There are some things in life that you learn how to do with the hopes that you never actually have to put them into practice. The Heimlich Maneuver is one of them. Until last Saturday, the Heimlich skill set sat in my brain filed away under “good to know in case of emergency”. My mom and her husband were here to visit from out of state and we went out to dinner. As we began to eat, my mom began to poke me in the arm. As I turned to look at her, I saw this panicked look on her face and she pointed to her throat. I realized she was choking, so I quickly got up and performed the Heimlich. A piece of steak came out and she audibly took a big, deep gasp of a breath. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized I’d been holding mine. Other than her throat feeling “scratched”, she’s totally fine. I am so glad that I had that information filed away in my brain.
If anyone is even reading this, you’ll notice it’s been a while. Sorry. Being a teacher who has the option and chooses not to work in the summer, I am lucky enough to spend a nice, although not-quite long enough summer vacation with my whole family (Dawn’s off, too). I have lots of time, but not so much computer time. I promise to try and keep things afloat here, too. In between swimming, library trips, t-ball games, camping, and Disney World. See what I mean?!?!
June 22, 2006 is the day I gave birth for the first (and only, as of now) time. Here’s how it went: I woke up at 6:13 am to think I had peed on myself (honestly, it didn’t even occur to me at that moment that it could be my water breaking!) I was just thinking, “what the hell? I was just up to use the bathroom 2 hours ago!” When I got to the bathroom, it hit me that my water had broke. I had been told that labor usually starts within about 12 hours of your water breaking, so I wasn’t expecting anything immediately. However, my first contraction came at 6:18 am. It wasn’t really painful, so I expected it to be a while. Dawn called the OB, who said to come to the labor and delivery floor. It didn’t seem urgent, so I showered (it somehow seemed important at the time that I not go to the hospital with unshaven legs!) while Dawn called our friends in [a suburb on the opposite side of the city we live in] who were going to take Olivia. I started having stronger, but not unbearable, contractions in the shower. They were still about 7 minutes apart. We left to drop off Olivia and head to the hospital–forgetting in the excitement that the freeway interchange was a mess of construction AND it was rush hour AND the southbound exit we needed was closed. I directed Dawn to take some exit I knew nothing about hoping we could cut across and go east to I-43. While we are wandering lost around some industrial area, my contractions suddenly become VERY painful and about 3 minutes apart. We decide to scrap getting to [above mentioned suburb] and then back to [western suburb in which the hospital is located] and go directly to the hospital with Olivia. Luckily, we have amazing friends. L couldn’t fit their kids car seats and Olivia’s in her car, so her partner left work in the middle of a meeting to come to meet us at the hospital to pick up Olivia. While Dawn waited downstairs with Olivia, I went to labor and delivery. They set me up in my room and hooked me up to the monitors for the mandatory 20 minutes. They confirmed that I wanted a drug-free labor and I just kept thinking, “I’ll be better when I can get out of bed and walk around”. That wasn’t to be, though. My worst case scenario happened and I had to stay in bed on the monitors because Owen’s heart rate wasn’t changing with contractions like they should have been. Meanwhile my contractions were 2 minutes apart and hurt like hell. I was all alone (I don’t recommend this!) and scared to death something was wrong with the baby. I asked the nurse several times for an epidural. She tried to deter me, saying let’s wait until Dawn’s here and see if that helps. Dawn walked in the door as I was having another contraction and I said, “It’s not helping…I want the epidural!” They agreed and I got the drugs shortly. I was worried before about getting the drugs and being loopy, but getting the epidural didn’t really hurt much at all. Seriously, within minutes I was a whole other person. I called my mom on the phone and called my friend, A, who was planning on being at the birth. From then on out, I laid in bed and chit-chatted with Dawn and A. It was quite pleasant, actually! My midwife came to check my progress at about 12:40pm and I was dilated to a 10 and ready to push! As they helped turn me onto my back to push, the monitors all started going off like crazy. My midwife was saying to get me back on my side and the nurse was running to my side. I was amazingly calm but the look on Dawn’s face was total panic. I ended up having to push while lying on my side because this happened each time they tried to move me to my back. Because of my epidural, I couldn’t really feel contractions well, so the nurse was watching the monitor and telling me when to push. She must have gotten distracted because all of a sudden A (also a nurse) was saying, “Don’t you think she should be pushing? She’s having a contaction!” At 1:24 p.m., Owen took his first breath of air. They wiped him off a bit and brought him up to my chest. After the cord stopped pulsing, Dawn was able to cut it. A left shortly after and I politely sent the nurses away for an hour so Dawn, Owen, and I could bond. They obliged and came back later to weigh and measure him. When all was said and done, he was 7# 5 oz. and 20″ long.
We’ve come a long way, baby. I can’t imagine life without you, my little guy.
One year ago today was the last day of my life in which I’d never met my son. One year ago today was my due date. One year ago today, I was feeling huge and so done with being pregnant–my fear of labor was far outweighed by the thought of being pregnant forever at that point! One year ago today, I went to the baseball game with my partner and daughter. I wasn’t sure I’d make it through the game, seeing as I was timing contractions from the 2nd or 3rd inning on. They were short and fairly mild, but were only 3-4 minutes apart at times. The people in the row behind us kept murmurig that I must really love baseball or be insane to be there. Yes and Yes. The game ended (the home team won) and we headed home. As I climbed (ok, flopped) into bed later that night, I thought, “Another day of being pregnant awaits me in the morning.” Little did I know…
Olivia’s birthday was last Friday (is she really FOUR years old already?!?!?). We got her a two-wheeler bike–purple with princesses, of course. She is in bike riding heaven. The girl hasn’t even complained about having to change into her tennis shoes to ride. Considering she lives in sandals and flip-flops, this is huge. She hasn’t really gotten any other gifts since her party isn’t until next weekend, except for some money my dad sent her because he won’t be able to make it to the party. Oh my goodness, did that money burn a hole in her pocket! She planned out what she wanted to buy (a Barbie and Build-A-Bear clothes) and asked incessantly when we would be able to go and buy them. After making her purchases, she had $3.11 left. Today, we were tooling around in Target and happened upon the piece de resistance. A pink bike horn. You know the kind–big bulbous end and obnoxious honking sound. All for the low, low cost of $2.99. After informing her that she had just enough birthday money left, the decision was made. Even though I tried to convince her to go with the much quieter pink bicycle bell, to which I would chip in the extra $2.00 needed, she would have nothing of it. So, she is the proud owner of possibly the most obnoxious bicycle accessory known to humankind! And she exclaimed…
I know that Owen can say “mama”…my partner, our daycare provider, and even my daughter have all told me he’s said it. NUMEROUS TIMES. These people are not liars. Yet, this momma has yet to hear it. Every time I ask him to say it, he grins from ear to ear and shakes his head in an emphatic no! Little stinker! I wonder if it’s too early to try reverse psychology…
I’d planned to start this blog yesterday in honor of the 2nd annual blogging for LGBT Families day. It should come as no surprise to any parent that parenting prevented that from happening! Typical this and that–a 3 year old that tried every bedtime stalling tactic in the book, a baby who needed nursing through a growth spurt and 1 year molars. But, since today is also a good day to start a blog, here I am.
Every time I find myself getting bogged down in the day to day grind of parenthood and beginning to feel complacent about the fight for equality for our families, I remind myself of our daughter’s adoption day. My partner and I were both licensed as foster mothers for Olivia. We both had equal standing and rights (or lack thereof, in some situations) for everyday decision-making and signing of papers. Two and a half years after her placement in our home–into our family–I adopted her. Even though we were allowed to foster her together, when the case moved into adoptions only one of us could apply. While we were able to be open and out in the homestudy, only I was listed as the petitioner for adoption. As we sat in the courtroom on January 20, 2006, I glanced over to see the tears in my partner’s eyes. I knew that most of those tears were ones of happiness at finally knowing we would never recieve a phone call saying Olivia was being moved. Some of those tears, though, were of sadness. With the adoption finalized, Dawn had even fewer rights to our daughter than she did as a foster mother. She could no longer sign off on medical paperwork, enroll her in school, or have an “official” title in terms of legality. And this, my friends, is why we fight.
