Wisdom and Folly

Wisdom teeth, that is. And folly being that I didn't get this done years ago.
Well, at least this only happens once.
I don't think I could take many more days of stressing and obsessing over the possibility of dry socket.
This evening, after an especially long stint of researching dry socket and everything that could possibly go wrong after dental procedures (did you know there is a website called dentalfearcentral.com?), I coughed, and spurted out a ton of blood...which led to a call to the emergency hotline, which led to a discussion with a doctor, who said that it was normal, and to just put some gauze back in there for a while. I think my brain caused the problem, from worrying too much.
This isn't fun.
Plus I want pizza. Or a chicken caesar salad. Or a giant hamburger with tomato, ketchup and mustard, with a pickle on the side.
*sigh* And I'm stuck with liquids and yogurt. All blood-flavored.
Sorry, that's gross. Yet I feel a lot better when people know exactly how miserable I am. I like sympathy. I'll never understand people who suffer in silence. ;)

Evelyn slept a lot today, which I'll take as a personal favor...assuming she's not up all hours of the night tonight.
Or assuming she doesn't decide to do a repeat of Wednesday night's poopy adventure (see last blog post).

But after this, I should have a perfectly pain-free and enjoyable year. Anyone who gives birth and gets their wisdom teeth taken out within 7 weeks should get a clean bill of health for at least the next 12 months. Right.

Thankfully, the pain isn't bad. I'm just griping. Cuz I'm hungry.

Okay, goodnight. :)
~Briana

Poop.

Today is brought to you by the letter C. C is for Crap.
Crap is what happened last night. ;)

So. You might have heard we have a flea problem at the VT's. Either our cat brought in a colony of fleas, or the previous owners failed to mention their flea farm in the carpet. Either way, we've been vacuuming constantly, spreading borax and flea pesticide, and trying to beat those little buggers without bombing the place.
The other day - and this will show you how I've changed into a MOM -  I found a flea on my daughter's sock. And I grabbed it. WITH MY FINGERS. I don't touch bugs...but you come near my daughter? IT IS ON!
I flushed that bug right down the sink. And felt good about it. :)

So last night Andrew spread diatomaceous earth on our carpet, which resulted in billowing clouds of sea-creature exoskeleton powder. That's what diatomaceous earth is. Ew.
But it's supposed to be amazing at killing fleas, and it's non-toxic, so I feel pretty good about it.
The problem is, you don't want to get a lot of it on your skin, because it's abrasive and dries out your feet. So we were sortof exiled to our queen sized bed, which currently resides in our living room (that's another story).
As we went to bed, I got everything I needed for the night on a little table right next to the bed, so I wouldn't have to get out of bed and step on the powder. Diapers, my pump, hand sanitizer, etc.
"We only have 4 wipes left...hopefully Evelyn doesn't poop tonight." Said I, to Andrew.
HA.
It was 2:30 am. Evelyn woke up hungry, so I nursed her sitting crisscross applesauce on the bed. I put my pillow under her for extra cushion.
Then it happened. The gurgleurgleurgleurgle sound of Evie filling her pants. Oh shoot. 
And it didn't stop. She kept going, and I became increasingly concerned for the welfare of her diaper. She smiled and cooed at me, as I lifted her off my pillow...and saw the yellow trademark. Blowout.
Worst one ever. I woke Andrew up and together we somehow managed to get her cleaned up, redressed in a new onesie, and my pillow removed to the laundry pile.
Wipe count: 0.
Then it was 6am. Evelyn was hungry again, so I woke up to feed her...and once again heard THE SOUND.
NOOO! We have no wipes! I have to go old-school and use a wash cloth??? Poop! Literally!
So I slipped on my flip flops and got some cloths wet and went back to the bed to face the second poopy diaper of the night.
And it was going so well...except as I removed the dirty diaper, it snagged the clean one I had placed underneath her, and at that very same moment, she decided to finish the job. All over my sheets. I moved her to a different spot on the bed, while simultaneously trying to wipe her down and avoid the diapery mess...and watched in complete awe as she continued to poop! So now we had a trail going. And I didn't have wipes. Or any help, since Andrew had left for work.
I don't know how I managed. I think I may have had celestial help, since somehow she ended up at least somewhat clean, with new clothes on.
And I had to throw the entire bedding set into the wash this morning.

Now I'm at my parent's. It's too powdery at home...we'll have to vacuum everything up and wipe everything down this evening, because tomorrow morning I get my wisdom teeth removed, and I can't recover in the dusty disrepair that is now my home.
You know? I'm gonna survive this. And I'm going to look back on this someday and laugh. :)
Actually, to be honest, it's a little funny right now. I should get a t-shirt that says "I survived September, 2013". ;)
Toodle-loo!

Then and Now

My little sister just started band yesterday.
Which has triggered for me a deluge of introspective musings on how life changes, and how we change through the course of time.
See, I used to be in band. Let me word that differently: I used to live FOR band. I signed up for every conceivable music class on Wednesdays (in retrospect, I realize those classes cost money. Thanks Mom and Dad! :)...Chorale, Concert Band, Bell Choir, Girl's Choir, Brass Quintet, Symphony Orchestra, and a jazzy-ish ensemble called 'Horns of Glory'. Literally - all of those in one day!
And I loved it SO much.

So when I heard that Ivey had started beginning band, I began to reminisce on old times...and what a different person I was! Well, not different...but I had a completely different life then. One of Ivey's friends said to Ivey, "Are you Briana's sister? She's like...famous!"
I laughed, because in a small sort of way, I was "famous" back then. But now? The title would never fit. Then, I couldn't wait to hang out with my friends...I dearly loved spending EVERY moment doing social things, and I had a very large group of buddies.
Flash forward 7 years, and my life has significantly condensed itself. In some ways, I would say I've become the opposite of what I used to be. Hanging out with friends not only doesn't happen very often, but it's sometimes a stressful thing to even think about beforehand.
But don't misunderstand me...I'm not unhappy. There are times that I think fondly of those carefree teenage years- and I always will- but my current contentment overshadows any longings for the "old days".
I love my little home, and my husband, and my child. I love spending my weekends with my family. I'm perfectly content with things how they are, and I'm pretty confident that as my baby (and future children) grow older, I'll start widening my horizons a bit again. Maybe hanging out with friends will once again become a big part of my life. Maybe I'll be "famous" again (hehe... a little facetiousness there for ya. Or as we say in the VanderToorn home: Fuh-shee-shushness).
(Spoiler alert: I even have a long-term goal of returning to the homeschool bands to teach someday! :) 
It's just interesting to me that even just 5 years can so drastically change a person.
What will I be like in another 5 years? I'll be 30 then...probably leading passel of kiddos smeared with peanut butter and jelly remnants, juggling a baby, a diaper bag, and a grocery cart.
But what will I be LIKE? Because circumstances do not necessarily change a person, nor can they stop one from becoming something new.

Well, look at me! I did the laundry, the dishes, mopped the floor and wrote a weblog! I'm basically super woman! *pats self on back*
;)
Glad tidings of great joy! (Getting in the Christmas spirit early, due to being an elementary music teacher)

~Bri

I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do!

Whenever Evelyn takes a nap (which is starting to be less frequent these days), I have a moment of panic, wherein I think of all the things that need to be done, and I'm not sure where to start.
Many times I just feel like SITTING. Just by myself, quietly, with nothing to do.
Then I notice the growing pile of laundry.
And all the laundry that I managed to DO, but not fold.
And the folded laundry that I haven't put away.
And the dishes.
And yesterday's hastily made food still on the table.
And then I realize I haven't made a decent meal for my husband in weeks.
And then I hear Evelyn stir, and her eyes pop open, and she wants me to feed/bounce/talk to her.

And then I break into hysterical, slightly crazed laughter.

;)

BUT, despite the general state of disrepair here at the VanderToorns, life is good. I LOVE being a mom! More and more, each day! I'm really starting to get the hang of things. Diapers, breastfeeding, etc.
And Evelyn's becoming more interactive each day, which is really fun. She smiles at me very often, which is evidently not very normal for a 5 week old? She makes great eye contact and she's started "talking" to me in a series of grunts, coos and squeaks. Endlessly entertaining. :)

And it's so much fun to dress her! Her head of hair is going to be increasingly fun to play with in the next months...so much hair, so little time! I'm keeping my eyes open for hair ribbons, clips, and headbands.

She's starting to make noises, which means my time is limited. I really should at least clean SOMETHING...

But there's a quick update for you. Off I go!

Dear Evelyn,
Up to this point in my life, I would not be okay with being awake at 4am. But right now I'm nursing you, you hungry little thing, and I don't ever want to forget this moment.
It's not a particularly special 4am. It's happened many times these past weeks, and it will happen many times again. But this morning I'm struck by how much I adore you. I'm charmed and amused by your little grunts and squeaks; your unabashed enthusiasm for eating. I'm loving the little smiles you've been giving me lately, especially when you realize I'm about to nurse you. Yesterday you pulled away couple times just to give me a dopey milk-smile before getting back to business.
I love the way you stretch and yawn when you're waking up. I love that smooshy little face and crazy bed-head hair.
And I want to hold on to this moment...hold on to you forever. Notice every little movement, every expression. Every baby noise. Keep you little like this, because the thought of you getting too big for me to hold breaks my heart.
You've won me over completely, little girl. Captured my heart fully and unconditionally...somehow I was changed 4 weeks ago, and I'll never be the same.
So I'll get up with you at 4am. Every 4am, if I need to. Even when your 5 and you've had a bad dream. Or when you're 16 and you just need to talk. I'll always be there if you need me, my sweet girl.
I love you so, so much.

- Mom

I love you forever, I like you for always. As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be. 

Quick, the baby's sleeping! What do I do?

My honey is two weeks, 1 hour and 17 minutes old right now.
And wow, these weeks have been a learning experience for me!

One of the things I did as an expectant mom was READ. Constantly. I surfed all the baby websites, read tons of forums, kept updated on how my child was developing, researched and wrote out my birth plan...I made sure I was mentally prepared for the birth of my child.
Ironically, I should have spent a bit more time researching what to do with a newborn once the birth is over!!!
For example, I barely glanced at the breast feeding sections of the interwebz, since I honestly thought:

"How hard could it be?"  

I figured that Evelyn would come out hungry, and I would plug her in, and all would be golden.
I didn't realize that,
1. Babies have to LEARN how to latch on
2. I had to learn how to TEACH the baby how to latch on

3. It's hard to find a comfortable position to nurse (still is!)
4. I was going to have to nurse ALL THE FREAKING TIME! 

Really. She's hungry at least every two hours, and often less than that. Each session lasts about a half hour, often longer.
You do the math. :)

So we're starting to get the hang of things. I guess she's doing alright, since she put on 11oz in one week. I'm just waiting for my poor boobs to feel better (sorry...tmi, I know. But OW!). 

She's so sweet. She's relaxing a little bit...which I think has to do with the fact that I'm relaxing a bit. The first couple days I was really stressed out and overwhelmed and frankly, exhausted. But now I'm starting to get used to this whole motherhood business and I'm really enjoying it! My little girl is SO darn cute and I'm just in love with her. :) 

She's stirring now.
Time to feed the little munchkin and watch my show - I find it helps distract me a bit so I can relax and let her eat as long as she needs to.
I'm learning, okay? :)

The Day I Became a Dairy Farmer

This is it.
THE POST. The one I've anticipated writing for a long time...and here I am! And it will take a lot longer to write due to only having one arm to type with.
I didn't lose an arm...I had a baby. :)

Caution: if you are not into birth stories or things like cervixes, this might be a bit TMI. ;)

Wednesday night, July 31st, I had a long night of false labor. Contractions came pretty regularly, but due to having a few false alarms in the past, I had told Andrew I wouldn't go to the hospital until I was screaming (haha)...and sure enough, come morning the contractions drifted apart and I was left just being tired. 

But the contractions didn't disappear...and I noticed on Thursday that they were still coming frequently, about every 15 minutes or so, and with a bit more intensity than in the past. 

I was skeptical...my body was not very trust-worthy or punctual. I had resigned myself to an induction the following Tuesday. 

Thursday night, August 1st, I attempted to sleep, only to be awakened every 7 minutes by very uncomfortable contractions. 

I wasn't screaming yet...but we decided to go to the hospital around 2 am. 

Now, I had been to the hospital before with labor pains...so I knew the drill. You go into triage and they check your cervix and strap these monitors to your belly...and this is where I need to stop for a moment to let off some steam. 

I DESPISE those strappy monitors. HATE them. They are itchy, they add more pressure, they beep constantly and tell you when a contraction is coming...which, HELLO, I already know, and I could tell you exactly when they happen and for how long and also how uncomfortable they are, if you're wondering! But those nurses, bless them...are very insistent on keeping those things attached.
(And yes, I understand why. But that doesn't change my huge dislike for strappy monitors. One of the worst parts of the hospital experience, if you ask me.) 

*breathe*

Okay. Back to the story.
Turns out I was still only at 1 cm dilated, although I was 90% effaced...which according to the nurse, was pretty unusual. We found out why later...but I'll tell you more on that in a bit.
It's pretty discouraging to have lost two nights of sleep due to contractions and then find out you're only 1 cm dilated...I was definitely hoping for a bit more! After a good cry, I walked around the hospital (with my amazing husband and mother... more on them later.) for a bit before the nurse checked me again...with the same results. 

She said they could do a few different things...they could check me in and give me morphine (!) to help me sleep through the night until the contractions got more intense, or they could give me an Ambien, which would hopefully help me relax and sleep till morning.
To their surprise, I wanted to go home and labor there for a while. I don't really love hospitals, and if I'm going to be uncomfortable, I want to be uncomfortable at home! Makes sense, right? So I took the Ambien (didn't really work), went home, and spent the next 8 hours on our bed, watching movies (The Tourist, and The Time Traveler's Wife), and breathing through some pretty unpleasant contractions. 

Fast forward to 2pm, Friday, August 2nd. 

Mom had come over Friday mid-morning. After a round of particularly painful contractions, I remember her saying around 2pm, "Okay, I think it's time to go back in."
I didn't want to, as I was sure my body was just being a bun...I just knew they would send me back home after saying, "Hey, nice to see you again! Awesome braxton hicks you're having there. See you Tuesday for the induction." 

Honestly, even later, when I was in the middle of very active labor, I still wondered if it was fake. :D

We checked back in, and I felt absolutely deflated when they told me I was still at 1 cm. At this point, I was having contractions that made me cry out, and at one point, drop to all fours on the bathroom floor. How on earth could I only be 1 cm? They had me wait about an hour, and I remember listening to the cries of the girl next door to me, who was also obviously in pain. She spoke a different language, but between contractions, I wanted to hug her and tell her, "It's okay. We're going to make it through this! We're stronger than we think we are!"

The nurse checked me again an hour later, and oh, the overwhelming relief that flooded over me when she said, 

"You're about...4 to 5 cm!" 

I burst into tears and cried, "Thank You Lord!"

Progress is a beautiful thing. :)

They loaded me up and checked me into the room where I would have my little girl. 

At 7:30, I met two of the kindest, sweetest nurses one could ever ask for: Angel and Lindsey. They came in with smiles on their faces and took the time to explain every thing clearly. They made sure we were all as comfortable as we could be, and they encouraged me through my difficult contractions. I'll never forget the kindness and support those two women displayed that night!

At one point, Angel spent about 45 minutes on her knees (!!!), monitoring the baby's heart beat by hand so that they wouldn't have to strap on the monitor, which she knew was uncomfortable for me. 

This would be a good time to brag about my mom and my husband. My mom was unbelievably strong...she coached me through every contraction and helped me be strong when I thought I couldn't do it any more. The nurses thought she was a trained doula! Someday I hope to do for Evelyn what she did for me. 

Andrew was quiet, as he usually is, but he stayed with me the entire time, rubbing my back, whispering "Good job, Bri," and holding my hand. I have this one picture in my mind...towards the end, when contractions were very close and very difficult, he would kneel down on the hard floor so I could lean on him through the waves. Tears...

I really don't think I could've done it without them. 

Around 11pm, I was 8 cm, so they called the doctor in. None of the doctors in the office I went to were available, so I had never met this man before...Dr. Gregory VanWienen. He put all my fears to rest. He was kind and soft spoken and I felt perfectly comfortable with him. 

One thing I have to say about St. Mary's is that EVERYONE read my birth plan. Everyone - the doctors, the nurses...everyone. I felt very respected. 

4 very difficult hours later...

I was still at 9 cm. And I was pushy. Not I-want-this-over kind of pushy (although that was true as well), but the kind of pushy when your body decides it's time for the baby to come out and starts pushing during contractions. This was honestly the worst part of the labor. My body wanted to push, but I couldn't - pushing would cause damage.  

Dr. VanWeinen explained that Baby was stuck in a sortof crooked position, which is why I wasn't progressing as fast as I wanted. He said that the only way to progress would be to labor on my hands and knees on the bed...but I wouldn't be able to push, no matter how much I wanted to. 

It was 3 am.

I was so tired. I hadn't slept in three nights and I could barely see straight, much less consider the thought of fighting the urge to push. Moving any way to any position seemed impossible to me. All I could think of was the next wave of contractions and how to get through them. 

I knew I wouldn't be able to move to my hands and knees and not push. I wasn't strong enough at that point.
I asked the doctor if there were any other options.
He hesitated...and later I realized he was thinking of that part in my birth plan that said very clearly, "Please do not offer me an epidural."

My mom actually brought it up:

"What about an epidural?"

Dr. VanWeinen explained that an epidural would take away the desire to push, and then they could rotate ME from side to side to get the baby to fall into position.
I heard Andrew, who had been quiet for quite a while, say "Yes." 

So I got an epidural...and smiled probably for the first time in 24 hours. I remember saying to the nurses, "You guys are so nice!" lol 

The epidural, despite my prior objections to it, was amazing. Within seconds I felt the pain ebb away and I could actually relax! I fell asleep for a while on my side and we just let the contractions do their job. The nurses rotated me from side to side for the next couple hours. 

I remember the doctor checking me hours later and saying, "This is amazing. She is in position and ready to go." 

Dr. VanWeinen's shift ended at 7 am, so my delivering doctor was Dr. Stanford, a genuinely funny and kind lady. I started pushing around 9 am, which I didn't mind at all! The epidural was still in effect, so there wasn't much pain...just a lot of hard work and concentration. I wanted that kid OUT!
Andrew's plan was to not look (lol), but he got the job of holding one of my legs as I pushed, and the curiosity got to him. He saw more than I did! haha :) Later he said, "Some guys might not be able to handle it, but I'm glad I did." 

Good guy. :)

At 11:06 am, with one big push, my little girl came into the world. The first thing I noticed (through the happy tears) was her amazing head of dark hair! She cried a bit and then settled right down when they set her on my chest. She opened her eyes within minutes and looked around...such an alert little girl! 

I was absolutely exhausted...but that moment when I held my baby was surreal. I was so happy, I didn't even care about the long hours of labor beforehand. I'd have done it again. Truly. 

Evelyn Marie. 7 lbs, 14 oz. 21 inches long. My precious little girl. 

Right now she's sleeping next to me on the bed, her face sort of scrunched up on my leg.
She's been eating NON STOP, which is actually a blessing, as she lost about 9 oz after being born.
One thing I've learned this week is that mothers worry about EVERYTHING. But at least I don't have to worry about her getting enough milk now. She's put back on 7 ounces. Thus the dairy farmer title...

Well. That's long enough. I've got many more stories about this past week, but I'll save them for another day. I'm gonna go cuddle with my sweetie. :)

(One hour old)

(Mommy and Baby)

Sweet girl :)