnesses, check-ups, and annual sports physicals. This is also where my parents were hospitalized each time my dad had a heart attack/stroke, and my mother had cardioversions to treat her congestive heart failure. Anyway, you get the point: lots of strong, deep roots.
Then, when I went back to work full time after Avery was born, I just happened to get a position with MeritCare. To be honest, I felt a bit like a traitor. But take the job, I did, and I can honestly tell you it was the best fit I've ever had in the employment arena. (I say this past-tense only because my child apparently has issues with daycares, and I am now his full time care provider again.)
Ok...back on track, Megan.
For insurance coverage purposes, one who is employed by MeritCare doctors with MeritCare (otherwise you get screwed up the wazoo with out-of-network costs). So we chose a new pediatrician for Avery, and Matthew and I chose MeritCare providers for ourselves.
So, do we stick with our new network of caregivers? Or do we go back to the providers we know and love...a network of people we've known for years and years?
The unknown is scary. Would the MeritCare labor and delivery nurses be as good, as compassionate, as patient as they were at Innovis? Would the lactation consultant be as understanding, helpful, and encouraging? And possibly the most important question: Would the doctor who has gotten to know us during all of our prenatal visits be the one to deliver our baby? Would he remember my name? My husband's name? Our son's name? Whether we were expecting a boy or a girl - or, heaven forbid, more than one baby?
Also, I have given birth twice without an epidural. I have not needed the surgical expertise of a medical doctor. If this area offered one, I may even have opted for a birthing center, rather than a hospital setting for this baby's birth. I plan to go as naturally as possible again this time.
The answer is that for us, Innovis Health is the right choice. We know them. We don't always love every teeny tiny thing about them, but at least we know their flaws, and we can accept them. We have chosen Terry Burrell this time around. After Dr. Glasner moved on to administrative duties, I saw Terry for an annual check-up, and liked him. He's also a CNM, which means I will be one step closer to a more natural birth. MeritCare, I discovered, does not offer any midwives for prenatal care or delivery.
Sometime in May (most likely), you will find us on the sixth floor of Innovis Health. I'll be exhausted and uncomfortable, but I'll be content and happy, too, knowing we made the right decision for our little family.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
It's Official!
WE ARE PREGNANT!
If you're a Facebook friend, you've known this for a couple days. I apologize for not updating all of my online friends at the same time, but I had a couple of reasons. The first is that I wanted to post a dorky picture of me holding my positive home pregnancy tester stick here, and since I can't find the cord which connects my camera to my computer, I've been held up. Also, it's still quite early, and I feel as though shouting this pregnancy from the rooftops may jinx it.
Our first visit to the Dr's office is 10-7 (which is apparently just to have bloodwork done and to get my information packet from the OB nurse). Our first Dr's visit - when we get to listen to the heartbeat for the first time! - is 10-21. So as time creeps on, I am growing more and more confident that I won't jinx myself, after all.
We are so excited! Matt is a huge bundle of nerves, but that's my hubby for you. I'm starting to wonder what Avery's reaction will be when this baby is born and he discovers that I have not just given birth to his two-year-old cousin. I think we may just spend the next 7+ months clarifying the situation.
If you're a Facebook friend, you've known this for a couple days. I apologize for not updating all of my online friends at the same time, but I had a couple of reasons. The first is that I wanted to post a dorky picture of me holding my positive home pregnancy tester stick here, and since I can't find the cord which connects my camera to my computer, I've been held up. Also, it's still quite early, and I feel as though shouting this pregnancy from the rooftops may jinx it.
Our first visit to the Dr's office is 10-7 (which is apparently just to have bloodwork done and to get my information packet from the OB nurse). Our first Dr's visit - when we get to listen to the heartbeat for the first time! - is 10-21. So as time creeps on, I am growing more and more confident that I won't jinx myself, after all.
We are so excited! Matt is a huge bundle of nerves, but that's my hubby for you. I'm starting to wonder what Avery's reaction will be when this baby is born and he discovers that I have not just given birth to his two-year-old cousin. I think we may just spend the next 7+ months clarifying the situation.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Mine! Mine! Mine!
I alluded to the fact that Avery may have some issues with sharing.
So this book really caught my eye. (I don't know who Amazon is kidding. $45 plus shipping for this book new? And used copies starting at $28 plus shipping? I guess we really got a good deal at $1.99!)
Anyway, I'd like to confess something: I'm a sucker for rhyming. Add to that some cute dinosaurs and a very good lesson, and I'm really sold.
I love the crazy, unbalanced look in his eyes. His mama is NOT proud of this moment.
As if that first display wasn't bad enough, he then steals everyone's snacks. (I'd have probably thought about stealing the scones, too. Man, those babies are delicious!)
In the pages to follow, somehow this selfish, wacky guy learns his lesson, though.
I'm sure his mama is breathing a huge sigh of relief.
So this book really caught my eye. (I don't know who Amazon is kidding. $45 plus shipping for this book new? And used copies starting at $28 plus shipping? I guess we really got a good deal at $1.99!)
Anyway, I'd like to confess something: I'm a sucker for rhyming. Add to that some cute dinosaurs and a very good lesson, and I'm really sold.
I love the crazy, unbalanced look in his eyes. His mama is NOT proud of this moment.
As if that first display wasn't bad enough, he then steals everyone's snacks. (I'd have probably thought about stealing the scones, too. Man, those babies are delicious!)
In the pages to follow, somehow this selfish, wacky guy learns his lesson, though.
I'm sure his mama is breathing a huge sigh of relief.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Lessons learned
Sounds like I'm going to share some kind of changed-my-life-forever life lesson, doesn't it?
Nope!
I'm referring to Avery's first swimming lesson, which was last Thursday evening at our local YMCA. You see, my boy is in love with water. We inflate his little floaties, put them on his arms, and in the time it takes you to uncap the sunscreen, Avery is already jumping off the dock and into the lake.
Because of this passion for water, Matt and I decided now is the perfect time to start some actual swimming lessons (lessons that go way beyond our, "Move your arms! Kick your legs! You're paddling just like a little puppy!"). We thought we'd capitalize on this situation, before Avery would have a chance to develop any sort of fear of water; large bodies of water, large fish, etc.
As it turns out, a child can't be enrolled into a swimming class on his own until he's three. (Do you see where this is going?) Which means that one of the loving adults in his life get to sign up with him, and accompany him in the pool. Did I mention this is SWIMMING LESSONS? And it requires a person to WEAR A SWIM SUIT?
I think I've become a fairly rational, level-headed adult. But the thought of donning a swim suit in front of other (slimmer, more glamorous) adults just about put me into panic mode. I trudged into the YMCA Thursday evening, though. I knew my little tadpole would benefit from these lessons, and I'm a mama, first and foremost.
Surprise! There were mamas just like me! Granted, there were some who were definitely slimmer, more glamorous, and just plain lovely, but I was so focused on the instructors and their lesson, I didn't have time to worry about how my thighs jiggled or how my post-pregnancy belly was still MIA.
And my little tadpole? Well, let's just say after having the freedom to do as he liked in the water at the lake, he had a slight problem with authority. At the end of the lesson, however, the instructors allowed the children to jump off the edge of the pool into their Mommy or Daddy's arms. Talk about leaving on a good note!
Three more classes to get through...then this winter after his birthday, he can be enrolled in a class on his own. Much as I hate to admit it, I think I'll breathe a sigh of relief knowing I don't have to squeeze into my swimsuit and accompany him in the public pool again.
Nope!
I'm referring to Avery's first swimming lesson, which was last Thursday evening at our local YMCA. You see, my boy is in love with water. We inflate his little floaties, put them on his arms, and in the time it takes you to uncap the sunscreen, Avery is already jumping off the dock and into the lake.
Because of this passion for water, Matt and I decided now is the perfect time to start some actual swimming lessons (lessons that go way beyond our, "Move your arms! Kick your legs! You're paddling just like a little puppy!"). We thought we'd capitalize on this situation, before Avery would have a chance to develop any sort of fear of water; large bodies of water, large fish, etc.
As it turns out, a child can't be enrolled into a swimming class on his own until he's three. (Do you see where this is going?) Which means that one of the loving adults in his life get to sign up with him, and accompany him in the pool. Did I mention this is SWIMMING LESSONS? And it requires a person to WEAR A SWIM SUIT?
I think I've become a fairly rational, level-headed adult. But the thought of donning a swim suit in front of other (slimmer, more glamorous) adults just about put me into panic mode. I trudged into the YMCA Thursday evening, though. I knew my little tadpole would benefit from these lessons, and I'm a mama, first and foremost.
Surprise! There were mamas just like me! Granted, there were some who were definitely slimmer, more glamorous, and just plain lovely, but I was so focused on the instructors and their lesson, I didn't have time to worry about how my thighs jiggled or how my post-pregnancy belly was still MIA.
And my little tadpole? Well, let's just say after having the freedom to do as he liked in the water at the lake, he had a slight problem with authority. At the end of the lesson, however, the instructors allowed the children to jump off the edge of the pool into their Mommy or Daddy's arms. Talk about leaving on a good note!
Three more classes to get through...then this winter after his birthday, he can be enrolled in a class on his own. Much as I hate to admit it, I think I'll breathe a sigh of relief knowing I don't have to squeeze into my swimsuit and accompany him in the public pool again.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Reflections of Melodramatic Megan
So I'm 3/4 finished with my second glass of wine.
And I'm listening to Eric Clapton's "Stormy Monday" on Pandora, along with similar moody, blues-y type songs.
And I'm feeling a little introspective.
And a little pessimistic.
And here are my thoughts:
1. How realistic are wedding vows? Specifically: "Until death do us part."
2. What a waste of 25+ years. (Obviously I'm not referencing my own wedding vows.)
3. What will life be like from now on?
I don't seem to have the patience to type out a more detailed or rational explanation of what's going on right now. Hopefully I'll get a better grasp on it all in the next few days and be able to express more eloquently what's developing.
And I'm listening to Eric Clapton's "Stormy Monday" on Pandora, along with similar moody, blues-y type songs.
And I'm feeling a little introspective.
And a little pessimistic.
And here are my thoughts:
1. How realistic are wedding vows? Specifically: "Until death do us part."
2. What a waste of 25+ years. (Obviously I'm not referencing my own wedding vows.)
3. What will life be like from now on?
I don't seem to have the patience to type out a more detailed or rational explanation of what's going on right now. Hopefully I'll get a better grasp on it all in the next few days and be able to express more eloquently what's developing.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
You title it - Part One
****I thought I was doing quite well coping with the changes that have occurred in my family over the years. Turns out, all it takes is a little reminder, and I'm back where it all began. I've attempted previously to put this all down on paper, and after reading Jennifer's post yesterday, I took them out to try and finish one. After deciding they were inadequate, I started this one, and so far it's given me what I wanted. I just can't seem to come up with a title I'm happy with.****
One autumn day, during an especially grueling beet harvest, my father had a heart attack. I was in the seventh grade that year, and he was just 42. He’d been feeling some arm pain and thought it was caused by his bum shoulder, which was constantly getting dislocated. Dad's remedy for this had always been to ram his shoulder against a door frame in our house, or to use one of his seldom-used dress belts as a sling until he had time to set it back in place.
The details of how my father actually got to the hospital are a little foggy. All I know for certain is that after school that day, I met my sisters at our town's grocery store (which was owned by our maternal grandmother); where my paternal grandparents picked us up to take us to the hospital in Fargo.
When we got there, Dad was sitting up in his hospital bed, looking a little strange in his gown and mussed hair, but wearing his usual smile and joking around with us. I don't really remember how long he was there, or glimpsing any sign of fear in him, but I was old enough to realize a heart attack was serious business, no matter how minor my parents told us it was.
Once Dad was home, Mom sat my sisters and me down to talk to us about the changes that needed to take place. According to her, Dad had three strikes against him; he was a smoker, he had a very stressful job, and he ate terribly. Mom said we were all going to have to work together to try and change each of those things, and to make it a little easier for Dad to stick to them. She told us we had to start eating healthier, which would include a lot of chicken and fish, Dad was going to have to quit smoking - and she was going to try, too - and that he'd likely have to figure something else out for a career.
I couldn't imagine any of this. There are few things that stick out more clearly in my mind than my father smoking. Every morning, my sisters and I would wake up, pick out our clothes, and start the descent down the stairs of our home. Halfway down, we'd encounter a wall of smoke, created by my father as he downed a pot of coffee with his cigarettes each and every day. Sunday and Monday evenings were strictly for watching football, and I can recall many nights spent sitting on my father's lap, hearing the click of his lighter, the sizzle of tobacco and paper being sucked aflame, and the deep inhale and exhales of that putrid smoke, while the Vikings played on the television. The only thing that interrupted the up/down motion of my father's cigarette to his mouth was the up/down motion of potato chips to his mouth. Pepsi quenched his thirst, and if ever he offered me a sip, I could always taste cigarettes and salt on the rim of the can.
Suddenly, suppers consisted of baked cod, lemon pepper chicken, and steamed vegetables without butter or salt. My mother is an amazing cook, but far too often, she would get distracted from her cooking and the meat would wind up resembling fish or chicken jerky. Where was the homemade pizza? Where was the beef stroganoff? Even the milk was different! Instead of 2%, my mother was now purchasing Calci-Skim, which tasted like chalky water to my sisters and me.
During one of these uncomfortable suppers, my father told us that he was going to quit farming. He was going to sell his half of the farming operation to his brother, Kevin, and was planning to take a job at our local Case-IH dealer working in their parts department. His eyes were so sad. Farming was the only thing my father knew. But he tried to appeal to us all by telling us that this meant he'd have more regular hours. Rather than staying home to plant, combine, or repair broken machinery, he'd now be able to take us to the lake cabin more often, make it to our sports events, and be around in the evenings if we needed help with homework.
For a while, things were looking pretty promising. Dad got the job selling parts, and seemed to like it well enough. He had always been a very quiet man, so the smile we saw on his face each day was all we had for reference. He had quit smoking, he was eating the healthy meals my mother made, and his new job certainly was less stressful than farming.
My mother only lasted a few days - maybe a week - on her path to quit smoking. When my sisters and I confronted her, she said something along the lines of, "I'm not the one who needs to do it, your father is. I was just going to try with him, but I decided I'm not ready yet." And a few months down the road, we noticed that in the evenings Dad was coming up from his woodworking room in the basement smelling like cigarettes. No one said a word. We knew how much life had changed for Dad in these last months, and though we disagreed with what he was doing, we were certainly not going to tell him so. After a few weeks of this routine, however, Jessica, Danielle, and I spoke to our mother about what was going on. She told us that we should confront our father; tell him that if he loved us and wanted to live to see us grow up, that he would quit smoking for good. Danielle, the most brazen of us girls, walked up to him in the kitchen and told him just that through tear-filled eyes. My father just stared, his own eyes filling, then took her in his arms, hugged her, and told her everything would be all right.
One autumn day, during an especially grueling beet harvest, my father had a heart attack. I was in the seventh grade that year, and he was just 42. He’d been feeling some arm pain and thought it was caused by his bum shoulder, which was constantly getting dislocated. Dad's remedy for this had always been to ram his shoulder against a door frame in our house, or to use one of his seldom-used dress belts as a sling until he had time to set it back in place.
The details of how my father actually got to the hospital are a little foggy. All I know for certain is that after school that day, I met my sisters at our town's grocery store (which was owned by our maternal grandmother); where my paternal grandparents picked us up to take us to the hospital in Fargo.
When we got there, Dad was sitting up in his hospital bed, looking a little strange in his gown and mussed hair, but wearing his usual smile and joking around with us. I don't really remember how long he was there, or glimpsing any sign of fear in him, but I was old enough to realize a heart attack was serious business, no matter how minor my parents told us it was.
Once Dad was home, Mom sat my sisters and me down to talk to us about the changes that needed to take place. According to her, Dad had three strikes against him; he was a smoker, he had a very stressful job, and he ate terribly. Mom said we were all going to have to work together to try and change each of those things, and to make it a little easier for Dad to stick to them. She told us we had to start eating healthier, which would include a lot of chicken and fish, Dad was going to have to quit smoking - and she was going to try, too - and that he'd likely have to figure something else out for a career.
I couldn't imagine any of this. There are few things that stick out more clearly in my mind than my father smoking. Every morning, my sisters and I would wake up, pick out our clothes, and start the descent down the stairs of our home. Halfway down, we'd encounter a wall of smoke, created by my father as he downed a pot of coffee with his cigarettes each and every day. Sunday and Monday evenings were strictly for watching football, and I can recall many nights spent sitting on my father's lap, hearing the click of his lighter, the sizzle of tobacco and paper being sucked aflame, and the deep inhale and exhales of that putrid smoke, while the Vikings played on the television. The only thing that interrupted the up/down motion of my father's cigarette to his mouth was the up/down motion of potato chips to his mouth. Pepsi quenched his thirst, and if ever he offered me a sip, I could always taste cigarettes and salt on the rim of the can.
Suddenly, suppers consisted of baked cod, lemon pepper chicken, and steamed vegetables without butter or salt. My mother is an amazing cook, but far too often, she would get distracted from her cooking and the meat would wind up resembling fish or chicken jerky. Where was the homemade pizza? Where was the beef stroganoff? Even the milk was different! Instead of 2%, my mother was now purchasing Calci-Skim, which tasted like chalky water to my sisters and me.
During one of these uncomfortable suppers, my father told us that he was going to quit farming. He was going to sell his half of the farming operation to his brother, Kevin, and was planning to take a job at our local Case-IH dealer working in their parts department. His eyes were so sad. Farming was the only thing my father knew. But he tried to appeal to us all by telling us that this meant he'd have more regular hours. Rather than staying home to plant, combine, or repair broken machinery, he'd now be able to take us to the lake cabin more often, make it to our sports events, and be around in the evenings if we needed help with homework.
For a while, things were looking pretty promising. Dad got the job selling parts, and seemed to like it well enough. He had always been a very quiet man, so the smile we saw on his face each day was all we had for reference. He had quit smoking, he was eating the healthy meals my mother made, and his new job certainly was less stressful than farming.
My mother only lasted a few days - maybe a week - on her path to quit smoking. When my sisters and I confronted her, she said something along the lines of, "I'm not the one who needs to do it, your father is. I was just going to try with him, but I decided I'm not ready yet." And a few months down the road, we noticed that in the evenings Dad was coming up from his woodworking room in the basement smelling like cigarettes. No one said a word. We knew how much life had changed for Dad in these last months, and though we disagreed with what he was doing, we were certainly not going to tell him so. After a few weeks of this routine, however, Jessica, Danielle, and I spoke to our mother about what was going on. She told us that we should confront our father; tell him that if he loved us and wanted to live to see us grow up, that he would quit smoking for good. Danielle, the most brazen of us girls, walked up to him in the kitchen and told him just that through tear-filled eyes. My father just stared, his own eyes filling, then took her in his arms, hugged her, and told her everything would be all right.
Our Holiday in Photos
First of all, I realized this Christmas what a hassle it is to have to rely on everyone else to take photos of all the special moments you'd like captured on film. I was constantly chasing down my mother and sisters to catch these fleeting events. Then, last night, I realized an even bigger problem. I got some decent pictures of my family during the holidays, but none of them were accessible to me! I begged and pleaded with Danielle to stop over so I could download (upload?) her photos to my computer. Jessica is still in Minneapolis, so hers will have to wait.
In the meantime, you'll have to be content with these. At least until I get that darn Kodak replaced with my dream camera, the Nikon D60. ***Hint hint, Matthew. My birthday's coming up, you know.***
My parents thoroughly enjoyed the calendar we made using ArtsCow (Thanks, Jennifer, for the idea!). I think it will have to become a Christmas tradition.
This is what you get when this kid is hopped up on sugar for the better part of 48 hours.
Daddy did a great job picking out gifts for Avery!
Or were they for Daddy? (Matt is modeling Avery's Army helmet and goggles. The gadget belt, which holds a mini shovel, compass, flashlight, and walkie-talkie was just a bit small.) They were holed up in that tent for a good long while.
That adorable little horse is Charmin. He was mine when I was Avery's age. My family didn't have a strange liking for bathroom tissue...my father once owned a real live horse he named Charmin.
In the meantime, you'll have to be content with these. At least until I get that darn Kodak replaced with my dream camera, the Nikon D60. ***Hint hint, Matthew. My birthday's coming up, you know.***
My parents thoroughly enjoyed the calendar we made using ArtsCow (Thanks, Jennifer, for the idea!). I think it will have to become a Christmas tradition.
This is what you get when this kid is hopped up on sugar for the better part of 48 hours.
Daddy did a great job picking out gifts for Avery!
Or were they for Daddy? (Matt is modeling Avery's Army helmet and goggles. The gadget belt, which holds a mini shovel, compass, flashlight, and walkie-talkie was just a bit small.) They were holed up in that tent for a good long while.
That adorable little horse is Charmin. He was mine when I was Avery's age. My family didn't have a strange liking for bathroom tissue...my father once owned a real live horse he named Charmin.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
We're feeling the Christmas spirit!
I just couldn't imagine not having a tree up for the first Christmas Avery is really excited about. So Matt went out to the garage last night (in 4 degree weather) and hauled our Martha Stewart clearance special in, after some persistent nagging on my part.
By the time we got it assembled, fluffed (because that's what you have to do to fake trees after they've been in a box for a year), strung with lights, and decorated, Matt and I were sufficiently frustrated. All we are supposed to have to do is put the three sections of tree together, then plug it into the wall...and WHOILA! "Ooohs" and "Aahs" that took only minutes to achieve! However, try as we might, we could only get two of the three sections to light up.
So if you stop by the Weatherby residence this Christmas, don't get too close to the tree, otherwise you'll be able to see all the bulbs that WILL NOT LIGHT UP. And Mr. and Mrs. Weatherby would rather not be reminded of this issue.
All in all, I think it turned out quite nice. Even after stringing a couple of strands of lights on, trying to strategically position the shatter-proof decorations on the lower section, and competing for assistance with televised college football, I'm still feeling optimistic.
That warm, hopeful feeling was multiplied a few times over this morning when I came out of the bedroom to see not a single decoration had been pulled off the tree by the cat. Plus, as soon as Avery saw it, he said this: "Wow, pretty!"
So far, so good!
By the time we got it assembled, fluffed (because that's what you have to do to fake trees after they've been in a box for a year), strung with lights, and decorated, Matt and I were sufficiently frustrated. All we are supposed to have to do is put the three sections of tree together, then plug it into the wall...and WHOILA! "Ooohs" and "Aahs" that took only minutes to achieve! However, try as we might, we could only get two of the three sections to light up.
So if you stop by the Weatherby residence this Christmas, don't get too close to the tree, otherwise you'll be able to see all the bulbs that WILL NOT LIGHT UP. And Mr. and Mrs. Weatherby would rather not be reminded of this issue.
All in all, I think it turned out quite nice. Even after stringing a couple of strands of lights on, trying to strategically position the shatter-proof decorations on the lower section, and competing for assistance with televised college football, I'm still feeling optimistic.
That warm, hopeful feeling was multiplied a few times over this morning when I came out of the bedroom to see not a single decoration had been pulled off the tree by the cat. Plus, as soon as Avery saw it, he said this: "Wow, pretty!"
So far, so good!
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