I know. I should be so very thankful that I have these little milestones to write about. How many people out there aren't even blessed with having children? How many will never know about writing things down in baby books (or not writing and just filling in dates months later)? I might sound ridiculous but so be it. It's my blog.
Back to the first word. About two months ago Allyson started saying "mamamamama" when she wanted out of her crib. I loved it - thinking - is Momma going to be her first word? Well....that didn't last long. Momma soon went away and gibberish came back. Lately she's been discovering the wave and the words for bye-bye. My kid doesn't ever do anything on command so she has to be in the mood, but she will wave at someone who waves bye to her and will say "buh bwa." Sounds pretty good for an eleven month old. Is this her first word? Was Momma a few months ago? When will she start adding more to her repertoire?
I'm really not pushing her or concerned about this - really. She's going to do things on her own time, but you know how it is. You play this game with other Mom's. "My kid walked at 6 months old." "My kid said 'hello' at nine months." "My kid did advanced differential equations at 14 months." HA! When did my kid do this stuff?
Maybe it's my fault. Allyson - your Mom is a realist. Sometimes your Dad calls me a pessimist - tells me my glass has a tendency to be half empty. But, really, I'm a realist. As I mentioned in a previous blog, I don't toot my horn all that often, I won't lie about my kid's special talents. She's done a few things early, others right on time. I'll never make something up to make her sound more advanced than she really is. Maybe that makes me a bad mom...I dunno. Allyson will talk when she's good and ready. I'll be sure to let you know what she's saying.
At the end of the day, Allyson continues to amaze me. I walk in the door after work and she grins ear to ear. We play with the dogs on the floor and she giggles with delight. I set off all the Christmas decorations that make noise and we dance and laugh. Those are the things that I think are important to remember. Those are the things to write down in the baby book - or journal - or blog. Aren't they?
~Becky
Two married buddies are out drinking one night when one turns to the other and says, "You know, I don't know what else to do. Whenever I go home after we've been out drinking, I turn the headlights off before I get to the driveway. I shutoff the engine and coast into the garage. I take my shoes off before I go into the house, I sneak up the stairs, get undressed in the bathroom, stick my foot in the toilet and pee down my leg to prevent splashing sounds. I ease into bed and my wife STILL wakes up and yells at me for staying out so late!"
His buddy looks at him and says "Well, you're obviously taking the wrong approach. I screech into the driveway, slam the door, storm up the steps, pee hard into the toilet water then use the full flush, throw my shoes in the closet, undress in the bedroom, then jump into bed, slap her on the ass and say, 'WHO'S HORNY?!?!??' and she acts like she's still asleep."
Later...
~BeckyMy due date was January 2nd. At our appointment on Friday the 28th of December I was 30-50% effaced and not even remotely on my way to dilation or any form of labor. I knew from the very beginning of this pregnancy that I was going to be late. I knew that she’d like to stay in there as long as she possibly could. No chance of the tax deduction my husband was so rooting for – we should continue with our New Year’s plans as if nothing was changing. Well…I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Sunday December 30th started like any other day. Steve and I went out to breakfast, ran to Home Depot and Best Buy, went grocery shopping and headed home to relax for the evening. My brother called to have us over for dinner – enchiladas YUM! We packed up the dogs and headed over to their house. We got there, got the dogs inside and I went to fill up the dogs water dish. I squatted down to put the dish back on the floor and felt a pop. Didn’t really think much of it. When I stood up however – things changed. WHOOSH! Now that sure is a weird feeling. I looked at Steve, my brother and his fiancée and said “I think my water just broke.”
Well…my water did break. And kept breaking. But I was not having any contractions. At least none I could feel. We called the hospital, they advised us to come in, but we sure took our time. Me the procrastinator – so set on having a “late” baby – hadn’t even begun to pack the bag. So we showered, dressed, packed and headed to Sutter Roseville. When we got there I had dilated only a fingertip and was still 50% effaced. The consensus of the nurse and the doctor was that I was going to have a “long and difficult” labor. Nice words to first time parents, huh? We got checked into the room and were told that because my water had broken we were on a time limit for delivery. We had to get Allyson out within 18-24 hours or the risk of infection would go way up and we’d end in C-Section. So we looked up our positive positions. I stayed out of the bed as much as possible to keep pressure on my cervix and try to speed up the labor.
I was hooked up to the external fetal monitor from the start and was allowed 30 minutes on and 30-60 minutes off. While hooked up, however, any position other than lying in that bed was not conducive to good monitoring of the baby. This gets real annoying later on.
When we checked in the nurse wanted to place an IV in and start fluids. I resisted. The nurse’s comment was “well, you’re going to need it for fluids now and for your epidural later.” I advised her to go read my birth plan. After some conversation with the doctor we settled on the heparin lock.
Settled into the room and still not feeling contractions (although I was having them, just not feeling them,) we continued our positioning. At around 10 pm the staff started mentioning pitocin. I rejected the idea knowing that that stuff was going to make my “long and difficult” delivery even harder, but after a discussion with the doc I knew that because of our timeline I was going to have to make the labor progress or be left with no other choice. At 3 am, we had not made enough progress (still 1 fingertip dilated and 50% effaced) and had to start the pitocin. Once on the pitocin, however, fluids were introduced and I had to be hooked up to the fetal monitor at all times. Thankfully I was still allowed to use the restroom on my own, but when done, it was back on the monitor.
At 8am I started to feel the contractions. I was checked and was dilated to 3-4 centimeters. Not a lot of progress. The pitocin was increased every half hour in an effort to speed things along. But I was starting to have to focus through the contractions. Hallelujah! This felt like progress. I was disappointed at the fact that I was only 3-4 centimeters, but encouraged knowing that we still had about 8 hours until the deadline ended. Between 8 and 11 things started speeding up. I struggled to find positions that made getting through the contractions better. That darn fetal monitor was going to be the death of me. I couldn’t be in any position where I was hunched over because we would lose Ally’s heart rate. We’d be in the chair or on the birthing ball and the nurse would come in and have to reposition the monitor. A few times I was asked to get back in bed because they weren’t getting Ally’s readings.
Being in bed was awful. I was in the most pain when I was there, unable to handle the contractions. I was positive she was doing just fine – I was focused on getting through increasingly stronger contractions and doing so without the benefit of anesthesia. This was a battle with the nursing staff. It got to a point where I was so terribly frustrated – the pitocin kept getting increased – the contractions continued to get stronger, longer and more intense – and that darn fetal monitor was the most annoying contraption.Around 10:30 am I started giving up. I couldn’t get comfortable – or at least in a tolerable position – without having a nurse come in to scold me. The pain was becoming increasingly unbearable and I started begging for drugs. I knew that the pitocin was to blame. Steve and my mom kept distracting me and telling me I could get through it. Every time the nurse came in I was going through a contraction or I’m sure I would have asked for something to help with the pain. Because my water had broken so much earlier, they kept the exams to a minimum in an effort to keep the risk of infection down. So we were a bit unsure of my progress. Having only gone 3-4 centimeters earlier I felt that the labor was going to go on forever and I knew I couldn’t make it much longer without some sort of pain relief.
At 11:00, I sat on the floor. I know…weird. The nurses had not been thrilled with the idea, but I knew I had to try one more position. The ball, bed and chair were not working and I needed to try one more thing before I gave up and got the pain relief. I sat cross legged on the floor with my head on the couch. Steve lay next to me, holding the fetal monitor in place (he ended up staying in the same spot for two hours), and I just started breathing. The contractions really started to hit me. I stopped looking at the monitor. I think part of the issue was that I could watch their intensity, watch how long they were taking and watch how fast they were coming on.
Before I knew it, I started to feel the urge to push. It was only 1pm but I had this weird feeling and asked for a nurse. Having only been 4 centimeters 3 hours earlier I resisted the urge to push because I knew that it couldn’t be time yet. I got into bed and the nurse checked – 10 centimeters! Unbelievable! It’s amazing how fast everything goes once they discover you’re at 10 centimeters. They turned off the pitocin and we started to push. The contractions were different at this point. Coming every 5-6 minutes. There was so much time that I was actually falling asleep between them – I was so thoroughly exhausted. This didn’t work for the docs so they turned the pitocin back on and in about 45 minutes Allyson Jae Carroll was here.
~Becky
~Becky
I heard on the news last night that MillerCoors was stopping production of its malternative (their word - not mine) beverage Zima. {Play Taps here.}
"Production of Zima ceased Oct. 10 and remaining orders will be filled on a first-come, first-served basis using available inventory," chief marketing officer Andy England said in an e-mail. "The last orders are expected to be filled in December."
Hearing that made me chuckle. Zima introduced me to the world of alcohol. I spent my high school years as well as my freshman year in college alcohol-free (I know, can you really believe it? but its true) but my first foray into junior alcoholism came at the mercy of this clear drink. Who remembers dropping Jolly Ranchers into a bottle of Zima and downing the fruity taste? What about lemon drop vodka shot (ugh - usually Absolut - I really didn't know what I was doing) and Zima back? Oh - those were the days. I'd like to salute Zima for its contribution to the downfall of my early college years. Without you, I might have made it to that 8am French class or finished my Bachelors' degree in less than seven years.
So, here's to Zima! The disgustingly sweet, semi-carbonated, clear beverage that contributed to the list of guys I kissed (whose names I don't know that I ever knew) and kept me from going to class. May you rest in tasty beverage peace.
~Becky
The story of a 13-year-old British girl who is refusing a heart transplant because she's already been through enough pain reminds me that when you're looking for the right answer, humility may be as essential as wisdom. Hannah Jones' leukemia was diagnosed when she was 4; she later developed heart disease, and has endured chemotherapy and nearly a dozen operations. This past summer, when doctors told her that without a heart transplant she'd be dead in six months, she refused to go through with it. "I've been in hospital too much — I've had too much trauma," she told the Guardian. She was not asserting a right to die; she was suggesting that she had a right to live on her own terms, and to decide whether the benefit was worth the cost.
No one was promising a cure. Without a transplant, her heart was sure to give out, but the operation could kill her, as could the complications that might follow. Anti-rejection drugs could reignite the leukemia; another transplant might be necessary in just a few years.
Hannah's mother Kirsty was once an intensive-care nurse and had seen the ordeal up close. So she and her husband Andrew decided that they needed to respect their daughter's wishes. "It was very emotional trying to reach the sort of decision you would never wish on your worst enemy," Andrew told reporters. "We were as low as it's possible to get, but I just didn't feel able to influence her. My wife and I agreed that whatever Hannah wanted, we would support her." She wanted to be at home, to play with her three younger siblings while she could. "It's hard, at 13, to know I'm going to die," Hannah said, "but I also know what's best for me."
She made her case to her doctors; they too knew the odds and were persuaded that she was making a rational and considered decision. But one doctor, concerned that Hannah might be driven by fear or confusion, notified children's protective services of the case — which is how the Joneses found themselves fighting to retain custody of their child. "They phoned us on a Friday evening and said that if we didn't take her in, they'd come and take her," recalled her mother.
Authorities threatened to proceed with the operation over Hannah's protests, in the name of protecting her interests. This was the moment when abstract principles and necessary safeguards collided with the sad, strong will of a dying girl. Under British law, a child Hannah's age is allowed to refuse lifesaving treatment, provided all the options have been fully explained and the child has the support of his or her parents. A social worker arrived at the Jones' house, and Hannah laid out her reasons. "I just decided there were too many risks, and even if I took it, there might be a bad outcome," Hannah said. "There is a chance that I may be O.K. and there's a chance that I may not be as well as I could be, but I'm willing to take that chance." It wasn't like she hadn't thought it through; she knows there's a waiting list for hearts and is glad to think she may be saving someone else's life by refusing one.
The social worker was convinced, and this week the lawyers were as well; the court lifted the order and Hannah may continue to refuse the treatment.
Are there lessons in any of this? It is excruciating to imagine the pain not only of this child but of her parents, trying to do the right thing. They are told one night that an ambulance would come and take her away because they were not doing their job to protect her. And yet you understand why doctors will err on the side of treatment. And why the doctor who called in the authorities was concerned about the ability of anyone, but especially a 13-year-old, to walk away from something that represented hope, however feeble. But you have to be grateful that the
ultimate judges kept an open mind, let Hannah make her case and found it reasonable for her circumstances. This is ultimately what respect for life looks like; it means respecting an individuals right to decide how she wants to live, even if that involves knowing she will die. Mercy, detached from Justice, grows unmerciful, C.S. Lewis said. But surely justice detached from mercy grows unjust.
I can't believe how big she's getting. Allyson's already taking some steps. Five or six at a time until she falls on her bottom. She always has the biggest grin on her face - like she's SO proud of herself. That kiddo sure makes me happy.
~Becky
voting No on Prop 8. I've done my part.
I'm good to go for the rest of the day. Mel - can we please do that more often?!?!
We waited until after she had dinner to deck Allyson out in her Monkey costume (thanks Christina!). I know she's my kid but she was freakin' adorable!
If you can't tell, Steve carved a pirate ship into the pumpkin. It looked great...we just won't let him wait until the "day of" next year.
~Becky
...with a message saying "Sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride that is life!" So, let's just say that she's AMAZING. Mel - I love ya!
Plus, it's ALWAYS awesome to get back to your desk with a surprise awaiting you. Nothing like making the other ladies in the office a little bit jealous. I know who loves me and makes me feel better with chocolate dipped goodies. YUM-MO!
~Becky
Wyatt, the Miniature Australian Shepherd, on the right was showing Holly, the Australian Shepherd, his favorite spot. We adopted Holly at 8 weeks old so this couldn't have been much longer after that - she's double his size now. Since then, we've had to get new blinds and a new couch because Wyatt also showed Holly how to chew the stuffing out of the old one. Now there's a third added to the family with Allyson's arrival. That kid lights up like no other time when she's playing with her pups. I'll try to capture some shots of that but photography is not my strong point. :-) Maybe I'll get Steve to do it. 
Here's where the screwing occurs. These shoes were $42! Can you believe that? Holy cow! I couldn't believe it when I went up to the register and got the total. I can't remember the last time I spent $42 on my own shoes. Steve couldn't either - we were floored. Not that my child isn't worth it - but come on! She's going to have to wear these morning, noon and night until she grows out of them.So if this is just a sign of the future - and I know it is - we've really got to save our pennies. I have to admit that Chickie was freakin' adorable in these little shoes but I'm still a little shell shocked over the price tag. I'll get over it...
~Becky
So, I'll continue to spend the time with her every morning. We happily lay in bed together for a half hour nursing, smiling and saying good morning. I'll treasure this time I have with her while she's still my baby but I feel as though I have to let go of the rest. She needs formula for nutrition just like she needs my milk. So as long as she's healthy (and I know that she is) I should be happy.
At least I won't have to lug this freakin weapon of mass destuction around any longer (aka breast pump)...
~Becky
