What are you looking at?

I really called it on the NaBloPoMo thing...

...because seriously. Two blog posts for the whole month? My lack of posting this November surprised even me.

But it wasn't without good reason. Between my work trip to New Hampshire, organizing this house, being pregnant, and for the last week, being sick, non-paid blogging had to take a back seat. I did take a stab at it last Wednesday around midnight when Kara should have been down for the count, but she decided to wake up and torture me for THREE AND A HALF HOURS before finally settling down. By the time Luke came in to check on things, both Kara and I were sobbing; he offered to take over, but I would not accept defeat. I did, however, call my sister Samantha the very next day to say that we wouldn't be able to make baby Danny's baptism that following Sunday. I felt absolutely horrible about it, but after countless days of coming home late from work, soothing Kara at night, and traveling on the weekends, we were all burned out. The thought of leaving the zip code after what I like to think of as The Night From Hell was more stressful than picking up the phone and calling Samantha, who was totally understanding about the whole thing. When we all woke up on Saturday morning with runny noses and raspy coughs, I felt even more confident that we made the right decision.

Luke and I also decided that for our own sanity, we were done with traveling indefinitely--our next trip won't happen until sometime after Baby Brother is born and we're feeling adventurous enough to get on the road with two little ones in tow. Luke's parents came to share Thanksgiving with us, so we weren't without family, and Christmas plans are still in progress. However it plays out, though, Luke and I will just be happy to be home.

OK, enough yapping. I owe you a shit load of pictures. Here are some of the latest of Kara:

 

Our little girl is eleven months old now. I am not ready for next month when she'll be one. Her burst of activity is amazing--she's cruising all over the house now, crawling only when she's feeling shy or when I'm chasing her and those cute baby legs can't keep up. She still has only two teeth, but I can see a bunch of white spots shining through her top gums, and I'm terrified they'll all come in at the same time. She dances, too, bouncing up and down, waving her hands, and doing this robot thing with her arms that reminds me of the zombies from Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video.

 

Nights have been hard since we moved; most of the time Kara will wake up crying at least once. Luke and I have taken to picking her up and rocking her back to sleep because it's the easiest way to get her back down. Eventually this will have to stop and we'll revert back to comforting her while she remains in her crib, but right now things are so hectic that we'll do whatever we can to score the maximum amount of sleep. Plus, as I think about what life with Baby Brother will be like, I can't help but enjoy those nights with her a little bit, even when they're super hard, and even though it takes an extra dose of creativity to hold Kara against me in a way that doesn't put pressure on my ginormous belly. Part of me wishes Luke and I had more time to enjoy our girl before adding another child to the mix, so when those snuggle-time moments present themselves, I have to take them. So what if they make me want to pull my hair out?

Kara seems to be enjoying the house. Luke and I are adopting open floor plans in as many rooms as possible to cut back on clutter and take advantage of all this new space. Our living room is the best example of this; aside from our sleeper sofa, love seat, a couple of end tables, and our poor excuse for an entertainment center, the only other items are Kara's Pack 'n Play and several cloth bins of books and toys. This means she can run around to her heart's content and we can clean up her messes in five minutes or less. Everybody wins!

The biggest parenting challenge I faced this month was my overnight stint in New Hampshire. Luke and Kara drove me to the airport at 11 a.m. Tuesday morning and picked me up about the same time that Friday. From the moment I learned about the trip, I started freaking out. Three nights away from home is a long time, especially when it's your first time away and you can't explain to your kid that you're coming back soon, OF COURSE you're coming back. Good-bye was the worst; I started bawling before we even got to the airport. Luckily, Kara was asleep, so I was spared any tears on her behalf (she hates when I leave the car without her), but trying to kiss her sweet little face enough to last me THREE WHOLE DAYS tore at my soul. The actual trip, though, wasn't too bad. It was nice to sleep in a king-sized bed and eat dessert every night and shower as long as I wanted. Plus, since my flight was out of Boston, I spent my last night strolling along the streets of downtown buying souveniers at Quincy Market and taking a quick peak at Fanuil Hall, which I had been calling Nathaniel Hall, thus portraying myself as a colossal idiot slash tourist. (My boss, who knew better, was very gracious. The mail folks who came across my postcards to Luke probably weren't as kind.) I also got to meet Ben Franklin. His business card read, "Have kite. Will travel."

 

So. That's what I've been up to this month. I'm well aware that I still owe you after pictures of the new house, pictures I originally intended to post in this entry, but I think we can all agree I've rambled long enough. Don't you worry, though; I've already saved the winners to my desktop. They are definitely coming.

One baby, extra caesarean, hold the VBAC

When I was 26 weeks pregnant with Kara, my uterus measured a perfect 26 centimeters. So when people questioned the appropriateness of my size, I just repeated what my doctor told me: the baby was healthy and doing just fine. I kept the meaner, gutter-language retorts to myself.

Here's photographic evidence of Kara and me at the 26-week mark:

 

...And here I am yesterday morning, 26 weeks in with Baby Brother, just a couple of hours before my monthly prenatal appointment, where he measured a whopping THREE weeks ahead of schedule:

I know. Kara can't believe it, either. See her look of disbelief? She's all, "Who does this kid think he is, showing me up before he's even outside? I'M the miracle-size baby. Just let him TRY to top my birth weight!"

(Um, sweetheart, let's not encourage him.)

What to say to the haters now? There's no denying it: I look huge and I feel huge. The doctor wasn't concerned, but when I told her I wanted remove this boy from my uterus via a planned c-section, she didn't bat an eye, just asked for my date of choice and verified with the doctor scheduled to be on call that day (the doctor who performed Kara's surgery, no less). I've spent more time ordering beef low mein than it took to schedule the birth of my son. And the noodles weren't even that good.

For those not in the know, I've written a couple of times about forgoing a VBAC on my Parents blog, but to document it here on my personal site, I'll share my thought process again. At last month's appointment, I asked the doctor for her opinion regarding whether or not attempting a vaginal birth was a good idea for me. There are five ob/gyns in my practice, and each time I see one, I throw that question out there just to see if everyone's on the same page. And when it comes to supporting a woman's right to VBAC, they are; nobody ever said I couldn't try for one. However, this doctor was the second one to recommend another c-section (my primary ob was the first). She listed Kara's size as one factor, which I knew was still mind-boggling to everyone there; so much so, in fact, that at yesterday's appointment I took my glucose challenge test two weeks early to make sure my body isn't harboring a secret case of gestational diabetes. The other issue was the risk of uterine rupture, a rare but life-threatening condition I'll allow Wikipedia to explain to you. It sounds just lovely.

Anyway, the idea of attempting labor and then deciding Baby Brother was too big to deliver vaginally was never a big deal to me; I wasn't worried about pain because I knew I'd get the epidural again, and the possibility of avoiding surgery was worth risking an unsuccessful trial of labor. It's the uterine rupture thing that's always been a hard pill to swallow. Once I learned from my doctor that the risk of rupture increases when births are fewer than two years apart, there was no question in my mind that for me, a c-section is the way to go. My kids will barely be ONE year apart as it is; hell no am I counting on the strength of an abdominal scar that only had a few months to heal before it was subjected to another pregnancy.

I applaud women who have the confidence to attempt a VBAC. I think it's wonderful that the old adage "Once a c-section, always a c-section" no longer applies. I'm proud of myself for even considering it. But in the end, it's just not for me. So Baby Brother's birth day is officially on the books: Thursday, February 5, 2009, 8 a.m. My plan is to wrap up work the Friday before and spend the first half of that week freaking out about having my second baby, a baby I STILL can't believe exists in the first place. Mark your calendars and hold onto your hats.

As if this post weren't already chock full of meaty content, I also talked to my doctor about birth control after Baby Brother's extraction--something I obviously didn't pay much attention to after Kara. I'm not interested in methods that turn my uterus into a poo-poo environment on the off chance ovulation were to occur; once the life process is in motion, I don't want to mess with that. But I am interesed in sidestepping it for a bit while Luke and I figure out if we want to have more children. Just for kicks, I asked my doctor about having my tubes tied during my caesarean, but since I'm delivering at a Catholic hospital, it's not even an option. Which is fine--I'm not sure how I feel about permanently ending my childbearing years before I'm 30--but I'm not sure I'd ever be up for another pregnancy, either. My doctor recommended Mirena, which sounds great except it doesn't meet my uterus-friendly criteria, and she also mentioned Essure, a procedure that's just as permanent as a tubal but without all the surgery. Also great, if we decide that we're Done.

In the end, Luke and I will probably just use condoms until my cycle regulates itself and I can trust the calendar to tell me when I'm ripe for the picking (thank you, Taking Charge of Your Fertility). It obviously worked before Kara, seeing as we were able to conceive her the minute we stopped avoiding relations on my "high-trigger" days. Baby Brother's conception had nothing to do with botched birth control and everything to do with "Ha! There's no way that could happen to me." A hard lesson to learn, for we all know how well THAT turned out:

Not that I would have it any other way, of course.