Ginger, Grey, and Yellow

Being a new mum was overwhelming at first. I can't imagine anyone thinking otherwise as they hold, for the first time, the tiny person they've just spent the last nine months creating. Because of the method of my delivery, I didn't have the use of my legs for quite a while afterward. Lots of time to cuddle with my perfect bundle of joy and debate about who he looked like.

In our case, this was a very short debate: he couldn't possibly look any more like my husband than he does.

But as I held him and slept beside him through his first night, we began to notice a few things that weren't quite right - the most telling one being that we couldn't really wake him up, and he wasn't all that hungry when we did. Blood work done the next day confirmed the reason why: our little bundle had jaundice. High levels of bilirubin in his system was making him tired, and because he was so tired he didn't have the energy to eat. Now, there are a bunch of babies born every day that develop jaundice, but in our case it was a bit more serious. My munchkin was operating in the "very high" range of bilirubins per blood unit - there is no higher on the scale that you can go. And because he is a different blood type than I am, he also lacked that basic genetic immunity which meant that his red blood cells were working overtime.

Luckily, the way they treat neonatal jaundice is by phototherapy. He was placed in a bassinet under a UV light and a heater. He got to wear a sunshade to protect his eyes, and he was kept at a warm 36.5C. We got to have the whole unit in our room with us so we could take him out to feed him when he needed it, and bond with him as much as possible during his first days.

This is the phototherapy set-up for newborns, where Charlie spent his first few days "tanning"

I won't tell you it wasn't hard. He did not like being on his back all splayed out at first, but we couldn't keep holding him like he wanted - it would have made treatment impossible. I cried a lot while he cried, and Matt did his best to keep us both calm. He did finally get used to being under the lamp, and it really helped when one of the nurses made him a little nest of blankets so he felt more secure. Over the next few days his colour improved, and when they had evidence that the bilirubin levels in his blood were dropping, they let us bring him home.

By this point the changes in him where undeniable. He was sleeping soundly, and eating so much that we had to start supplementing with formula, something that we have continued to do ever since to make sure he's on the right track for growth. He'll never been a big kid - Matt and I are not giants - but at his two week check-up the doctor confirmed he had gained back and surpassed his birth weight, and I breathed a sigh of relief. His hair gets more red and gingery every day, and his eyes have stayed a stormy grey, but one thing is clear: the yellow skin colour is gone for good.

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A Whole New World

After a hiatus enforced by yet another extended hospital stay (3 weeks this time) and subsequent concerns with my health, I am not only returning to blog another day, but also celebrating my promotion to Mummy! Charles Matthew Fenton Johns was born on April 11, 2014 at 5:20pm, weighing 6 lbs 6 oz. and measuring a whopping 18 inches long.

His measurements are important: there was a point in the pregnancy when I was happy he was over 2 lbs. Both his Daddy and I thought for sure he was going to be with us very early. At 28 weeks and during one of our busiest times of the last two years, I woke up in the night bleeding and having contractions. After rushing to the ER, I was admitted with a "placental abruption" to the ante partum ward and put on strict bed rest. That means my placenta had decided to start pulling away from the uterus much too early, which was in turn making my body think it was time to go into labour. Things had suddenly gone from being worry free to being quite worrisome. The doctor had to give me special, specific permission to be able to get up and use the washroom independently once I arrived on the floor, which cemented for me how serious this whole thing really was. But after we established I would be there for a while, it got really boring really fast. I will also admit to freaking out and having flashbacks to my days spent in the hospital post-accident; though the circumstances weren't the same, it was most unsettling being stuck in bed all over again.

And because I like to do everything the hard way, the week I went in was the week we were taking possession of our new home and moving. I had appointments booked nearly every day for some reason or another: cleaners, movers, utilities, lawyers, builders... And I had to rely on my poor husband to be able to make them all now. We rescheduled what we could, and he was luckily able to leave work midday to attend a few, and somehow with all that as well as the added stress of me being hospitalized, he managed to finish packing our apartment and get us moved. I'm still not sure if he got any sleep while he did all this. 

So while he was run ragged getting our new home ready for a family that was threatening to arrive at any moment, I was trapped in the hospital, watching the women around me experience their own complications and occasionally get whisked away to another ward in a big hurry. I was able to meet a couple other women who were hospitalized for the same reasons as myself - who were also both having boys - and tour the NICU to get a feel for where my baby might end up if he was born early. I was put on the fetal Doppler monitor 3 times a day, and since I could hear Charlie's heart beat strong and steady, I stayed much more calm than I normally would have, which in turn helped him stay put.

3 weeks passed as a handful of roommates came and went. For a while I was lucky enough to have the room to myself. When my weekly ultrasound finally showed the internal bleeding had stopped and begun to heal, the doctors decided that I could come home as long as I continued to follow the strict bed rest rules. I was ecstatic, and finally got to see our new house with all our things in it. We got the baby's room set up as soon as we could - we were still on high alert to expect him early - and I spent my time resting and sorting tiny baby clothing. Matt had to go away for a week so my mum took some time off and came to stay with me, accompanying me to my many, many follow-up doctors appointments and making sure I ate.

Then we waited.

I was told that, if I passed 34 weeks, Charlie wouldn't have to go into the NICU. I passed it. Then I was told that if I passed 36 weeks I would be in the clear to have a c-section done safely. I passed that too. And then I spent an entire night in the hospital being observed because, in the words of the resident, "Your baby is doing great, but your uterus is not", and that was the last straw. We scheduled Charlie's birth 18 days before my actual due date and hoped I'd make it until then.

I did. He was delivered under ideal conditions, his mummy and daddy were mentally and physically prepared, and the surgery went without a hitch.  I was extremely lucky to have an OB that was kind and understanding about my limitations, and an OR team that wasn't phased by a mother with a broken back and pelvis.

As if the lives of several people hadn't just changed forever, within moments of being born, Charlie had found his thumb and was sucking away at it happily. Matt watched his every move with tears in his eyes. When they brought him over to me, he nuzzled right in to my neck. And that's when my whole new world started turning.

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Week(s) in Review: Home Sweet Home

Yeah, I know it's been forever since I posted an "In Review" piece. And to be honest, a LOT has gone on. Let's recap:

• - I'm pregnant!
• - We are having a boy! This photo is how we told everyone; most people got it, but there was some confusion as to whether or not it was twins.
• - We went to Walt Disney World on our Christmas vacation!
• - We survived Winter-Ice-Stormaggedeon-Pocalypse 2013 while visiting family in Ontario!

But I think the most recent event merits the winner of today's subject award: We bought a house!

We knew we would have to move from our apartment to have the baby (it's an adult only building) and we were looking at continuing to rent. But then Matt got word that he'll be in Edmonton bouncing from position to position for the next 5 years or so, and we figured why rent for so long when we could become responsible homeowners? So we did!

No, it wasn't as easy as all that, but it did end up very positive for us. We have purchased a new townhouse in the north of the city near the base. It's got all the bells and whistles, including hardwood flooring and granite countertops. It's 3 bedrooms and 1.5 bath - the perfect size for us, particularly since I will have to clean it... eventually. The complex itself is only around half finished, so when I say it's brand new, it's really super shiny new.

Matt and I are very excited. Neither of us have ever owned a home before, and we feel both grown-up and scared stiff at the same time. So many new changes will be coming in the next few months. The good news is that we can be all moved in by the end of February, so there will be some time for us to relax and get settled before the baby arrives to change everything again.

"She may not look like much, but she's got it where it counts, kid."

It has been a super experience with this company. I got to pick out my colour package for what I wanted inside, and tomorrow I get to go choose my blinds which they will install for us before we move in! It's like playing The Sims, but actually being able to live in it afterward.

My only concern left is: will the duct tape on my couch match the flooring in the living room?

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Flat-Out Friday: Baby Shaming

Stop me if you've done this before: You've just dressed to go out, and you turn and look in the mirror. "Well, I guess it won't ever look like it did on the mannequin," you think with a sigh before heading out the door. With me so far? We all know that's body shaming, and we ALL know that it's wrong, that we shouldn't do it to ourselves, and that it isn't healthy.

I have a confession to make: since I got pregnant, I've reverted back to doing it. Except now, it's more like "baby shaming".

It started innocently enough. I was trying on clothes in a maternity store in November when the sales lady asked me how far along I was. "15 weeks", I declared with a smile. And for that, I got an "Oh." Oh? Who says OH? People who are judging you based on how you look, that's who. And with that seed planted in my mind, it has been a daily battle ever since. I even made a face and excuses when my own mother asked me for belly photos so she can see the baby's progress from three provinces away.

Does it matter that I'm not 5'9" and skinny to begin with so that my perfectly round belly can be seen above the waistline of my designer lowcut jeans that still fit me? According to the lady who works in an industry where she sees pregnant women every single day, it does. Does it matter that my belly isn't actually perfectly round at all, but kinda slopes out from underneath my heart until it gets all wibbly down around my belly button? Oh, you bet it does because it isn't shaped like the little pillow they give you for trying clothes on.

All right then. Find me the pillow that's been run over by an armoured car. Find me the pants that will take away the swelling that just gets bigger as I grow, and will even out the places where my abdominal tissue has been eaten away by lumps of injured and calcified flesh. Find my the shirt that, at 6 months pregnant, will make me look like the classically pregnant lady and not just like someone trying to cram themselves into whatever they have in the closet. Betcha you can't, because it doesn't exist.

At my check-up two weeks ago I finally hit the weight I was when I first got pregnant. That's GAINING IT BACK, folks. I lost weight consistently until I hit the 4 month mark. Constant sickness and an sudden aversion to many foods will do that to you. So you would think that in my head I would know that I'm gaining weight safely, naturally, and that if anything, my baby might be a bit on the small side.

You would think that. But no.

I have to go in for the Glucose Tolerance Test on Monday - the stage 2 one with the waiting and the fasting and all that jazz. Apparently my sister and my mother both had to do this test, so it's probably just genetic that we were all a little elevated in our blood sugars during pregnancy. The way I broke down and cried when I found out, though - well, I thought I was a monster, that I couldn't even grow a baby properly, that I was a general waste of humanity. None of my logic - my previous injuries, my healthy weight gain, my genetics - helped at all. I was baby shaming in the highest degree.

THIS IS NOT OKAY.

Inside me right now is growing a beautiful baby boy, and he will be loved and cherished. So his mum should feel the same way while she helps him grow, social norms and expectations be damned.

Yep, that's Christmas Daleks and the TARDIS on my shirt

To the lady at the maternity store: I am creating life and I am magnificent. 
To all the pictures on the internet: I have strength and courage beyond imagination.
To all pregnant ladies and mothers: My beauty will shine through every time my child smiles.
To myself I will add: I will remember this every single day.

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Flat-Out Friday: 7 Things About This Week

If you haven't seen it, you're lucky. Facebook has a meme going around right now to get people to share little-known facts about themselves. I've gotten tagged to do it, so I am, but with a twist. Since it's been such an amazing week (I wrote 'amazing' as I rolled my eyes heavily), my list is:

7 Things About This Week

1. It has been snowing since last Friday. I don't say this so you can pity Edmonton and its residents, but  rather so that you can understand: the average cummulative snowfall for November (the entire month) is 18 centimetres. This week alone it has snowed over 50 centimetres. That's nearly 2 feet of snow in a week, people. This is a thing.
2. Matt went back to work last Thursday and Friday after being in Wainwright, and since one of the senior captains went on leave and left no instructions or delegations, Matt spent two days sorting out his own stuff as well as this completely different full-time job. Which wasn't a big deal at home except for the Blackberry going off all weekend and through into this week, because even though the other captain is back now no one is getting any direction from him still so they are continually asking Matt. No private time with my husband after he's been gone for months because ARMY? This is a thing.
3. My new car Watson suffered injury when the block heater cord completely fell apart in my hands last week. Luckily, the temperatures this week only went down to -30C at night. I took him for an assessment so they could order a part, and then back again this week so they could fix him. That is an entire day of driving/being driven around the city because the dealership is in St. Albert and I refuse to be pregnant and waiting for hours in the waiting room at the garage. Add on the amazing traffic because of the continuous snow? This is a thing.
4. Yesterday I was so happy for a day that I didn't have to leave the house because I was just done (slept til noon, crying, etc.) that I completely missed my appointment with my psychiatrist. When you're so overtired and depressed that you miss the appointment with the one person who can help you? That is a thing.
5. Every single nice thing I can wear to cover my legs stopped fitting this week. I don't blame Sonic, but I mean really - hurray for yoga pants. Yep, that's a thing.
6. My step-children's new step-father decided to send my husband insulting passive-aggressive text messages about how he was a bad father, and when Matt didn't kowtow and instead stood up for himself, said step-father told him he must be drunk and to go "sleep it off, tiger". On a Wednesday evening at 8pm. This is a rage-making thing.
7. I actually feel good enough to post this list. And that, my friends, is probably the biggest thing of all.

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Flat-Out Friday: My Official Title is "Lady Who Lunches"

Ah, Friday. When I'm all wound up I can always count on you to be so cathartic. And after my "buying a mom-mobile" experience this week, I can use catharsis.

So Matt and I had already planned to get a second vehicle once the time was closer for Sonic to move from being an on-board passenger to a party of one. And I have said since the beginning of our "if we ever have kids" dreamtime that, if it happens, my ultimate Mommy vehicle is a Honda Element. So reliable, so roomy, so durably lined with hard plastic. Even though they don't make them new anymore, I have had my eye on them for ages.

This week, a 2008 in mint condition with every imaginable feature came up for sale at a dealership, so we went to go look. The colour is officially "root beer", and even though I hate root beer, I was hooked as soon as I got in for the test drive. Which leads us back at the dealership, deciding how we want to pay for it. Since it was used, there were a few things I wanted to ensure were included, like a Bluetooth capable hands-free phone device and an extended comprehensive warranty. No problem - the dealership took care of both of those for me. Matt and I discussed a few options for payment, but since my settlement money was covering this, we decided to be prudent and not just buy it outright. The cost of putting that money into a used car instead of making interest in our investments was too much for us to justify. So we decided to put a chunk down and finance the rest. SEE THAT? That's us being responsible with our finances. And because we were...

My car suddenly stopped being MY car.

Because, even though I am perfectly well off by myself, I don't have a job. And banks don't let you finance anything if you don't have a job. So Matt's name had to go on the bill of sale as well. I didn't really mind this, but it was a little irksome, particularly when the financial guy showed us our credit ratings and mine was higher. But whatever. I had a car.

My husband is nice enough to let me drive his Mom-mobile

Matt called his insurance company and had them create a policy for me so I could drive it home as soon as possible, so we arranged to pick it up the next day. While Matt was at work I went down to the Registry to get my plate and register my car, all excited about being a new car owner.

Did you know that if there are two names on the bill of sale the Registry will not let you register the car in just one? Neither did I until I got there. Defeated, I went home to wait for Matt so we could go together and register my new car. He was allowed to come home a little early to sort this all out before he left for Wainwright the next day, and together we went back to the Registry to register my new car.

Did you also know that if the insurance policy is under one person's name, even though the car is listed as the other spouse being the primary driver, the car can only be registered in the name of the person listed on the policy? NEITHER DID I UNTIL THEN.

I had to sign an affidavit letting Matt register MY car in HIS name so that I could go get MY car off the lot. And thus I was no longer the proud owner of a car; I was just the person allowed to drive my husband's second vehicle.

Here's what really really REALLY gets my goat. If I had had a job, Matt's name wouldn't have been on the bill of sale, which would have let me register the car myself as long as I had my own insurance as well. Which I take from society to mean the following: Get a job, keep a job, don't get married, and don't have kids. Well done. As one of the declining number of couples who decide to have children, I want to thank you for supporting my husband and I. When your failing public works systems are collapsing, remember all those people that wanted to contribute to the economy but couldn't because you were just too judgmental.

Meanwhile, I'm gonna go stick girly decals on my husband's new Element. Excuse me.

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Flat-Out Friday: Just Buy It In White

Ever since publicly announcing my pregnancy, I have received details on many "old wives tales" about how to tell the baby's sex. MANY. It seems like everyone has some sure-fire way of telling whether the Flat-Out Offspring will be a boy or a girl. For kicks, I will list them below:

• The Portuguese method: if your due date is closer to the new moon, it'll be a boy.
• The Italian method: if your due date is closer to the full moon, it'll be a boy.
• The Gypsy method: find or make a pendulum, and suspend it over your palm; up/down swing is boy, circular motion is girl.
• The New Age method: find or make a pendulum, and ask it a series of yes/no answers to determine the swing for both yes and no answers; ask separately if having a boy or a girl.
• The Chinese method: find out what lunar year you are in when you are due; complicated math and virtually throwing I Ching sticks later, formula reveals whether you're having a girl or a boy.
• The Vomit method: the more you throw up, the more likely it's a girl.
• The Heartbeat method: the faster the heart rate, the more likely it's a girl.
• The Cravings method: salty/hearty snack cravings suggest a boy; sweet cravings suggest a girl.

I'm going to invent a new one. It's called The Dice method. If I roll 1-10 on a d20, it's a boy; 11-20 is a girl. I mean it makes as much sense to me as the rest of these do. Wanna hear my results for each of the aforementioned methods?

• Girl
• Boy
• Boy
• Boy
• Girl from Last Known Period; Boy from Conception Date
• Girl
• Girl
• Boy

Unfortunately, I can't find a D20 at this precise time or I'd include those results. It'd be the tie-breaker vote too!

Why is it that, after all the advances in modern medical science, myths like these still perpetuate themselves? One reason I think is because all women like to weigh in on a subject they feel they are uniquely qualified to speak about, especially if they've given birth at some point to their own children, and even more especially if one of these methods actually worked in predicting the sex of said children. One of the things you can always count on is that most people you run in to are going to have some sort of opinion about what's happening with your body. Through my accident, I have learned that the best thing to do in these cases is listen, nod politely, and then forget everything they've said because dwelling on it will just make you cranky.

We are going to find out the sex if we can. By ultrasound. You know, that crazy technology that actually allows you to see whether your on-board passenger has the optional hose attachment or not. If we can't find out out (my niece was turned completely backward and refused to let the technician see her girly parts; she's still shy to this day), then I have a completely foolproof system for a non-gender biased nursery:

Get it all in white.

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Flat-Out Friday: I'm WHAT?

 
Yep, the rumours are true. I am pregnant. I know that previously in this blog I have discussed how unlikely this would ever be, that I might never be able to conceive, and that I wasn't even sure if I wanted to. But here's the thing:

I have never seen my husband more excited than he was when we saw that little heartbeat on the monitor.

We'll assume Sonic is waving "hi" and not giving us the finger

And I couldn't help but think and feel that this blessing was just one more miracle in my already miraculous life. 

How did we get here, planning for an April baby, from accepting that we would be a childless household? It's a long story. I hope you've gone pee. 

See, way back when my negative family doctor put me on my diet and told me to lose weight, I thought that a good motivator would be that I was getting myself into better shape so I could try for a baby again. I figured it would take a year or so, and I knew Matt was expecting to know where the military would be sending him by March 2014. So I set my sights on next year. Then, after seeing the specialist who informed me that I may not ever be able to conceive, I had to reconsider my strategy. Did it make sense to still try for a family? I went to my trusted sources back in Ontario for advice - three long-time OB/GYN family friends - and the response was unanimous. "Don't let one opinion change your life. Start trying now."

So I went out and bought a Basal thermometer and diligently starting taking my temperature every morning. The literature said I should have a base temperature that I would hover around every day until ovulation, when it peaks. I carefully charted everything, and when I realized that my chart looked like a profile of the Himalayas and I hadn't actually gotten my period like I should have, I called my mum and asked her to pass on my concerns to our friends again. Her response? "Maybe you're already pregnant."

Yeah sure, Mum, I said. 

Famous last words. I waited another week before I broke down and bought the most sophisticated piece of technology I will ever pee on, and peed on it. And when I told Matt later that day not to freak out and presented him with the Sonic Screwdriver that said I was "Pregnant", I was still in disbelief. 

Then I started throwing up. A lot. And yet I still didn't want to believe. I had my first prenatal appointment, and then my second. And even though I had been sick so much that I had lost weight between them, I still wasn't quite believing it. Nothing seemed real until I looked at my tiny miracle on the screen yesterday and saw its little heart beating like a hummingbird. 

Now it seems all too real. I'm going to be a mommy. I am carrying a life inside me and it's alive and healthy and craving Kraft Dinner. I am starting to use it as an excuse now. "I'm sorry, but I'm pregnant and I'm starving" has become a popular one, followed closely by "I just have to set my alarm a bit early so I can be sick".

And I would like to apologize to all of you for disappearing off the radar for the last little while. It's hard to not to write about something that consumes your every breathing moment. And truthfully, between the pregnancy and the therapy and the settlement, these past few months have been so overwhelming that most days I was lucky if I was awake for more than a couple hours at a time. 

However, my therapy is over. My settlement is settled. And my pregnancy is confirmed and going very well. So I will be back with all the details from all of those exciting things that have happened lately. Even though the accident and that "flat-out" period has drawn to a close, Flat-Out Whimsy is here to stay. 

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