Sunday, December 18, 2011
My sincerest apologies for the delay on this, but it is after all Coney Christmas and so I’m sure you all understand.
Not familiar with Coney Christmas? I’m appalled…oh wait…that’s right. It’s a tradition held only by…well…only my family. One that involves eating chili dogs, french fries and having an ice cold pop (pop=soda for most of you outside of MI) of your choice. We’ve also recently expanded this tradition of 25 plus years strong to include exchanging a few gifts since Christmas Eve with the extended extended family has the big name draw. It all started in the middle of a busy day of Christmas shopping with my mom and dad when my sister and I were little. Some older man with a thick Greek accent beckoned us into his restaurant. My parents decided they wanted a little Christmas tradition of their own and Coney Christmas it has become. Weird I know, but I totally love it.
Anyways….let’s get on with the VITABand winner. And that winner is…
CONGRATULATIONS JENNIFER of Diaper Derby Adventures!!! Send me an email at email@example.com and I’ll send you the details. As for the rest of you, may your fries be crispy & the chili be piled high on your dogs. Merry Coney Christmas! ;-)
Friday, December 2, 2011
What? What do you mean today’s not Black Friday?! Are you serious?! You say it was LAST Friday? Shoot. I can’t believe I missed it. Guess I’ll just keep this nifty little running gizmo for myself then.
HA! Just kidding! Really, what happened is that I just have a super intelligent little baby girl on my hands who’s been thwarting my every attempt to write. You see, usually I write after the Bigs (my 3 & 5 year olds) are in bed, but I haven’t been able to do that because this new baby girl of mine starts wailing EVERY TIME I sit down to type. She can be perfectly content in her bouncy seat or little crib, asleep even, but the minute I go sit down at my computer she senses it and says, “nuh uh Mommy. You’re supposed to be sitting here adoring me.” Finally though, I think I’ve figured out a way to write AND accommodate the tiny little princess. She’s in her little cosleeper attached to my bed and I’m sitting in bed right next to her with my notebook typing this post. That’s right folks. I outsmarted a 6 week old. Aren’t SO you proud?
But let’s get on to this MUCH overdue giveaway shall we?!
Ever hear of a VITABand? Me neither. That is until one of my most favorite product reps, Morgan from Smack Media (same company that represents my fav sun block, Scape, btw) contacted me to see if I was game for trying out something new. Of course, me never being one to turn down free goods and knowing that if Smack was reping the product it was sure to be another homerun I said absolutely.
And let me tell you, Morgan did not disappoint! VITABand is a sleek, stylish identification wrist band, similar to Road ID with a few notable exceptions.
For starters, let’s talk looks. In my opinion, it’s more watchlike looking than Livestrong wristband looking. It’s slender, not at all bulky and waterproof.
Secondly, unlike most RoadID models, there’s no personal info on the plate. While Road ID is entirely customizable (you can put as much or as little info on the identification plate as you desire), VITABand has only an id number. Medical personnel access your information by calling the VITABand Telephone Access Center. Whatever medical and/or contact information you have entered on your emergency response profile created through VITABand, they’ll have access to. You can put as much or as little information as you like, but none of that information is visible on your wrist.
Now I know we don’t like to think about something bad happening during a run, do. What if something did happen and you couldn’t speak? Wouldn’t you want EMT’s to know any important medical information that was necessary to treat you? What if it could save your life (like in my case being allergic to a specific commonly used medication)? How about your loved ones, wouldn’t you want them to be contacted as soon as possible? I highly recommend carry some form of id on you when you run, just in case, because you just never know.
But probably the most significant difference between RoadID and VITABand is that a VITABand can also be connected to a prepaid Visa card if you so desire. Now, how cool is that? All I could think of when I heard that was the 2007 Chicago Marathon. You know, the one that was cancelled because of the unseasonably hot weather, cancelled while runners were ON the course. Aid stations were out of water. The sound of ambulance sirens was a constant. Runners still on the course were being ordered to walk. THAT Chicago marathon. How nice would it have been to be wearing one of those VITABands during that race? You could just walk right into a a gas station and snag yourself a cool bottle of water, maybe buy a couple for a few of your desperate fellow runners? Perhaps a bag of ice while you were at it. All with contactless payment, your VITABand attached to your wrist. No sweaty dollars to pull out of a pocket if you had had the foresight to bring some along in the first place.
Now, you do actually have to put money on the pre-paid card for it to work, anywhere from $20-$200 (sorry, no free money this time ) And the merchant you are trying to purchase something from has to accept contactless payment, but according to the information VITABand sent me a lot of them do (BP, Subway, 7-11, Riteaid to name a few. Click here to see a list of merchants)and it’s estimated that within a year 1/3 of all merchants will accept pay wave. So you’ll totally be hooked up.
Pretty sweet eh? And a GREAT idea for the runner you love on your Christmas list. You can order one online in pink, blue, grey, white, or black at https://vitaband.net/store OR you can throw your name in to the hat (or great big bowl I use to make cookies in our case) and see if you can win one for FREE! That’s right! I’m giving the grey one (size small/medium) they sent me away, not because I don’t want it. It’s pretty sweet. It’s just that I’ve got two RoadID’s with my name emblazoned on them already. So I figure why not let some other mother run safely too?
Here’s how to enter:
1. Become a follower of this blog. That’s it! Piece of cake. Follow here (upper right), follow on Facebook or follow on Twitter. Then let me know you’ve become a follower in the comments and you’re officially entered in the giveaway! If you already are a follower, AWESOME! You can enter too of course, just leave me a comment and let me know you want in (That’s the key folks. You MUST leave me a comment so I know you would like to be entered in the giveaway.)
WANT TO DOUBLE YOUR CHANCES TO WIN?
Do something to promote this giveaway. Update your Facebook status, tweet it, blog about it, email your running pals, post a link on your website or whatever you can think of that would maybe send a few folks my way. Pick one method (or more if you really love me ) and let me know in the comments what you did and I’ll toss your name in the hat twice instead of once. WOOHOO!!!
All entries must be received by 11:59:59 PM on December 16th, 2011. I’ll let one of my kiddos choose one winner randomly out of a big bowl of names the next day and announce the winner then. The winner will have one week to respond or we’ll pull another name. Rinse and repeat until someone claims the prize.
Fair enough? Any questions, let me know. Otherwise, best of luck!
P.S. Shipping for the VitaBand is on me! Merry Christmas!
Thursday, November 24, 2011
So. When last I left you dangling precariously off the edge of that cliff, my doctor was missing, I was under orders to resist the urge to push (which is similar to saying resist the urge to take your hand off of that hot stove. Virtually impossible.) and my epidural was like some kind of evil prank. It was not working by any stretch of the imagination. I had finally succumbed and made the call to the dugout for a replacement doc, the on-call OBGYN, to close it out.
(If you missed part one and would like to see how I wound up in this position you can click here. There’s also a few disclaimers and warnings that you probably ought to read first before you continue with this post anyway. I won’t rehash all of that though for those of you who just want me to GET TO THE REST OF IT ALREADY!!! Yeah, that’s right. I hear ya. Oh, and that other post will also explain all the bold print fyi.)
When the door opened and the on-call doc stepped in, I promise you it was like a chorus of angels began to sing. My hero! Here to rescue me from a pain so intense, I can’t even begin to put it into words. I was literally sweating buckets and on the verge of tears. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so helpless before. And I promise you, I can think of no other time in my life when I have EVER hurt like that. Considering this is my 3RD CHILD, that ought to tell you something.
But shortly after her introduction (Dr. Who? What? I don’t care!!! JUST DELIVER THIS CHILD), things would go south and fast. After she told me her name, I warned her about the one thing I panic about every time. I’ve torn and bad before. Pretty much as bad as a woman can humanely tear with baby number 1, which led my doc to be a little quicker with the episiotomy the 2nd time making things thus significantly better. Let’s just say with the first one, it took waaaaaay longer to stitch me up then to actually push the baby out. So I wanted this doctor to know that, to be ready to cut when necessary and before it got to that point to be doing a little stretching (if you know what I mean) to make things a little smoother.
But do you know what this pyschopath said to me when I told her? Just guess. Take a minute and think to yourself what your response would be to a woman IN LABOR when she expresses THAT concern to you…
Think of something? Ok great. Was it this: “Oh. You’ve torn before?” Me: “Yes.” Apathetic response: “Well then, you’re probably going to tear again.”
Thanks. Thanks for your frickin’ sympathy. Could you lie to me please? Or just say, “I’ll do my best?” Or, “Thanks for letting me know.” ANYTHING other than what equates to “Yeah lady, you think it hurts now, it’s about to get much much worse.”
But THEN it gets better! Because remember how I’m in the middle of trying NOT to push every time I have a contraction. I mean really, we are at GO TIME here people. But does this doc go scrambling quick to get into the catcher’s position? Nope. Nor does she even get her scrubs on for that matter. She’s off to the side of me talking to the nurse. Now, I’m sure it was something VITALLY important they were discussing about BUT I HAD TO PUSH!!!
And that was about what I yelled in her direction when the next contraction hit. She looks over at me and says calmly, “Ok. Go ahead.” as if I just said I had to cough or sneeze or something other than, you know, HAVE A GIANT HUMAN HEAD RIP THROUGH MY BODY. I literally had no idea what to do with being given “her blessing” to push. I was so thoroughly confused which is probably NOT the best way to be when you’re about to give birth.
Now, let me just pause here for a second to say yeah, I get where she was coming from. Sort of. I get that sometimes women push for hours before their little bundle finally becomes one of joy and pops out. NOT ME. SEVEN minutes on the last one might I remind you. SEVEN Minutes. So when this doctor says to me ok push, I’m just thinking “SERIOUSLY?” Nobody had dropped the bottom of my bed yet. No one was “in position.” In fact, no one other than my mom and husband was anywhere near me.
There were just so many things running through my head at this point, what about that tearing I just mentioned? What about that fibroid and possible c-section my doctor and I discussed back at his office? Why does this hurt so much if I have an epidural? Is something wrong? Is it that fibroid in the way? Is she stuck? Will pushing make it worse and if not and I push, is this kid going to land on the floor?
So although I may have made a face (and a little noise) as if I was pushing I wasn’t really. I mean, I might have given her a little nudge, but certainly not a push.
I swear to you the thought ran through my head that this was all some kind of hidden camera joke. A really cruel one where they take a pregnant woman, give her a dummy epidural, hide her doctor, send in a replacement “on call OBGYN” who is really an actor playing disinterested medical professional and then watch to see for entertainment purposes how she responds when she’s basically left entirely on her own to give birth.
And let me tell you something that I learned through all this. Really, nobody else IS necessary for you to give birth. In fact, despite my worries with my first child that I wouldn’t know how to push when it came time, I can say with full confidence now, ya don’t need to know. I honestly don’t even think I was entirely necessary for childbirth. At least my mental presence anyway. I swear that baby and my body we’re moving on whether or not I decided to participate and actively push or not. SWEAR.
So mid first semi sort of push, one of the nurses ran over, grabbed one of my legs and started pulling it up towards my head, “Grab your legs! Grab your legs!” she sort of shouted at me. I didn’t. And she looks at me and goes “Didn’t you hold your legs with the others?” I think I responded, “No” or maybe “I don’t know” or “I don’t remember,” but I’m pretty sure my head did a full on Exorcist style 360 degree rotation when she asked. All I could think was REALLY???!!! YOU are going to critique my birthing technique while ya’ll are chit chatting across the room? Let’s see now, for the last two not only did I NOT feel it, but I also had a doctor in catching position and a nurse by my side giving me a push count and reminding me to breath. So yeah, I apologize if I’m a little off my game when the doctor who’s supposed to be helping this along has STILL not made a move to get scrubbed up or in position.
In fact, SHE NEVER got scrubbed up or in position EVER. Swear. Ok wait, no. Let me take that back. She did put scrubs on her feet. That’s it. Dr. Clean shoes. Wouldn’t want to get a little baby on those loafers now would we?
But I promise you she never came within more than 5 feet of me. After two pretend pushes with her over off to the side and my seriously considering getting out of bed and dragging her to the appropriate location to actually, you know, DELIVER A BABY, Dr. Clean Shoes finally sort of moved in that direction and stood there with hands folded, sort of semi peeking from afar under the sheet that’s now raised because one of the nurses has my legs and I think my mom maybe had my other one. But she kept glancing over her shoulder at the bathroom. One time, I(I swear I am not making this up.) I told her (or yelled rather) that I had to push and she said “Ok.” And then turned around and looked at the bathroom door. I
Just as I was about to yell “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU LOOKING AT? WOULD YOU FOCUS PLEASE?!” and then remind her my kid was not coming out of the bathroom, into the room bursts MY doctor. He exchanged half a nod and a couple of words with Dr. Clean shoes and she was out. Of. There. without even a good luck or best wishes to me (not that I really cared at that point).
Now, I’m not sure if my doctor came rushing in with his scrubs on or if he just ripped off his clothes and they were on underneath like Superman or Batman (Did Batman quick change? I have no idea, but I’m sticking with it). All I know is, he was ready to go and in position about one minute after he walked (quickly) in. And by in position, I do not mean 5 feet away staring at the bathroom door.
It didn’t take him long either to assess the situation and realize I was not giving it my best effort. “Ok Kelly, what’s going on? Whimpy pushes are not going to get this baby out. Why aren’t you pushing?” (He’d later apologize for calling me a whimp, but said he figured I could take it because I’m a runner. He knows us well eh?)
Now, for a brief moment Dr Clean shoes and the chaos that had ensued under her lead flashed through my head, but as I was not really in position to be explaining ALL that, I just shouted out the most pressing issue: “It HURTS!!” (um…duh)To which he calmly replied, “Ok…where or how does it hurt?” My response? “I DON’T KNOW!” I didn’t really. My whole nether region basically.
So there was some numbing (that didn’t help) and some baby turning and/or guiding (which FRICKIN’ HURT worse than before), but basically I knew this wasn’t going to get any better until I delivered and now that I knew there was someone PAYING ATTENTION I just gave it all I got. Two pushes later, my OBGYN was telling me to stop for a minute. At the time, I had no idea why. I also didn’t know for sure if I had stopped pushing. I was TRYING not to, but the pressure was so intense I wasn’t really sure if I HAD in fact stopped. Fortunately, I did because I’d later find out my doctor had me stop in order to remove the cord from around my sweet baby girl’s neck.
One push after that and at 7:01 PM, just 3 hours after my water broke, she was FINALLY HERE!!! (Hear that Dr. Clean shoes. THREE pushes.) all 8lbs 14.3 oz of her (and 21 inches long. Yep. She was a big one!).
And as you can see, she was NOT shy about letting the world know she was here. She was screaming like a banshee from the moment she came out. She was also the bluest little baby I’ve ever seen, although you can’t see it in that picture above at all (cord around the neck maybe?). In fact, when they handed her to me, she was so blue and cried so loud that I thought maybe something was wrong (yeah, that’s not a very good picture there to the left, but she’s fresh out of the hopper and you can perhaps see what I’m talking about).
My doctor assured me though that she was fine and after a minute or two they took her across the room to clean her up, get her stats, etc which was completely fine by me because I have a REALLY difficult time holding a newborn while I get stitched back together. Eventually though, I got my little peanut back and all calmed down. Isn’t she cute :-)?
But there’s one last part to this (fabulously long) labor & delivery story: the return of Mr. A. You see, when you have an epidural, usually your anesthesiologist checks on you the next day to see how you’re doing and how it went. True to form, (VERY) early the next morning, Mr. A showed up at my door. And when he asked, I didn’t hesitate to tell him something wasn’t right during delivery. Everything still really hurt even with the epidural. After all, I wouldn’t want some other poor unsuspecting mom to be dealt the same fate in her time of need.
His response? I kid not. This dude looks at me blankly as if I’m some kind of raging moron and says, “well, it was a labor epidural not a delivery epidural. You’re supposed to feel a little discomfort.”
**Deep breath** “A LITTLE discomfort???????!!!!!!!” Did I say I was UNCOMFORTABLE? No, I said it hurt. How ‘bout you endure 2nd verging on 3rd degree tearing in your most sensitive man parts & then and only then will you and I have a little discussion about “discomfort” ok? And what the crack do you mean “labor epidural not a delivery epidural”? I didn’t see an option box when I signed your little paper work. Why on earth would I want pain medication for the labor, but not the delivery? I’m sorry. Are you on drugs? (You know, like say perhaps the drugs I was supposed to have gotten?)
Still I almost let it go at that point because really I just wanted that dude to get out of my room and let me enjoy my little baby. Almost.
But thinking perhaps he had mistook me for a rookie with a low tolerance for pain and I should give him the benefit of the doubt, I opted instead to clarify that I did, in fact, have some idea of how the epidural was supposed to work. “You know,” I told him, “I’ve had two kids before and it never hurt ANYTHING like THAT.” But oh, silly me.
Are you ready? Ready for his brilliant response? First he shrugs his shoulders, then he says to me, “I don’t know. You must have been lucky with the other two.” Luck? LUCK?! GET OUT OF MY ROOM MAN. I. AM. DONE. With you. I seriously wanted to punch him in the face, but instead I just said nothing and he left.
I’d later relay this conversation to my doctor. He made a funny face kind of like when your three year old asks you for something and you have no idea what they’re talking about. He guessed perhaps Mr. A was referring to the difference between blocking the pain for a C-Section versus a vaginal birth. For a C-Section, you don’t need (or want) to feel anything, but when you actually need to push like with a vaginal birth, you want to feel a little bit so you can do so effectively.
But little bit was NOT what I felt. I’ve been there and done that. My doc suggested that maybe I’m just not remembering correctly, but trust me I WOULD HAVE REMBERED THAT. (And for backup purposes, I asked my husband. He’s on my side. He says NO way was that epidural working the way it was with the other two. I was not pouring sweat with either of them.)
I can tell you this much though, should I be blessed with another child, I might as well forgo an epidural entirely. I only had it for 15 minutes or so anyway and if it’s all still going to hurt like a mother, then what’s the point. Besides if my labor time follows suit and is cut in half from 12 hours the first time, to 6 the 2nd, to 3 this time, then that means that next time will be somewhere around an hour and a half. I may not have time for an epidural anyhow (and I should probably live at the hospital in the last trimester for that matter).
The Little Miss and the Tiger adore their baby sister and are so sweet and gentle and loving with her. The Little Miss is THRILLED to do anything to help with the baby and has now changed her list of “what I want to be when I grow ups” from a myraid of things (soldier, nurse, singer, doctor) to just one: mother (say it with me now “awwww”). The Tiger’s big sisterly job is to throw away dirty diapers. She slams those suckers in the trash and throws her arms in the air like she just scored a touchdown, “I did it!” She shouts and does a little happy dance. We high five her after every one of course.
However, The Tiger is also taking out her frustrations about losing her position as the baby in the family on the rest of us, tantrums, biting, a newly acquired fear of the dark, and a general refusal to do anything she is asked unless it is asked by her little abominable snowman stuffed toy (yeah, I have no idea either, but I am slightly tempted to take him with me EVERYWHERE). So please, fee free to share any of your tips for dealing with a 3 year old who seems to have lost her mind, because I’m sort of feeling like I could lose mine on a somewhat daily basis. Who knew that once you have three it’s the baby that’s the easiest?
As for me and my running, not so much yet. I have been doing some walking though and I just made up a training plan with the thoughts of doing a marathon somewhere next fall. It starts Monday so wish me luck!
Oh and I did register for my first race, the Warrior Dash. I figure it can’t be any tougher than what I just went through right? (Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes.)
Happy Thanksgiving ALL!
P.S. I’m planning a Black Friday review & giveaway around these parts so be sure to check back when you’re finished shopping. You have my solemn oath that my giveaway post will NOT be this long.
P.P.S. But in all honesty, you better give me until Sunday to get that review posted. Everything seems to take me waaaaaaay longer these days.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
For real. If you’ve been on the fence, hemming and hawing about whether or not you should attempt to run a marathon and you happen to be a mom, let me just tell you, the whole carrying a living moving person who doesn’t exactly fit inside of you the way you perhaps think they ought to for nine months, then delivering them in a way that at least to me seemed completely mortifying when I first learned THAT little piece of information as a young girl (and ok, sometimes now too) is way harder. WAY. HARDER.
Let’s just say for a second that God’s a runner (just bear with me here) and as a runner, decides to give women everywhere an option. They can run a marathon and then be given their child or they can go through labor and delivery to receive their child. I’m picking the first option. I wouldn’t even think twice about it.
DISCLAIMER: What you are about to read may or may not be too much information. As I am never sure how much information people ACTUALLY want when they pose the inevitable question: “How’d it go?”, but 6 of you said on my FB page that you wanted the details, so details you shall get. I’ll do my best to be discreet, but am making no promises that discreet is actually what follows. If you are sensitive in nature, please just check the highlights in bold print and forgo the in between details of my birthing experience otherwise, you may be scarred for life. You have been warned and as such I assume no responsible for said life scarring. Carry on…(if you dare ;-)
WARNING: This post is long. Very long. Make sure you’re not sitting on your foot or it may fall asleep. Hopefully, the same will not be said for you too (unless you’re reading this at 3 AM because you have insomnia, then by all means, knock yourself right out.)
WARNING: This post contains made up cuss words. I almost NEVER swear. I just don’t, mostly because I don’t want to hear that gobbely gook, coming out of my children the little sponges they are. But apparently, I do cuss a lot in my head. Out of respect for my Grandmother, who reads my posts, I have done my best to soften the verbal garbage that went on in my head while still remaining true to the tale. However, if pretend profanity offends you, I’d suggest you forgo reading the following entirely.
And without further ado, I give you the story of my sweet baby girl’s arrival….
This was not the easiest pregnancy. This was baby number three for me and by all due accounts I got off fairly easy with my first two. Besides the inevitable ever growing baby bumps, I was pretty much spared of all the other less than delightful happenings of pregnancy. A little uncomfortable and a little insomnia with baby girl #2, Tiger, but that’s about it. I actually remember at one point thinking to myself, “I don’t know why women complain about being pregnant so much. It’s not that bad.” I would live to regret those words this time around.
THIS pregnancy, this one was entirely different. In fact, so different, I was nearly certain I MUST be having my first boy (I was wrong). What other explanation could there be? There was morning sickness, a terribly weakened immune system (I caught every virus known to man in the first three months), bleeding, fibroids, headaches, MAJOR discomfort verging on pain, insomnia, and a general constant zombie like state of exhaustion that makes it extremely difficult to do things like, you know, move, much less chase around a three year old who’s already being chased around by a 5 year old.
So by the time September rolled around, I’d had it. HAD. IT. Which was really no problem, because I just KNEW that I was going to have her before the month was out. After all, even though she wasn’t due until Oct 18th, both of my other daughters had come a few weeks early (10 days with baby #1, 3 weeks with numero dos). So SURELY this little girl was going to put an end to her poor mother’s misery and show up even earlier right? RIGHT?! (Wrong again.)
When I flipped the calendar to October and I was STILL pregnant, I was sure that I would be pregnant for the rest of my entire life or at least until the child grew big enough to burst through my stomach. She was certainly not coming out by any traditional means…or so it felt anyway. Seriously. You may be laughing, but I actually started to tell people that. A random stranger spotting my hard to miss ginormous belly would say something like: “Oh look at you tired looking pregnant lady who appears to be ready to pop, when are you due?” Me: “NEVER.” Wide eyed response: “I’m sorry. What?” Me: “Never. This kid is NEVER coming out. I’m going to be pregnant forever.” Nervous laughter from the unsuspecting commenter. Me: blank stare. (Note to the reader: I’m generally not a rude person, but have I mentioned yet that I’d had it? Yeah, even more so constantly repeating the same answers to the same questions, well intentioned and celebratory as they may have been meant to be. At the tail end of your pregnancy, you can only repeat that due date that never seems to be getting any closer to people you don’t know with a smile on your face so many times. I’d reached my limit.)
At my next doctor’s appointment on Thursday, October 13th, my OBGYN sensed my growing distress. I’d been dilated to 3 for awhile and although my OBGYN really thought I was going to go at any moment, on the off chance that I didn’t over the weekend and just couldn’t stand being pregnant anymore, I got the green light to call Monday to schedule an induction. Otherwise, I could just wait her out until it became “medically necessary,” which he thought would be around the 28th (and at that point I believe I was biting through my lip to not yell out, “ARE YOU FRIGGIN’ KIDDING ME?!!)
So I went home and did the only thing I could do. I waited, thinking FOR SURE, she had to be coming over the weekend. (Again. Wrong.)
And then Monday rolled around. **SIGH** The entire day I fought the urge to pick up the phone and make the call. The call, that was basically going to be me saying, “Stick a fork in me. I’m done and quite frankly I don’t care what you do just get this kid out as soon as possible.” But by 3:00PM it was getting really tough to resist. I was just laying on the couch desperately wishing I could fall asleep and take a nap before the Tiger woke up from her nap and/or my husband got home from school with The Little Miss and I had to get her ready for dance class, but I couldn’t sleep. Everything hurt. My back. My ribs. My left side. I just lay there like the great big miserable lump of miserableness I miserably was (do you get that I was miserable already or should I use that word again?)
Then, just minutes before 4:00, I heard the garage door open as my husband and daughter pulled in. It seemingly took ever ounce of energy I had to roll myself off that couch and as I did, in my head (so as not to wake the Tiger) I screamed “Just break already break would ya!” to my water. I know. I’m totally insane. Who talks to their amniotic sac? But here’s the really wild part: it listened….and obeyed. As I stood up, there was a gush. “No way that’s pee.” I thought to myself. (And why would I think that? Because this big giant kid had been putting pressure on my bladder for two months already and I was peeing on myself all that time. What? It happens. Back off.)
And just like the fight scene in an martial arts film, we were on like Donkey Kong! My husband walked in and I told him, “My water just broke. Can you go upstairs, wake the Tiger, and put her in the car?” Then I turned to my daughter and said, “I need you to go change out of your school clothes and get in the car.” To which she replied something or another about dance. “Honey, you’re not going to dance class tonight.” I told her, “instead we’re going to go to the hospital. Your baby sister is ready to come out.” Her face lit up, “MOM! I don’t even care about dance class! I’m so excited.” She ran upstairs to change and shouted back she was going to pack a bag of toys that she would be needing because apparently, like any good big sister knows, the birth of a sibling requires a GIANT back pack full of toys. “Just HURRY!” I told her.
As the kids got loaded into the car and I grabbed a few last minute things for myself, I called the doctor’s office. “Well….” the nurse told me, “I could have you come into the office and we could check to see if it actually is your water that broke…” She paused. I said nothing as my scrambled exhausted pregnancy fried brain tried to best formulate the direct order that was going to come shooting out of my mouth if the very next words out of her mouth were anything other than get yourself to labor and delivery (for those of you who are wondering, it would have been something like this, “LISTEN CAREFULLY. FIND MY DOCTOR. TELL HIM TO MEET MY IN THE DELIVERY ROOM BECAUSE THERE AND ONLY THERE IS WHERE I WILL BE. ARE WE CLEAR OR SHALL I HUNT YOU DOWN AND MAKE IT CLEAR?”)
Fortunately, after her pause and my silence, she came to her senses and remembered this was not my first baby and I probably have a pretty good idea of what my water breaking feels like since it’s already happened to me TWICE before. “Why don’t you just go to labor & delivery. They can check you out there.” (Exactly. Glad my telepathic threatening tone worked.)
So off to the hospital we were, my husband driving as quickly as he could despite my assuring him that we WOULD make it even if he just drove the speed limit; Tiger, still slightly disoriented from her nap; The Little Miss excitedly chattering in the background; and me with ever more frequent contractions growing in intensity.
About half way there as we were about to hop from one expressway to another, I remembered something. “Hey! Honey, remember the last time we did this, for Tiger, the interchange was closed for construction and we had to go the opposite way we wanted to. Then I made you use one of those turn around thingies for emergency vehicles.” We both got a good chuckle, then I shut my eyes, distracted by another contraction. Until I heard, “NO! You have got to be kidding me!” from my husband. Same interchange. New construction. And just like that, we were again headed AWAY from the hospital. Only this time there was also construction on BOTH sides of the freeway AND we were driving in rush hour traffic. There were no emergency turn arounds to sneak through. We had to keep going all the way until the next exit. Really, someone tell me what are the odds that would happen twice?
Eventually though, we did make it to the hospital. And it was at the hospital that I made a few fatal mistakes. Mistakes I’d like to share lest another pregnant mama befall the same fate because I’ve made the same ones THREE TIMES NOW! (And so also for the love of all that’s holy, maybe, just maybe, if I have the good fortune of being blessed with another child, I will come back and read this and NOT make them AGAIN.)
Mistake #1 Not being wheeled into the labor & delivery triage. My husband pulled up to the doors. I got out of the car and started walking to the elevator that would take me to triage despite there being a perfectly kind and wonderful security guard at the door and a delightful woman sitting at an information desk, BOTH of whom would have been more than willing to loan me one of the wheelchairs sitting near the door to get my pregnant butt upstairs. Was I capable of walking? Yes. Fully. Should I have walked? ABSOLUTELY NOT. Why? Because walking is a sign to the staff who will admit you that you are not really in the throws of labor just yet. Beginning stages? Perhaps. But the “you need to get me back into a room asap because I’m going to have this baby faster than you can say go get this woman an epidural stage?” Not so much. Read on and you’ll see why this becomes important.
Mistake #2 Having friendly banter with the triage reception staff. Keep in mind that the reception staff are THE key, THE ONE AND ONLY key to getting back behind those big beautiful double doors that open only from the inside and lead to you finally having your child that there is no longer room for inside of you make his or her grand exit. If the reception staff perceives that you are not in a great deal of pain, (like when you walk up to their desk, smile, and have a little friendly chit chat such as I did) than they are assuming you’ve got a long way to go and as such there’s no rush to get you back behind those doors. So DON’T DO IT. This is NOT the time to suck it up by any stretch of the imagination. Breathe heavily, the way you do after a good speed workout. Moan, like you just got some wicked calf cramps. Try to break a little sweat if you can. But whatever you do, don’t smile and BY GOD WOMAN DON’T HOLD ANYTHING THAT REMOTELY RESEMBLES A CONVERSATION!!!
Mistake #3 Responding to the triage nurse’s question, “How would you like to manage your pain?” with anything other than “GO GET ME THE FRICKIN’ EPIDURAL!” I do this every time. I honestly do not know what my problem is. I did it this time even KNOWING that I shouldn’t do it and what the result what be if I did, but still, I did it anyway. With the Little Miss, when asked this question, I spouted off something like “Oh, I don’t know. I kind of want to see how it goes, but I’m open to the possibility of an epidural.” With the Tiger, it was more like, “Oh yeah, I’ll probably have an epidural.” This time, when asked I said, “Eventually, I’m going to want an epidural.” But let me tell you why even this answer was wrong, wrong, WRONG.
You see, labor can turn on you. And fast. And when it does there’s no pause button or rewind and no matter how politely you ask “Excuse me nurse, can we please back up because now it hurts severely and I’d like to have that epidural 10 minutes ago.” It unfortunately doesn’t work that way. In fact, it doesn’t even work instantly the moment you decide one’s necessary. It doesn’t just BOOM automatically happen. These things take a little time. (THE HORROR. CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT!!) And labor, my friend, well…labor just keeps progressing.
So after I’d been checked and they determined that yes, my water had in fact broke (probably because of the massive puddle I was sitting in), they were off to get my room ready. (Why aren’t they ready already? I don’t get that. Your delivery bed should be much like a Hot ‘n Ready pizza at Little Cesar’s just sitting under the warming lights waiting for you to come get it.) And of course, right about the exact moment my nurse left the room, I entered into that delightful stage of transition labor and suddenly I went from “epidural at some point” to “now, now, NOW!” but my nurse was gone and not just gone, gone under the impression of “epidural at some point” which equates to “she’s still got awhile to go and thus, I need not hurry to get back to her.”But the thing is, I really didn’t have long to go. I really, REALLY didn’t.
Eventually, after what felt like FOR EVER, she returned. My room was ready. “Did I want to walk or be wheeled?” Now, I wouldn’t even have to fake it. I couldn’t walk anymore. My contractions were too close together and way too hard. I began asking for that epidural as they wheeled me to my delivery room. Then again, when they got me into my room. Unfortunately, I forgot (or it didn’t happen before I don’t remember,) they needed to do some blood work first which would take TWENTY MINUTES. I didn’t have twenty minutes to wait for the anesthesiologist to get the results of my blood work and get his behind to my room and I knew it. “Give me something else then.” I told them forcefully. They said they’d have to call my doctor first, which totally threw me for a loop because I figured he ought to be there by then, walking in my room any second. I was after all, ABOUT TO HAVE A BABY “Ok, CALL HIM then.” I said.
The nurse left the room, but came back just a couple minutes after she left. Now, I’d have hoped she’d return with a shot of something, but she came back empty handed to my dismay, although with good news. Apparently the anesthesiologist changed his mind. Something about someone else being in line before me, blah, blah, blah. I really have no idea, but he decided he’d do my epidural without the blood work. “Oh thank God!” I said. I was about to have some relief.
A few minutes later, in walked Mr. Anesthesiologist. He seemed like a normal dude by all accounts, but it didn’t take me long to realize I wasn’t going to be much of a fan of his. Only later would I find to what extent exactly that was true after discovering that he could have been trained in his craft in one location and one location only…Hell. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure Satan himself was his personal mentor.
Mr. A (you make the call on what that A stands) didn’t talk much and was pretty cut and dry. I wouldn’t have held any of that against him though, perhaps that’s just his personality. Each to his own. But he also didn’t seem the least bit concerned that a kid was about to come tearing out of me. I don’t know, maybe when you give epidurals all day, you sort of get immune to the pregnant woman in pain before you that you’re administering meds to, but geez man! How about at least FAKING a little sympathy while I’m in the midst of what seems to be a complete and utter rebellion of my uterus?!
On top of that, it took Mr. A an extraordinarily long time to administer the epidural (don’t remember that with the previous two), it hurt (that either), and he kept making me do all these weird things while he was giving it: shrug your shoulders, drop your chin, arch your back (again, nada). All of which is pure fun when you’re having wicked contractions at the same time and just doing your best not to move or say maybe, kick someone.
When he finally finished, they put me on my left side which I knew was going to be a bust. The left side, never works for me. I know there’s something about more blood thus more oxygen to the baby that way, but my body disagrees that the left is the best position. With the Tiger, every time I was on my left side while pregnant, I’d have contractions. Eventually, in the delivery room, when they put me on the left side, everyone came racing in because Tiger’s heart rate dropped so low. With this baby, whenever I’d lay on my left, I just hurt. So too, in the delivery room I had these weird stabbing pains in my hip. Mr. A in a BRIEF and fleeting moment of compassion suggested I lay on the right and then left room (but don’t you worry, he’s going to be making a return).
After that was all sort of worked out (sort of because the pain never REALLY subsided much) the nurse told me she was going to step out to make my baby bracelets and to just let her know when I started to feel some pressure. I kid you not. THE moment she left the room. I felt pressure and not a little bit. NO WAY. I thought. Not yet. I was supposed to get an hour or two to just rest up and veg a little and besides, my doctor STILL wasn’t there yet. (WHERE THE CRACK WAS HE ANYWAY?) I let that contraction go by and said nothing to anyone. The next one came. I was literally pouring sweat the pressure was so intense. I think I mouthed an angry DON’T TOUCH ME to my husband. On the third one, I looked at my husband and my mom and said, “You better go get someone to check me RIGHT NOW.”
I don’t know which one did. I just know I really had to push and it really hurt like a mother trucker. The nurse came back in pretty quickly with someone, “this is so and so. She’s a so and so.” For real now. I swear the nurse could have been Charlie Brown’s school teacher. I have no idea what she was saying about who she brought in with her. All I caught was the tail end part when she said, “ She can check to see where you’re at.” I literally wouldn’t have cared if that mystery guest was an acrobat at that point, as long as she was willing to reach up there where the sun don’t shine and tell me if I ought to start pushing. She did and I needed to. I was at 10. Totally effaced. The nurse looked kind of shocked. It had been maybe 15 minutes since the epidural, just a little more than 2 hours since my water broke. “Ok…I’ll go call your doctor again. Try not to push, but if you have to, the on-call physician blah, blah, blah.”
I’m sorry WHAT?! Why exactly were they still “CALLING” my doctor? See. This my friends is exactly why sucking it up and toughing it out does you ABSOLUTELY NO GOOD. I was under the impression he was going to be there any minute. THEY were still calling to give him updates. I knew exactly at which part of the hospital facility his office was located and how long it was going to take him to get there if he was still at said office and I COULDN’T WAIT THAT LONG.
FLASHBACK (insert your wavy lines and Wayne’s World doodley doos here): With my first daughter, the Little Miss, labor and delivery was 12 hours total, from water break to here’s your crying (precious) baby girl with about 30 minutes of pushing. With my second daughter, the Tiger, L & D was 6 hours, and I pushed that kiddo out in 7 MINUTES. I think it was 3, maybe 4 pushes. SWEAR. (Yeah. You can say it. I’m a child birthing rock star. ;-) So you see now perhaps, why I was at this point FREAKING OUT.
But back to fighting against contractions with baby girl #3…
I DID NOT want to have my baby with some other random doctor I’d never met. She didn’t know me or anything about my labor and delivery history. She didn’t know that I have massively huge kids, with big ole heads and teeny little soft spots that come out perfectly round, not in the least bit cone shaped. Nor did she know they come out really REALLY fast and because of all this I was probably going to need an episiotomy in a serious kind of way and soon. And she probably also didn’t know that I had some great big stupid fibroid partially blocking the exit route this time that might turn this into a C-Section. WHERE WAS MY DOCTOR FOR CRYING OUT LOUD?!!!
The next contraction came. I fought it. Then one more. “YOU BETTER GO GET THAT OTHER DOCTOR!” I told the nurse in a probably not so nice way (shame on me). I honestly felt like my body was going to have this baby without me and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I had no choice. I had to push. It hurt more than anything I’ve ever experienced in my life (Epidural? HELLO?!! Why aren’t you helping even a little?).
Now what I expected was that this on call OBGYN would come running in all ready like the virtual superhero she was to me, scrubbed up, ready to go, perhaps her superhero cape billowing in the breeze behind her as she moved faster than a speeding bullet to get into position. I’d give it a couple of pushes and be holding my sweet baby girl. But THAT was sooooooooooooooo not what happened. So. Not. I still can’t even believe what happened next.
To be continued…
P.S. We’re really getting to the good part now…
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
So first off, I just want to say that you all are the most wonderful blog readers a gal could ever have. Seriously. I totally did not expect what I got after that last post.
Furthermore, I don’t think I realized how nervous I was exactly about the news last week and how much I needed some words of encouragement, at least not until I started reading all your comments. I’m not really a big crier, but you guys literally had me in tears. You were all so reassuring and supportive and I can not even begin to tell you all how much your kind words, thoughts, and prayers meant to me. By the end of the day, I was in a much better place mentally and that, I believe, can be almost solely attributed to your words. So THANK-YOU!!! You guys ROCK!!!
And how quickly things change! Now just a week later, I’m looking at almost an entirely different diagnosis. Things are progressing rapidly (THANK GOODNESS!!!). It seems my little peanut has been able to weasel her little head down around that bouncer after all and now with that extra added pressure the doors have opened 2 centimeters (and 70% effaced). YAY!!!
We’re still not totally out of the clear and a C-Section is not entirely off the table, but it’s looking less likely at this point. The plan right now is we’re going to just give it a go in labor and delivery and see if she can make it out on her own. But after reading the stories you all so graciously shared with me, I know we’re going to be just fine however she decides to make her entrance.
And on another note, if I DON’T have a C-Section and anybody has any suggestions on how exactly to explain to my 5 year old, The Little Miss, how her sister made her arrival, I am all ears. As of late, I have been repeatedly told “Mommy, make SURE you ask the doctor how he got her out afterwards ok.” Seems she’s not entirely confident with her through the belly button in a burst of sparkles theory after all. (Help please.)
Lastly, I would just like to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY to TIGER!!!
Can’t you just see it right there in her eyes? Yes, she’s super sweet, but there’s something in her eyes (and maybe that stain on her jacket) that spells trouble, T-I-G-E-R, trouble. She’s the big 3 today!
So that’s the update for now. I’m back to the doctor’s next week…or not. Let’s hope not. And the next picture I post will be of another super sweet, brand new baby girl :-)
Friday, September 23, 2011
So yep. Still pregnant.
And yep. Still running :-)
Had a doctor’s appointment yesterday and the baby’s good. I’m good. But we do have a slight issue. Remember that fibroid tumor that was not supposed to be a problem? It’s starting to look a little more like one. (For those of you just joining us, don’t let the word tumor throw you. They’re fairly common and also benign growths in the uterus, or at least that’s where mine are. I have no idea if you can get them elsewhere. I have two. One’s teeny tiny. The other, less so. That’s the one I’m talking about.)
It was supposed to grow MAYBE a little more and move on upward and out of the way the more pregnant I got and the last time my OBGYN looked at it, that was pretty much the case.
Not so much anymore. It seems my new baby girl’s in-utero play thing, has not only gotten bigger, but is also growing in the wrong direction effectively blocking a sizeable portion of her exit.
Now, at this point with both of my other daughters, we had some progress already. They were both dutifully head down and low and the exit doors were beginning to open. And although this baby is making a serious effort to do the same and get her head down, she just can’t seem to move it entirely into position, thus no pressure on the doors without which have not shown the slightest hint of opening. **SIGH**
So what does all this mean exactly? Basically, we’re just still waiting to see what happens. There’s still a chance, according to my doc, that this big burly bouncer blocking the doorway could step aside and give my baby girl a pass. If not, then we’re probably looking at a c-section which could possibly get a little messy if the fibroid is in the way, which it may or may not be.
In light of all this, I’ve got two requests:
1. If you’ve had a C-Section, please leave me a little comment on what it was like, recovery time, tips, etc. because, yeah, I’m a little nervous. I’m looking for words of encouragement here people. So please, no horror stories.
2. If you’re of the praying type, I’d certainly appreciate a few offered up for my baby girl and I and a safe delivery one way or the other.
And on a positive note, it turns out that my 5 year old, The Little Miss may have been right about more than just the sex of the baby. She also told me a while back she was pretty sure how her sister would be coming out: via the belly button…with a burst of sparkles. Ok maybe no sparkles, but seriously, what are the odds?
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
DISCLAIMER: I am not a doctor, nor do I play one on tv. Whether or not running during YOUR pregnancy is a good idea for you is a decision that should be made based on the advice and counsel of your OBGYN or other medical professional who will be monitoring your pregnancy. You should not by ANY means simply assume that just because this running mom blogger is running while pregnant (RWP) that you should too. For that matter, how do you even know that I am a pregnant running mom blogger? I could be a hairy morbidly obese middle aged man in my underpants who takes great pleasure in his multiple online personas on of which happens to be a pregnant running mom. You just never know. (Be careful online folks! There’s a lot of creepos out there. But I digress…)
Motherhood starts well before your little miss or mister makes their grand entrance into the world. From the moment we find out we’ve been blessed with a child, our primary responsibilities are to love our little one(s) and keep them safe. So don’t just take the word of this random blogger you’ve never met. Do yourself and your unborn child a favor and talk with your doctor before you lace up those kicks. Ok. Onto the post…
My OBGYN is a runner, mostly halfs and triathlons when I first met him, but then after I told him about running the Detroit Free Press Marathon at my yearly checkup, the inner competitor kicked in a bit. “It’s been a long time since I had a patient out run me.” I believe were his exact words. So it didn’t really come as a shock to me that the next time I saw him he had not only run the Detroit Marathon himself, but also qualified for Boston. (Big One Upper.)
Although he would actually prefer that I swim while pregnant (secretly I think this is his way of pushing me into tris), he’s still been a pretty big fan of me running with a few slight modifications. Slow down. Pay attention to your body. Don’t get out of breath. Don’t run so many miles. Keep your heart rate in check. That kind of stuff.
Regardless though, my attempts to run while pregnant with both the Little Miss & the Tiger pretty much fell flat. With the Little Miss I ran about 3 months or so into my pregnancy, then had a major bout of bleeding (after lifting and moving a bunch of tables at work b/c yes, yes I am an idiot. Duh!) that sent me to the ER and put me on modified bed rest (read: lay out and tan at the pool) for a few days. Long story short, the Little Miss was fine. The cause of said bleeding was never discovered. I was cleared to run again, but afraid to do so. So, I didn’t. I walked some. I ate A LOT. I gained 60+ pounds with that pregnancy.
Then came the Tiger. Again, I had plans to run through the pregnancy. Again, I had some bleeding although not nearly as severe and scary as with the Little Miss. This time the root cause was easily identified. I had a polyp which is basically no big deal, kind of like a skin tag but where the sun don’t shine (is this way TMI?). My marathoning doc said I could keep running, but I was exhausted from chasing around the Little Miss and the bleeding every once in awhile freaked me out, little though it may be. By 4 months, I threw in the towel and settled on walking….sometimes.
This time, it was entirely different. I was soooooooo wickedly tired at the beginning of my pregnancy and constantly sick. Although, I blame the sickness much less on my baking baby and more on her sisters who seemed to catch every virus known to man this past winter. With my immune system slightly weakend, I just didn’t have much defense against all the creeping crud they kept coming home with. I ran for the first month. Then I quit. Entirely. No walking. Nothing, for the next 3 or so months. I was mostly just trying to survive. I promise you, I’ve never been so tired in my entire life.
But the zombielike state eventually faded in the second trimester and so too did the bugs that seemed to keep attacking my family. I was desperate to move again and stretch those legs. So at 4 1/2 pushing 5 months pregnant, I strapped on the heart rate monitor, laced up the shoes and went for a run. Carefully. I’m now 35 weeks pregnant and I’ve been running ever since, albeit slower and the walking intervals that I toss in there to keep my heart rate down have gotten much longer. But I am running nonetheless!
And now that I’ve run so far into my pregnancy, I’ve learned a thing or too about a thing or too. There are some major pluses to running so full of child and some…not so much. So here’s my list of the best AND the worst of running while pregnant (RWP) for your amusement:
THE BEST: I have a tiny little running partner. She doesn’t talk much, but she never complains. Sometimes I can feel her moving around while I’m running and I know it’s silly but I like to imagine she’s running in there too. “Alright ma, let’s go! Bring it on!” One day, if she becomes a runner, I’ll tell her we ran together before she could even walk…or see where she was going for that matter.
THE WORST: I also run with an enemy…my heart rate monitor. I do believe we’ve covered this before here. So I’ll spare you all the details again. While I understand it’s purpose and necessity, I DESPISE having my runs dictated to me. We are also frequently in disagreement with respect to the amount of effort I’m putting in, my heart rate monitor and I that is. The heart rate monitor wins every time and I slow down to a walk. I hate that. Big bossy bully.
THE BEST: Running cures both my insomnia and restless legs. Plus an extra bonus: more energy. Weird things happen to me during pregnancy. For no apparent reason, I can’t sleep for entire nights even though I’m fully exhausted. Then I get this “if I don’t move my legs I might scream at the top of my lungs in a fit of rage” feeling, which I’m sure my husband would just love me to do at around 2:00 in the morning. It’s hard to describe but it’s mostly in my knees and ankles. It also happens if I sit for a long period of time, like in a car or something. But running is like a little magic pill. On the days I run, I fall asleep and my legs seem to do the same. PLUS, I can make it through that it’s 3ishPM and I can barely keep my eyes open portion of the day. You know what I’m talking about. It’s usually right about the time your kids are super wound up from being home from school and you need to start making dinner. That time of the day.
THE WORST: Three words: Maternity Running Clothes. UGH! This is so not fair. Did you realize there actually are cute maternity running clothes? But they are ridiculously expensive (IMO). It frustrates me to no end particularly because I think for most pregnant running mamas, they run under the banner of “I will only run as long as it’s safe for the baby and I to do so,” and really, we have no idea how long that’ll be. MAX we’re talking 10 months (and come one, you don’t REALLY need maternity running clothes the first few, so really we’re talking even less). Who wants to pay $50 or $60 for a running skirt that you’re only going to wear for a few months? Not me. No thank-you. No matter how delightfully snug it may be around my baby belly.
So what do I run in then? I know that’s your burning question. Fortunately, I can actually still fit in one of my, ahem, more robust running skirts (albeit slightly shorter now to make up for the extra junk in my trunk since that seems to be where I gain most of my baby weight. Yes, I know that makes no sense since I am not actually carrying my baby in my a$$, but the weight still seems to congregrate in that general area like grade school girls at a Justin Beiber concert or something.)
And on top? Well, I’ve finally outgrown my last tech shirt (that I unknowingly ordered in a man’s size back when I got it), so I’m down to two options. I steal my husband’s running shirts OR I just wear a sports bra and go belly commando, which I actually think is more fun…and also funny. In fact, it’s funny enough that my husband decided to whip out a video camera and immortalize it on film last week. If I had any guts I’d post it. But for now, it’s safely locked away and secure…for my husband to blackmail me with at an undisclosed future date I’m sure.
THE BEST: Less baby weight. I realize I’ve still got a few weeks to go, but right now I’m still under my baby weight gain that I had with my other daughters. One word: Booyah!
THE WORST: Maintaining a pace and skipping the race. So frustrating. Period. When I run now, my pace is (because I know you’re all dying to know) about 15 minutes per mile. And while, this feels like a pretty good clip while carrying a bouncing baby girl, I used to walk at that pace on my treadmill. And sometimes, I can’t even maintain that pace for more than a minute or two without my heart rate skyrocketing. Because of this and since I am by nature a highly competitive person, I’ve steered clear of participating in any races. I don’t want to get sucked into running faster than I should be. But I HAVE gone to cheer all my family and friends on at their races. **SIGH** I miss it.
THE BEST: I can see clearly now the rain is gone…or something like that. Since I’ve had kiddos, running has become a way for me to clear my head. It’s one of the very few times that I am surrounded by silence and can actually think uninterrupted by shouts of “Mommy!”. When I’m not running, such as those early months of this pregnancy, I’m frustrated and just ready to snap. I walk around with a furrowed brow and a heavy weight on my shoulders. The longer I don’t run, the more it builds and builds until some poor unsuspecting soul, which generally tends to be my husband (poor guy) bears the brunt of my frustration. On the other hand, today, a day I ran, I’m calm, relaxed and much more able to patiently handle whatever the day (or my kids) throw at me.
THE ABSOLUTE WORST: PEEING Even when I’m not pregnant, I frequently have to pee during a run. Even when I’m not running, I frequently have to pee while pregnant. So it really should be no shocker then that when I am RWP I frequently have to pee. But it really is SO very absurd because the minute I start to run on the treadmill, it’s like that bathroom trip I made just before I started was all in my imagination. I basically spend the whole run these days, holding it. And let me tell you something, holding it when you’re pregnant and running and thus your baby is bouncing on your bladder is not always a good thing. And we’re not talking dribble dribble if you catch my drift. So gross.
THE ABSOLUTE BEST (I HOPE): Get back to running sooner. I don’t actually know this for certain since I’ve never run this far into a pregnancy myself before, but from what I hear the longer you’re able to maintain running while pregnant the easier it is to return to running post partum. Makes sense. So maybe there’ll be a turkey trot for me in the very near future after all? Ahhh…just thinking of that makes me smile :-)
And there you have it. The best and the worst, in my humble opinion, of RWP. If you have in the past or are currently RWP and you think I’ve missed one of the best or worst aspects of doing so, be sure to let us know in the comments. It is, after all, highly likely I forgot something. I’ve had “swiss cheese head” as one of my runners likes to call it a TON lately.
P.S. Baby watch update: at my doctor’s visit last week, I was measuring good, baby gal’s heartbeat was good, and she was head down in launch position. However, she still hasn’t moved down to the launching pad which is locked up pretty tight at this point. But any day now…I just know it ;-) I’ll be sure to let you all know what the doc says next week.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Aww…come on you. You know by now I’m going to force you FB’ers to click all the way over to the post don’t you? (And by FB’ers I mean Facebook. No, I’m not swearing at you.)
And so before I announce the winner, let me just say this: if that winner does not wind up being you, it just so happens that I got a little coupon in my email inbox earlier today from RoadID. It’s for whopping 15% off of your entire purchase. Now, I have no idea if this is a just good for me use only once kind of coupon or if it’s being randomly offered use it as many times as you like coupon.
I checked their site and I don’t see it listed anywhere (and by anywhere I mean prominently displayed on their homepage, b/c I didn’t actually click around and search for it or anything. I’m trying to get this all written while the Little Miss finishes her bedtime routine. You know, put on pjs, brush teeth, brush hair, get into bed, before I have to go read her bedtime story so I only have a couple of minutes to spare, no time for a coupon search.)
Anyway, what I’m saying here is this coupon may or may not work for you and it’s quite possible it will only work for one of you once. So first come first serve. But hey, I figure a coupon code is a coupon code and it’s always worth a shot. This one expires September 30th and again is for 15% off of your order. The code is: Backtoschool So get yourself something nice, it’s 15% on me ;-).
But that one lucky winner who’s getting a RoadID of her choice entirely for free is…
Congratulations!!! And congratulations on your pregnancy too Automomma (no she was not selected because she, much like me, is pregnant. My 5 year old pulled her name out of a big bowl and she can’t even read yet. It was pure luck. Swear.)
Send me a message at firstname.lastname@example.org Automomma and I’ll fill you in on the details.
Everyone else, enjoy your night! More giveaways to come!
Friday, August 26, 2011
So the general consensus from my blog readers, as well as from my friends and family in general, is that I’m having a boy. Whether it’s because of the way I’m carrying, or how different this pregnancy has been, or even just because I already have two girls, most people have guessed that we’ll finally be adding some blue to all the pink & purple around here. In fact, out of my family I do believe the Little Miss was THE only one to guess girl.
And I won’t drag this out, because I know the suspense is just killing you all. Well, almost all of you. There is that one blog reader who got online and tracked down my registry because she couldn’t take the wait any longer. Yep, I know you did it you big peeker you! It was the Facebook tease post that drove you over the edge today wasn’t it? (And if any of you are wondering why I have a registry for baby #3, that’d have to do with the fact that almost all of my baby stuff was in the basement. You know, the same basement that flooded about a month ago. I’ve got A LOT of stuff to replace and so I’m all about getting some of those “Congratulations on your new baby! Anything left on your registry we’ll give you a discount on” discounts.)
But for the rest of you who waited so patiently, I’m thrilled to tell you all that we are being blessed with a
And let me just go ahead and answer the top three questions I’ve been getting whenever somebody finds out.
1. Oh are you disappointed? Did you want a boy? Heck no! I love my girls. I’m used to girls. And quite frankly, I’m a little intimidated by the thought of a boy considering both my girls are high energy and super rambunctious. If it is as I’ve been told (over and over) that little boys are far more of a handful than little girls, I have no idea how I would be able to handle that. Besides, my husband says we’re still working on balancing out the testosterone around here so we needed another girl(HA HA).
2. Are you going to try again for a boy after this one? I have no idea. One baby at a time please. And if all we ever have are three girls, we have been TREMENDOUSLY blessed. BIG TIME.
3. What’s her name going to be? Um…A little help on this one please? We have no clue and can’t seem to agree on anything and we’re running out of time to come up with something. So by all means, leave us a suggestion with your favorite girl names and we’ll be eternally grateful.
And so there you have it, another little running princess will be welcomed into the family soon. We’re all very excited around here to meet her and I can’t wait to share her stories with you all too!
Monday, August 22, 2011
I’ve been asked….repeatedly (you know who you are ;-) but don’t worry you’re not the only one) for a picture of the baby belly.
And I’ll be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely excited to post one. It’s not that I don’t just adore how I look pregnant or anything (although adore may be stretching it.) It just happens to be the hottest summer in my area in 134 years. With two little girlies to chase around while in my last trimester of pregnancy, that doesn’t exactly have me putting my best face forward in photos if you know what I mean. I’m hot, tired, sweaty and I’ve given up on much more than a ponytail or a hat.
All that being said, here’s me in all my pregnant glory…
I’m behind Ole Miss. That’s Tiger and I heading off at the beginning of her big fun run. I’m wearing the only race tech shirt that still fits.
Also field day, here my nephew (whom I’m not allowed to show you) just nailed me with a water balloon. I realize you can’t totally see my belly, but this picture makes me laugh every time I see it because as I’m getting soaked Tiger is entirely oblivious to the real purpose of water balloons. She just kept squeezing them ‘til they’d pop.
This was today. I’m 8 months.
And now that you’ve officially seen the baby belly. I have one question, boy or girl? Any guesses?
Need a few more details to make an accurate educated (old wives’ tale) sort of guess? Here’s 10 random factoids about my pregnancy for you to consider:
1) I have two girls already.
2) I thought both times my girls were boys. They weren’t.
3) My gut told me right away this was a boy.
4) No morning sickness whatsoever with the first two. This one I spent the first 4 months with either morning sickness, a virus, or some combination of the two.
5) Far more tired and uncomfortable this time than I remember with either of my other pregnancies (although, this time I have two kiddos to chase around, one of whom is in fact, a Tiger).
6) This baby is constantly moving. ALWAYS. (although, my placenta was in the front for both girls & my OBGYN said you feel less movement when that’s the case. This time it’s in the back.)
7) Although I’m wickedly tired, it takes FOREVER to fall asleep and I can’t sleep more than an hour or two at a time.
8) My belly button is still in with no signs of making an outward appearance.
9) The Little Miss says we’re having a girl.
10) Tiger thinks we’re having a pony.
Ok…so there’s way more than you ever wanted to know about me being pregnant, but I know there’s all kinds of theories out there as to how you can tell if someone’s having a boy or a girl so I thought I’d give you a few details.
So what do you think? Boy or Girl? (Or pony?)
P.S. I probably should mention I already know and have been keeping it a secret. A few of you know already too, so don’t spill it! I’ll do that on Friday :-)
P.P.S. Did you see I posted a Road ID Giveaway just before the weekend? Here’s your chance to win a Road ID of your choice! Don’t miss it!
Thursday, August 18, 2011
In honor of our recent life altering accomplishment of reaching the big 5 0 0 “likes” on Facebook (I still can’t believe it. I’d like to thank the academy…) and Road ID’s awesome new product launch, I do believe a celebration of sorts is in order. And of course, any good blog celebration really means only one thing: GIVEAWAY!!! So read on my friend, there’s one coming!!!
Now, many of you are already aware I’m a HUGE fan of Road ID. For those of you who missed my original review (complete with thug duckery and toddler trauma) it’s right here for the reading should you have a little spare time on your hands. But since most of you are running moms and at the mention of “spare time” probably just laughed out loud so hard you snorted, I’ll give you the abbreviated version and save you a click.
Basically, Road ID is a form of personal identification you wear when you go out for a run because (and I know we don’t like to think about this but) you just never know when something could happen. Your Road ID will speak for you when you can’t.
Now last year, the product I was sent to try out was the Wrist ID Elite. That’d be my pretty little Road ID right there. It’s got my name, a few important people to call, and the fact that I’ve got a medication allergy on it. It’s sleek, adjustable, customizable, waterproof and not in the least bit irritating in any way. Swear. I LOVE it and pretty much would feel naked at this point running without it. And while I realize running in the buff is becoming more and more in fashion these days, SO not for me, particularly not while 8 months pregnant. (Can you just imagine? No wait…don’t. Please. I beg you.)
So when Scott from Outside PR contacted me again to see if I’d be game for trying out a couple of new Road ID products, I TOTALLY was.
This time he wanted me to give the new Slim ID a shot, but not JUST me. He thought it’d be great for my daughters too. I jumped at the chance for the Little Miss to get one. Now that she’s in school and away from me a lot more, I like the idea of someone being able to contact me immediately if she gets into trouble. They’ll be no looking for her file or trying to pull up her information on a computer, wherever she is her teacher/sub/principle/playground supervisor or whoever can just take a look right at her wrist and call me. I especially like the idea of it for field trips when the everyday routine at school is anything BUT routine.
I also like it because since I first found out about Road ID a year ago, we’ve learned that the medication allergy I have didn’t fall far from the tree. The Little Miss has got it too and it’s a fairly commonly used medication so I like the fact that she’s wearing that warning information right on her wrist. In the case of an emergency, medical personnel would know about her allergy even if they hadn’t gotten a hold of me yet or say perhaps I was involved in the same accident and unable to tell them (**shudder** gosh I REALLY don’t like thinking about this stuff, but it’s SO very important we do, even if just for a moment to take care of business).
So I let the Little Miss design her own Road ID, which mostly just means she chose the color of hers and yep, I certainly let her choose mine too. Pink of course. Here’s her receiving her fancy schmancy “new bracelet”:
I really have no idea what she’s eyeballing over there in the corner, but I promise you the excitement is for her package. She loves getting mail!
And here’s the two of us looking tough with our matching id’s:
Now, these Slim ID’s are very similar to the Wrist ID Elite. Pretty much the same sleek materials, only…slimmer (that totally went without saying didn’t it?) They’re about the size of those Live Strong bracelets that you now see everywhere with all sorts of different things on them.
They’ve got a line less of text than the Wrist ID Elite (but still PLENTY of room to get all the vital info on them). Also unlike the Elite, they’re not adjustable. The Wrist ID Elite you cut to make fit your wrist once you receive it. These you just slide on. No cutting required, but don’t worry about fit because Road ID’s got you covered with a handy dandy little measuring chart so you can be sure to order just the right size (and you don’t even need a tape measure to do so, only a dollar bill. Do they think of everything or what?)
So The Little Miss, much as expected, loves this bracelet with her name on it and our little extra added message of: “We love you!!!.” In fact, I’m currently listening to her snore away in my bed as I type, sleeping oh so peacefully and yes, still wearing her bracelet. And you know, considering this is how she wears a bike helmet:
I’m thinking it’s wise to have a Road ID on her wrist (but then again, she is wearing it for an art project and not actually ON a bike. Still, I’m thinking better safe than sorry right?)
As for the Tiger. I. AM. KICKING. MYSELF. You all know my Tiger right? Leave her alone in a room for a nap and she’ll find the one unplastic protected stray wooden corner to chew apart or the tiniest hole in a pillow and do this: (I thought she took a two hour nap. She was soooooo quiet as she literally destroyed that pillow. Seriously, you are only looking at one corner of the room and it was EVERYWHERE. She was so fully proud of herself too. I on the other hand, had no idea there could be so much fluff in just one pillow!)
So I declined the offer to make a Slim ID for the Tiger thinking realistically, she’d probably just eat it or choke on the little metal information bar (although now that I see it live and in person, I’m not sure that bar is choking size. Swallowing size? Yes. Choking size? I don’t think so, plus it’d be really REALLY tough to get off anyway.)
Now, she hasn’t noticed her sister’s yet, but she did mine as I gave her a bath and after a lot of pleading, I finally took mine off and let her wear it. She totally digs it and just thinks she’s something else wearing her “bracelet.” I never saw her put it anywhere near her mouth even once. Apparently, her pretty pretty jewelry does not fall into the devour it quickly category like most other things around the house. (I mean really, who eats their jewelry? I should know better.) I totally should have gotten one for her and just taken it off during naps and at bedtime when she’s out of my watch that one like a hawk view. Ah well…hindsight….you know.
But anyway, I do believe Road ID nailed it with another sweet product here. They’re the perfect size, totally durable and best of all, they want to GIVE one of you lucky readers one! And not just a Slim ID, but ANY ONE YOU WANT!!! The Sport ID, The Wrist ID Elite, The Slim ID, The Shoe ID, The Ankle ID, The Fixx ID (which kind of looks like dog tags), they’ve got an ID for pretty much anywhere you want to put it. They’ve even got a brand new SCOUT ID for your fine furry friends. That’s right! You read that correctly, that’s the other new product the brains behind Road ID have come up with. It fits any 1 inch wide collar and even works great with horse bridles too! So pet lovers, take note because a Scout ID is an available choice for the winner of this giveaway too!
And there’s just one more thing I want to mention before I get to this giveaway (I know, I know, I’m going on and on here, but I’m almost done and you’ve got scrolling powers. If I’m making you crazy already, just scroll on down.)
Not long after I had received my first Road ID, I started purchasing them for the runners I love in my life: my husband, my mom, my dad. But one person that never crossed my mind to purchase one for was my Grandma (Busia to my girls for any of you Polish peeps out there). Afterall, she isn’t a runner. That all changed though when she was out shopping one day and fell down getting off the escalator. Disoriented when the store staff came to help her, she couldn’t remember anyone’s phone number to call. She was ok, but it scared her and it scared us. What if she hadn’t been ok? My Dad got online right away and ordered her up a Road ID. Now when she goes anywhere, she’s got a list of her kids & grandkids phone numbers right on her wrist. Road ID is NOT just for runners. It’s for anyone.
So let’s not waste any more time and get another Road ID out on somebody’s wrist (or ankle, or shoe, or beloved pet):
REQUIRED TO ENTER:
1) Be a follower of this blog. It’s the only way I can find you if you win! If you are already, GREAT. If not, peek over to the right sidebar. It’ll take you all of two seconds to become one.
2) Leave me a comment. Tell me and the fine folks at Road ID who in your life you’d like to see wearing a Road ID and why? (And yes, it’s completely fine if that person is you.)
Once you’ve done both of those things, you’re in. But if you’d like to better your odds, here’s a few ways to increase your chances of winning:
- Like Road ID on Facebook
- Like Secrets of A Running Mom on Facebook
- Update your Facebook Status about this contest
- Follow Road ID on Twitter
- Follow Me on Twitter
- Tweet about this contest
- Mention this contest in your favorite online running community (Mom on the Run Community perhaps?)
- Tell some people you know who you think might be interested in Road ID about this contest
- Send a massive spam email to all your friends on your email list about this contest (KIDDDING!!! Just maybe pick the ones you think might be interested and let them know. Don’t spam. Nobody likes spam. If you are a spammer. Stop it.)
- Blog about this contest
- Add me to your blog roll
- Add a link to this contest somewhere on your blog or website
- Do something else totally creative that I haven’t thought of yet, that would spread the word about this contest and Road ID
Do as many or as few as you like, each method will be worth one additional entry into the giveaway. You’ll just need to let me know which methods you’ve done and you can do so in just one comment. Deadline for entering the contest is Tuesday, September 6th, 2011. I’ll have one of my kiddos randomly select the winner from a big bowl of entries and announce it the next day. The winner will have one week to contact me, otherwise I’ll let the kiddo who didn’t get to draw a winner take a turn and we’ll try again.
P.S. I would HIGHLY suggest following Road ID on Facebook or Twitter. They have the SWEETEST giveaways. Massive giveaways. I’m talking Trek Bikes, running shoes, all sorts of goodies that you don’t want to miss out on. Or, you know, DON’T follow them. That’s cool by me. In fact, pretend I didn’t even mention this (I will win a Road ID Giveaway one day, I will win a Road ID giveaway one day. I will win…)
P.P.S. For those of you who don’t want to wait for this giveaway to end, you just want to order a Road ID RIGHT NOW, I’ve got about 15 more days left on my tell a friend coupon. It’s good for a dollar off any ID and can be used up to 20 times. So feel free to use it. First come first served. Enter this code at checkout: ThanksKelly8174064