Returning to Work: What are you going to do with the Baby?

I have one week left in my summer break, as a special educator. I am trying to be nonchalant as I write this post. all the while listening to a training on Autism.  Next year I will be joining a new crew at a charter school and a large part of me is looking forward to the new challenge. Depending on the part of the day or mood, an even larger part of me wants to “lean in” to just being a parent to my 15 month old.

Join me and "like" my Facebook page: Postmodern Mummy! This is how big Conrad was when I went back to work.

Since I’ve returned to work as a parent, which was last summer, I noticed that I don’t have much patience as I had before. Work needs to stay at work. Teachers (most of us are female, mind you) are the first to judge each other if someone’s “not pulling their weight.” On one hand I try my best and on the other, I’m NOT going to apologize for being a mom. If you feel the need to stay until 7pm most nights, God bless you, but I have priorities you may not have (right now, at least).

Having “mixed emotions” is a very appropriate sentiment for my life right now. My feelings about work change a lot. I love to teach and especially the special needs population. In my line of work there’s a lot of positive and I feel like I do a good job. Considering I have to work; I often hate work for that reason. Or it’s more that I hate being separated from my baby. What does not help is some comments I get, often from other generations of women. For example, when I told people I was going back to work (like it’s what I wanted to do in the first place), they asked, “but what are you going to do with your baby?” What do you think? Keep him in a closet? Of course I’ll try to find the BEST childcare situation I can for my precious baby. Of course. For my little family, we moved back to the States so my mom could be the nanny.  These women usually then add that they got to stay at home with their babies in some way: short-term (longer than the USA’s pitiful 3 month maternity leave) or permanently. I’m happy they had that choice. Good for them. I was raised by a Stay-at-home-mom who was raised by a Stay-at-home-mom. No wonder I would like to follow suit. For Heaven’s sake, I work with kids for a living. I’m READY to be a parent, preferably, full-time.

In casual conversations I noticed that women in my mom’s generation got to be a stay-at-home-mom (SAHM) if that is what they wanted. The pre-menopausal generation “opted-out” for a few years or 20. Lucky them. When I talk to my peers, who have often been teaching for a while and might want to take off, can’t. There are stories of us working through difficult pregnancies and going back to work, even if it might not be in our children’s best interests. Going part-time is not a good option, either, because you don’t usually get benefits or are able to meet your family’s financial needs.  A lot of us are looking for more flexible work situations or even starting our own businesses.

Going back to work, I thought I was going crazy. Meltdown City, man. At that time being a new mom with a 3 month old was new and terrifying and now I had to figure out working full-time with a baby. I was so angry at the world. Society expects too much from moms. This is cray-cray. Pumping was a large part of my anxiety. It still is and Baby is 15 months old (if you’re not down with bf-ing, don’t talk to me about it). Just at this training, I basically pumped in a corner, hoping no one would come along. It was my fault because giving the organization a day’s notice that I needed a secure place to pump was not enough. My fault, my ass. Today I found an unlocked classroom and thank God.  Oh my gosh, I cannot tell you how many ignorant people, often women, have told me “there is a bathroom,” when I tell them I’ll be taking breaks to pump. What?! Do you make your dinner in your bathroom, let alone food for a baby? No. It is also illegal to suggest this situation. In California, there’s a Lactation Accommodation Law, where a mom must have access to a room with a lock that is NOT a bathroom. Sheesh!

I have to be efficient at work and that is not a bad thing. Organizing my work tasks by priority is a must and I get what needs to get done, done. This is where my level of patience gets in the way, too. I have no patience for office politics nor petty drama. How about let’s all assume everyone on this campus is doing their absolute best and if not, it is not necessarily my business anyways. Shit. Lately, when life has thrown me lemons, I swear at those lemons. When life gets hard, I curse more frequently. I know. It’s not lady-like and definitely not what Jesus would do. After that I then try to make f-ing lemonade. I have yet to see what kind of lemonade is going to be made with this area of my life.  I’m still in cursing mode, but I know this has to all work out. I still think something’s got to give for moms.  

Living with your Folks (its a Recession, People!)

Hi. I'm 33, have a Masters degree, happily married and have a perfectly healthy toddler. At the moment we also have been living with my mother since July 2012 (we lived with my MIL in England, but I cannot tell that story right now). It's somewhat voluntary, but still feels odd, like an adult holding pattern. Living out of a suitcase, sleeping next to the Baby's crib and having our important household items in a small storage unit, is a strange state of being. Since moving back to the SF Bay Area from the UK we have both found full-time work, and luckily Mom watches Conrad. This was supposed to be temporary and we thought we were going to move out by now, but the economy has had other plans. Rents have sky-rocketed as greedy landlords have caught on that there is a glut of renters. People have foreclosed on their houses and are looking to rent or others simply cannot afford a house. We are in the latter category. Being good and frugal with your money won't buy you a house around here, unless you are working for Google, Yahoo or Apple. I teach Special Education and Chris is an Engineer.
So we are thinking are only option is to move, again. We moved to England in 2011, hoping for a better way of life (don't laugh). Over there the cost of housing seemed to be in line with what a average worker made, but the cost of living was pretty pricey. We moved back, mostly because I just had a baby and wanted some support and familiarity. Also, we wanted to be able to take day trips without breaking the bank. To fill up our little Astra over there, it was over 60 pounds!
With that said, I have been trying to see if there are support groups out there for families like mine who are living with their parents, just to get by financially. I searched "living with your folks" on Facebook, but all that came up was this young guy who never left home in the first place and started a page. Even on the internet, searches come up with how young adults haven't been able to "launch." At the park I did meet another mommy, my age with two young kiddos who lives with her Mother in Law. I think we both feel the same way; like we aren't living up to our potential in some sub-conscience way. It was nice meeting someone else in the same figurative boat.
Maybe this is cultural thing. I'm "white" (I really don't like that term. We should be European-American or whatever.) and raised by people who never seemed to fall on "hard times." Grandma talked about the Depression and made us clean our plates as a result, but that was it. We grew up to think adults who lived at home had to have something a little wrong with them. "That's weird," "Maybe they have a mental illness," "Don't they want to live on their own?," "When are they going to move out?" "They are taking advantage," etc. I know other cultures embrace many generations in one household. I simply don't think my own culture's so accepting.
Living in someone's house, a lot of stuff gets put away mentally and emotionally. Like I am usually an organized person, but all my stationary is in storage, along with all of my size 10 clothes. I would like to have get-togethers, but would rather not ask for permission from Mom. When I watch commercials, I wonder how the scenarios would go if that family was living with their parents. There's one advertisement where the 3 year old excitedly tells his mom that he went to the bathroom. His mother enthusiastically rushes to see what was deposited in the toilet, but finds nothing there, so then asks, "Where?" Her son then points to the other side of the bathroom. Now if that happened with the Grandma at home, she'd be in the doorway, too. Saying. Stuff.
All I can say is that this period of time, living with my mom, will help me appreciate when we do move into our own place. Just like infertility made me so thankful for having my own child. Even so, I wish more people, who have had to put their independence on hold to move back home, would be more open about it. I'm here for you! If we did have gatherings it will have to be in a public place. Preferably some place serving alcohol. Cheers to better times ahead! But for now, let's have a drink (or two).

Conrad's Birth Story (Ironic, I know, reading the last post)

Conrad's Birth Story

Birth: April 17, 2012

Written: June 6, 2012

I was scheduled for an induction at the Rosie, in Cambridge, two days after my due date, which was April 14^th. We were admitted into the Lady Mary ward late morning April 16, where there were 6 beds to a room, with each bed being separated by curtains. This was exactly what I dreaded (an institutional-type setting where you were one of many). As I had gestational diabetes, I sort of relinquished my desire to give birth as naturally as I could. Being induced meant a harder labor, so I relaxed my expectations going in, even though I hoped for the best.

Chris and I played Scrabble whilst we sat and waited, they took my vital signs and monitored babies heart and my contractions for a while, before finally a midwife (who basically had no real bedside manner) inserted the Propess in the early afternoon (ready, set, insert!). I was a touch dilated by then. Our midwife was a foreign national and had poor communication skills. She just came into our cubicle and did everything without explaining why, we constantly had to ask her what she was doing and what we should expect. She told us a story how one patient had recently shouted at her and we could relate to the poor patient! After inserting the propess we had to ask her what we should expect next. She indicated that we should wait an hour or so and then we could go home. We asked if we could go for a walk while we waited and she said sure. When we came back from our walk she was leaving the ward as we were coming back in. We cornered another midwife and asked her what the deal was; were we going to be checked over before being allowed home? She said that we could not go home at all, but must stay on ward. We were a little frustrated at this point.

Now, I thought having midwifery care would be cool being an American in the UK, but I have seen more midwives than I could shake a stick at, through this whole process. I thought, in my naiveté, that I would have one midwife throughout the whole pregnancy and then she would coach me through birth (sooo not the case). Now, I did have consistent community care for my prenatal (or antenatal, as they call them here) check-ups and I did like the more non-medical approach to pregnancy care. But it was just me and Chris when it came to asserting any labor coping strategies. All the midwives did was ask if I wanted pain meds!

We were told that the propess needed 24 hours to work, but I started to feel the intense achiness in the late evening. I bounced on a large medicine or, excuse me, “birthing” ball and breathed deeply. Little did I know, this was the “easy” pre-labor because it just got more and more intense from there. At that point contractions came every other minute and lasted a minute.

At ten in the evening, all spouses, friends, birth partners were supposed to leave the Lady Mary Ward (Seriously? So you will leave laboring women by themselves? Stupid.), but by then Chris had become a form of back pain relief and I was beside myself in pain. They let him stay a bit longer. I knew a slew of birthing positions and even wanted to take a warm bath, but was afraid of even getting out of bed. I remember breathing and vocalizing (at one point, Chris told me that I threw out a loud F-bomb) loudly in a room, full of other women. As I said earlier, all the midwives did was offer pain meds, so I took paracetamol and codeine which did no good. Around this time I asked them to check me and to remove the propess. They had also been monitoring babies heart rate during since around 8pm and were worried that he was becoming a little distressed. I was one centimeter and they hesitated to remove the insert. I just wanted to rest and start over in the morning, especially if Chris was made to leave. Just typing this angers me! This is one of the most painful and vulnerable time in any woman's life and their partner has to leave? Who made up that asinine rule? I don't care if it's a hospital, you are serving human beings not cattle.

Having the propess removed didn't stall labor at all and in the very early morning I was riding wave after wave of contractions. We were just left to ourselves most of the time. Chris was angry and said we should have gotten a doula. I then asked if I could have the pethidine shot, which I do not even remember them administering, I was so out of it. That promptly made me vomit twice and then I tried to get some rest. At that time Chris did go home, thinking I would be good for a while, or at least for rest of the night. Labor pain came back in full force within an hour, so I asked them to check my cervix again and for an epidural (remember, no one was there to help me cope since Chris had gone home)! They checked and I was 4 centimeters. They finally admitted me to the delivery unit around 1 or 2 am and called Chris to come back to the hospital.

Delirious is a good word for how I felt on the bed ride to the Delivery unit. Most laboring women are pushed in a wheel chair, but like I said before, I didn't even feel I could stand. So they kindly let me stay in bed. When I got to my room (thank the Lord I wasn't sharing that room!) they let me have Gas and Air (50% Nitrous Oxide and 50% Oxygen) and were talking me through the side effects of the epidural when Chris came in.

Now, Chris and I had talked through my birth plan at length for months and he knew I originally wanted a natural birth. He angrily asked the professionals in the room (at that time there was the anesthesiologist, delivery midwife, and a few other random people – random because I cannot remember why they were there – Christy, there was just the two people!) if any one of them had even seen my birth plan, which the anesthesiologist made some sort of dismissive comment about 'oh, those are just drawn up in a few minutes and no one takes the that seriously' (So, no, not one professional asked to see my one-page birth plan during the entire stay at the hospital.). Chris stated that he was concerned how quickly I had gone from in control to being out of control and drugged up, that I really didn't want an epidural and that he was worried I would end up having a C-Section. Also, nobody had showed me how to use the gas and air correctly to receive the maximum benefit. At that point, since he was there as support, I wanted to try without it. I clung onto the gas and air for dear life, though. Funny how quickly I asked for an epidural when Chris wasn't there. He was my only support, rubbing my back for the back labor and telling me to breath. I had an IV, and was on a sliding scale that provided a dose of insulin if my body needed it. We were also testing my blood sugar every hour, at least. My glucose levels were all over the place.

Now when the day midwife (I guess there are two delivery midwives per room) came on duty, around 8 am, she assessed the situation and we had a talk. She said my ketones were highlow?, where my body was tired and using my muscle as energy. She sent Chris for some soda and gummies to remedy that situation. I thought she was going to say I needed a c-section at that point, but she recommended an epidural, since they were going to start me on oxytocin. That sounded a lot better then surgery, so I consented. She also wanted me to rest for pushing. I loved to hear that the end was in sight! At that point I was 6 centimeters dilated – but swollen, midwife needed you to rest to reduce the swelling, if we had continued on with you tired and swollen we might have gotten into trouble.

I just have to say, if it wasn't obvious already, that Chris was my hero in this. Also, Baby stayed strong through all the yucky, intense labor drugs. We know because I was made to wear two monitoring bands on my belly: one to monitor the intensity of the contractions and the other to monitor Baby's heart rate. Even before he was born, Conrad, helped out and got his noggin completely in my pelvis, where it was supposed to go. He turned around the right way for the birth and his heart rate stayed strong. Go Little Man! This was a family effort.

Staying still through multiple contractions for the epidural to go in, was one of the hardest feats I have ever done. Holy cow! After it was done, I had four lines coming out of my left wrist and an epidural line in my back (which I didn't even feel). Oh, and a convenient catheter! When I was all numbed up, Chris and I both napped off and on for the whole afternoon. I was chattering away, like the little monkey I am, and Chris commented that regular, old Christy had returned. After resting and some sugar, my ketones returned to normal, too. The contractions kept rolling and we watched them on the monitor, along with Baby's heartbeats. Sleep felt like heaven and knowing Chris was resting, too, made me feel good. My midwife assured me that my next babies will come easier and I hope she is right. She told me how it was hard for her to see me in so much pain when she first went on duty. She seemed to really know her stuff and both Chris and I trusted her.

I think at four, or maybe 6 pm, she had checked and the swelling had gone down a lot. Come 7 pm, Midwife checked my cervix, and I was ready to roll! I was fully dilated at 10 centimeters and she quickly set up the fancy bed (the bottom half went down for delivery and up came the stirrups!) and got warm blankets. At first pushing seemed like a welcomed game, where Midwife would tell me to silently bear down at the peak of the contraction. It got insanely difficult when Conrad's head was half-way out and I was told to wait until that peak. All I wanted to do was push. In fact, the urge to bear down or push was with me since early labor and it made my cervix swollen, in the end. While Conrad's head was hanging half way out, Chris said I grew unresponsive, with my eyes rolling to the back of my head. All I remember is hearing the midwife calling my name and telling me to stay with her.

Pushing only took about 30 minutes and Baby Conrad was suddenly out with that next push and placed on my bare belly. I was SO happy and amazed. He wasn't crying, just sort of snorting, breathing heavy and looking around with one eye open. The midwife got the placenta out with an injection and mended a 2^nd degree tear (a tear in the muscle tissue) all while I marveled at my precious little baby. Conrad then pooped on my tummy – I didn't mind one iota, Get it out, Little One! The Midwife seemed just as proud as we were and said that “no one delivers her babies.” She also did not like to send women to theatre (to get a c-section). So, I think in the end, I got what I wanted, a vaginal delivery.

April 17^th at 7:59 pm, Conrad was born weighing 7 pounds and 11 ounces with Apgar scores of 9 and 10. When we got him home we measured him and he was 21 inches long. I still remember how good he smelled (they didn't bathe him at the hospital – so he had such a good, natural smell). My Little Miracle.

Adventures in Infertility

I was supposed to have a little baby of my own by now, if everything had gone to the plans we neatly made, but God has His own plans. While I watch all my peers pop them out, I am left wondering what God has up His all-knowing sleeve.

The definition of infertility, according to the packet Kaiser sends to you, is when “couples... have not been able to conceive after 12 months of having regular sexual intercourse without using any form of birth control.” What we have also learned is that its pretty normal, happening in one in six couples.
After six unsuccessful months of what the doctors and nurses call “unprotected sex,” I wasn't too worried because Before Your Pregnancy, which I read three months before going off of the Pill, stated that most get preggers after a year of trying. I think it was around the 6-month mark when I invested in an ovulation test kit, which is a bunch of strips you dip in your own urine to see when you ovulate. This was a bit gross and Chris complained that the strips were laid out were where he put his toothbrush. That and the fact that the strips never changed color or showed a line made me give up. In August, exactly one year of baby-making (ironic, isn't it?), I did get my ovaries massaged by an old Latina deep in EPA. $75 later, all that got me was a substantial scrape on my car.
I think telling people that your trying without success is the most amusing. Like when getting that kit, the rather ugly clerk lady told me that I have to put my legs in the air after sex. That's what the ladies in her family had done, oh, and don't think about it. After I tell people my age, the usual response is, “Oh your YOUNG, pphhtttt... don't worry about it.” Some have stories of women doing everything from acupuncture to taking antibiotics and POOF they conceived. If one more person tells me to “stop trying” or “stop thinking about it,” or “think positive,” I think I'll punch them in the face. During one conversation with my family, after answering Mom's usual “Do you have any news for us?” Mike, my brother, said, “Well, I've heard sex can help.”
At a recent women's retreat a charismatic lady had a prophecy for me, through the Holy Spirit, that I will get good news around Christmas time. Without really getting to know me, she and a few others told me that I lacked Faith, which I found insulting. I know God knows the desire of my heart, but His ways are not my ways. And doesn't Proverbs 3 say, “Lean on, trust in, and be confident in the Lord with all your heart and mind and do not rely on your own insight or understanding.” He has a plan, I just don't know what it is yet.
Obviously this process isn't without its inner angst, or I wouldn't be writing this right now. At first, when I would miss a period, but then get it two months later, that would be hard. The heaviest emotion is baby or pregnancy envy or maybe that can go without saying. For close friends who are pregnant for the first time and who confide in us personally, it's so exciting and I love being hopeful with them. This wasn't the case when at work and with the help of Facebook, I literally found out four close friends were pregnant all within twenty minutes. Lately, with the help of my over-active mind, Facebook is often Babybook. It must be the age to have offspring. As I was picking up some lab slips from the nurse's station at my OBGYN a few days ago (they all know me by name now), I was relieved to be alone in the waiting area. Next thing I knew a handsome couple came in whispering to each other. The man murmured, “I guess this is the real deal,” and she replied, “It sure is.” To my annoyance they even pulled out what seemed to be their first ultrasound picture. It was very sweet how he pondered aloud, “We can surprise Dad and put this under his dinner plate.” I was more than relived to be called in to talk to the nurses about paperwork and other ink tests. At that time, a part of me wished there was a separate office for those people who cannot conceive.
Next steps for us is to undergo infertility testing, or rather, fertility testing – however you want to view it. Minimum cost under my health insurance is going to be around $300. It is so much more cost effective to have your own children naturally, because I have also asked friends who have adopted how much it cost them. From what information I have gathered the mean price is $30,000 for a baby. Another interesting twist is the fact that 99% of the women on my father's side of the family had a little condition called endometriosis and infertility problems. Now, I would never have thought I would have problems, but another lunchtime conversation with a Sister in Christ at the women's retreat, peaked my curiosity. I mentioned that I had terribly irregular cycles and couldn't get pregnant and she said she had the same exact symptoms and was diagnosed with endometriosis. I told her that I don't have any pain, which I thought was a primary symptom of the ailment. This woman had seen a specialist, had a surgery and now has a few children of her own. Interesting...
In fact Google Health also says,
Note: Often there are no symptoms. In fact, some women with severe cases of endometriosis have no pain at all, whereas some women with mild endometriosis have severe pain.

In all of this, there are up-sides, like not getting a regular period means a lack of mood swings. Prenatal vitamins have extra iron, so I don't have to get extra iron pills. I'd much rather be infertile than any number of other conditions. Chris has also been very supportive and loving. I have faith that we will have a family, somehow. When talking to Chris, I asked him if he saw himself not having any children at all and we both agreed that that didn't suit us. As my good friend Sharon said, “There are many ways to make a family.” I have faith in that.

Ode to burritos

Burrito
Yo!
So neato
Ho!
I eato mo burritooooo

Back into California!

Back home in California! It's been one of the best trips I've ever had; dear family, good food and drink, fun experiences.... what more could you ask for?

Above is Mount Shasta.

Ruth and Tom Cootsona. We were able to stay at the Cootsona's place for a few days and Tom and Ruth surprised us Saturday afternoon. So, we asked if they'd like to come to the BBQ that evening with everyone. I'm so glad they did!

Maia wearing someone's flipflops.

Awww... father and daughter swim time. Luke and Maia.

Baby Wiley and me! He's so cute.

Tom and I - he looks great!

Dear Beth and Wiley.

Katie and Chris looking at the birthday Belgium beer! Happy Birthday Christoph!

Visiting Dave and Inga in Portland (an adult's playground)

These are sort of in reverse order, but oh well! Below is one of the oddly delicious donuts from Voodoo Donuts in Downtown Portland, Oregon. This one was the Maple Bacon donut. Let's just say it was one of the most tasty donuts I've ever had and wish I could have another right now!

Chris, Dave and Inga looking at the vast selection of beers.

Cheers! Thanks for letting us visit Dave and Inga!

To Sandpoint - the farthest North we got on our trip!

Fun times in Sandpoint, Idaho with the Sangers, who really made us feel like long, lost family members. Here's Mya and Morgan.
Jack and Kit!


Riding with the littlest cousins - love this picture!

Classic picture incorporating Mount Schweitzer and Lake Pend Oreille. No wonder Lake Tahoe doesn't have much draw for the Sangers! They have mountains and lake all in their own neighborhood.

What a life. Hanging out at the free City Beach.

Mya

Look how close we got to Canada! We would have tried to have gone, but we forgot our passports.

Eat your hearts out Rice cousins - Mya let us toot around in her Mini!

Keep Missoula Weird

Missoula is where Aunt Marci, and Adair live - good times! Here is the late Toby. He was a lovely cat.

And don't forget Maizy!

Mother and Daughter - Adair and Maizy.

Big Girl Cousins: Mya and Christy at the Kettle House Brewery.


And the Big Boy Cousins: Chris and Kit.

This was right after Kit ran the Missoula Marathon! Go Kit!

Uncle Fred at the University's radio station.

Hiking to the "M."

The Gang: Chris, Adair, Aunt Marci, and Christy.

Before Fred there was the deer in the road...

So after Yellowstone, Ann, Dom, Chris and I stayed a night at Chico Hot Springs (and wished we stayed for a few more nights)! It was lovely. Ann and Dom went horseback riding and we all had a lovely dinner at their restaurant.

On our way to Fred's house in Helena (this should have gone before the last post) we found out why hunting isn't so bad.

Going North on the 540 we hit a deer, leaving our poor Corrolla in this state. The deer was still mindlessly leaping across the road when we looked back. We called our insurance and saw a body shop guy and got the front end aligned. Good to go for the rest of the road trip!

This was a little snake we found in Chico's garden...