What Age Am I Going To Be Tomorrow?

That was Olivia’s question last night after dinner, after she’d blown out yet another candle on a cupcake.

We’ve made a pretty big deal about six this past week or so. Her actual party was over a week ago and so this birthday thing has been a long, drawn out event for her. So it makes sense that she’d wonder about something like that.

We explained that she’ll be six for quite some time now and told her to enjoy having to use two hands to show her age now.

I was lucky enough to be able to take a half day off work yesterday and take cupcakes to Olivia’s class to help celebrate her birthday.

I can tell whenever I walk into her classroom that her little mind is blown by the fact that her two worlds are colliding and she isn’t sure how to react to such an event. She goes a little crazy for a few minutes with the glee of having MOM right there in the same space at her school friends, her teachers, her routine.

After snack, I was able to sit with Olivia at one of the classroom computers and watch her play one of the games on pbskids.org. She did so well. She knows every letter of the alphabet, upper and lower cases.

Over the weekend, Olivia was counting. She got to 49. When she stopped at 49, I looked at her and asked what came next. She gave me a mischievous grin and said, “Fifty ten!”

Six just might be the year of mischief. And you know? That would be great. Olivia has an amazing sense of humor and she has so much energy.

The problem with all that energy? If it isn’t channeled well, it can turn fairly quickly into naughtiness. She’s maturing, growing, proving doctors wrong every single day as far as what can be expected from a child with 5p- syndrome.

Olivia seems to think that turning six means it time to wear mascara and lipstick to school. I disagree and thankfully, I’m taller than she is and can put the makeup away high enough that she can’t get to it.

It’s tough to be six but I have a feeling there are more fun times than tough times. I hope so, anyway.

Six Years Ago: A Birth Story

On this day six years ago, I was 41 weeks, 2 days pregnant. Even though the doctor who’d performed the level II ultrasound all those weeks early when I was 22 weeks pregnant had moved the due date to November 29th due to the small size of the baby, I knew my dates. I knew the due date was November 18th.

But my ob/gyn wasn’t so sure and so he ordered a stress test. It was scheduled for the Monday after Thanksgiving, November 27th.

Tom, Alyssa and I all made the drive from our home to the town where I worked. It had been decided that it was easier for me to go to doctor appointments near work rather than near home.

I had the first appointment of the day and so didn’t have to wait when we got to the doctor’s office. I was seated in a comfy recliner, given a device with a button and told to press the button each time the baby moved. I also had a monitor strapped to my stomach, which was keeping track of the baby’s heart rate.

Tom and Alyssa sat in a less comfy chair across from me. The room was darkened and we all relaxed and waited for the baby to move, for time to pass.

When our half hour was up, we were taken to another room and told to wait for the doctor. He didn’t make us wait long. He came into the room and asked, “How would you like to have a baby today?”

The results of the stress test weren’t what he’d like to have seen. The baby was moving just fine. Her heart was beating just fine. But when she moved, they wanted to see her heart rate increase as a result of the movement. Our girl’s heart was just beating away at a steady pace, not increasing when she moved, not decreasing when she didn’t move.

We were sent to the hospital, told not to pass go, not to stop for food (I was starving!). We were allowed to stop by and let my boss know what was going one and give him the paperwork that would start my maternity leave but only because it was right on the way.

The maternity ward at the hospital was expecting us.

I was gowned and monitored. I let the nurse know that when I’d had Alyssa I’d had to pee. Like, a lot. She assured me this was fine, it was normal, she’d seen it all. Ha!

The inserted the Cervidil at 11:00, hoping to soften my cervix, which was currently very much closed and not interested in doing much else. After a few hours, they said, they’d see how the Cervidil was doing and then start the Pitocin. I assured them that my previous delivery had worked just fine with just Pitocin.

I asked for food.

Around noon, they brought me lunch. I’d taken three bites of broccoli when the nurse came in and took the food away, saying that the doctor didn’t like the way the baby was reacting to the Cervidil. Her heart rate was decreasing at regular intervals. The doctor was sure that Pitocin alone wasn’t going to do the job and so didn’t want me to eat in case a c-section was in my near future.

This doctor was not the one who’d delivered Alyssa, he didn’t know my history with Pitocin. I again assured that nurse that the Pitocin would do the job and we’d have this baby vaginally. She nodded as if she believed me but told me she had to follow the doctor’s orders. So…no food for me.

They started the Pitocin at 1:00.

At 1:30, I threw up the little bit of broccoli I’d eaten. Ick! As the nurse held the bowl for me, I whispered an apology. I told her I’d peed as I’d puked. Gross.

She told me it was no big deal and helped clean up the bed for me. There was blood along with the pee, she said. That was a good sign.

By 2:00, the contractions were very regular. Olivia didn’t like the contractions at all. Each one caused her heart rate to decrease so the nurse asked me to lay on my left side.

Tom took Alyssa for a walk. I was managing the pain pretty well, not wanting to scare her.

My mom and step dad arrived at the hospital around 3:00 and took Alyssa with them. They took her to eat and then to Walmart, giving Tom some time to just stand beside me and hold my hand. My left hip was starting to ache from laying on it. Though it did get a little respite every fifteen minutes when I had to get up to pee. The nurse finally admitted that I really did have to pee more often than any other laboring mother she’d ever had. Huh, something to be proud of, I guess.

I did try to move to my right side every so often but the baby’s heart rate would dip each time so back to my left we went.

My doctor came to check on me at about 5:45, after his office had closed for the day.

He was surprised to find me already dilated to 6.

I wanted to say I told you so but, well, the contractions were pretty much right on top of each other at that point and talking wasn’t all that high on my list of priorities.

At 6:00, the doctor decided to break the water to see if we could move this along. I think he was ready to go home and have dinner.

After what felt like extended probing, the nurse mentioned that when I’d thrown up earlier in the day, my water had probably broken then, when I’d thought I’d peed. Interesting, I thought vaguely, sort of relieved to know that I hadn’t peed myself.

When the doctor finally stopped trying to break a water that had already broken, he checked my progress again. Still a six. I had a major contraction at that point and the doctor decided to check me one more time before he went to have dinner. That one contraction had taken me from 6 to 9.

My mom and Lyle got back with Alyssa. Tom met them at the door, letting them know that we were on the verge of pushing. My mom said she had food for Tom when it was all over and took Alyssa to wait.

As with Alyssa’s birth, I felt pressure and told the nurse that I was trying not to push but I couldn’t help it. She called for the doctor and he arrived just in time to tell me we were ready and to go ahead and push. Yeah, I though, I could tell.

Three pushes later and our girl was out at 6:27pm.

They took Olivia immediately to a warming table and three nurses surrounded her. I couldn’t get much of a glimpse as they worked on her but I could see her struggling to breathe. Her ribs were visible with each breath she tried to take. Tom stood by my side, also blocking my view of Olivia.

After the doctor was finished cleaning me up and the nurses had Olivia stable enough to take her to the nursery where they put her under a cylinder that misted oxygen over her, I threw up one more time, because apparently that’s what I do when I’ve just given birth.

Except, unlike when I had Alyssa, I didn’t stop throwing up. The nurse finally gave me something to stop the nausea, which also made me quite high.

Once the puking stopped, I was able to get up and go see Olivia, who was still being bathed in oxygen.

I finally realized how drugged I really was when the father of another baby born at the exact same time Olivia was born asked me who our doctor was. I told him Dr. Miller. That is not the name of the doctor who delivered Olivia. It is, though, the name of the doctor who’d delivered this guy’s baby. Weird.

I realized I should probably sit down. My mom sat with me when our family doctor came in to talk about Olivia. He’d examined her and had determined that she needed to be in a bigger hospital. He wanted to know which one they should call for transfer.

I blinked at him and mumbled something like, “Oh, it doesn’t matter, wherever you think is best.”

My mom stepped in and told him to send her to the hospital that was twenty minutes from our home. She’s the best, my mom. Especially when I’m high and she isn’t.

She's also really good at taking care of Alyssa when I couldn't.

The pediatrician arrived from Bigger Hospital. They bundled three-hour old Olivia into a travel incubator, put that incubator into an ambulance and off they went with Tom in hot pursuit.

My mom and Lyle took Alyssa home with them and I realized I was so tired I couldn’t see straight.

But after about five hours of sleep, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I managed to stay in bed until just after 6 the next morning. After I showered, I made myself wait until 7am to call Julie and let her know that Olivia was here but that she had been admitted to the NICU at a larger hospital. I realize now, six years later, how hard that phone call must have been for Julie given her own history with an infant and an extended NICU stay.

By 10 I was losing my mind. I needed to get out of there. The doctor finally showed up a little after 10 and told me Olivia had very low APGAR scores. I didn’t care. He also told me it appeared she’d stopped growing around 35 weeks gestation. We know now that her low birth weight of 5lbs 2oz wasn’t due to intrauterine growth retardation but rather a symptom of 5p- syndrome.

He also told me if we hadn’t induced and delivered the day before, Olivia might not have made it another couple of days.

Again, with time we’ve come to realize we’re actually lucky she was nine days overdue. She needed those extra nine days to cook.

By 10:30, I was released. My mom came to get me and take me to my baby. She also brought my bigger baby to me and the relief at seeing Alyssa, hugging her, holding her made everything so much better.

As I left, the nurse commented that I’d had a drive-thru delivery. I was leaving the hospital 24 hours after being admitted, 16 hours after giving birth.

It didn’t matter. It was no longer about me. I had a baby I needed to see. And six years later, I often find myself leaving work with just two things one my mind. Alyssa and Olivia, the two brightest points of light in my life.

Mother Knows Best

Those dresses we bought yesterday? They are very pretty. I plan to make the girls put them on and take a picture (or ten) of them in front of the Christmas tree. If we find one we like well enough, I’ll include them in Christmas cards to family this year. I’m so on top of things, wouldn’t you say?

While at Kohl’s I came across the rack of dresses and found one I presented to Alyssa. She glanced at it, made a bit of a face and turned away to browse another rack of dresses.

In the end, we took three dresses into the dressing room for her to try. One was the first one I picked up and the other two were in styles she thought were more fitting to her status as a preteenager.

She tried her two picks first. They were fine. They were short sleeved, hit her just above the knee and hung straight from her shoulders down with a bit of gathering her and there.

When she tried on the one I’d picked, she looked in the mirror and smiled at me. “I like this one,” she mused, spinning a couple of times so the flared skirt would flip up.

This dress was long sleeved, with a bodice made of a velvety material that hit just below her natural waist. The white skirt flared out and, like the other two, hit just above her knees. It was just girlier than the other two.

I kind of love that in the end, after trying them all on, she chose the one I liked to begin with. I tried not to rub it in. But…I’m human and it’s lovely to prove every once in a while that mother really does sometimes know best.

Blueberry Pancakes

Last Tuesday, Olivia saw blueberry pancakes on either a commercial or a show she was watching and she declared that she needed blueberry pancakes right that second.

Well, that didn't happen. But I did promise to make her blueberr pancakes on Thursday since we weren't having our Thanksgiving dinner until Saturday.

Except too bad for her, I forgot to make them. It doesn't help that I forgot to buy blueberries too.

So when we went to the store to get more lights for the tree on Friday, I bought blueberries, planning to make pancakes for Olivia on Saturday.

I found Alyssa devouring the blueberries just about an hour after we got home that afternoon.

We were lucky, I was able to save just enough blueberries to make those pancakes the next morning.

Olivia loved them. She was fascinated by them. She ate four.

This morning when I got up, I heard Olivia yelling at Tom, telling him he couldn't eat her blueberry pancakes. He does that a lot, says things to her to make her argue with him. He claims it's his way of helping her vocalize. I think it's his way of making her argumentative. Tomato, tomahto.

But then he admitted that he'd been telling her all morning I would make her some blueberry pancakes when I got up. He didn't realize I'd made them yesterday and we didn't have any more blueberries.

Mama to the rescue! I happened to have some frozen blueberries.

Olivia got her blueberry pancakes two days in a row.

This is probably the reason she seems quite used to getting her way.

She likes to ask me each evening what we're going to do the next day. When I told her we were going to the grocery store she asked me which grocery store we were going to. I told her we'd probably end up at Walmart.

She gave it a little thought and then reminded me that the 'real' grocery store (our local, family owned store) has gumballs.

I smiled and agreed that the store in Edon has gumballs.

She gave it just a little more thought and declared, "Yes. We're probably going to go to Edon tomorrow."

Ha. We didn't.

But she did suggest we go to Kohl's today. When I asked her why we should go there, she told me because the store is pretty.

She's right. It is pretty. And we did go. The girls both got new Christmas dresses.

For now, she's at 50/50. Not bad odds considering she's six.

Dinner

Due to scheduling conflicts, my mom hosted our family Thanksgiving dinner today instead of Thursday.

It was a fairly small gathering of nine adults and five kids.

As we adults were sitting around thinking about loosening our belts (I kid, I wasn't even wearing a belt) I marveled at the fact that none of the kids were in the kitchen, pestering their parents for attention, needing to potty, wanting something to drink.

Instead, Alyssa and Julie were in my mom's back bedroom, exercising. My mom has a treadmill and an eliptical and the girls were taking turns using each machine. They're so cute when they're nine.

The little kids were going back and forth from the middle bedroom to the living room. They were playing pirate and princesses. Jaxon declared that there was no way he was going to be a princess, hence the pirate part of the game.

It's taken almost six whole years for us to get to the point where the kids will run off and entertain themselves but it's so lovely.

Yes, we still get requests for help with something but none of us is at that stage of parenthood where the kids need constant supervision and attention.

Those moments when I sort of mourne the fact that my childbearing days are over? They're fading quickly and are helped along by days like this, when the kids are kids, running around, laughing, playing, not needing us quite so much.

Though I do confess that it was lovely to be needed as Olivia fell asleep with her head in my lap, her hand clasping mine. I do still enjoy taking care of my kidlets. I'm just glad the diaper days are in the past.

Sentimentality

Ahh, the holidays. The glow of the lights on the tree, the movies, the music. The wonder on the children's faces as the tree goes up and the lights go on. The giggles as they find the perfect spot for each ornament.

Ha. Ahhahahaha.

And then there is reality. The irritation of plugging in a strand of lights that worked just fine last year but only light up half way this year.

There's the frustration when your child is rummaging through the boxes of ornmanents as you fight with the lights. She takes one out, oooohs and ahhhs over it and then, rather than putting it down, she hands it to you so she can take another one out.

I asked Olivia nicely to stop handing me things when she was perfectly capable of putting them down. She didn't listen. The third time she handed me an ornament after looking at it for a half a second, I snapped.

Then I felt awful because this is supposed to be fun, it's supposed to be joyous. It's supposed to be when we make memories and create traditions.

Instead, my shoulders hurt from stringing lights and hanging ornments on the top half of the tree. My ankles hurt from climbing up and down on a chair to reach the top of the tree.

I'm tired and I am so ready for my darling children to go to sleep. Instead, I just spent twenty minutes scratching various parts of Olivia's body while Alyssa held my other hand, constantly pressing in on the veins that are fairly prominent. She loves to do that. It drives me insane. But I try not to say anything because...she loves to do it.

But for now, the tree is up. And it's pretty and the girls always seem to forget that putting up the Christmas tree turns mommy into a raging lunatic.

Tradition?

Does something that has happened twice count as traditional?

Who cares, right?

We're having Thanksgiving dinner on Saturday at my mom's so today was just Thursday.

Except we didn't have work or school so the house is cleaner this evening than it is most Thursdays.

A couple of years ago, my mom, the girls and I went to a movie on Thanksgiving day. It was fun.

I decided this year, Alyssa and I would do the same. We went and saw Breaking Dawn part 2.

Yes, I took my nine year old to see this movie. And really? It was okay. There was a bit more smooching than necessary and Alyssa dealt with it just fine.

We saw a preview for The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, to be released on November 22, 2013. We're probably going to see that one on Thanksgiving next year.

So...a tradition is born.

Fun stuff, that.