The Way We Were

Today is the last day of my maternity leave and I'm heartbroken. Even being able to take Andrew with me to work and being able to work from home does not make up for this hurt.

I doubt it would be easier in a month or two, but it just seems extra awful because he's just one month old. I don't have a lot more to say about this that isn't better articulated through tears. I just want to be a full-time mommy a little longer. I'll never get this time back.

Tangential story to distract me: Matt and I watched a Hoarders the other day and the therapist made the hoarder lady repeat "I'll never get their childhood back" until she dissolved into tears. Her kids were in high school and she was still hoarding the equivalent of their Sofie the giraffe x a million. I don't want to be like that lady! I better quit...







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Have Baby, WILL Travel

Before Andrew was born, I naively believed he would be slightly easier to make travel arrangements for than say, a 66 pound pit bull. After all, he is a human. But no, I guess I took for granted our culture's total intolerance of children, and fear that children might suddenly have needs or-- God forbid!--feelings during adult center-of-the-universe time.

Today, Chay called a rural inn about a room we're going to share during an upcoming conference. By a turn of conversation, the innkeeper discovered Chay has a newborn and told Chay she'd need to consult her husband about the matter (?) and also informing Chay that the inn had no "baby stuff." Chay's clever response was that her baby is very fortunately portable. When the woman called back, Chay was able to surmise that she had booked us for the cow pasture. Finally, the woman asked for my title to address the invoice and when Chay told her "executive director," she backpedaled and asked "Oh, will that room be nice enough then?"

...

In olden times, this would have been funny to me. Does my title make me sound like I office out of the Ritz Carlton? But now I'm mad. The room is nice enough for a mother and young baby, but not the director of an organization hosting a small-time meeting? I have half a mind to boycott her business and just bunk up at the Holiday Inn 15 miles down the road, except that this woman is not yet aware that there will actually be TWO newborns! Ha! Andrew is a bonus attendee!

Also, the B&B where I usually stay when I am in Austin for business apparently has a no children policy. I'm not positive that this is illegal, but suspect it might be. At the very least, it is inconvenient and inhospitable. I fear this is only the first of many places where I will find myself turned out (or was the wedding Andrew was uninvited to the first?) for having the audacity to be out in the world with my child instead of banishing him to the land of non-stop babysitters and chicken nuggets until he is off to college (nothing against nuggets or babysitters) while I pretend to have a life that doesn't include him OR shunning myself to adult conversations during once-a-week playgroups only. It's ridiculous our culture should be so segegated, so intolerant.

And just because it burns me, why do some bizards with yippy toy dogs get to take them everywhere in rhinestone satchels and no one says a word, but both my adorable baby son and well-mannered and sweet big dog are personae non grata? Well world, look out. The mayor of Bizard City has a bone to pick.


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Hello out there in TVland.

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A Spoonful of Compassion Helps the Chillaxin Go Down

If I have learned one thing since pregnancy and birthing Andrew, it is that any opinions (especially strongly-held ones) I have before actually experiencing a situation are going to be put to the test and are very likely to be modified or abandoned. Compassion and non-judgment are coming to me in greater measure all the time (don't worry, I am still a card-carrying member of the Better Bizards Bureau) and best of all, when I fear that science or my own body has failed me, I have discovered how surrounded I am by caring friends (and strangers!), who help me put my fears in perspective. Without getting too absurd, I am reminded of the teary conclusion to It's A Wonderful Life (sorry if I spoil it for you, but it's not like you haven't had 75 years to see it by now) when George Bailey's guardian angel leaves him a copy of Tom Sawyer with the inscription "Remember, no man is a failure who has friends." [sob]

Obviously, Andrew's two weeks post-dates birth at the hospital with an obstetrician using forceps and an epidural were NOT part of my original birth plan (full birth story to come). And yet, under the circumstances and given my state of mind and health and various other factors, I consider the whole experience a significant triumph, a case of divine intervention, and no small measure of hubris for me.

When my milk took a week to come in and Andrew's non-following to the letter of baby progress charts left me in mental anguish, I kept thinking I was an idiot for leaving the sample of formula in our hospital room in the hospital. And I am sure anyone reading this right now knows that I am a lactivist to the max. Fortunately, my milk did come in and nearly 3 weeks later, I am almost calm about it (ha!), but desperation is a bitter pill.

And in a less life-or-death situation, but no less a dramatic turn of events, I never thought I would feel so warmly towards Bass Pro Shops. Before this last Friday, my opinion of them was "Why would I go in there?" I have now softened to this REI for rednecks, where the whole business hums in the key of mossy oak, to appreciate how family-friendly it is. There are quiet, cool spots for nursing; the aisles are roomy enough to push a stroller; the bathrooms are very clean and have changing stations; and there's a restaurant inside. Sure, the heady youth in me has no use for these amenities, but the overwhelmed new mother trying not to pack saddle bags like I'm heading into the great unknown for 3 months instead of a shopping center while my car is serviced, is greatly, greatly appreciative of them.

And so I conclude this surprise testimonial to epidural and Bass Pro Shops, though I stop short of giving a kindly opinion of formula companies who enjoy swooping in during times of desperation. Though I certainly have a LOT better understanding of the kind of support it takes to be successful with breastfeeding and feel a lot of compassion towards new parents struggling with this decision, I still think formula companies do some pretty evil things to sabotage the confidence of new parents. So who would have thought this is where I'd stand on the issues just a few months ago in my roaring 20s when I was so freewheeling (freewheeling with nausea!)? Not me, but I am grappling with the fact that the universe/God/life-force has many plans not yet revealed to me. Though I can't plan for them and that makes the taskmaster in me nervous, I can put my trust in the wonderful people I have surrounded myself with, including Andrew. And I can just chillax already because there's nothing else to do.

Note: This will probably not cause me to chillax. I am still myself, after all.

Back from Outer Space

Hello My People,

My what a ride this pregnancy was! I apologize for totally falling off the face of the blog-Earth at the end of it and even gradually as the pregnancy wore on, but I think most of you know that with various complications, it became more and more difficult for me to talk about. Even as some of the PUPPP rash faded, I took solace in a leprosy lifestyle of being inside, bemoaning my fate, and not taking calls or visitors.

Nevertheless, writing is so healing for anyone most of the time, but always for me because of it being my chosen medium and what not. So I do want to go back in time a bit and discuss some of the finer (but not really that fine-feeling) points of pregnancy and of course, the arrival of my treasure Andrew, who now sleeps so peacefully in my lap. A lot of semi-strangers kept saying "it will all be worth it in the end," and I usually wanted to facepunch them when they said this. I knew that, obviously, or I would not be enduring the relative hell I was in. And yet, I hate to say those bizards were so right on the money. From the minute I saw Andrew, I knew I would do anything in the world for him. And believe me: he enjoys testing that promise. When he's had gas, I walk with him, rock him, and nurse him even as feel my body kind of melting into "can't do this!"

Okay, so with all that said, I give you Andrew at one week asleep in my nursing pillow. I took a fancier first week portrait a la Young House Love that I still need to photoshop "1 week" onto and upload from the big camera. But this should tide you over.

Somewhat unrelated: I think I am going to change the name of this blog. But don't worry, the Maw will be back in the event of additional Turner children. God help us all though if that's not at least a few years down the road, though...

#1 Best Craving

Forgot to tell y'all that at the root of my alleged cigarette craving was a deep and abiding desire for unsweet iced tea. I can't get enough of this stuff. I even love sniffing tea bags in creepy fetish fashion. Regular Lipton is my best. Mmm, tea. I am having some now. It's a sensory explosion.

I briefly gave up the tea due to PUPPP and caffeine being an alleged trouble-maker for it. But it didn't really make that much of a difference and here's the deal I reasoned: I am so miserable in so many ways with hotness and itchiness and heartburn and not breathing that I absolutely WILL indulge this antioxidant-rich craving to my heart's desire with zero hesitation. PUPPP, you are the tyrant of me, but not the boss of me.

And aside from tea, I have actually found a new appreciation for all things unsweet. Coffee. Dark chocolate. I may be turning a nice corner here to a magical weight loss plan since sweets have in times past been my number one best.

But don't worry; it's not like I'll EVER say no to a tootsie roll. I'm pregnant, not crazy y'all.

PUPPP-date

Well, this post is about 3 weeks overdue, but frankly, I had to wait to write it until I could do so without watering my keyboard in the confetti of tears thrown at my daily pity parties. I still have them; let me bear no false witness about being stoic through this ordeal, but having survived three weeks of this, I REALLY know what I'm made of and also, that I can make it the rest of the way, which, God willing, will not be that much longer.

So first, if you haven't been tuning into my constant cries of agony via the twitter-verse and occasionally the facebook-verse, you might be wondering: what in the PUPPP is PUPPP?

It would not be terribly far off the mark to explain it simply as the 7th circle of hell. But that's not super descriptive, though, let's face it--the name of it isn't either. PUPPP, that most cuddly-sounding of all afflictions, stands for pruritic urticarial papules and plaques of pregnancy. Broken down that means...itchy skin blisters and hives from pregnancy. Very science-y!

You know how I complained about stretch marks earlier and ho ho ho, man, were they damned itchy! Okay, well I found out I'm not just a whiney lady with stretch marks. My stretch marks were freakish, included little insect-looking bites called "vesicles" and if you get pregnant and have stretch marks like mine (though you only have about a 1 in 250 chance! hey!), please know that you're not being dramatic when you think, damn! I want to scratch my skin off!

So I'd actually had PUPPP much longer than I had known about it, but it was only when it spread to my arms and hands and soon feet, legs, thighs, back, shoulders, underarms, breasts, upper abdomen, behind the knees...that I knew it wasn't just stretch marks anymore.

In a most lovely turn of events, the very worst of the rash subsided within about a week of all-over onset thanks to 3 to...7 daily baths with pine tar soap (I went through 2 hefty bars within this week), 3 bottles of Sarna lotion, 2 tubes of hydrocortisone, 2 boxes of oral benadryl, 6 capsules daily of each: milk thistle, dandelion root, and stinging nettle, and one full-body painting of corn starch and water paste that occurred at 4 a.m. one particularly agonizing day.

I am now on a maintenance routine, taking 2 to 3 pine tar or PUPPP-relief soap (made by a woman in Washington state, an apparent martyr, who had PUPPP 9 times) showers daily, 1-2 benadryls each night to sleep, cool wash cloths and Sarna on my stretch marks intermittently during the day, plus continued supplements of milk thistle, dandelion root, and stinging nettle. I still get itchy, but I can sit still for minutes at a time, don't constantly have to rotate ice packs across my burning skin, and even sometimes wear clothes.

What I cannot do is go out in the heat, even for a few minutes, wear any clothing with a waistband, or lie in one position at night too long, lest I get at all hot or damp and cause the rash to erupt. What I also cannot do is lose heart and cry all the time. Crying is therapeutic to be sure, but it doesn't make the rash go away or my baby get here any sooner and it does make me question why I ever wanted to be pregnant. And I do not want my little boy to hurry his way into the world because I threw in the towel or ever thought he wasn't worth it.

And there have been some silver linings! For one thing, with the exception of a few trips to the office, I work from home every day, in my nightgown! My mom has made two overnight trips and one day trip to take care of me and I absolutely love that! I spent a great 2.5 days with my mother-in-law, who came to care for me while Matt had to go out of town, getting lavished with attention and foot rubs and getting to know her better, which was truly precious and priceless. (And she did all my baby laundry--can't beat that deal!) I have come up with new and exciting ways to make PUPPP puns and jokes. And my friends have truly, truly outdone themselves with their outpouring of visits, food stuffs, and general sympathy for my affliction. Don't ask me now if I would trade the PUPPP experience for not having had it at all (I think we all know I WOULD trade it! ha!) but do ask me later when I've had some forgetting time. Because the rash will fade (although some of my hive scarring seems to be slightly more long-term), but the love and support I have felt will not.

I apologize for keeping anyone (everyone?) out of the loop for so long because I have more baby showering to report on, nursery photo updates, prizes, and more to share--will try to do so after this upcoming week, a very busy one at work. I don't want this blog to only accentuate the negative because though this pregnancy has indeed tested my patience in ways I never thought possible (really? PUPPP?!), I must try to focus on the positives of it and how my life and my character are richer because of it. I hope it will make me a more compassionate parent, a kinder wife to Matt (who's really been just the very best of loves through all my trial and disappointment), and a more generous and thoughtful friend. All of you who have taken this road with me have inspired me to be a better person in every way. So while I'll stop short of thanking PUPPP and nausea and kidney stones for all the ways they've improved my life (?), I will say thank you to my pregnancy and my son for the ways they have already changed me for the better.