You have between ten and eighty-five minutes to:
-Eat something! Bonus points if it's healthy and nutritious.
-Take a shower! Being clean may revitalize you enough to keep going.
-Play with Big Sister! All this transition means she could use a little extra love.
-Tackle any one of the five chores nearest you! That number keeps getting longer, doesn't it?
-Stare at the baby! You know this is going to happen anyway.
-Glance at a mirror! Promptly ignore what it tells you.
-Put on some clean clothes! When did sitting down a lot become such a smelly activity?
-Take a nap! Sleep depravation leads to clinical insanity, which is the last thing you need.
You must choose, but choose wisely.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Legend of the Arrival that Fooled All
I didn't even get to use my rockin' playlist...
A solid contraction woke me out of a seemingly-solid sleep just after 5am. A grand notion or two crossed my mind, as I let myself settle back into rest, not wanting to get prematurely excited. Not ten minutes later, an equally strong contraction jolted me out of my state yet again, and with that, I picked up my iPhone, opened the Contraction Timer app, sat down at a chair in the living room, and started keeping track of the notably stronger-than-last-time, ouch-a-lot muscle spams my uterus was producing.
Initially I paced the kitchen floor every contraction--it seemed to alleviate the intensity pretty well, but I was a bit startled by how quickly they became too much for me to handle alone. I woke Aaron at 5:40, requesting he shower and come support me. It took him a moment, but he forced himself awake and joined me in the living room shortly before 6am. He began to browse Netflix offerings, intending to pick something to watch in between the action to help him stay awake. He never did decide on anything, instead quickly picking up on the fact that this was not a quiet, early-labor-like experience. He astutely kept an eye on the time; Sharp Mary Birch Hospital for Women, a facility 40 minutes away on a clear stretch, was to be our destination, and Aaron deemed it necessary to be on the road by 7am so as not to participate in Friday morning commuter traffic. It was just before 7am, in fact, that we were calling the after-hours service of our OB, letting him know the contractions were averaging 3-6 minutes apart, and rather aggressive.
At the doctor's advice we decided to continue to labor at home, waiting for the timing to draw closer together. Roughly ten minutes later, Aaron was on the phone again, saying, "Yeah, they're two-three minutes apart now."
"Time to go! Quickly," came the response.
I moved to the restroom and sat on the toilet, deciding to quickly relieve myself before leaving, and to wait for Allie, who had agreed to come and sit with the still-sleeping Miah while we went to the hospital.
Aaron tried to accomplish several things to help ready us for departure, but I kept calling him back to help me through another contraction. I was genuinely concerned at this point that I was facing another several hours of this kind of intensity. We stopped timing around 7:40, when each contraction lasted almost a minute, with about a one-two minute break in between. It felt like they were right on top of each other.
At this point, I clung to that blessed toilet. The towel bar at my left hand was perfect for gripping, and I leaned into Aaron at my right through each wave of body-shaking madness. Here I encountered a problem: Allie had arrived and Aaron was anxious to get underway, but each time I tried to stand and walk to the bed, where my clothes lay waiting, everything intensified, and I'd have to sit back down, wade through it, and try again. I finally found a break long enough to get to my bed--sort of. I had just traversed the longest ten steps of my life and started to climb onto my bed when a big one arrived, bringing me to all fours in the middle of my laundry. Aaron was one-track minded on a mission: get our arses to the hospital! Something was slowly becoming apparent to me, though, and I struggled to access language in order to communicate it. Turns out I didn't have to. Aaron stepped out to refill my water bottle and I, still on all fours, finally came to the realization we were at the point of no return when at the next contraction, my water broke all over my bed.
Back on the phone, Aaron was updating our doctor with the latest, and we were given three options:
1. Get in the car and start driving; our OB promising to follow and assist if we needed to pull over.
2. Call an ambulance and have them take us to the nearer hospital, where a doctor strange to us would deliver.
3. Have the baby at home, then call the ambulance to take us into the hospital to be checked.
Though not yet obvious to everyone else, I knew three was our only real option. Thankfully, we had an Ace up our sleeve. Allie called my friend and her sister, Kaydee, a midwife-in-training, who raced over to help with the rescue.
With every contraction my body was now involuntarily pushing, and I tried desperately to keep it from progressing until Kaydee could arrive. It was no use, though--she was crowning. With instructions from over the phone with her sister, Allie caught and handed over a pink, screaming infant sporting a full head of long dark, mussed hair. Sweet little Miss Ezra Flynn Gentry, whose name means "Yahweh Will Help," and "Fire," charged forth into the world at 8:23am, weighing 7lbs. 15oz., and measuring 20 inches long, though we wouldn't learn these stats until after a short and pleasant ambulance ride to Pomerado Hospital, where my doctor could be found.
I am almost sure it may just have taken longer to write this than the event itself.
And then there was the matter of convincing everyone it wasn't an elaborate April Fool's day prank... on anyone but, perhaps, her parents. :)
A solid contraction woke me out of a seemingly-solid sleep just after 5am. A grand notion or two crossed my mind, as I let myself settle back into rest, not wanting to get prematurely excited. Not ten minutes later, an equally strong contraction jolted me out of my state yet again, and with that, I picked up my iPhone, opened the Contraction Timer app, sat down at a chair in the living room, and started keeping track of the notably stronger-than-last-time, ouch-a-lot muscle spams my uterus was producing.
Initially I paced the kitchen floor every contraction--it seemed to alleviate the intensity pretty well, but I was a bit startled by how quickly they became too much for me to handle alone. I woke Aaron at 5:40, requesting he shower and come support me. It took him a moment, but he forced himself awake and joined me in the living room shortly before 6am. He began to browse Netflix offerings, intending to pick something to watch in between the action to help him stay awake. He never did decide on anything, instead quickly picking up on the fact that this was not a quiet, early-labor-like experience. He astutely kept an eye on the time; Sharp Mary Birch Hospital for Women, a facility 40 minutes away on a clear stretch, was to be our destination, and Aaron deemed it necessary to be on the road by 7am so as not to participate in Friday morning commuter traffic. It was just before 7am, in fact, that we were calling the after-hours service of our OB, letting him know the contractions were averaging 3-6 minutes apart, and rather aggressive.
At the doctor's advice we decided to continue to labor at home, waiting for the timing to draw closer together. Roughly ten minutes later, Aaron was on the phone again, saying, "Yeah, they're two-three minutes apart now."
"Time to go! Quickly," came the response.
I moved to the restroom and sat on the toilet, deciding to quickly relieve myself before leaving, and to wait for Allie, who had agreed to come and sit with the still-sleeping Miah while we went to the hospital.
Aaron tried to accomplish several things to help ready us for departure, but I kept calling him back to help me through another contraction. I was genuinely concerned at this point that I was facing another several hours of this kind of intensity. We stopped timing around 7:40, when each contraction lasted almost a minute, with about a one-two minute break in between. It felt like they were right on top of each other.
At this point, I clung to that blessed toilet. The towel bar at my left hand was perfect for gripping, and I leaned into Aaron at my right through each wave of body-shaking madness. Here I encountered a problem: Allie had arrived and Aaron was anxious to get underway, but each time I tried to stand and walk to the bed, where my clothes lay waiting, everything intensified, and I'd have to sit back down, wade through it, and try again. I finally found a break long enough to get to my bed--sort of. I had just traversed the longest ten steps of my life and started to climb onto my bed when a big one arrived, bringing me to all fours in the middle of my laundry. Aaron was one-track minded on a mission: get our arses to the hospital! Something was slowly becoming apparent to me, though, and I struggled to access language in order to communicate it. Turns out I didn't have to. Aaron stepped out to refill my water bottle and I, still on all fours, finally came to the realization we were at the point of no return when at the next contraction, my water broke all over my bed.
Back on the phone, Aaron was updating our doctor with the latest, and we were given three options:
1. Get in the car and start driving; our OB promising to follow and assist if we needed to pull over.
2. Call an ambulance and have them take us to the nearer hospital, where a doctor strange to us would deliver.
3. Have the baby at home, then call the ambulance to take us into the hospital to be checked.
Though not yet obvious to everyone else, I knew three was our only real option. Thankfully, we had an Ace up our sleeve. Allie called my friend and her sister, Kaydee, a midwife-in-training, who raced over to help with the rescue.
With every contraction my body was now involuntarily pushing, and I tried desperately to keep it from progressing until Kaydee could arrive. It was no use, though--she was crowning. With instructions from over the phone with her sister, Allie caught and handed over a pink, screaming infant sporting a full head of long dark, mussed hair. Sweet little Miss Ezra Flynn Gentry, whose name means "Yahweh Will Help," and "Fire," charged forth into the world at 8:23am, weighing 7lbs. 15oz., and measuring 20 inches long, though we wouldn't learn these stats until after a short and pleasant ambulance ride to Pomerado Hospital, where my doctor could be found.
I am almost sure it may just have taken longer to write this than the event itself.
And then there was the matter of convincing everyone it wasn't an elaborate April Fool's day prank... on anyone but, perhaps, her parents. :)
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Sometimes Chores are Hard
Once, Aaron and I got locked out of our apartment in the middle of the night, when we lived in the ghetto-with-a-capitol-G of Redding. We were stepping out just for a moment to run some last-minute laundry down to the laundry room in preparation for going out of town the next day, and Aaron, out of reflex, locked the door behind him. Funny thing was, since it was laundry time, we were both half-naked; neither of us had any pockets, which meant no keys. We climbed back up to the stairs to our front door to try and solve the puzzle before us. First we tried messing with the door and window but couldn't break ourselves back in, a partially reassuring discovery, considering the reason he was so accustomed to constantly locking the door in the first place. We waked around the back of the building and discovered the bedroom window to our apartment was still open, so all we needed was a ladder! We called our apartment's emergency services line, and left a message, knowing they would likely get it on Monday. Not knowing where else to turn, we called the fire department. They offered no help, telling us, "If we did it for you, we'd have to do it for everyone." Aaron was so irritated! He ranted for awhile about how unsafe it was to have his cute wife was trapped outside her ghetto apartment, braless and in tiny shorts--all we needed was a ladder, not a parade, and what else did the fire dept. of a tiny city have to do in the middle of the night? We ended up hiking over to a nearby waterpark where thankfully, there was a maintenance crew working on some equipment (a lawn mower, I think?). They laughed as they passed a rather tall ladder over the fence and the two of us trotted back through the weeds to the back wall of our little place, awkwardly swaying as the ladder jostled between us. Aaron scrambled up the rungs, hopped through the window and let us back in, then I put some more clothes on and we returned the ladder, along with some baked goods we happened to have made.
To this day, I have a great deal of faith in lawn mower maintenance and repair men.
To this day, I have a great deal of faith in lawn mower maintenance and repair men.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Drafting an Important Letter
I'm trying to decide which of these messages will be most effective. Feel free to weigh-in in the comments.
Dear Baby,
Your mother is tired of being huge. Please make your way to the exit.
Sincerely,
Krisann's body
Dear Daughter,
We are impatient to see your face and snuggle you all day long. Also, it's pretty nice out here. Join us, won't you?
-Mama
Attn: Tiny Person
This is your eviction notice. You no longer fit within the confines of the womb, and must now evacuate. A larger home has been provided for you, and is now ready to be inhabited.
-Management
Dear Baby,
Your mother is tired of being huge. Please make your way to the exit.
Sincerely,
Krisann's body
Dear Daughter,
We are impatient to see your face and snuggle you all day long. Also, it's pretty nice out here. Join us, won't you?
-Mama
Attn: Tiny Person
This is your eviction notice. You no longer fit within the confines of the womb, and must now evacuate. A larger home has been provided for you, and is now ready to be inhabited.
-Management
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Creativity Breeds Creativity
I put on some music and started a painting project I've been hoping to get to for weeks now, and while I was working, the words to a poem boiled up inside me so powerfully, I had to stop painting and run to my desk to write them all down. The poem has been rolling around in there for a couple of weeks too, but they are completely unrelated... I'm amazed at how the simple act of steadily adding brushstrokes unlocked and rush-delivered the words to the front of my thoughts.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
The Tale of the Reservoir
She hadn't slept much the night before. A few scant hours between 2 and 6:30am, not nearly enough for a woman who could go into labor any day, but nevertheless she was wide awake. She decided on a lengthy shower, reminding herself how rare such a thing would be in the coming days. The quiet time in the stillness of the morning was invigorating.
Aaron rose at 9:00, begrudgingly. They had both stayed up late, far too late each night for the past two weeks, working against that delivery clock, trying to finish deep cleaning every pocket of the apartment, making ready for the new baby. He left for his meeting and she prepared breakfast, anticipating their toddler would wander in at any moment, sporting her usual slightly sleepy, but happy, morning face.
Miah popped out of her room a few minutes later. "Good morning, Mama. I'm hungry!" Her sweet greeting came through rubbed eyes and disheveled hair. Miah happily sat down to her traditional breakfast, but adorably requested the peanut butter jar, asking, "Can I lick it wis my fingers?"
The woman was quickly growing weary, and knew her body would beg of her a reprieve, and soon. The lady and her daughter shared their breakfast, and then, both still in their pajamas, headed back to her bed. She planned to settle in to a by-now very familiar snuggle routine. She would recover some of the rest she missed the night before while her daughter snuggled up to her, watching a cartoon about spelling. Forty-six minutes of catch-up sleep were about to be hers.
They had just settled in under the covers, her eyes already dropping into sweet slumber, when her phone rang. She started awake and checked the caller ID: a local number, but one she didn't recognize.
"Hello?"
"Hi babe, it's me."
"Oh, hi."
"Sooooo, the motorcycle doesn't have a gas gauge. Can you bring me the gas can?"
"Ooooookay... where are you?"
"The parking lot of The Movement church."
"Okay, it'll just be a few minutes."
She looked down at her sweet daughter, all snuggled up against her, engrossed in her show. She looked at her fluffy blanket. She ignored her sinking heart as she sat up in her bed. A strategy was necessary to pry them both away from their comforts. She knew of one tactic that was sure to make the transition from peaceful rest to quick action successful, but it was one she hesitated to employ. This was the unmentionable, unplayable card. Was it worth it, to bring the forbidden tool into play?
The clock was ticking. It was already ten to 11:00. She needed to get up and out the door, and quickly. There was no choice. She'd have to use it.
"Miah, did you hear, the phone was ringing? That was Daddy. ...He's in trouble! The motorcycle is stuck." She took a deep breath, and sang, "This is sewious! We have to help him!"
Miah's eyes lit up. She jumped up from her spot and immediately responded, finishing the song with a robust, "Let's save the Daddy! Let's save the Daddy!"
They both dressed quickly, rehashing the song and circumstances again and again. Miah revelled in repeating the song over as they prepared to leave.
"We are the Wonder Pets, mama?"
"Yes, sweetheart. Right now, you and me are the Wonder Pets."
They arrived at the parking lot, having sung through their rescue plan at least sixteen times. She rolled down the window to instruct Aaron to jump in; the gas station wasn't far, and they could be back before noon.
"Hey."
"Hi."
"DADDY! We're here for the rescue!"
"Sooooo... the motorcycle has a reserve tank. I tried to call you."
"... Uh huh."
"Since you're here, do you want to follow me to the gas station, just in case?"
"Sure."
"Daddy! We saved the Daddy!"
The rest of the trip was finished with the corresponding success song on repeat. "Wonder Pets! Wonder Pets! We found a way, to help the Daddy and save the day! We're not too big and we're not too tough, but when we work together, we've got the right stuff! Goooooo Wonder Pets! Hooray!"
Another sixteen times.
Aaron rose at 9:00, begrudgingly. They had both stayed up late, far too late each night for the past two weeks, working against that delivery clock, trying to finish deep cleaning every pocket of the apartment, making ready for the new baby. He left for his meeting and she prepared breakfast, anticipating their toddler would wander in at any moment, sporting her usual slightly sleepy, but happy, morning face.
Miah popped out of her room a few minutes later. "Good morning, Mama. I'm hungry!" Her sweet greeting came through rubbed eyes and disheveled hair. Miah happily sat down to her traditional breakfast, but adorably requested the peanut butter jar, asking, "Can I lick it wis my fingers?"
The woman was quickly growing weary, and knew her body would beg of her a reprieve, and soon. The lady and her daughter shared their breakfast, and then, both still in their pajamas, headed back to her bed. She planned to settle in to a by-now very familiar snuggle routine. She would recover some of the rest she missed the night before while her daughter snuggled up to her, watching a cartoon about spelling. Forty-six minutes of catch-up sleep were about to be hers.
They had just settled in under the covers, her eyes already dropping into sweet slumber, when her phone rang. She started awake and checked the caller ID: a local number, but one she didn't recognize.
"Hello?"
"Hi babe, it's me."
"Oh, hi."
"Sooooo, the motorcycle doesn't have a gas gauge. Can you bring me the gas can?"
"Ooooookay... where are you?"
"The parking lot of The Movement church."
"Okay, it'll just be a few minutes."
She looked down at her sweet daughter, all snuggled up against her, engrossed in her show. She looked at her fluffy blanket. She ignored her sinking heart as she sat up in her bed. A strategy was necessary to pry them both away from their comforts. She knew of one tactic that was sure to make the transition from peaceful rest to quick action successful, but it was one she hesitated to employ. This was the unmentionable, unplayable card. Was it worth it, to bring the forbidden tool into play?
The clock was ticking. It was already ten to 11:00. She needed to get up and out the door, and quickly. There was no choice. She'd have to use it.
"Miah, did you hear, the phone was ringing? That was Daddy. ...He's in trouble! The motorcycle is stuck." She took a deep breath, and sang, "This is sewious! We have to help him!"
Miah's eyes lit up. She jumped up from her spot and immediately responded, finishing the song with a robust, "Let's save the Daddy! Let's save the Daddy!"
They both dressed quickly, rehashing the song and circumstances again and again. Miah revelled in repeating the song over as they prepared to leave.
"We are the Wonder Pets, mama?"
"Yes, sweetheart. Right now, you and me are the Wonder Pets."
They arrived at the parking lot, having sung through their rescue plan at least sixteen times. She rolled down the window to instruct Aaron to jump in; the gas station wasn't far, and they could be back before noon.
"Hey."
"Hi."
"DADDY! We're here for the rescue!"
"Sooooo... the motorcycle has a reserve tank. I tried to call you."
"... Uh huh."
"Since you're here, do you want to follow me to the gas station, just in case?"
"Sure."
"Daddy! We saved the Daddy!"
The rest of the trip was finished with the corresponding success song on repeat. "Wonder Pets! Wonder Pets! We found a way, to help the Daddy and save the day! We're not too big and we're not too tough, but when we work together, we've got the right stuff! Goooooo Wonder Pets! Hooray!"
Another sixteen times.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Adopt-a-Closet Program: A How-To Guide
Congratulations on choosing to make a healthy, well-balanced closet a part of your home! When a person chooses a closet, they may not realize the huge commitment to care, maintenance, and love they are signing up for, and before you know it, things can fall into terrible disarray.
I'm here to tell you all about how you can help your closet. How do I know so much about closet care? I myself once adopted a sweet little closet, and unfortunately, my assumptions about closets' needs brought my new friend, over time, to a very ill state. Thankfully, I got the training and help I needed before it was too late, and I'm now the proud owner of two beautiful, vivacious closets: Ike and Gilly. After all I've learned, I'd like to help you save your closets from the suffering mine felt.
Closets are a beautiful breed of creatures, and I'm passionate about their care. This is my first closet, and today we share a bond built on weeks of hard work and rehabilitation, after I rescued it from very nearly becoming a Closet Monster.
1. Dietary Needs
The first step to caring for a closet is loving it well, and that means a good diet. Take it from me, you simply can not just feed it every scrap you have lying around. This will lead to bloating and terrible indigestion, not to mention some perplexing smells. A closet is a lot like you; if you stuff yourself with junk, you too will emit noxious gasses, be sluggish and irritable, and suffer long-term health problems. Thoughtfully consider what you put in your closet's diet. Does it need to be in there, or is it just convenient? Set up a diet plan that works for your family, and stick to it!
Also consider: most breeds of closet will need additional dietary supplements to support their bone structure. Even closets with very high pedigree will need a little extra support to truly be at their best.
For Ike, our elder closet, we use a Bone Support formula very similar to this one,
which helps meet it's special needs. Many varieties exist on the market today, one of the most popular being the Dresser Boosters System, which we use on our pup closet, Gilly. She functions really well on this system, and we feel assured, every time we look at her, that she's got what she needs to stay strong and fit for the duration of her life.
Whatever brand you choose, know that this is truly what gives your little closet friend the start it needs to enjoy a long, healthy, happy life. I recommend adding such a formula to your closet as early as possible in it's life with you, to help avoid health complications later.
2. Routine Workouts
Now that you understand the basics of a closet's diet, you can start working on rehabilitating yours. You will need to start with an intense cleansing period. It may seem harsh, but it is your closet's only hope for recovery. Begin by deciding what your closet truly needs to thrive. Find a different home for the rest, or throw it out if it's garbage.
Regularly re-vist this process as your closet grows. It's needs will change as it ages, and it will reward you with it's companionship if you loving make adjustments as time goes on. Leave a little room for improvement, always.
Monthly work-outs will ensure your closet stays fit and healthy. Revisit diet plans if need-be, and ensure that your closet has plenty of access to fresh air, daily.
3. Be a Team
Make sure everyone in your family is on board with the closet care plan you create. It won't help if someone is still regularly sneaking junk in, will it? Work together to truly love your closet, and you will feel loved in return, every time you open the door.
I'm here to tell you all about how you can help your closet. How do I know so much about closet care? I myself once adopted a sweet little closet, and unfortunately, my assumptions about closets' needs brought my new friend, over time, to a very ill state. Thankfully, I got the training and help I needed before it was too late, and I'm now the proud owner of two beautiful, vivacious closets: Ike and Gilly. After all I've learned, I'd like to help you save your closets from the suffering mine felt.
Closets are a beautiful breed of creatures, and I'm passionate about their care. This is my first closet, and today we share a bond built on weeks of hard work and rehabilitation, after I rescued it from very nearly becoming a Closet Monster.
1. Dietary Needs
The first step to caring for a closet is loving it well, and that means a good diet. Take it from me, you simply can not just feed it every scrap you have lying around. This will lead to bloating and terrible indigestion, not to mention some perplexing smells. A closet is a lot like you; if you stuff yourself with junk, you too will emit noxious gasses, be sluggish and irritable, and suffer long-term health problems. Thoughtfully consider what you put in your closet's diet. Does it need to be in there, or is it just convenient? Set up a diet plan that works for your family, and stick to it!
Also consider: most breeds of closet will need additional dietary supplements to support their bone structure. Even closets with very high pedigree will need a little extra support to truly be at their best.
For Ike, our elder closet, we use a Bone Support formula very similar to this one,
which helps meet it's special needs. Many varieties exist on the market today, one of the most popular being the Dresser Boosters System, which we use on our pup closet, Gilly. She functions really well on this system, and we feel assured, every time we look at her, that she's got what she needs to stay strong and fit for the duration of her life.
Whatever brand you choose, know that this is truly what gives your little closet friend the start it needs to enjoy a long, healthy, happy life. I recommend adding such a formula to your closet as early as possible in it's life with you, to help avoid health complications later.
2. Routine Workouts
Now that you understand the basics of a closet's diet, you can start working on rehabilitating yours. You will need to start with an intense cleansing period. It may seem harsh, but it is your closet's only hope for recovery. Begin by deciding what your closet truly needs to thrive. Find a different home for the rest, or throw it out if it's garbage.
Regularly re-vist this process as your closet grows. It's needs will change as it ages, and it will reward you with it's companionship if you loving make adjustments as time goes on. Leave a little room for improvement, always.
Monthly work-outs will ensure your closet stays fit and healthy. Revisit diet plans if need-be, and ensure that your closet has plenty of access to fresh air, daily.
3. Be a Team
Make sure everyone in your family is on board with the closet care plan you create. It won't help if someone is still regularly sneaking junk in, will it? Work together to truly love your closet, and you will feel loved in return, every time you open the door.
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