Thursday, December 25, 2008
Christmas Eve in the ER
OK, I have officially experienced one of those moments as a parent when you don't know what you're supposed to do because you just can't think and you know you should be able to think but you can't because your child is screaming bloody murder and you feel ready to murder someone but you realize then that you'd have to murder yourself because you're the reason your child is screaming.
We had a dinner with friends and family at the house. Loads of fresh crab, sourdough, salad and our million and ten homemade Christmas cookies. Gretchen had had her bath and we were going to put her to bed, but we started checking out her stroller to see if it would fold up. We're heading to Hawaii tomorrow and the stroller came up as we were discussing how we were all getting to the airport.
Long story short, Gretchen's fingers got smashed in the stroller when it collapsed while I was pushing her around the kitchen. I thought I'd clicked everything back into to place, but I hadn't. And the stoller collapsed. And her fingers on her left hand got totally squashed. After we all stood around as she screamed trying to figure out what to do, we finally decided to take her to the ER to make sure none of her fingers were broken. X-rays and a grilling from the nurse (it didn't occur to me until just this moment that she was asking questions to make sure we hadn't done injury to our own child), we left the hospital at 11:00 p.m., relieved nothing was broken, but with a very tired, hurt and over-excited babe. The tip of her pinky on her left hand it totally mooshed, swollen and red. Her ring finger is bruised and hurt, but not as bad as the pinky.
I feel horrible. I can't stop picturing the moment when the stroller collapsed and at first it seemed funny until I realized Gretchen's fingers were stuck in the stroller and I couldn't get her out because I'd have to let go of the stoller and then she's get hurt even worse. God, my stomach hurts just writing about it.
It's hard to think of these things. Because I know that in the scheme of things this was so minor. Nothing life-threatening, not really even any blood. But yet I am in total angst over the whole things. I can't bear to think of anything bigger happening to her. How do parents deal with it? Dave handled it so much better than I did, and he's usually the one to over-react.
There is a family I insure. I met them about 10 years ago when my mom was the agent, and I worked for her. I only have their life insurance. I sold them the policies. They came to me because I had struck up a conversation with the wife over a deli counter where she worked. I'd go in every week and get sliced turkey. We talked every time I went in. She'd ask me questions about my work, and one day I mentioned life insurance and what a believer I was of the policies. I know this is not a subject many people like to think about, but I come from a family 3 generations deep in the insurance biz. Life insurance is like breathing to me. At any rate, she made an appointment and came in to the office. We talked about policies for she & her husband, but she was most interested in permanent policies on her 2 small daughters. She loved the idea of the cash accumulation and being able to give them something for their future, something she felt her own parents hadn't done for her. I felt like I'd failed because I'd heard again and again that parents should be covered first because if anything happens to them, the kids have nothing. But she got the policies on her 2 girls, and that was that. A few years went by, I moved on the management. I got a phone call from my mom to tell me one of the girls, the youngest one who was 6 at the time, had been diagnosed with brain cancer. I was speechless. I couldn't fathom it. Within the year she died. Her small life policy paid out and I cried and cried after I delivered the check.
That was 7 years ago, and I recently had an appointment with them again. They increased all of their life policies, they told me about their oldest daughter who's now 17, we talked about their little girl who had died. They're the kind of clients I always hug, and we hugged as they left. They told me as they left to stop working so late and spend more time with my daughter, with my husband.
I think about them now, tonight, because I cannot imagine what they had to go through to handle the death of their daughter. I cannot imagine how they have made it through the last 7 years. I can barely handle Gretchen's hurt fingers. I don't know how they got through each day, I don't know how they did it.
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 2:08 AM
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Sick & Tired
I've managed to get sick. Again. I believe this is my 8th cold this year, and the year ain't over yet! I might still be able to catch 4 more colds and get my average to one a month. Yeehaw. There's something to strive for.
I find it unbelievable to look at the calendar and see NOVEMBER at the top. And then I run my finger along the box of days and it's the 15th, for crying out loud. How can this month be half over already? Thanksgiving is looming there, somewhere in the near distance, and Christmas lurks behind, like a hulking cousin. This year, I am just not in the mood. I suppose many people aren't. Many people I talk to are in the doldrums of this sinking economy. And perhaps that is affecting me too. I can't tell. I'm so stressed out by work that I can't even think about something as big and untenable as THE ECONOMY. Occassionally I hear the talking heads saying these words about what's happening to our world. And I think to myself, "Duh. Did we not rrealize this was going to happen?"
Anyway, people are affected by the economy, obviously, and it's having a trickle down affect at work. People are mean. And desperate. They can't pay their bills. They let their insurance lapse, then they get mad at us when they need their insurance RIGHT NOW. People, I have noticed, are meaner and more condescending than I've seen in the past. I know insurance is not a person's favorite topic. Lord knows I work in it and would rather not talk about it. People are so stretched with their money that the last thing they want to do is pay for their insurance. But they have to. Because the DMV requires it and the mortgagee requires it. And because these things are required, and no one can yell at the Department of Motor Vehicles nor at Bank of America or Countrywide or whomever, they choose to come or call into my office and yell at us. I guess we're the whipping post for people's frustration. But I've never seen it like this before. Or maybe I just notice it more because now it's on my shoulders as the agent to make sure my clients are "happy." Either way, my staff is at their wit's end half the time, and I've been out sick half the year. Sometimes, at the particularly nasty clients, I've wanted to stand in front of them and shake my finger at their noses and say, "Shame on you! For shame! Why are you speaking to us like that? Don't you realize we are doing everything in our power to fix something that YOU should never have let get to this point in the first place?! We are not your babysitter. We are not your mother. We are not responsible for the fact that you didn't pay your bill. You got 3 notices in the mail and a courtesy phone call from my office telling you your policy was going to lapse if it wasn't paid by this date. And you have the gall to come in here and yell at US, now that your policies have lapsed, after we've just told you we'll help you? For shame!" I want to say all that, but I don't. We all grin and bear it. We all feel ourselves puddling under the pressure of so many people's anger and frustration.
People don't realize when they're talking to you that your life has the same drama in it as their does. My kid has a cold just like yours does. My back is out of whack and I'm too fat and my head hurts just like you. My husband and I had an argument last night, like you and your wife did. My Mutual Funds have taken a dump, just like yours. Like you, I'm trying to figure out how to make my dollars stretch just a little bit farther. I laugh at the same jokes you do, I like the same wines you do. I cry at the same movies you do and I sing along to my iPod in the car like I've seen you do.
So, that's my work rant. Most times I just feel bad for people when they are mean to us. We try to placate them and make them feel better, leave us feeling like they've had a good experience. But some days, like yesterday, when the pressure is palpable and my teams' faces are all pinched and drawn and we can't think of anything nice to say about anyone we've talked to all day because they've been so horrid to us, that's when I get sick and tired of it all and want to kick people in the butt and stomp my feet and tell them to stop being such arseholes.
Hmmmph.
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 8:57 AM
Monday, October 27, 2008
The Putz of Stress
I'm supposed to write in a journal for my health. It's something my doctor told me could help with The Stress.
I love writing that. The. Stress. Like it has its own mass, lungs and a brain. Feelings that may get hurt if I'm not careful about how I address it. "Good evening everyone, I'd like to introduce you to my intimate friend, The Stress." It seems ridiculous, really, like some joke that my body is playing on me. How could being in a perpetual haze of dilemma and action and reaction at work be a health hazard? Isn't this what EVERYONE deals with on a daily basis? People with careers and families and responsibilities who have stressful lives, but somehow manage to not have it affect their health?
Or am I deluding myself and not taking enough into consideration? Do I need to look at a much larger picture? Has our world become, in fact, so stressful that none of us even realizes it and just accepts it as a prerequisite of this life and we must just deal? Where "dealing" means taking medications as an easy fix-all to a much deeper and not-easily fixed physical, emotional and spiritual issue?
I dunno. It could be either or neither.
Regardless, my doc's review of my bloodwork gave me a good & proper scare. So I'm writing. Though I'm cheating because writing on a blog is not what she intended; I should be writing in a journal. Something about the hand to pen to page to mind connection that slows the synapses down or some such that a keyboard doesn't quite accomplish. Oh well. Beggars can't be choosers. I'm in beg mode at the moment.
I suppose that's just a slick way of admitting I'm a putz.
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 10:02 PM
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Do's & Don'ts
Friends of ours were married last weekend. I didn't go to the ceremony but I went today to the reception at China Camp on the bay. It was a beautiful day, one of those Bay Area autumn days of avid sun and a breeze coming in off the bay so you're always wondering when you're going to feel too hot or too cold but you never do because the temperature regulates itself. The newlyweds are quite the international couple. She's Chinese and he's Swedish, neither are from here originally but this is the place they call home. Their families and friends flew in from across the world. I'm nursing a cold but I still went with my folks and sister. I took Gretchen with me to give Dave some time without interruptions to correct essays.
Nap time for the poops came around 2:30 when she began shrieking to high heaven because I wanted to change her diaper. Normally she's a pretty even-tempered kid. But when it's nap time and she doesn't get a nap...oy...that's all I'll say. I had to haul her off to my parent's van and stuff her in her car seat, screaming the entire time, as we cruised along San Pedro Drive almost to Tiburon. I was grinding my teeth as she wailed in the back seat. She'd worked herself into such a frenzy that she kept hiccuping which just made her cry more. Finally she let loose with a massive caterwaul and then promptly conked out. I drove around for 35 minutes before she was snoring softly in the back, hiccuping in her sleep. The topper of this little scene of familial bliss is that I had just finished a conversation with the bride, asking when they were going to have kids. She very graciously explained they weren't going to have kids, a decision based on witnessing children scream and yell and cry at Christmas and they didn't think they wanted to "do" that. I loved being yet another example of why they can feel justified in their decision to remain sans the fruit of their union...
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It was interesting observing people while we were there. I had conversations with a number of people, but I began to talk in earnest with a brother-in-law. Really nice Swedish guy, married with 2 kids. We were blabbing about our work and global politics and the friendly ribbing between Norway and Sweden. It was a great conversation, one of those times when you speak back and forth to each other readily and easily and enjoy the topics, enjoy the way it makes you think, enjoy the way it doesn't require too much effort because you're both just enjoying the conversation. I didn't really think much of it other than saying to myself, "Hey! I really enjoyed that conversation!"
But it made me start thinking. Not because anything was amiss, but because now that I have a child and I've been married for a few years, I just don't think about NOT being married or having a kid. But as I was driving home from the reception, it dawned on me how little we know about people with whom we strike up conversations. For instance, you never know if someone has had an affair and if your actions in talking with them are stirring up memories for the spouse who's watching from across the way. If your conversation that you're enjoying so much has got that spouse jealous or hurt or thinking with murderous rage about what could possibly be holding your attention for so long.
I don't know why I started thinking like that because it wasn't like there was anything amiss or as though anyone was looking strangely or as though I got any sort of funky vibe. It wasn't like that. But it was just a train of thought that I followed for awhile. Because people don't know my personal history either if they're just striking up a conversation with me. We're just blank slates and we can only intuit so much from a one-time conversation. Do people look at me and know I was married to an Albanian and that I lived in Italy for nearly 3 years or Norway while I was in high school? Can they tell I was a chef before I was an insurance agent? Or that was an insecure chubby girl who wished for blond hair and blue eyes instead of my Hawaiianess?
A few days ago I was telling someone I work with that I'd been married before, and they were stunned. Then when I told him my ex-husband was an Albanian, he sort of raised an eyebrow and looked at me like I was a Martian. "Boy," he said, "There's a whole lot I don't know about you, huh?"
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My nose is stuffed up and I'm whacked from this head cold and a long day and a long week and an even longer year. But I got the yen to write again tonight, so here I am. Perhaps it's because the weather is starting to turn. Colder nights, smoky fires at night, leaves turning. That seasonal shift. This time of year always gets its grip on me, makes me restless. I long for far away places and jet lag. I long for a silver Airstream, a full tank and a good map. It's always the same. Every year.
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 12:31 AM
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Resurrection
Over a year and I dare to show my blogging face again.
Amazing how much everything changes, the turns life takes, the time that passes...only to find I've really not gone very far in the scheme of things.
It's nigh on 3:00 in the morning. I should be sleeping, but I got all in a twist as I got a bee in my bonnet to look at my blog, imagining that perhaps it had disappeared altogether. It hadn't disappeared, as evidenced by the fact that I'm sitting here at the moment writing on it. But it was sorely in need of a bit of TLC. Links were broken, images had been swallowed up into a cyber-wasteland, and the date of my last post sat at the top of the page like an orphaned bit of good intention left behind in the wake of changes too numerous to mention.
Life for the past year has been a tight-rope walk between responsibilities that are at times overwhelming. More times than I can even count I have wished I never began this journey to start a business. And yet the regret is short-lived and useless. Long-term it's the best thing I could have done. At the moment it feels like an eggshell walk across a carefully mined field where each pebble is a potential hazard. Wall Street trembles as bears & bulls run willy-nilly, banks crumble, foreclosures dot the neighborhoods, and the global economy teeters on the brink of disaster. But to hell with it all. I just don't care anymore. Stress has defined my waking and sleeping hours for months, it's a way of life these days totally unrelated to the state of the economy.
I'll have a permanent contract by the end of next month, I think. And when I do, I am going to go on a nice, long vacation. I haven't had a proper vacation in years. We're planning on going to Hawaii with my parents the day after Christmas. Dave has to get back to teach the 1st week of January, but I think I may stay longer. I'm not certain, but I'm toying with the idea more and more. I feel like I just want to escape for 3-4 weeks fom all the fervor I've been ensnarled in since the beginning of the year. Hawaii sounds amazing right now. The laid back motion of the Big Island. Ocean day trips. Me and Gretchen adventuring across the island. If I can get my act together at the office and close out the year early, going away might be just the ticket to get my world back in perspective.
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I wonder sometimes how we get to the point of being nearly 40 years old and wondering where all the time went.
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I got a postcard from my ex-husband. He lives in Albania. That's because he's Albanian. His postcard called me "dear". He wanted me to call or write him. That's probably not going to happen. Though I can't help making up these scenarios in my head of what a conversation would be like with him in an Italian/English/Albanian mish-mash. It's 10 years later. Was he hoping for a 2nd chance?
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My daughter was running around the living room last weekend with a basket on her head. This is how I identify her as my daughter - she runs around with a basket on her head, the same sort of thing I would do as a kid. It was a bushel basket and it came down to her shoulders. My sister (she of Most-Favored Auntie status) was watching her niece, giving wide berth to the careening bushel-kopf. Gretchen was running around and she was laughing, watching her feet. I was talking on the phone, doing that absent-minded watching thing that parents do when there's another adult to supervise. I saw as she ran right into a china cabinet. Bonking her basket-head on the edge of the cabinet, she reeled back like a cartoon, turning and turning with a loud, "Uoogh" sound. I couldn't stop laughing. I was talking to my mother who kept saying, "What is going on over there? What happened? What is going on?" I wish I'd had a video of that.
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 2:36 AM
Monday, July 02, 2007
Nummy for the Tummy
Yesterday was Gretchen's 5 month birthday. To celebrate, we fed her her first solid food. OK, I don't know how solid it was, since it was rice cereal that was pretty runny. But it was a milestone. And it made me sad. She's no longer a purely breastfed baby. She's now onto the big leagues. My lil baby is getting bigger...
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 10:23 PM
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
sha-BOW-WOW-WOW-WOWNG
Ya. That's right. That's sound my head is making trying to recognize fact that I'm back to work. Ho.Lee.Ca.Ow.
Training has begun. I am in the mix. I am 1 of 15 interns in training to become insurance agents. Ya. That's right. I do know how utterly boring and suburban that sounds (not like saying I'm in training to become the next Mrs. America or beekeeper or some such...insurance agent, so...so...so used car salesmanish). Yet, that aside, the fact remains that I have taken the plunge and I am officially in the program to take over half of my mother's book. It's scary and thrilling all at the same time to think of owning my own business in the town where I grew up. Grandpa was an agent with the same company, mom took over half of his book when she came on board 20 years ago. I figured out that my family has represented the same insurance company in this town for over 57 years. That is so cool. I'll be a 3rd generation agent, which is something I'm really proud of. I never thought I'd find myself here. I always thought I'd be a chef or a writer. Yet here I am. Crazy.
I don't know the gal who's taking over the other half of mom's book of business, but apparently my mom knew her husband years ago when they were in a business organization together. My biggest hope is that she and I can be really friendly with one another and use each other as resources. I've never really seen agents within the same company as competitors. Often the individual agents have such different things to offer. It becomes a matter of the kind of person a client wants to do business with. Maybe that sounds Pollyanna of me, I dunno. We'll see. I've spoken with her once on the phone to intorduce myself, and she seemed very nice. It's such a great opportunity for both of us, I just hope we both get through the training without too much strain and are ready to go, full force ahead, come next March.
It's all a big shift, a huge change. I want so much to be doing the right thing for my family, for David and Gretchen. Being a business owner in my own town seems like the best way for us to get ahead and give Gretchen the best we can give her. My whole reason for doing things has changed. And she goes by the nickname of Poopsey.
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 5:47 PM
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Caught between the Scylla and Charybidis
The past month has flown. I cannot believe 6 months have passed since I let work. And now I will be heading back on Monday. Back to the same company but to a new job. I'll be starting training on Monday to become an insurance agent for the company I have worked for most of my adult life. My mom has been an agent for 20 years and will be retiring next February. She took over part of her dad's book of business when he retired after 37 years as an insurance agent. Now here I come, 3rd generation. There is a part of me that feels the pressure of so much history. There will perhaps be assumptions that this is being handed to me on a silver platter. But I had to fight so hard to get to this point. It's taken so much to get here. That won't be common knowledge. Should it? Probably not. It is better to just let bygones be bygones and go forward. This is a chance to work where I live, to own my own business in the town where I grew up, to be close to Gretchen. The timing is crazy, but it's HERE. It's NOW.
I haven't been able to write. Mostly because I have been bushwacked this past month with interviews and getting the flu and being a mommy. Taking time to write means something else gets left undone. At the moment, for instance, sleep is being left undone in favor of updating a sadly outdated blog. During the day, time is doled out in a miserly fashion. Phone calls get returned only if I have a stretch when Gretchen is being taken care of by her daddy. On Monday, everything will change again. A new career, leaving Gretchen to be taken care of by Dave for 2 months while he's off school. Then we figure out daycare and life changes yet again. I can almost here the WHOOSH as time whizzes past.
I was telling Dave tonight how weird it was to think that Gretchen is going to be a little girl. I know that's stating the obvious. But it's hard to think of her as anything other than a baby because she's 4 and a half months old right now and that's all we know. But the time us passing so quickly. She won't be a baby forever. She is going to be a little girl before long, a toddler learning to walk and talk. Then she'll start school and be excited about birthday parties and holidays. She'll recognize grandma and grandpa. She'll have definite likes and dislikes. She is so small and dependent right now. Yet even so her personality is so apparent. She is strong-willed and charming. I take her downtown, wearing her in her Bjorn carrier, and people stop in their tracks, say how adorable she is. I have no sense of perspective. I, of course, think she's a cute-patoot, but my parental bias is not to be trusted. But babies out and about, especially one who is as flirtatious as Gretchen has become, well, those are the babies that grab people's attention. It will be so amazing to watch this little babykins grow up. I want to catch my breath although I'm sitting still.
So hard. The yearn to want to stay home with Gretchen and the need to make a mortgage payment. I have always been good at what I set my mind to doing. Working comes easily to me. The juggle of motherhood and career, I'm joining the ranks. Onward, into the fray.
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 1:58 AM
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Baby in a Bucket
We are apparently having a heat wave. My child does not understand the whole "heat" thing and was a grumpus of the highest order yesterday. We were both hot and sticky and breast feeding was a chore and just made us hotter and stickier. I couldn't get Gretchen to go down for a nap. I think she was too uncomfortable. My dad called and invited us over for dinner, so Gretchen and I hopped in the car and went to Grandma & Grandpa's. By the time we got there, she was having a minor meltdown and getting a heat rash in the creases of her arms and legs. So mom said to give her a bath to cool her off. My parents aren't really equipped for some aspects of baby time, so my dad pulls out this big bucket they saved from about 5 years ago that had cat litter in it. My mom uses it now to soak her feet in to ease them. I wondered about sticking my bebe in a bucket formerly used for cat litter and currently used for foot soaking, but decided to hell with it since Gretchen was so sticky and popped her in it.
I'm sure this is probably further evidence of my faulting parenting. But look how happy she was. Can't argue with that, no sirree bob.
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 11:42 AM
Friday, April 27, 2007
Mama's Girl
Gretchen has been getting so much better. The crying has eased off, she smiles at me all the time. She's becoming a mama's girl, which I suppose is normal considering she spends every waking hour with me.
I realized last night how hard it is going to be to go back to work. It hit me like a two-ton buffalo. I woke up at 2:45 in the a.m. to pump and I couldn't get back to sleep. I just lay there in the dark, thoughts spinning in my head.
I went to a luncheon yesterday at work. A lot of the people I work with were there, so it was the perfect opportunity to take Gretchen to meet everyone. It was great to see all my homies, they all thought Gretchen was a cutie-patootie. While I was there, I found out training for the Agency program I'm planning to enter into has changed. Beginning in July it will be held in Irvine. It's a 12 week program. There's one last training beginning in June that will still be held in this area. Either way, it puts me in a total conundrum. The first option (Irvine) is NOT an option. I can't be away from Gretchen that long and still plan to breastfeed. And the 2nd option (June) means starting the program a lot sooner than I anticipated. It's had me in a snit all day. I kept crying this morning, asking myself what I'd gotten into. Dave happened to call me during his lunch hour while I was in the midst of a good cry and I unloaded on him.
It's just the way life is, I know. I just find myself so ill-prepared to handle sudden changes these days. Before becoming a mama, I could stop in my tracks, do a 180 and not be any worse for the wear with the exception, possibly of staying up too late to finish a project. These days, changes that come out of left field border on trauma. I didn't know what to expect once I became a mama. I'm finally getting a taste. The tug and twist of making choices that affect the important things in my life. But undoubtedly, Gretchen is the most important. Leaving her on and off for 12 weeks, it's not worth it. Not at this stage, not this young. It may mean giving up an opportunity for which I have worked my butt off over a year. I have put more into this Agency thing than in any other job I've ever looked into before. And I may have to give it up. I won't even hesitate if that's the case. People will think I'm stupid, that I'm giving up so much. I don't care. If it comes to that, I just don't care. Gretchen is more important.
If I need to go into the program in June, I can. We can swing it. If the company tells me it's not feasible and I have to go in August, then I will have to bow out. But I will try to keep "positive." I have very little say, I'm pretty much at their mercy. We shall see.
In the meantime, Gretchen amazes me. I'm in love with this babygirl. She disarms me in ways that feel like they will be my undoing. I never knew I'd be such a mush pot.
P.S. Since getting pregnant I now have a face full of freckles. My aunt made a comment that I had freckles and I had no idea what she was talking about. We took this picture today, and now I see what she meant. Yet another little factoid of motherhood I didn't know about...
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 11:53 PM
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Meanie
So, I'm not sure that I'm a very good mother. When I get on a picture taking tangent with Gretchen, the poor child is subjected to sitting and standing, leaning and posing, smiling and staring, with little or no regard for her what she would like to be doing (what she would like to be doing consists of two things: sitting on my lap with a boob in her face or being entertained, end of story; no sitting calmly and staring at mobiles or in her bouncer watching fish burble around with flashing lights, this kid must have human interaction at all times...talk about an extrovert).
Anyway, I had her in a new outift that someone gave her a few weeks ago. I figured I'd take a picture of her in it so I could include it in the thank you note. I'm under the impression that people like to know that you actually use the outift they get for your baby before your baby grows out of it, so I've started taking pictures of Gretchen wearing the outfits in her voluminous wardrobe. I do this also because it gives me an excuse for not having written the thank you note immediately, although I can't admit this out loud to myself (NOTE: writing it on a blog does not count for the purpose of saying it aloud in this particular instance [SIDENOTE: I have written over 235 thank you notes. I never knew you could write so many thank you notes. This will be yet another act of martyrdom I will be able to keep in my aresenal to hold over Gretchen's head as she grows older - "You have no idea how much I suffered on your behalf, NO IDEA, young lady. You just wait until you have a daughter and you swell up to the size of a sperm whale while you're pregnant and your feet are like loaves of Challah and you have to write 2763 thank you notes for all the baby gifts you receive for your thankless daughter." Exaggeration, mind you, will be a necessary component of the guilt trip. END SIDENOTE].)
I was taking pictures, giggling at how cute Gretchen looked perched on the little bench with Babar and Puss In Boots in her new duds, especially the hat, and how smiley she was being, when I started to notice through the camera lens that she was tilting forward. Now, I knew she was tilting forward, which meant she was going to plant her face into the couch. I also knew my photo-op minutes were running out since I had been subjecting her to about 15 minutes of this. There was that split-second, in the knowing she was tilting, when I had to decide if I should forgo the picture and catch her or if I should take the picture anyway. Mean mommy that I am, I took the picture.
Which basically means she landed face first on the couch and started to scream when she heard me laughing. I'm sorry, I couldn't help it. Yes, I laughed at my child face first on the couch, Babar and Puss staring skyward like two bored butlers, her hat askance and her bootied feet spread-eagled behind her.
But the pose...it's like some old grit in the park, sitting with his cronies, leaning forward, one hand on his thigh, the other arm on his knee, getting ready to tell a really raucous story about that time he tied one on with the boys. That's the look that got captured and the incongruity of it on a baby is hilarious.
And yes, I'm a horrible mother.
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 11:15 AM
Monday, April 16, 2007
Slacker
So, first it was the discomfort of a water-balloon pregnancy that kept me from blogging. Then the baby came along and the first 2 months were a raucous ride through parenting hell. Now life has returned to some semblance of order, and I am now spending all my time doing this.
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 12:38 PM
Monday, April 09, 2007
Coming to Calm
These days being a mom is less difficult than it was two months ago. Gretchen is 9 1/2 weeks old and the improvement in her is becoming more and more of a relief as time goes by. Part of it is her getting older and part of it is me starting to recognize patterns in her - her behavior, her moods, her expressions.
I have wondered if I was going to get beyond the exhaustion and frustration to the point where I would feel that maternal swell of love that most mothers talk about. Now that Gretchen spends less time crying, it's easier to see who she is, the baby she is without the pain of colic reducing her to screams and tears. When she nurses, I am sometimes flushed with this feeling of love so overwhelming it makes my chest hurt. The tinyness of her, the defenseless of her perfect skin. I never understood. I could never understand before.
Realizing how quickly the time is passing, how will I leave her when I have to go back to work? Yes, a part of me wants the definition of who I was before having a baby. Yet even in that desire to return to work so I can return to feeling like "my old self," I know that who I was before having Gretchen no longer exists. Not like before. The creativity is still there, the humor, the professionalim. But now the whole of me has an underpinning characterized by Gretcheness. There is no way to remove it. It can't be separated. Like India ink dropped into a glass of water, things aren't as clear as before. I am colored by a new life and the 2 constituent parts are indissoluble.
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 9:19 AM
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Hunny Bunnies
Gretchen and Charlie (and Chloe the Pug) wishing everyone a Hoppy Easter!
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 9:04 PM
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Spring Has Sprung
We went for our first real walk today since getting out of the hospital. We moseyed down to the pub along the bike path to meet with the other mommies. Gretchen started to kvetch as we walked, so I took her out of the stroller and stuffed her in the Baby Bjorn carrier. Of course I had no hat for her and the sun was beating down on her little head, so I had to cover her with a blanket. Poor sweating baby. Gadzooks. I have my work cut out for me in Mommy Mode.
I have got to get out and walk. I am so completely out of shape and fat and feeling like a slug. My knees are so weak, it's awful. I've never been this fargone physically. I thought I would be all gung-ho about getting out and going for walks with baby, but she's such a fuss butt, it's hard to be motivated to get out when I've gotten zero sleep. And the weather has been crap until this week. So, we need to take advantage of it while we can. It's supposed to rain next week.
I can't believe this is my life. I just realized I'm sitting here typing about mommies and being out of shape and the weather. The weather, for crying out loud. This is what my life has been reduced to. The necessities of life as dictated by baby.
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 7:31 PM
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Mommy Infant Group
Well, I've joined up with a Mommy Infant group in town. All of us are new moms with new babies. We meet with our Lamaze instructor on Fridays for our group, but on Tuesdays we have an informal date at Murphy's Irish Pub. We get together with our babies, strollers parked at the front of the pub like a Baby Brigade, eat pub grub, drink Guinness and thank our lucky stars we got out of the house. Ya, we all believe in gettin' them babies started early...
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 9:33 PM
Friday, February 16, 2007
Collapse
I was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance last night. I collapsed while breast feeding the baby. Dave caught the baby and me before I passed out cold, but I couldn't get back up. My parents rushed to the house, the ambulance came, my sister and our rommate hovered in the background. Surreal. All these brawny EMTs came in. I couldn't even properly appreciate them. I had abdominal pain, I felt like I was made of Jello.
Come to find out, I was suffering from dehydration, a urinary tract infection, constipation and exhaustion. I guess the baby was going through a 2 week growth spurt and literally milked me dry. Huh. I had no idea that was possible.
My parents took Gretchen for the night. They thought I would be upset. I was like, "Have at 'er!" They just stuffed her with formula all night long. I was too exhausted to care or protest when they told me. What ever works. Obviously breastfeeding wiped me out.
Thank goodness I have family close by. I am so thankful for them. My sister and Dad are so good with our fussy baby. She cries and cries and they can sit with her patiently, calming her.
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 9:23 AM
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Blessings Amidst the Cursings
We came home from the hospital and friends and family had left us piles of food so we didn't have to think about cooking. It made me cry. It made me feel horribly guilty for all the times people I knew had had babies or been laid up with an illness and I didn't help them. With food or housework. I finally understand. I finally get it.
There is a reason people don't REALLY talk about how difficult it is to be a new parent. No one would ever do it. They tell you you'll have sleepless nights and that the baby will cry and that there are lots of dirty diapers and your days will blur into each other and you won't have time to pee or shower. That's just the beginning. And people do tell you all those things. And they didn't lie. But what people don't really tell you or talk about is how often you might ask yourself why in the world you did this. Why did you have a baby? They don't tell you that there will be days you wish you'd never done it. There will be days you wish you could give your baby back to the hospital.
I haven't wanted to hurt, maim, or kill my baby, but I finally understand why there are parents who do those things. You don't think you could ever understand such a thing. But I do. And these are the things no one will tell you. No one will talk about. Maybe you're not supposed to. It's too taboo. But it's reality. Things will change, I know they will. But the days and nights warp into each other and I can't keep track of what I've eaten, when I last peed, did I feed the baby? Time has no meaning. I look at the little life in my arms and am suffused with ambivilance then love then exhasution. I hold on tight. She is a part of me. She is Life in its rawest form.
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 3:02 PM
Monday, February 05, 2007
Alarming
We head home from the hospital on Monday evening. We've been in the hospital 5 days. I question how we will handle a new, fussy baby on our own with no nurses to come rescue us at 3:00 a.m. when Gretchen would wail. My milk hasn't come in yet, Gretchen has been bottle-fed in the hospital, I'm uncertain about my abilities as a mother and still sore from the surgery. We stop at the pharmacy to pick up my prescriptions for pain. Gretchen is snapped into her new carseat, sleeping peacefully in the back seat. I can't sit back there with her because the car is loaded to the gills with everything we have to bring home from the hospital.
Dave parks at the pharmacy. "I'll be right back," he says. "Do we need anything else?" No, I shake my head. He goes inside and I hear the doors lock as he clicks his key fob to lock the doors of the Volvo.
I call my parents on my cell. "Yeah, we're heading home. We're at the pharmacy. We'll be home in about 15 minutes." Gretchen is snoring softly in the backseat.
Staring out the windshield, it's strange to be out of the hospital. We have been holed up in our hospital room, separated from the world, a threesome. Dave has slept on a fold out bed in a room the size of a brrom closet. I forced myself to walk around the hallways the last 3 days, shuffling in my marshmellow slip-on tennies, my ankles and feet still tight and swollen. I have gotten to know all the nurses, each of their personalities and strengths, each of them a gift. Dave is overwhelmed by their mothering instincts, how good each of them is in her own way with the babies.
In the backseat I hear a gurgle and a choking sound. I can't see the baby because carseats have to be rear-facing. I open my door. A car alarm whoops into action. I'm confused. It sounds like it's coming from the Volvo. Gretchen starts to scream in tha back seat. The car alarms is coming from the Volvo. I can't think. Why is the alram going off? Of course, Dave locked it with the key fob. The alarm is engaged. Shit. The baby cries louder. I look for my purse. It's nowhere. I remember Dave telling me he put in the trunk. Where the extra set of Volvo keys are. People stare at the Volvo. They stare at me, one leg in, one leg out of the car. I stand up. My incision burns, I grab my belly. Shit! I hit the unlock button on the door. It doesn't work. Gretchen cries and screams in the back seat. I can't reach her! The button to unlock the back door, it's too far back, I can't reach. My incision burns as I strain against the front seat, reaching for Gretchen.
Tears well in my eyes. The baby screams. People stare, but don't offer help. A man walks to his truck and I approach him. "Please," I say, "can you help me? My baby, I can't reach my baby!" I sound hysterical even to my own ears. The man looks at the Volvo with its flashing lights, open doors and screaming bay, shakes his head, mumbles something, gets in his truck. Desperation waves over me like a lost cause. A woman walks by, looks askance at me, the Volvo with it's flashing lights and alarming screech. I walk towards her, holding my belly. "Please help me." Tears clog my voice, I feel like I'm on Candid Camera. She hesitates. "Please." I'm begging. "I just had a baby, we just got released from the hospital. I had a C-section. I can't reach her. My husband's in the store, I can't reach my baby." I don't know what to say about why the car alarm is going off so I say nothing. She's stopped walking but looks like she might shake her head and keep going. "PLEASE!" I say. I'm crying.
She walks over, tentative. "The baby's in the back seat but the door won't unlock since the alarm got engaged. I can't turn it off. I can't unlock the door, I can't reach." I babble, afraid she'll walk away and leave me.
"OK, it's ok," she says. The car alarm bleats at us. I can't think. Is the baby ok? I'm embarrassed. Why the hell did Dave lock the door? My incision feels like a hot poker got jabbed into it. The woman reaches back, straining, unlocks the back door. She reaches over and unlocks my side too. We both reach for the baby. Gretchen is screaming. Neither of us knows how to remove the carseat. "Do you have a bottle?" the woman asks. Yes. That's right, the nurse opened a bottle of formula for us before we left the hospital. It's on the dash. The woman retrieves it and stuffs it in Gretchen's mouth. She stops crying.
Dave walks back to the car right then, eyes wide, a look of - Confusion? Shock? Disbelief? - on his face. "Honey?" he says to me. "What's going on?"
And that was Gretchen's first introduction to the world.
POSTSCRIPT: I went back to the pharmacy 2 weeks later. Found out that is where the woman works who helped us. Her name is Rose. I took Gretchen by for her to have a peek at her in less chaotic circumstances. She gave me a hug, cooed at Gretchen. In this day and age people are never sure if they should stop and help. Thank God she did. I told her so.
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 11:56 PM
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Tell me if you don't think...
...there's a striking resemblance...
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 4:10 PM
Thursday, February 01, 2007
At Long Last
Gretchen Kaiulani Winifred Botton was born February 1st, 2007 at 7:11 p.m. via C-section weighing in at 9.7 lbs., 22 inches long.
Labor began Tuesday and continued through Wednesday and Thursday. Thursday morning I started to bleed heavily after about 12 hours of active labor, and was admitted to the hospital at 7:30 a.m. to see if there were any complications. I was dilated to 3 cm. (when you're dilated to 10 cm [about the circumference of a tea saucer] you're ready to push). I was hooked up to monitors and lay in the hospital bed, with Dave beside me, doing my Lamaze breathing. My intent was to do the delivery naturally. Doc came at around 9:00 and did an exam and I was dilated to a little over 5 cm. By 1:30 contractions were 2-3 minutes apart, and I was dilated to about 6 cms. By then I had given into the idea of an epidural because I was exhausted and having a difficult time staying on top of the contractions after 2 days of labor. Dave kept me on pace with the breathing, beside me the entire time. The doc finally arrived and did an exam and said the baby had not dropped at all. I got very discouraged at that point and said to please just give me the epidural so I could get some rest. Doc came back at about 6:00 and did another exam and said I hadn't dilated any more and the baby hadn't dropped any more.
[SIDENOTE: I finally understood that morning how the whole birthing process works. Not only does your cervix (think of tghe cervix as the door the baby comes out) have to be dilated to 10 cm in order for the baby to make it through, the baby also needs to "drop" in what they call "stations" in relation to your pelvis (think of the pelvis as the hallway the baby has to traverse before going out the door of the cervix). So, your cervix can be fully dilated to 10 cm, but if the baby hasn't dropped down far enough into your pelvis, you can push for hours, but the baby might not ever be able to make it out through the pelvis. In my case, that's exactly what happened. END SIDENOTE]The doc recommended a C-section because he believed the baby was big and my pelvis is small, and that she was not going to make it through my pelvis regardless of how dilated I got. I had considered a C-section my worst-case-birthing-scenario, but I had also resigned myself to it the week before after my last OB visit (see 1/26/07 post). So I agreed without hesitation. Dave & I had already discussed it. I was ready. And the nurses got Dave ready to go into surgery with me. He looked like a doctor, Doctor Dave.
So they gave me a super-duper epidural, which means I was numb from the heart down to my toes, but still conscious. I couldn't feel anything, but I could hear just fine. I kept trying to listen for the sound of a scalpel cutting into my belly, but I couldn't hear it. Morbid interests. Dave was in there with me with the camera. The medical staff put up a sterile field, basically a big sheet which kept Dave and I from seeing anything too gory, like them making the actual incision into my abdomen. But Dave did stand up when they said they were getting ready to take the baby out and snapped some pictures. It's amazing to look back and realize that's my body, opened up, with another little body coming out of it.
I wasn't allowed to hold Gretchen when Dave brought her to see me. I couldn't have even if I'd wanted to. The meds they give you for the epidural are pretty hefty, and I was experiencing major tremors over my entire body and couldn't hold still. I shook and shook for hours after the surgery was over. I couldn't believe we had a baby. It is totally surreal to go through all those months of pregnancy, all the discomfort, all the waiting, and suddenly, almost without warning, it seems, you have a new life for which you are absolutely, irrevocably responsible. And nothing could have prepared us for it. There's nothing that makes it hit home until the moment that baby is in your midst and you're staring in its eyes, looking at the perfect skin, the fingers and toes, the ducky-down hair, the folds and creases. You can't believe this life came from you.
Dave and Gretchen and I were holed up in the hospital for 5 days after delivery. My blood pressure spiked the day after delivery and my doc didn't want to release me until it was under control. My water retention was insane. The doc and I couldn't believe I made it through the whole pregnancy with no blood pressure problems, and then as soon as I deliver, it spiked (at one point to 172/95, although that readin may have been false). But even with the worry of blood pressure, our 5 days in the Sonoma Valley Hospital were amazing. Every single nurse on staff in the Labor & Delivery unit are spectacular. They taught Dave & I so much about babies and being parents and caring for your baby and yourself. I don't know how new moms & dads who only spend a day or two in the hospital understand their baby. The nurses helped us every step of the way. I don't have enough good things to say about our experience.
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 7:11 PM
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Draggy
I feel like I have 20 lb weights hooked to my eyeballs. All I want to do right now is sleep. But I should take a shower. I have to go to the hospital at 1:00 for an ultrasound so they can check the amniotic fluid since I am 41 weeks pregnant today. Then I have to go upstairs to Labor & Delivery and do a NST (Non-Stress Test). The thought of exposing my giant belly, getting gel blurped all over it, and having monitors attached to me does nothing for my current mood of just wanting to be left alone so I can sleep.
I lost my mucous plug this morning. I know it sounds gross...it was kind of gross, actually. But it is the first sign I've had at all that labor might actually happen on its own sometime soon. I'm trying not to get too wound up, though, because everything I've read about it says there's no guarantee that labor is imminent, although for some women, they went into labor shortly after they lost theirs. So who knows. At least it's something.My birthday was very anti-climactic this year. I swear, my whole family forgot. My friends sent me birthday cards and phoned me. My family, on the other hand, kept asking me if I was in labor yet. My aunt Susie was the only one who remembered on the actual day, and she came from San Francisco to deliver a birthday gift to me. So I've been feeling unloved and sorry for myself. My mom has made plans for she & Daddy to go to San Diego 2/1 - 2/4. She hasn't changed her plans in spite of the fact that the baby has not yet arrived. This further added to my grumpy, too-small-bladder state. "Fine," I told her. "You may very well miss the birth of your first grandchild."
::SNIFF::
Yes, I'm having a moment. Chalk it up to a belly the size of the Capitol Hill Dome, a bladder that can't hold squat, and feeling like I'm going to be pregnant the rest of my life. This too shall end, as they say. It just doesn't happen to feel like it.
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 9:48 AM
Friday, January 26, 2007
Overdue
We were due on Tuesday the 23rd.
Nary a twinge nor a tickle implicating a baby would make an appearance.
So everyone thought she'd come today, on my birthday.
Noper doper.
So, I'm not supposed to be nervous because I'm not actually that late, but the thought of having my labor induced with pitocin is not fun. The OB did an exam today. Now, I am known for having a fairly high pain tolerance. My husband refers to me as Asbestos Fingers because I yank things off the stove bare-handed. I tend to ignore pain because there's not a whole lot I can do about it. I dunno how many people can relate to this, but if you've ever had a (said in a whisper) vaginal exam at 40.5 weeks pregnant, perhaps you can understand my chagrin. Ho.Ly.Cow. Good time to practice that Lamaze breathing. Hee-Hee-Hee-Hoo. Only to have my OB tell me that there's nothing to indicate this baby wants to some out. Ft. Knox. And inducing a woman whose cervix is still as "unripe" as mine is can be terribly painful and may not work. Which mean C-Section.
::SOB::
But I'm trying to remain positive while still preparing myself for all things, like a surgery. I've been saying lots of prayers...not to have the baby, but to not have fear, to have faith that this pregnancy is progressing per God's will and He knows lots more than I do about what Baby Gretchen needs. If you happen to be of the praying sort, send up a little word for me to just give me a good dose of faith sans fear.
Since being pregnant, I have a new found appreciation for womens' bodies, what we're capable of doing. The pregnancy itself is of course a miracle. But it's been the things your body DOES that are just wild & whacky. The water retention is amazing. I mean, CRAZY amazing. In 1 week I gained 9 lbs, all water retention. Rope a gallon or two of water jugs around your hips and you'll have an idea of how it feels, kind of. I have memory foam feet and calves. You press into the skin and the fingerprints remain. I never thought my body could or would become what it is today. Take me out to the desert, I could last for weeks on the water I'm packing. Watch your back Mr. Man vs. Wild, you ain't got nuthin' on a water retaining pregnant lady.
::SIGH::
So I say to to the OB, "OK, I'm sure everyone asks you this, but is there anything I can do to, you know, help things along?"
He shrugs, "Well, not a whole lot. Although, you can try intercourse. The semen contains prostaglandins which can stimulate contractions."
"Oh Lord," I say. "That's like a circus act right now. I mean, can we use a turkey baster to get the semen up there because I'm not sure how else it'll happen." Blurty pregnant lady. I say things before thinking. Ugh.
Things I Can Hardly Wait ForSeeing our baby Gretchen Being able to type (i.e. blog) without my hands and arms numbing out on me Seeing my feet & legs without swelling Driving without the steering wheel hitting my belly Wearing shoes (not marshmallow tennie slip-ons) Being able to shave Being able to put on socks Knitting Being a mom Seeing Dave as a daddy Being a family Having a daughter Seeing my parents as grandparents and my sister as an Auntie
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 10:57 PM
Monday, January 08, 2007
*POP*
We are in countdown time...3 weeks left until the due date of 1/23. Baby Gretchen is fidgeting in my womb, not quite ready to come out, but letting us know she's there and will be making an appearance very soon. We had another ultra-sound last week and got to see her at 37 weeks. It was a standard scan, but because she's so much bigger now, we could see her features. Her nose and mouth seem to be mine. But then all babies kind of look the same with their smooshy faces and squinched eyes. My parents went with Dave & I to the hospital for the ultra-sound. I thought they might like to "see" her firsthand. My mother kept looking at my stomach, asking "Are you sure there aren't 2 in there?"
Dave has been an absolute hero in the 3 weeks we had off together. He started his Christmas break about the same time I took off from work. He started back to work today, which I know was hard for him. It's hard for me to think that I'll be off for a few more months. I've never, in my working life, had so much time off. It is really strange. But the time that he and I got to spend together was really special. Time for just the two of us before we become Mommy and Daddy. So weird. Our identities will utterly change. They have begun to change already, but it won't be complete until the baby is here.
I think Dave will be a great dad. He's so ready for the role, ready to hold and cuddle and coo and adore. He can't wait to have a baby girl, a daughter that's his own. He will be the "good" parent, I can already tell. I will be the one who lays down the law around the house and gets the brunt of the "how-could-you-be-so-mean" looks. I can't imagine what motherhood is going to be like. I've read book after book, talked to people, watched baby show after baby show on TLC...but I don't feel like anything can or will prepare me for the reality of it.The nursery is finally relatively put together. The crib is assembled, the bassinette is poofed, the sheets and baby clothes duly washed in Dreft, the changing table-cum-dresser has it's new knobs and looks tres chic (thrift store find for $50), diapers are in the drawers and wipes are in the warmer, the Chicco travel system is ready for the first stroller ride, the carseat is snug in the backseat of the Volvo, the wingback chairs from Grandma's house have been re-upholstered and are in place. There are a few things that still need to be done, like shelves and paint would have been nice, and some art on the walls would liven it up. But it's functional and almost cute, so yahoo.
I'm not sure if I haven't been able to think about it or have thought too much about it, but I have been in a barrenland of emotions regarding motherhood. I thought I would write about it a lot more. Thought I would want to chronicle every moment. But it hasn't been like that at all. Creative output has been more in the realm of cooking and drawing when I'm able and my hands don't numb-out on me. I also had this extreme urge this year to give people presents this Christmas. I don't know what it was, but I wanted to just give people things until I thought I would burst. I was a gift-wrapping fool. Dave and I went and picked out a Christmas tree, and I picked the fattest one I thought would fit in the living room. It was lovely and huge and looked like a Victorian Christmas card, and I loved sitting in front of it, snuggled in the couch, with the lights casting that goldy glow over everything. Taking it down this past weekend was sad, more so than usual. I suppose part of it was having a first Christmas in our own home with all of my little things I've been collecting for years out and about. What will it be like next year with a 10-month old baby?
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 1:38 PM
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Tragedy
We received terrible news this past weekend. Still so shocking. I haven't been able to write much at all this past month with this horrid carpal tunnel, but this latest news rocked my family to the core.
My parents left Monday morning for LA to go be with Uncle Oliver (daddy's brother) and Aunt Harriet. I have been sitting here for the past 5 days trying to figure out what I can possibly say to them. There are no words. There just aren't. For a parent to lose a child seems inconceivable. My sister is flying down on Friday for the memorial and funeral service. I can't fly now with 6 weeks left in the pregnancy. I thought about driving, but Dave was against that since sitting too long creates the worst sort of water retention in my legs and hands.
It's a helpless feeling to not be able to be with my family right now. This time of year makes it hit home with the fiercest kind of heartbreak. My cousin Diane was 42 years old. She was married and had 3 babies, ages 8, 6 and 3. I think of her husband, her children, her parents, her friends, her co-workers...all these people who knew Diane on a daily basis.
Oliver and Harriet were just here in Sonoma visiting all of us. They stayed with my folks, and helped my mom and sister get all sorts of details finished for my baby shower, they helped cook for Thanksgiving. We ate together, we blabbed, we laughed. We talked about the baby-to-be. And now their lives have been turned upside down. It seems impossible. It feels like an illusion.
There just aren't any real words.
| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 10:31 PM
