Beginning Week 3 of Life! He’s getting so big already!
(No surprise there…)
Pregnancy and Parenting
Some Updates
Some bullet updates:
Saturday, January 2: Umbilical cord fell out while Nick was changing Isaiah! Hooray! Sponge baths are over. Hello glorious baths.
Sunday, January 3: St. Dominic’s Sunday mass bulletin announced Isaiah’s birth to the whole congregation.
Monday, January 4: Isaiah’s 2 week doctor appointment went great. He was described as “mellow,” with “great skin and color” and overall “looking fantastic!”
Tuesday, January 5: We solidified Isaiah’s baptism date – Sunday, January 24! Bring on the Holy Spirit!
Wednesday, January 6: Um, ok – hard lesson. Isaiah doesn’t like peanut butter, anything too greasy, or pizza. He fusses and gets a little skin irritation. Bad mom. Back to bland foods…
No more Wendy’s…
Thursday, January 7: His first bath. Oh, you should have seen me and Nick climbing in and out of the tub, nervous as hell and as clumsy as a first graders. Also – first visitors tonight to watch the Alabama/Texas Nat’l Championship game. Uncle Brian and Christina are coming over. Thank goodness! My social exposure is just as bad as my sleep deprivation.
Also, I finally drove today for the first time in two and a half weeks! Ah, the open road! The FM pop music! Target! The grocery store! Strangers who don’t know I just had a baby! No pregger belly that everyone tries to pat or stare at! It was invigorating!
Let It Begin
There are no doubts in my mind that within a month or so, I will wonder what my old life was like. “Old life,” meaning, a life without a child. I hear parents say this all the time. My brother, with four children of his own, laughs in my face when I say two words: I’m busy.
He argues, “Oh, Leese, you don’t know what busy is until you have kids.”
Mhph.
Well, perhaps it’s just another level of busy-ness that I have yet to understand. I do know, however, from sage advice passed down from old and new parents alike, that I should embrace these last few weeks of quiet, down time, doing as I please, and sleep.
I’m trying, but, it’s hard to appreciate what I’ve always had for about 30 years.
The weekends, though, are signs of what is to come.
Comparatively, my weekends have grown to be more domestic, more tasky, less flashy than my weekends of my twenties. A Saturday night in was usually a sign of a wild Friday night. Now, though, a Saturday night in is in order because my poor feet are swollen from walking around Giant Eagle from simple grocery shopping or following Nick around Home Depot while he picks up another space heater.
Not exactly a thrilling weekend, but somehow, it fits where we are right now.
I am beginning to believe that it’s the simple pleasures of life that deliver the most refreshing joy. Particularly when you’re pregnant, have a nasty cold, and can fall asleep at the drop of a hat.
Being at home, honestly, has forced me to actually DO things around the house I’ve been avoiding. Over this weekend, I FINALLY bought drapes that I actually like for our windows. Nick FINALLY installed our printer correctly which we’ve had for over a year. I FINALLY tried to make chocolate chip cookies for the first time in my life. And it’s these little things, working together on our home and yelling at the TV when stupid Texas beat Nebraska that makes these new kinds of weekends comforting, relaxing, and enjoyable.
So, let it begin – the quiet, the domesticity, the diapers, the “busy-ness” that my brother alludes to. Let it begin.
The Last Weeks of Pregnancy
I wish there was some sensible and orderly manner to communicate the 9 billion things going through my brain as of late. It’s not a frenzy of thought, it’s just there are SO many things Nick and I are doing and trying to accomplish that it feels almost limiting to try and communicate even a handful of what those things are…Perhaps that’s why blogging our lives in the month of November was such a struggle. There’s almost too much to say and too little time and even less energy to try.
But, we’re not quitters – I’m a determined blogger.
It’s December and, likely, Isaiah’s birthday month. Lately, our doctor appointments have been confirming what I have been guessing for the past several weeks: this kid’s huge. Or, at least, he has huge limbs.
On our last appointment, his weight was in the 70th percentile of babies his age, but his head, dear Lord, HIS HEAD is what we need to be concerned about. His noggin is measuring in the 90th percentile.
Dude.
90th percentile.
Who even has a head that big?
(Nick kindly reminded me, when I asked him that question, that Isaiah’s mom has a big head.)
So, Isaiah has Borchers feet and a Factora head.
I don’t know whether to laugh or pray for him.
So, we just keep truckin’ along, my doctor’s appointments are now on a weekly schedule and we have another ultrasound next Thursday to take some more measurements, make some more decisions. Obviously, an enormous head and little bit of a bigger body may have some problems being birthed by a woman who is only 5’2.5 with a smaller pelvic region.
I knew I should have never married a tall German/Irish/Frenchman.
Sleep has slowly grown into a small nightmare. I am routinely up at least 3 times a night. If it’s not a stuffed up nose (blame the estrogen that causes this syndrome in 30% of prego women), it’s a really dry throat that leads to hacking my lungs out (blame our wonderful space heaters), or it’s time to empty the bladder (that’s just Isaiah pressing against all my organs), or it’s that I am JUST UP, sniffing around the refrigerador for fresh pineapple and a gallon of water. Or, in the middle of the night, a nice bout of heartburn or acid reflux decides to pay a visit and I end up vomiting a portion of dinner. My mom told me she had the same exact issues in the last month of pregnancy as well.
My legs look like two stuffed pillows in pink boots. I have two new precious pimples on my face. My hands are either tingling, numb, or swollen – forcing me to painfully remove my wedding ring for the next few weeks. A caterpillar could officially beat me in a foot race and I cannot reach for anything to save my life. “Nick, can you grab that bowl on the third shelf for me?” “Nick, can you scratch my ankle?” “Nick, can you pick that sock up off the floor?” But the worst part, OH, the worst part has been THE ITCHY ABDOMEN.
I know that the skin is stretching, the colder air dries everything out, but the itching has been nothing short of maddening, simply maddening.
I bought three bottles of extra, intensive, for extra-dry skin lotion and will dump a very generous amount onto my hand. In one stroke across the universe that is my belly, the lotion has already been swallowed up.
Somedays I wonder if it just might be better to sleep in a tub of Curell lotion.
But all the little irritations and annoyances of these last few weeks cannot alter the simply AMAZING journey I have had in this pregnancy. I still have a little bit to go, but overall, it’s been a low maintenance, high excitement 9 months that has left me and Isaiah healthy and happy.
Sure I’m now seeking cupcakes and chocolate like a dog looks for a bone, but to watch Isaiah roll around, pushing and prodding his way into this world makes me smile (or cry out of over emotion) and I just thank God for this wonderful gift of life that Nick and I have been blessed with.
Isaiah, my sweet little boy, we’re ready.
Crib Talk
Nick assembled the crib last night. Technically, I COULD say that WE assembled the crib last night, but he did the majority of thinking and attaching. I just stood there and held things up, lowered when he needed things lowered, and so on and so forth. Sometimes, I think that that job sucks even more than reading the instructions and doing the physical labor.
But, given that I can barely bend over to pick up a sock, I left the labor to the father-to-be.
Along with the bouncer, swing, play palace, and bringing in the bassinette, stroller, and car seat, Nick has been a MACHINE with getting things ready for Isaiah. As for me, I continue to poke my index finger into his shoulder blade at night and whisper, “Don’t forget that we still need to ____, and ______, and buy ______, and pick-up ______, and figure out _____. Oh, and we still haven’t decided how we’re going to handle ______ or who’s going to ______ …
Nick’s response is always the same: a very sleepy arm throws itself around my very large belly and he mutters, “Ok, babe, we’ll take care of it this weekend.”
And then he talks to his son, “Isaiah, take care of your mom. She’s freaking out.”
Barn-ilicious
A few months ago, Nick got a storage box from home. It was heading toward the trash and we salvaged it, thinking we could use it for Isaiah’s things. Nick didn’t tell me right away what the storage box looked like. He just said, “Just come see it.”
It was a barn.
Oh.
Well, that’s kinda cute, I guess.
We took it home and put some baby clothes in it, hand me downs from Isaiah’s cousins who quickly outgrew of barely used some of the outfits.
I forgot about the barn the past few months.
Then, last night, Nick and I headed to a good-bye party for one of my co-workers who was moving to Boston with her husband and 7 month old son. It was a special party. You weren’t allowed to bring gifts and you had to take a “treasure” with you. Meaning, the things they couldn’t take to Boston were up for grabs. There were some pretty nice items including deck furniture, shelves, books, trinkets, frames, unused clothes and jewelry…I was busy sorting through the frames and ransacking the unopened spice bottles when Nick calls me across the room, “Leese! Do you think that’s up for grabs?” He’s pointing near my feet.
I look down and don’t see anything.
“Where? Which one are you talking about?”
He points again, “That one!”
I look and see some sort of vintage, Fisher Price box that I thought was garbage.
Oh, this thing? I ask.
“Yes!” Nick was so excited, I honestly didn’t know how to react to his excitement over this dirty box.
But it was no box.
It was a BARN.
He explains as his eyeballs roll over it, “We had one just like this when we were kids!”
Oh. Ok. So you want it, then?
YES.
So, we bring it home and I say that it’s an interesting toy. The barn doors open to a Moooooooooooooooo sound. It came complete with animals and tools to play with.
As we are leaving, Nick gathers bags of treasures – books, spices, a baby swing, a frame, and countless little things I can cook with.
But he’s most excited about the barn.
I wondered what was up with the barn theme. Then I heard him introduce himself to someone at the party, “I didn’t grow up on a farm, but I’m definitely a farm boy.”
Well, that explains it.
The Shot Heard Around Shaker Heights
Yesterday was a normal day for most people. A typical fall day with Halloween costume chatting, and leaf raking commencing…a very normal day indeed.
And yet, a raging two month mental battle also ended yesterday with my wondering over whether or not to get the h1n1 shot.
I’m fairly knowledgeable about the issue. Research is one of my specialties and I spared no pamphlet or website when absorbing the pros and cons of vaccinations for pregnant women. Despite my insides telling me that regardless what I choose, I will likely be fine, my housemate seems to be a magnet for all local and national news reporting bad news about the swine flu. Steeped in worry, Nick passes the information along to me as if I need more momentum to swing me back and forth in my decision.
To get or not to get the h1n1 flu shot is risky. It’s risky either way, I saw it, and in the end, seeing how slow my body was recovering from a simple, albeit nasty, cold and cough, convinced me that I probably should go ahead and get stuck by the needle.
So, after work yesterday Nick and I made plans to get to the middle school where they were administering round #2 of the vaccine. I imagined it was going to take hours, Nick disagreed. Of course I was right.
But before I took the shot in my arm, I felt like I had to confess something to Nick. A deep, dark secret welling inside me like a balloon. I looked up at him in the kitchen over chopping Bok Choy and green beans for dinner and announced,”I realized today I have been stalling to get the shot because I think if anything goes wrong with the vaccination and hurts Isaiah, I’m afraid I’m going to blame you for the rest of our lives.”
There. I said it.
Nick had a confession as well. “Last week, when you were sick, all I kept thinking was that if you had the flu and something happened to Isaiah, I was going to blame you for not getting the shot for the rest of our lives, too.”
Immediately, I brightened, “Really? We were ready to blame each other for the rest of our lives? This sounds demented, but I feel SO much better!”
We hugged.
Now that our confessions were confessed, we headed to the middle school and saw the lines wrapping around the building. It took several minutes to find parking and finally got in line. It felt something like a combination of the lines at Cedar Point, a huge pediatrician’s office with a million kids running around, and a gigantic holiday sale where they haven’t opened the doors yet and make you wait outside.
In other words, it was hell.
Immoveable and inflexible situations are prime time conversation periods for me and Nick. The possibilities were endless. We had hours to wait, so talked about numerous things:
Nick’s Topics: the lack of efficiency when it came to setting up the lines (half the people were waiting outside when the whole middle school could have been utilized), his brainfart that he did not bring a heavier coat, how people were supposed to “prove” if you were on the priority list (pregnant people are kind of obvious, but healthcare workers? ), and other issues relating to orderliness and publicity.
I was fairly single-issue minded: WHY ISN’T THERE A SEPARATE LINE FOR PREGNANT WOMEN?
Seriously.
No chairs. Standing out in the chilly air with children running amok.
A thought occured to me and I shared it with Nick, “Do you think that it’s slightly ironic and even more slightly idiotic that they make us stand outside in the cold with a bunch of screaming children with no heat or chairs so we can get vaccinated for the FLU?”
The women behind me had a stroller for her perfectly big 6 or 7 year old. She was not careful with the wheels and kept rolling over the back of my foot. I was feeling a bit snappy but bit my tongue countless times. After all, she’d be right behind me for God knows how long.
We make it inside only to wait another hour or so. A volunteer took pity on my very pregnant state and asked if I wanted a chair. I nodded gratefully.
So, Nick held my place in line while I sat for about 20 minutes, giving my back and feet a rest. Watching Nick, I just shook my head while he made friends in line – chatting with people in front and behind him – and even helping a stranger get their stroller down the stairs. What a good samaritan. All I kept thinking of was how much I wanted a Twix bar.
I got back in line with Nick and discovered he’d made his own h1n1 support group in line. Everyone was offering us advice on birthing, breastfeeding, sleeping, pain meds, and Hillcrest Hospital where we’d be deliverying Isaiah. It was nice to be talking, inside the building and shielded from the cold, but my energy had depleted and I just wanted to get it over with.
Surprisingly, Nick was able to get a shot as well, thanks to Isaiah’s due date of 1.1.10, Nick qualified as a parent with a child less than 6 months.
Then came the time to decide whether to get nasal mist or the needle.
Another decision. Not my specialty.
The nasal mist is the activated vaccine. It has no mercury.
The needle is the inactivated vaccine with mercury to keep it germ free.
My only question was, “So where’s the INACTIVATED vaccine with NO MERCURY?”
One of the volunteers replied, “They are just starting to make that now, but we have no idea if or when those will ever come to the Cleveland area.”
Awesome.
So, loaded with all different kids of information pamphlets on brightly colored paper, we got in line – Nick in the nasal line, me in the needle line.
And within 3 minutes, it was over.
How can one seemingly simple decison be so complicated and anxiety-ridden?
As someone said to me, “Welcome to parenting.”
Cleveland Tea Party
Have you heard that tea is our newest rage in the house?
It’s true.
Warm drinks have always been high on my radar, especially this time of year. I drink coffee as a dessert, a special treat from time to time. I would probably drink it more if I did not have such drastic and noticeable effects from the caffeine.
When I drink coffee, if feels like there is a special vein that is activated in my body that filters out the milk, sugar, coffee bean, and whatever flavored syrup has been added, and sends the caffeine to my brain like an express train. Within minutes of a few gulps, my heart starts beating more quickly, my thoughts begin racing, and my mouth starts yapping at even FASTER levels than normal.
On road trips with Nick, pre-preggers state, Nick would watch the evolution first hand. First, I’d be quietly content watching the trees out the window and then we’d exit to get food and if I was tired, I’d get a nice small coffee. By the time we’re on the ramp heading back on the highway, my head is bopping toward the car roof and I’m playing 20 questions, laughing, and talking a mile a minute.
So, it’s natural for me to look for substitues now that cooler weather has arrived and I yearn for something warm to drink. I’ve always loved tea as well. It’s better for you anyway.
So I began drinking herbal tea, non-caffeinated. Then I began hearing that herbal tea can be bad for you during pregnancy. I don’t drink gallons of it, an occassional raspberry leaf treat in the evening is just enough to settle me in for the evening. Getting over this cold has been rough and tea smoothes the road just a bit more for me.
But you can imagine my surprise when Nick and venture to Giant Eagle to grab groceries for the week and while I am elbow deep in the produce section, notice he has wandered away. He normally does this when he remembers we need practical things like toilet paper, his Pert Plus shampoo stock is low, or wants more granola bars in the house. I was even more shocked when I found him in the tea section, peering closely at the labels and, after finally deciding on something, tosses it in the cart.
“I’m really getting into tea,” he confides.
“I noticed. It’s really good for you. I’m going to start drinking it more once I’ve popped our son out.”
“I just realize that I feel like drinking it when I’m reading,” he muses.
Nick has this, like, tendency to pick really amazing books to read. You know, some people choose New York Times best sellers or the latest from David Sedaris. No, Nick chooses Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. This book is something like 1300 pages long. Meanwhile, I am trying to balance reading my pregnancy books, online articles, links, research, and one fiction Wally Lamb book and then find my forehead falling backward because I fall asleep so easily these days. Pathetic.
Champion Nick is over halfway through Atlas Shrugged. And it was this book, apparently, where he heard his tea calling.
“Maybe we should get a tea kettle,” I offered.
“I can’t imagine they’d be that much,” of course Nick thinks of the cost vs. benefit relationship.
“No, they’re not expensive at all. And you can have a lot of hot water waiting for you in case you want another cup. You don’t have to use the microwave or anything. It might be worth it.” I, of course, get excited at any prospect to buy something for our kitchen, even if it’s just a tea pot.
“Mhm, yeah. That’s probably a good idea.”
When Nick says “that’s probably a good idea,” that means his eyes turn from a yellow to a green light. It’s the go ahead sign.
So, Nick has been experimenting with his new vice while I enviously sniff the fresh aroma from the next room. Last night he picked up the box and said, “I hope I’m going to look like this guy when I’m done drinking it.” The tea box had an adorable and huge brown bear, tucked away in a couch by a fireplace, a red-striped frock for pjs and a matching hat. The tea was called SLEEPY BEAR.
I studied the picture, “I think this is what you’re going to look like in about 50 years.”
Nick hollered from the kitchen, “50 years? Try 15 minutes.”
The New Schedule
Nick, Isaiah, and I have been bumped up on to the 2 weeks rotation for seeing our doctor.
This morning, Nick and I went to the doc, eager to see how Isaiah was doing and what her diagnosis would be for the bug in my system.
It seems like the regular common, nasty, horrible cold with accompanying cough. I’m supposed to watch my temperature in case this turns into anything that resembles the flu, but it’s unlikely that that is what I have. My temperature was normal, my lungs sounded clear, and I have no runny nose. Apparently, those are the big three for causes of concern.
But, I’m to rest, rest, rest and drink drink drink liquids until I feel better.
Other interesting news to report is Isaiah F. Borchers is measuring a bit big for almost 30 weeks. Doc said we have to keep an eye on him and possibly take a look with an ultrasound later to see just how big he is getting.
If he is either too impatient or too big to wait until his 1.1.10 due date and possibly forsake his early fame of getting in the paper for being the first baby of 2010, either Nick or I are to blame. If it’s impatience, blame the mother. If his limbs are just too sticking big and he’s breech because his feet are like paddles, blame the father.
Germaphobe
Kinda like how that little kid in The Sixth Sense said, “I see dead people,” in that freaky whisper, confiding to Bruce Willis his longtime secret and hidden power, that’s pretty much how I want to tell you
I see germs and bacteria.
Everywhere.
I’m becoming neurotic about washing my hands and walking 10 feet behind any living thing that I think looks pale, sounds raspy, or coughs into a shirt sleeve.
All this worrying is justified.
Yesterday, I woke up with a slight tickle in the back of my throat. By 11am, it had moved into a dry cough and irritating the hell out of me. (Coughing means I am constantly holding my belly and trying not to jostle Isaiah around as much.) By 6pm, scheduled to stay later for work, I sent an email to my boss explaining that my cough was getting worse, felt like my head was compressing, and felt a little warm on my forehead.
It could be a number of things. It could be a common cold. It could be the erratic change in climate (40-50s to high 60s in one day?). It could be the annual visit from the bronchitis family that loves to descend onto my lungs once the weather provides an easy transport. It could be the damn space heater in our bedroom that dries the room out. It could be that my office swings from sauna to freezer every other day. It could be that my hand sanitizer obsession is proving futile in the wake of GERM SEASON 2009. It could be something Nick brought home from hanging out with high school kids with youth ministry. (Yeah, I know – blame the spouse!) It could be…anything.
I don’t know.
So, I do what most people do when they’re in the limbo of sick and well — commiserate on the couch and think of the worst possible situations while flipping between Dancing with the Stars and the ALCS between the Angels and Yanks.
The worst thing is I feel stripped of energy yet unable to sleep.
To make team Borchers/Factora-Borchers even more hapless these days, Nick’s ear problems have returned with a vengeance. His ear is ringing, making his head feel like it’s going to explode each night and thus scheduling an appointment with an ear doctor. It never ceases to infuriate me how LONG it takes for ear doctors to understand that Nick is in a lot of discomfort and needs to be seen NOW. Not now-ish, or next week, but NOW. As in yesterday; that kind of now.
But he scheduled it last week and still has to wait until Monday. Until then, I try not to talk as loud or as much (that’s hard when I want to tell him all about my lungs and Isaiah’s latest acrobatic stunts), but we’re managing.
We’re still keeping ourselves busy. Nick is caulking the outdoor windows and I’m registering us for a bunch of baby classes and tours of the facility where I’ll be delivering. As thrilling as, “Baby Basics,” and “A Night with the Anesthesiologist” classes sounds, we’re not very exited over a jam packed November of classes and learning.
I keep thinking that people have become really effective and good parents by good ol’ fashion living and learning. Why do we have to go to these classes?
“Because we don’t know anything about anything,” says Nick.
In the end, I concur, “It’s probably a good idea to figure out how to use a car seat, I guess.”