My Marriage in Dog Years

On Monday, we celebrated our 2nd Wedding Anniversary. Woo hoo! And yes, you did the math correctly - two years married, two (well, almost two) babies. Oh my : )

And when we woke up Monday morning, Daniel said to me - "Gosh. I can't believe we've only been married two years. It feels a lot more like seven years, at least!" And you know what? I couldn't agree more! And we don't mean this in a bad way - it just feels like we've been through ALOT in the last two years - enough stuff that it should be equivalent to at least 7 years of marriage. I feel like we've both aged 7 years (note the salt and pepper hair we are both sporting now vs. our wedding photos from April 2009). And so I've made the executive decision that we should measure our marriage in modified dog years from now on. Each calendar year will equal 3.5 marriage years - therefore, we have been married 7 years. And next year, we will have been married 10.5 years. Makes sense to me, how 'bout you? : )

Oh, and I also had a birthday last week. I turned the big 2-8. I don't stress about birthdays or getting older in the least - mainly because I feel like I should be 30 by now. Why? I have no idea. I think it has a a lot to do with my former life in Public Relations. I moved up the corporate ladder relatively quickly - managing a team of 20 people by the age of 24 (the majority of whom were older than me by 5-10 years). I guess during that time I felt I needed to be perceived as older than I was - you know, a more "respectable" age so people wouldn't try to walk all over me. And while I've left that lifestyle in the past, my mindset must still be catching up to an extent. I never lied about my age back then - but I didn't openly discuss it either. Graduation dates, birth years, etc. were purposely never discussed. Strange to think about now - but at the time, I felt it was 100% necessary. There was a lot of "dog and pony shows" in those days. I'm SO much happier living as a mama - Paige doesn't care how old I am, as long as I give her big hugs and kisses everyday. And fill up her sippy cup when empty. Anyway... I digress : )


So when someone asks me my age, I always want to say "30" and have to think for a second and then answer with the truth - 28. So until I actually turn 30, I kind of feel like these years are bonus years for me. But I wonder how I'll feel when I actually TURN 30. And what about when I turn 31? 32? Maybe in the years after 30, my mind will stay stuck on the 30 mark and I'll end up being one of those women who celebrate their 10th 30th birthday when they turn 40 : ) 

Bumps, Bruises and Blood: Am I Ready For a Boy?

There is a reason why I pursued a Public Relation degree in college and not a Nursing degree like so many of my besties. And no, it's not because I liked to hear myself talk in the Public Speaking classes : ) It's because I have a major aversion to blood and bloody events. I mean, does anyone really LIKE dealing with blood? Yes - my nurse friends. But Daniel informed me the other day that I better start getting used to it because raising a boy will be a lot more bloody than raising a girl. Here's what happened:

Daniel recently took up mountain biking as part of his fitness and weight loss kick. NOTE: Does anyone else see the irony in timing? He decides to get fit just as his wife (me) gains weight like a bear preparing for hibernation while prego? I informed him I'm still keeping chocolate and ice cream in the house - a prego has got to stand her ground on some things, ya know? : ) Anyway... so the other day he comes home with a huge gash in his leg. And by huge, I mean I wanted to vomit at the sight of it. This was no little scratch. There was blood. There was openness. There was flapping skin. And worst of all - I could see layers of flesh that no one other than a surgeon is supposed to see. It was sooooo disgusting. VOMIT! My first reaction was of course - go to Urgent Care for stitches immediately! Mainly because there was no way I was about to touch that gaping hole in his leg. But he insisted it wasn't "as bad as it looked" and I just needed to clean it out and put gauze on it. I wasn't buying his story so we sent a few pics of the wound to Nurse Jill in Philadelphia to assess. She had me measure it - length and DEPTH!! VOMIT TWICE! And the consensus was that it really didn't need stitches - but I did need to clean it out and pack it with gauze. So, as the Wife of the Year that I am, I put on my big girl panties and dealt with it. And by "big girl panties" all you pregos know that I'm talking about those humungous underwear that stretch OVER my belly and have leg holes big enough to fit my ever expanding thighs. Pretty, huh?

And just when I was finishing up, Daniel sprung this on me: "This used to happen at least once a week when I was growing up. You'll become a pro once Lil D is about 3 or 4." And my thoughts? Ummmm.. not MY son! But then he reminded me that I have always dreamed of being a Football Mommy (true!) and so injuries were inevitable - unless I was hoping Lil D would become the team water boy (no!). He then proceeded to show me scars from his childhood encounters with everything from a baseball bat, to the pedal of a bike, to the time he crashed through the roof of a golf cart (don't ask...). And as strange as it sounds, that was really the first time I realized that raising a boy was going to be MUCH different than raising my little southern belle, Miss Paige. I grew up with a sister. I wasn't t tomboy by any stretch of the imagination. The biggest "wound" I received was when I cut my thumb trying to make a stage for a Barbie Fashion Show after watching the Miss Teen USA Pageant. Having a little boy is really going to rock my world - so I plan to spend these next 9 weeks or so wrapping my mind around this concept... and probably stocking up on First Aid materials. God help us all!

So About Those Pains... My Foray into Pre-Term Labor

So those va-jay-jay pains I was having last week? The ones I self-diagnosed with the help of Google as ligament pains as my body prepared for labor? Well - I was preparing for labor all right... but at 29 weeks,  labor is not ideal to say the least.

Luckily Lil D is still where he belongs at just 29 weeks along - inside my belly - growing, developing and thriving.

However, I was scared that wasn't going to be the case. Here's what happened...

Wednesday night/Thursday at midnight: I was having trouble sleeping, as usual. I headed down to the couch so I could toss and turn without waking up my snoozing hubby. At about midnight, I started to feel major Braxton Hicks contractions - so intense they began making me nauseous. I don't remember feeling anything like that with Paige, but I figured it was nothing serious since they weren't coming regularly. The contractions kept coming - each time squeezing the bottom part of my belly/uterus so tight that I would start to dry heave. I even vomited a few times. And Lil D was not enjoying any part of it. After each contraction, he would go crazy - kicking and punching and letting his frustrations be known. At around 5 a.m. (still not having fallen asleep) I realized the contractions were becoming somewhat regular. So I pulled out my trusty iPhone to time how close they were coming - ends up, between 5 a.m. and 6 a.m., they were coming 4 minutes apart. YIKES! However - they weren't what I always thought contractions would be like. No pain, per se. Just crampy-like tightening and uncomfortable.

So I went upstairs to wake up Daniel and let him know there was def something going on and put him on alert. I ended up dosing off for an hour or two. Miss Paige had her 15 month well visit scheduled for that morning, so Daniel prepped her for that and off they went. I called my OB/GYN to let them know what was going on and see what they thought I should do. They advised me to get in a warm bathtub and, while soaking, guzzle three bottles of water. I sat in the tub for an hour, guzzled the water, but with no luck - the contractions were still coming 4 minutes apart (at this point, it is 10:00 a.m.). Ay yi yi.

Over the next two hours, I hemmed and hawed over calling the doctor back. I didn't want to be the crazy prego who cried wolf. I rationalized that it was just Braxton Hicks contractions, and they would go away on their own. But at the urging of Daniel and my Facebook friends, I called and they told me to come right in for a check up. As soon as I arrived at the doctor's office, they ushered me back and hooked me up to the monitors - fetal heartbeat and uterine contractions. Just as I suspected, the contractions weren't showing ont he monitor. However, the nurses - and then doctor - could feel them happening by putting their hands on my belly. They actually couldn't believe I wasn't in pain. So the doctor gave me a pelvic exam. And jsut when I thought she was going to say I needed to go home and rest and increase my fluids, she said, "You need to go to the hospital right now. The contractions are making your cervix thin out." WHAT?!?!? My cervix is thinning?! That didn't even happen when we TRIED to get labor started with pitocin last time with Paige at 39 and a half weeks. So off I went to the hospital (can we say de ja vu of last time??).

To make a long story short, they continued to monitor the contractions and were able to get them to slow down, and then stop completely by midnight. Luckily, no drugs were needed - just three IV bags of fluid and laying flat on my back. And, the other good news - my cervix stayed sealed shut. So although it started to soften and thin out a bit, there was no dilation of the cervix. HALLELUJAH! Plus, they said there was no medical reason they could find as to why my contractions started. Basically, they chalked it up to overdoing it in the days/weeks before (i.e. my excursion to IKEA plus 5 mile walk), exhaustion (from not sleeping at night) and dehydration (probably from the vomiting).

So what's next for me and Lil D? Rest. Lots of rest. Plus lots of fluids. And hopefully another 10 weeks of pregnancy before he makes his big arrival. Another day, another situation... And people wonder why we're stopping after two babies? THIS is why! : )