Christmas Eve

Here we are watching Modern Family, relaxing after getting Christmas ready.  Kids are in bed asleep (even the babe), Santa has come and gone, stockings are stuffed, cookies have been eaten.  This has been a good, comfortable Christmas Eve.  Most of the time, I haven't had time to wrap anything because I've been working from Black Friday on, but not this year.  This year I worked the day before Christmas Eve.  NOT Christmas Eve.  This is the first year I've been completely off from Christmas Eve since my daughter was born six years ago.  SIX YEARS.  I know it's silly to complain, but nothing kills your holiday spirit like working retail.  I have kids.  I'd like to appreciate them during the holidays.  This year is that year.  I even wrapped some stuff ahead of time and shared tasks with my husband.  Amazing, right?  Yeah, I know.

Stockings hung by the chimney with care

We are celebrating our first Christmas in our new house and I'm over the moon about it.  I'm in my living room, TV on, baby asleep on dad, wine glass emptied, and I'm looking at our new Christmas tree.  Six feet tall, white, pre-lit (which apparently means someone twisted lights around every set of branches), with ornaments spread out haphazardly.  You can tell what sections my daughter did because there are ornaments clumped on top of each other, including candy canes.  This is the most chaotic tree I have ever had and I LOVE it.

The other exciting thing about our Christmas tree is that we actually have one.  I got to use ornaments that have never been opened before because I didn't have a tree to put them on, nor a place to put a tree to put ornaments on.  Let me take you through the last few Christmases I've had.

The year is 2005 and I'm living at my boyfriend's during my senior year of high school.  I don't remember a tree, but if there was one, I damn-sure had nothing to do with it.

2006- College.  My parents had a tree that they put up while I was at school.  Side note: My dad died a month later.

2007- My new husband's father's house.  The first live tree I have ever lived with.  It is so beautiful, next to an active wood-burning fireplace with stockings hung on the mantle.  Presents are settled on the floor beneath the tree, just waiting to be opened on Christmas Day.  My newborn daughter has just come home from the hospital two weeks prior after spending two weeks in the hospital from being born prematurely.  We watch A Christmas Story and eat eggs over easy that my amazing first father-in-law has cooked. Side note: He died nine months later.

2008- Staying with my mother during my separation from my husband.  I was a store manager then so I doubt I helped with the tree since I was busy selling Christmas presents.  Retail....

2009- I'm in my own apartment, but spending all my time at my crazy then-boyfriend's house.  His family comes down from New York.  We end up going there at some point as well.  His mother and stepdad are super sweet and everything is perfect, except him.  His Christmas tree is all his decision, just like everything in our relationship (except our break-up, BAZINGA!).

2010- Back at my mom's?

2011- First Christmas with my new husband.  We're expecting our first child together in April.  We get a two foot tree and stick it in a tiny box instead of a fake pot.  It's still in that tiny box, with the lights and ornaments we selected to put on it, currently occupying our mantle.

2012- Christmas at my in-laws because we were waiting to hear back about our short sale home purchase.  Very cozy with our daughter and six-month-old son, but no tree of our own.

2013- THE YEAR OF THE TREE!!!!!!!!!  Oh, and stockings that I hung on the mantle...

Looking back

I was reading through my old posts and realized that I never wrote anything about the birth of my last son.  Leading up to his birth, I was extremely uncomfortable until I stopped working during my 36th week.  Some people are reading this thinking, "I worked up until 39/40 weeks".  Well, I learned from my first child that you cannot guarantee when your child will come.

My daughter was born between 35 and 36 weeks.  Thankfully, I had taken off work really early.  Truthfully, it was earlier than I needed, but it allowed me to be home when my water broke at 6:30 pm without any warning.  I had to be induced at 11:30 pm after hours with no real contractions.  My daughter couldn't breathe well and had jaundice, all the fun stuff that preemies have.  Although it was really shitty having my first child in the hospital, it gave us time to get everything we hadn't gotten (carseat, crib) that we desperately needed three weeks ahead of schedule.

After that, my second child came at 37 weeks and 5 days.  After feeling mild contractions for an hour at most, my water broke at 6:30 pm (again).  Within minutes, we were on the way to the hospital with contractions coming every three or four minutes and lasting over a minute.  I got wheeled in to the maternity ward, barely made it on the scale, got to use the new tub (the hospital I went to with my first, moved and built a dank, tricked out new hospital with sweet ass delivery and recovery rooms), barely got back to my bed to start pushing.  Two and a half hours after arriving at the hospital, my son was born.

Usually, you are more at risk for preterm labor if you have had it before.  Apparently, my children defy science or whatever.  I say that because I believed my third child would follow his sibling's leads and come out early.  I had been feeling enormous and having Braxton Hicks for weeks.  Many weeks.  Week 37 came and went.  I had my 38th week appointment and was dilated 3 cm, 80% effaced, and my son was at 0 station (meaning he was as far into my pelvis as he could be before entering the birth canal).  I had false labor pains that started at 7 pm and lasted well into the night.  Contractions were coming every seven minutes, but not growing in strength.  I felt like throwing up with every contraction.  My face would flush and I'd feel like fainting.  I almost went to the hospital just from feeling terrible.  This happened on two separate nights.

Fast forward to week 39.  I go to my OB-GYN and I am now 4-5 cm dilated, 80% effaced, and -1 station.  Yep, he was in the birth canal, but would not come out.  I was further dilated than my mother in law got when she had my husband, and I wasn't in labor.  What a jerk, right?  The doctor asked if I wanted my membranes swept (that's where they separate the amniotic sac from the uterine wall near the cervix).  Why not?  My daughter had started kindergarten the week before and my husband was due to start work the following week (he teaches at a private school) so the timing was right.  Several hours later, I was having contractions every four minutes and lasting a minute.  They'd been coming regularly for hours.  All the protocols were met.  My husband kept telling me to call the doctor to confirm going to the hospital, but I kept waiting for my water to break like before.  I had contractions with my first son that were hard to talk through because of the pain.  Why wasn't I having those?  Doctor said come on in when I finally did call.  I walked in, got on the scale, even had time to decide what I wanted for pain management.  I got some fentanyl and started to drift off (I was getting really tired with all the contractions).  Doc came in and broke my water.  Shit got real after that.  Little boy came an hour and ten min later.  I breathed through my pain and made a concerted effort to focus on each contraction.  I followed that up during the pushing with four big pushes.

It was really weird when my son came.  It was very emotional for me.  I had been having more and more doubts as his arrival came closer and the weeks wore on.  I started to freak out about whether we could do it, raise three kids.  I mean, what were we thinking?  His brother and sister had such a great relationship and here was this little boy coming in to ruin it.  And labor, wow.  It had only been a year and a half since my last labor and although it was quick, it hurt.  A lot.  I was scared.  Scared about how I would pick my daughter up from school with two little boys, scared about how I would breastfeed my newborn while my toddler ran around terrorizing my living room, scared about everything changing.  And then he came.

I still felt really worried.  I knew from my previous experiences that even the best labor can result in tears.  You just cannot help the emotion.  It's hard to explain.  I know hormones play a huge part, but even still, it's jarring.  With my last son, I was elated.  It all happened so fast, even if it was painful.  We didn't know what we were having with him until he came out balls and penis flashing.  I was so excited to have a son.  So why didn't I feel the same with this one?  I was pretty upset and didn't really connect while we were in the hospital.  I just wanted to get home and get into a routine.

We got home and things fell into place.  We suffered setbacks like most parents.  My son ended up jaundiced even with constant feeding (the ped at the hospital suggested that I have something that I've passed to my children since all three have been jaundiced, whether full-term or not), breastfeeding got temporarily screwed up (lactation consultant saved me from quitting), and he still has cradle cap at two months old (minor, but still annoying).  Even with the issues listed above, I found myself completely in love with my child.  When I'm away from him, he's constantly on my mind.  His cry is cute, his smile is cute, his little face is so cute.  I just can't get over it.  He's got such a sweet little face with these big eyes that just light up when he looks at me.  I've found that all my worries were unfounded and now that he's here, I can't imagine life without him.  It's as if I've never worried before and everything in my life fell perfectly into place.

Halloween

Last night we took my daughter trick or treating in our new neighborhood.  She was Disney's Rapunzel on her wedding day.  This costume had multiple components, almost all of which my daughter had to complain about.  The wig was itchy, the tiara/veil kept falling, the shoes were clunky, and the part that goes under the dress to pouf it out didn't quite stay in the right place.  I was told exactly, "there's something under my dress...it's not perfect".  What a statement!

We also took my sons for a short bit.  The elder was dressed as Hulk and the younger was Mike from Monster's Inc.  They were so cute and I was so proud of them.  The toddler, who is usually a holy terror, was an absolute delight.  He waved hi to people and didn't fuss.  He stayed on my husband's shoulders and had the greatest time.  The baby, who is only two months old, slept.  Like, almost the entire time we were out with them.  I was very impressed with both of them.  I cannot wait until next year when both of them can walk around.

It sprinkled at the start of the night, but that bothered next to no one (except my daughter who worried about her dress, naturally).  We were out for about an hour before we headed home to put my toddler to bed and drop the baby off with grandparents, who handed out candy for us.  We met up with friends of ours and now, I am determined to always trick or treat with friends of ours, whether it's the family down the street that have a daughter around our son's age or the family with kids a couple years older than our oldest.  Trick or treating with other kids helps keep the whole thing in perspective.

Drive thrues for the win

Wow, being a stay at home mom (or SAHM) is exhausting.  Don't get me wrong, I stayed home for about two months with my first child so I had an idea what I was getting into, but now with three, it's crazy.  I've just given up on getting anything done except dishes and laundry (which may or may not get put away). Sometimes it's really nice, like now when both of the little ones are napping and the oldest is in school.  Other times, like when my husband will be home in an hour and my two month old is hungry and crying, the 18 month old is screaming because I won't let him climb on the baby gate, and the five year old is whining because I haven't put on the one show she's allotted, it sucks.  Sometimes I'm really glad I don't have to deal with all the usual bullshit at my job, but damn.  Sometimes it's hard to find time to pee, at least now while the littlest is so little.

Did I mention that breastfeeding sucks too?  Well, sort of.  It's great not paying to feed my child or sterilize bottles and wash them all the time (unless I pump and bottle feed, which I usually can't because of the toddler).  Also, the milk shop is always open, which means the milk shop is open whether I need to use the bathroom, I'm in the shower, getting dressed, or getting groceries.  For awhile, my son was going through a growth spurt that I swear lasted three weeks, meaning he was constantly attached to me.  He was eating almost every hour around the clock.  Obnoxious.  I'd start to feel like I was ready to give up and then he'd take a two hour nap and just look so cute.

It's great how kids seem to know when to make you fall in love with them again.  You reach this point where you just want to throw them out the window or drop them off with grandparents and then you drive away for a long time (don't let anyone lie to you, we all reach that point at least once in our child's lives), but then they smile at you or laugh or dance around and they just look so cute and melt your heart and you forget all about how frustrated you were a second ago.

I do wish I had the time to write more.  If I did, I'd post more, but usually the littlest is hungry or the toddler is getting into everything he shouldn't.  I'd love to record my thoughts, transcribe them and easily post them with the touch of a button, but even if there is a way to do it, I don't have the time to figure out how.  I also wish it wasn't such a pain in the ass to go out and get a cup of coffee... the Dunkin they are building near me needs to open.

All D's are NOT created equal

So, my quest to find a nursing bra that I like has led me through the rabbit holes of the internet from one blogger post to reddit, to an online British bra shop, then over to Amazon to order correct sizes.  Knowing that I have two children already would lead you to believe I already own nursing bras.  You would be correct.  I didn't really know what i was doing with my first child and went with what I was fitted for.  That was okay except that I was younger and obsessed with underwire bras.

For one reason or another, I struggled with breastfeeding.  I didn't like the concept, the experience, the inevitable pumping as I returned to work full-time, nothing about it.  My milk production dropped.  I got frustrated and stressed, dropping it further.  After two or three months, that was it.  Slowly, I stopped altogether.

With my son, I was older, more mature, and in a better place emotionally (no post-partum depression like with my daughter).  I was determined to do things right and breastfeed through six months, which is the recommended minimum time period before antibodies stop being transferred and all sorts of other goodness.  I did my research and it turns out that underwire bras can cut into breast tissue and cause problems with breastfeeding.  I figured that was my problem last time, besides the emotional and mental issues I was dealing with.  I got wireless bras and ones I could sleep in.  They were more comfortable, but again, I still ended up having to stop around two months, thanks to work, again.

This time, I am determined to make it work.  I am also determined to get new bras that are supportive (unlike the ridiculously comfortable ones I had with my son), pretty, and comfortable.  I looked up best nursing bras, which led me to Amazon and their best-selling list.  That was a good starting point.  I bought some bras that I thought were the right size.  They arrived and they were NOT the right size.  They were too small.  How could that be?

I started looking up sizing/fitting and was shocked to find that I've been doing it wrong all these years.  The traditional method of measuring was to measure around the top of your bust, right above the breast tissue, for the band size and around the fullest part of your bust for the bust size.  You then subtract the two and the difference in inches was your cup size.  Doing that always put me at an awkward size because after breastfeeding two kids, your skin stretches and the breast tissue can migrate without proper support.  That was my problem.  TMI, I know, but the truth.  The new way is to measure your band right below the breast tissue (snug and tightly), measure your bust standing up, bend over so the tape measure is perpendicular to the floor and measure bust, then lie flat on your back and measure your bust then.  If the difference between your standing bust and bent bust is more than 3 inches, average the two.  As usual take the difference between band size and bust.  Again, inches correlate to cup sizes.  Apparently, I've been wearing bands that are too big and cups that are too small.

1. Fun fact that most women don't know:  All D's are not created equal.  I always assumed that a D was the same across the board, that the only thing changing was the band size.  Now, I knew that a 34D was not as big as a 36D, but I assumed that because the band was bigger, the cup would "spread out" more or something like that.  Nope.  The cup size is about capacity, the band is about tightness around your ribcage.  There are such things as sister sizes.  For example, a 32D is equal to a 34C and a 36B.  When you go up a band size, you go down a cup size.  Wow, wish I had understood that years ago.

2. Fun fact:  The band should be relatively tight (allowing no more than two fingers between the band and your body).  If it feels a little tight on the loosest setting, you're probably wearing the right size.  That's correct, you do not want to go up a band size.  You also don't want to start out on the tightest hook.  You start at the loosest and then over time, as the elastic wears out, you tighten the hooks.  Common sense, right?  Apparently not.

3. Fun fact:  Swoop and scoop to put on your bra.  Do not put it on backwards and turn it around, like most of us were taught (I know I was).  I've been told (or read somewhere) that you should put your bra on bent over and facing the right way.  This way, gravity puts your breast tissue in the cups.  I've gotten lazy over time and stopped doing this.  I also figured it doesn't matter after breastfeeding two kids because you're already screwed.  Not so.  You can help your breasts find their way home by following that method and then swooping and scooping the breast tissue into the cup after you have stood up.  It is how it sounds.  Swoop your hand in your bra from the farthest side and scoop the breast into the cup.  You will probably find more breast than you knew you had.  I know I did.

I have since gone online, returned the bras I bought and ordered new ones, in the correct size.  Fit and bra styles are not universal so I expect that the different bras will work better at different phases of breastfeeding.  At least now I know how to size myself so I can find bras that fit me when this is all said and done.  Until then, I hope to enjoy my new bras and to find success in breastfeeding this time around.  Besides, they say, "third time's the charm".  Perhaps I'll have enough brain cells after baby's born to write if that's the case.

It's time for bed

It's late and I really should be heading to bed, after brushing my teeth, of course, but I felt the need to write a little something.  A friend shared an article on Google+ about decision-making.  I sat here for a moment making my decision to write some shit on this blog.  Apparently, we make better decisions in the morning due to higher levels of seratonin.  We also make better decisions when we've had a break from making decisions (another reason the morning is good).  Thinking about this, I realized that I have emotional funkiness at night, before going to bed, and often have trouble falling asleep because I'm thinking about everything I have to do the next day and all the decisions I'll have to make.  That study just might explain things a little.

On a separate note, I'm now 35 weeks along and feeling large, uncomfortable, and ready for it to be over while simultaneously freaking out about what my body will be going through in a few short weeks.  That's on the of the benefits and cons of knowing what I'm in for, when it comes to labor.  It's nice to know so I don't have to be paranoid about whether I'm truly in labor or not because I already know what it feels like.  Which is where things get shitty.  It hurts.  I don't care what people say, but it hurts.  After giving birth naturally twice, I can tell you it hurts, even when it's fast and you have a relatively high tolerance for pain.  I really hate thinking about it, but it's hard not to since I just did it little more than a year ago.

Today I looked at old pictures from my son's birth and it reminded me of why it's worth it.  Still don't like the idea of it, but it's definitely more bearable to think of when seeing my sweet son and knowing I've got a new little man to meet very soon.