Molly's birth story

With a due date of February 7, I always suspected Molly would be a January baby. Parker was, after all, eight days early, relatively unusual for a first pregnancy. Babies, of course, don't follow any rules, though, and no one can ever predict what's going to happen. Pretty much the only guarantee is that eventually, somehow that baby is going to exit your womb. In my mind I figured that she would probably be two weeks early, never imagining that she'd be so eager to join the outside world she'd try for a full 36 days early.

This is a birth story. It's long and involved. Go grab a coffee, grab a snack, and maybe grab a quick nap beforehand if you're feeling drowsy. I make no apologies.

I wrote about those first few days already so I'm not going to spend too much time rehashing them, but my water broke early, possibly January 1st but definitely January 2nd. When presented with our options, my doctor recommended being induced on the 2nd at 34 weeks and 6 days.

I was fairly flexible with my birth plan, the goal always being to have a baby and bring it home, and this time I knew with absolute certainty I wanted an epidural. I never thought much about the bringing baby home part of the plan because it always just seemed like such a given. With a normal pregnancy and normal ultrasounds and prenatal appointments it never even crossed my mind that leaving my baby at the hospital was an option. Standards vary, but in Regina if your baby is born before 36 weeks they go to the NICU. I'm still a little unclear on if there's wiggle room to take them home earlier if they're doing well, but the NICU certainly did not fit into our birth plan. 

We opted for 48 hours of IV antibiotics in hospital, then five days of oral ones at home if labour didn't start naturally. When we went into the hospital January 2nd I had minor irregular cramping that seemed like it might be a prelude to labour, but it went away. I spent the next two days in a hospital bed, trying to catch up on sleep and watching Jane the Virgin. I had a visit from the NICU doctor while I was there to talk about what we could expect when Molly was born. The big worries were her breathing and eating. Babies that early don't necessarily have the sucking reflex figured out yet, let alone superstar lungs.

I had an ultrasound on my second day in the hospital and the tech informed me that baby still looked like a girl (I asked, since she was looking around) and that she estimated her weight at 7 lbs 3 oz. Considering Parker was 6 lbs 10 oz at 10 days early, I was shocked. Naturally, I knew that there's room for error in that number (usually half a pound) but I couldn't believe the baby I expected to be tiny was actually a relative giant five weeks before her due date. The tech even asked if I had gestational diabetes because of my baby heifer. Part of me wanted to be induced at that very moment just to make sure she didn't turn into a 10 lb turkey. Sorry, lady bits.

When I was done my antibiotics and getting ready to be discharged my doctor popped in to chat. He told me that the steroid shot I'd been given to mature Molly's lungs was a little controversial and, he thought, unnecessary. The obstetrician hadn't told me that the shot was definitely needed before 34 weeks, but that it might not be necessary for a baby at 34 weeks and 6 days. She also hadn't told me that the shot could have the side affect of helping the baby gain a lot of weight for a week or so, particularly if I had a lot of sugar. My favourite part of the hospital food I'd been getting was the juice they gave me four or five times a day. The food was so abysmal that I was taking full advantage of all the wonderful orange juice they were giving me. If I had to stay in the hospital, I could at least treat myself to an abundance of juice. I had visions of myself giving birth to a 10 lb juice baby, being ripped clean in half during delivery, and her not fitting any of her newborn clothes.

The doctor and I decided on Monday as my induction date, a week after my water officially broke, since it wasn't quite 36 weeks, but was the last day of my antibiotics. He warned me that there was a slight possibility my membranes could fix themselves and, in that case, we could actually make it to 39 weeks. I prayed that wouldn't be the case. I'd gotten used to the idea of a 36 week baby and laying off the sugar for a week. (I made it three days at home before I got back on the chocolate train. I'm weak and was leaking. Hold the judgement.) Do you remember the story of the 14 lb baby that was born a few years ago? I saw Molly and I following in his footsteps and becoming the next headline on the news, possibly entering the Guinness Book of World Records.

When I was discharged Wednesday afternoon (January 4th) I was thrilled. It's hard to sleep in the hospital, especially when your antibiotics need to be changed every few hours and your ruptured membranes like to do their ruptured thing while you're in your deepest sleep. With Parker I thought 36 hours of broken water was horrendous, but a week is a whole other adventure. Remember, amniotic fluid regenerates itself so your broken water just keeps going like you're constantly wetting yourself, no matter how empty you keep your bladder. Glamorous.

On the way home from the hospital, Karl and I went to Costco. I was a little worried that all the walking would start labour (as most people go into labour within 12-24 hours of their water breaking), but I am now convinced that if left to its own devices my body would never actually go into labour and would just leak amniotic fluid until toddlers eventually crawled out of my womb and demanded peanut butter and jam sandwiches. My body just isn't interested in the whole giving birth ordeal and I can't say I blame it. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Costco did not cause me to go into labour (surprise, surprise), and the only painful part about it was how much money we managed to spend. 

We went home, where my dad was watching Parker and they were having a grand old time. I planned to never leave the house again, then Karl talked me into a trip to the grocery store that night. Apparently there's a part of me that can't say no to the control that comes with buying the week's groceries and scoping out good deals. While at the store I felt an all too familiar gush as I bent to pick up some almond milk from a lower shelf. Thankfully I was wearing a long winter coat and we were at the end of our list, so my laughing husband, wet pants, and I finished up our shopping with as much dignity as I could muster. I vowed not to leave the house again and, short of one five minute trip to the drug store for what I like to affectionately think of as "lady diapers," I became a shut in until it was time to go back to the hospital.

While I really wanted to make it to my induction date, I knew everything would be okay if I could just get a couple hours at home before having my baby. I needed to mentally wrap my head around it all, even just have a chance to pack my own hospital bag and put some baby clothes in there. Karl did an okay job, but he didn't understand which swaddle blanket I wanted or how many headbands to bring. I also just needed the chance to go home and wrap my head around it all. Molly's room wasn't done, the laundry room was a mess of boxes of kids clothes, and our darn Christmas decorations were still up. Had she come on January 2nd, the tree would probably still be up today.

As it was, I had five days to hang pictures on her walls, sort through what felt like hundreds of boxes of kid clothes, do some baking, reading, and sleeping. I was tired, but got everything done that I needed to.

Two days before I was due to be induced I started cramping again. Karl and I went to the hospital but they sent us home after an hour and the cramping went away. It had been a pretty intense day of doing laundry and hanging pictures so I opted to take it even easier from then on. I finished Molly's room and it went from a space that I really didn't like, with its mixed and matched furniture, to a room I'm genuinely envious of. It's amazing what the random art I've had laying around the house and a crocheted triceratops head can do for a space, never mind my mental state.

We got the call early Monday afternoon to come in for our induction. There's something so nice about walking into Labour and Delivery and being greeted by your smiling nurses, then calmly brought back to your room where, yes, finally, you know that baby is going to come out. There's not as much uncertainty, no tears, no labour pains, just friendliness and anticipation.

In the delivery room the white board had a tick mark next to the NICU section. When I asked about it, they informed me that the NICU people would be present for her birth because she still wasn't quite 36 weeks. While it wasn't what I wanted, I was glad that there were measures in place to help our little girl should she need it.

Being induced with Molly was very different from my experience with Parker. With Parker it took hours for anything to happen, and when it did it was like someone had poured kerosene on my insides and lit them on fire. With Molly, they started the drugs at 3:30 and I had minor cramping registering on the monitors within the hour. We started taking bets as to what time we thought she'd be born. Our nurses thought it would be just before midnight, and they didn't think we'd still be there when they got back in the morning. They were lovely, but we were okay with not having to see them again. Operation Get The Baby Out was in motion.

I listened to an audiobook and played Tetris on my phone to pass the time while we waited for things to get going. Because my membranes were ruptured no one was in a hurry to check how dilated I was due to our dear friend "infection risk." My doctor visited at 8 o'clock after delivering a 10 lb baby in the room next to us (that poor mother) and checked me. Three c.m. dilated. Before leaving, he instructed the nurses to call him if I seemed at all ready to go, even if they thought it was a false alarm. My baby, he said, was going to fly out of me when the time came. I have super children.

An hour or two later my cramping started getting more uncomfortable. It was still manageable and I could talk through it, but I decided to ask for my epidural. The magical epidural window is, ideally, 2-4 c.m. so I knew I was eligible. I didn't necessarily need it at that point, but I remembered what could happen without it and I wasn't ready to start practicing any heroics. Parker wasn't born so long ago that I've forgotten the excruciating pain that came along with his induction or how quickly it came on. Besides, who wants to be in pain if they don't have to?

When I got my epidural with Parker it felt like it took less than two minutes from start to finish. This time I must have been more in touch with reality because it took significantly longer. Last time my back was stiff for several weeks where the needle went in, but this time I don't even have a bruise. Once the epidural got going everything was set right in the world. They joked that we could name the baby Molly after a variation of the anaesthesiologist's last name. Karl and I laughed awkwardly.

After my epidural came one of my favourite parts of the birthing experience: the relaxing, comfortably numb part. It was ruined at 11 o'clock when I had to admit to the nurse that I probably needed a catheter since my epidural was doing such a good job. I was still only three or four c.m. After that, I couldn't get quite as comfortable. Ironically, I constantly felt like I needed to pee. The catheter was not everything I'd dreamed it would be.

From there on out I managed to relax for a little while if I let my mind wander and Karl even took a little nap. I couldn't feel anything, but the nurses assured me that my contractions/cramping were still happening regularly and we just needed them to get stronger. Have I told you how much I love my epidural?

Around 1:30 the nurse recommended that I try laying on my side since I'd been on my back the whole time. She said that sometimes babies can flip or turn when you're on your back for an extended period of time and it looked like maybe mine had done that. She didn't have to tell me twice. I rolled onto my side, but the darn catheter kept getting more uncomfortable. After a few minutes, I told the nurse it just wasn't working for me and she said I could go back onto my back.

At this point I was getting really uncomfortable. I wanted nothing more than to rip my catheter out and throw it across the room. I called Karl over to hold my hand and the nurses decided to check my progress. Lo and behold, I was 10 c.m. and baby's head was right there. I'm a little unclear as to the timeline on this, but I think it was around 1:55 when they called my doctor to come in.

Eight minutes later, at 2:03 a.m. he came in, gowned up, and they took the bed apart. It was go time.

Labour with Molly was very different than with Parker. With him I felt a lot of pressure like I needed to poop, but with her I was really uncomfortable on the front. I didn't feel the pressure come in waves like I did with him, I just felt so uncomfortable, even with the epidural. It was bearable but not something I'd want to do long term, and more intense than when I'd gotten the epidural a few hours earlier.

At 2:08 a.m. as I put my aching legs in the stirrups, my doctor told me that without the epidural Molly would have been born already because my urge to push would have been too strong. It felt like they were telling me to push even as they still took the bed apart. It was hard to wrap my head around being able to push without the urge to do so. I wasn't sure how much effort I could muster through the pain (more than discomfort, but akin to really bad period cramps), so I tried to push while talking to them through it. The next thing I knew they were telling me not to push so hard because that was baby's head. I let up on my push to the point that it felt like I almost wasn't doing anything at all and my body was just running the show.

And then her head was out. And it was another gentle push and the rest of her came out, crying with those perfectly strong and capable lungs at 2:13 a.m.

I took eight days of stalling, two pushes, five minutes, one fabulous epidural, and zero tearing (praise the Lord!) to bring Molly Faye Morton into the world. She was a perfect 20.5" long and 6 lbs 6 oz light. It all happened so fast that it took my brain a couple hours to fully comprehend that I had, in fact, given birth again and my little girl washere. I don't even think my doctor was up for an hour before it was all done and he told us he was going home and back to bed.

When they first held her up, one of the nurses told us we had the little boy we were expecting. "I mean girl!" Well that would have been a funny story.

Before heading to Mother and Baby we told the nurse to let the anaesthesiologist know that we had, in fact named our baby Molly. Hopefully it made her night.

We made it to 36 weeks and 133 minutes before our little nugget was born. She was right on the edge of being jaundiced but my doctor let us go home the next day as long as we promised to keep an eye on it and bring her in the next day if she wasn't improving. We were so glad to head home, and after four full days in the hospital in just over a week I was getting much too used to the menu. I also got the delightful experience of being a teaching experience for six nursing residents while we waited to be discharged, but that's another story for another day. Going home was wonderful and Molly did everything she could to kick the jaundice, including surpassing her birth weight within a week.

She is quite probably the mellowest baby in all of history. We all love her dearly and can't wait to see who she grows up to be.

The prelude to a birth story.

This post was written January 3, 2017.

I ended 2016 off with a post about the year's high and lows. I started 2017 off with my water breaking 5+ weeks before my February 7 due date. Sitting in the hospital, trying to keep baby girl in until the 36 week point I've had the chance to do some more reflection.

God has thrown some serious curve balls in our direction these past three years. "You're worried about whether you should move to Regina? I've got this." "You're stressed about going back to work? I've got this." "You're anxious about getting enough hours in for your EI? I've got this." It's like he's been preparing us for something we really have no control over. "You're worried about your baby being born too early? Hey, I've got this."

When we came to the hospital on New Year's Day to get some minor leakage checked out I was coincidentally wearing my "You Got This" shirt. We were there for about 45 minutes before being sent home, only to return 12 hours later, no longer under any delusions that my water hadn't broken. I cried. A lot. There was significant leakage from both ends.

Up until then, everything was going fine. I was more comfortable than I had been during my first pregnancy and, even though I'd always thought we'd have a January baby, I wasn't expecting one so early. When the nurse checked us in she asked if she was reading my due date correctly. Yes, it was, in fact, 36 days away. I told her we really didn't want to be there.

They gave us three options. The first, which my doctor recommended, was to get induced that day. Trying to keep baby in longer even with antibiotics, as far as he knew, still had a 50% increased risk in infection in baby. This could mean a longer NICU stay. All signs point to baby staying in the NICU until at least 36 weeks old. The second option, which we eventually chose, was, assuming labour didn't get started naturally, me going on 48 hours of IV antibiotics in hospital, then five days of oral antibiotics at home, then being induced at 36 weeks. The obstetrician told us that there was no evidence that this increased risk of infection for the baby, but there haven't really been any studies done on babies 34-36 weeks in this area. We're firmly in a medical grey area. The third option my doctor called "patient led" and involved us going home and just seeing what happened. The problem with this, however, is we live 15-20 minutes from the hospital, once labour got going with our first things moved along very quickly, and I have a tiny 35 week old baby inside me right now. She's likely to Simon Birch her way out of me with very little effort and probably one good sneeze. He didn't recommend this option, and we were okay with that.

Sitting in my hospital room later that day, being filled with IV antibiotics, I couldn't help but draw a parallel between it all. Through all the crazy ups and downs of the past few years, God was just getting us ready for an even bigger moment to rely on Him. Moves and jobs come and go and while they're big life moments, they're nothing like the even bigger moment of welcoming a new life into this world.

When we came in yesterday morning, I had a bit of cramping that hadn't been there the day before. All signs pointed to it being the beginning of labour. Thankfully, it's all gone away. My hips aren't even hurting, and aside from the fountain of joy that living with ruptured membranes is (constant seeming incontinence) it's good. I haven't cried for nearly 24 hours, if all goes well I'll be heading home in about 24 hours, and I've got 48 hours to catch up on some rest and Netflix. I am nervous about going home because of the quick labour potential, but I'm not a hero. Any cramping and I will be standing in Labour and Delivery demanding my epidural, ready to rumble.

This was supposed to be my month of hanging out with Parker and getting everything slowly ready for baby's arrival. I'm mourning the loss of the time with just my first baby, but grateful that my second one is still in her safe, leaking waterbed. God's got this.

My mom was here until yesterday morning (she flew out as we were checking into the hospital; I saw no need for her to stay because we weren't sure what was going on) and we got to set up the furniture in baby's room and go through all the newborn clothes, getting them ready. We don't have a crib mattress or anything hung on the walls, but we bought a throw cushion and a new picture. Karl doesn't like either of them, but he doesn't hate them so they stay. When I left the house yesterday morning all the baby clothes were sitting piled knee-deep in our living room waiting to be put in her drawers and closet, and I begged Karl for them to moved before I got home. He got out the car seat last night. He's going to pack baby girl's hospital bag and wash the blanket I made her. I'm optimistic that I'll be home before she comes, at least for a day or two, but at least I know that it's okay. My dad is also flying out tonight so that when I am home I can take it easy and hopefully keep labour at bay a little longer.

My biggest fear in all of this is having to leave baby in the NICU and go home. Our main goal is not to have to leave her here. My doctor is incredible, though, and he assured me that girls are tougher than boys and that the two big things they'll watch for are breathing and weight gain. If this girl is anything like her mother (or brother), she will not have a problem gaining weight. I've been getting steroid shots to mature her lungs so hopefully breathing won't be an issue either. I can tell you, her brother certainly has a good pair.

This wasn't our plan, but thank God it doesn't have to be. He's got this, and he has all along.

The highs and lows of 2016.

I read something online the other day where someone said that they get together with their close friends at the end of the year and share their high and low points of the past 12 months. I thought that was brilliant. I've always loved going around the room and hearing everyone's high points of the year, but I like the idea of sharing the low moments, too. It's good to look back on where we've been in the year and see how far we've come or, maybe, still have to go.

I know a lot of people that have had big struggles in 2016 whether it's health, professional, or personal. Breakups and health scares and job drama have all been big players in the lives of many of our friends this past year.

Looking back, it seems like the high and low points of my year should be fairly straightforward. High point: getting pregnant again. Low point: losing my job. It's not all black and white, though.

Losing my job was hard. It really was. The funny thing is, before I knew that my job was gone, I was struggling with the prospect of returning to work. Having the choice to return to that hard job taken away from me was actually a blessing. It taught me something about my faith, and it reinforced for me that God's plan is so much bigger than ours. There is no part of me that wishes I still held that position, and I'm so grateful for the part time opportunity that was dropped right at my feet when I needed it the most. I applied for a dozen jobs and got only got one offer and it was the perfect offer. God was there, holding my hand the whole time.

I was searching for a different post today and came across one I wrote a few years ago on the cusp my 24th birthday. So many years later and it seems to echo so perfectly a lot of the same sentiments that I felt this year.

It's hard to put into words the high points of 2016. We spent a lot of time with my side of the family, and accidentally spurred a family reunion in Ontario when we visited. I hadn't seen my dad's siblings since I got married in 2010 and most of my cousins for almost 15 years. It was wonderful to discover that not only are were connected to these people through blood, but that I also really like them.

This was also the year that I ate some many vegan/dairy-free doughnuts that I almost got tired of them. 2015's word of the year was "baby" and 2016's is "doughnut." 2017's will probably be "thighs."

Getting pregnant again has, of course, been a huge highlight. Not that pregnancy is the most fun thing in the world, but I feel like I've been better at it this time around. I'm looking forward to welcoming our little girl in a month or so and have, for the most part, gotten over the nerves I initially had about it. Raising a boy and a girl is going to be a wild ride, I'm sure, but I'm ready. Bring on the headbands and frilly bums.

How do you round up your biggest moment of a year without feeling like you've left things out? Visiting friends, doing puzzles during Parker's naps, the anticipation of a new life in our home, sharing in the joy of friends' pregnancy announcements, months at home with Parker and now watching him grow into a little person with a fabulous personality, working on a women's ministry, discovering a dairy-free bakery, and finding a new hairdresser all made up the high points of 2016 (some more so than others). It's been a wild ride of a year, but was ultimately so good to us.

I know that 2017 is going to be its own beast. We'll be growing our family and I won't be the only one wearing dresses anymore. I'll likely be off work for the entire year. Towards the end of the year we'll (hopefully) start making gradual plans for moving back to Victoria. I'll read a lot of books, paint a lot of things, and knit through my ever growing yarn stash. I'll also drink a lot of decaf coffee to make up for lost time.

Bring it, 2017.

Thoughts on pregnancy #2.

Preparing to have two children 20 months apart means that I will have been pregnant for 18 out of 29 months. (It was very difficult to do that math, let me tell you.) I'm currently on month 16 out of 27. That's like 60% of my life for two and half years. I'm basically a saint.

Things that are different: 

- I don't have to pee as much. I have clearly jinxed that, but so far I can still function like a normal person and am even making it through the entire night without getting up. I KNOW. In other words, I think baby girl is sitting higher than baby boy was. I have mixed feelings on this because this kid's emotional due date is February 2nd (the day my dad comes) but her official one is February 7. Parker was early (obviously you want to read about it here, just get a cup of tea and a snack first) so I'm optimistic this one will be, too. She's not sitting as low, but is still fairly down there. In my brain round two will go exactly like round one except a bit faster. My water will break in an embarrassing location, I'll get induced, get super drugged up, then giggle my way through delivery. And then I'll eat chocolate cake, sushi, and have my first cup of coffee in months. 

I didn't think I was going to be able to see the new Star Wars in theaters because of the whole baby on bladder pressure thing. I'm happy to report that we already have our tickets and reserved seats for next Saturday's afternoon showing. It's less than 2 1/2 hours long so I'm feeling pretty good about my odds. The last time Karl and I went to the movies together was in January to see The Force Awakens. We're due.

- I seem to be able to function on less sleep now than last time. 8 hours a night and I'm dancing in the morning. I suspect that round two with a newborn will knock me on my backside, but our bodies are crazy things. And I'm going to have cake in the fridge. 

- I don't think about it as much. This is probably an obvious one, but with your first you have so much downtime to think and obsess about what's coming and you're so much busier with your second. I don't come home from work and sit in silent contemplation over what my future holds. Instead I chase a half naked toddler around while trying to change his diaper. I can wait for her to come. I'm excited, but 8 1/2 weeks until D-Day and I'm in no hurry. 

- I briefly considered a birth photographer this time. Then I looked at what kind of photos they actually take and NOPE. 

My sister-in-law had a doula that took some amazing photos, but I just don't think I'm into that for myself. After seeing some photos of other women labouring, I'll stick with the iPhone pictures the nurse takes for us afterward. I'm good.

- I'm not as gassy this time. I felt and sounded kind of like a slowly deflating balloon when I was pregnant with Parker. This time I can be in a room with polite company and not have to worry about offending anyone. Girl power.

Things that are the same:

- The urge to buy baby clothes, apparently. I'm having a hard time letting go of some of the super cute boy things we have. My daughter will not need to wear ultra feminine clothing at all times, but I suspect items that say "tough guy" might not be entirely gender appropriate. My son wears polka dot leggings, though, so don't think I put too much stock in this stuff. Trust me, he knows he's a boy.

I'm going to buy used lots of girl stuff off VarageSale. I suspect that people will buy us some ultra cute things as gifts. Who doesn't like shopping for little girls? Give me all the florals and polka dots and frilly bums please. Why don't they make women's clothing with frilly bums? How darling would that be on a pair of leggings? Bye, bye underwear lines.

- I still worry. I don't think that ever goes away. Parker was a hiccuper. I'm not sure when it started, but I'd get the hiccups in my pelvis every day. I loved it. He was also a kicker. This kid is a roller and a shaker. She doesn't kick me that often, but I can feel her rolling around in there like a synchronized swimmer, and she does this weird thing where my belly kind of vibrates spastically. I think she's going to be an interpretive dancer.

Speaking of dancers, Parker will dance if you ask him to, or if he hears Mumford and Sons. It's like he's doing the Haka. I die every time.

It's hard to believe that the only two tiny humans to ever live in my uterus are so different. Without even being born I can tell they're different so of course that makes me worry. That's the thing about parenting though, you are never ever ever going to stop worrying.

- I get excited about the prospect of being a normal size again. This time it's less about being able to wear my normal clothes (sweaters and sweatpants don't really discriminate during pregnancy) but more about being able to maneuver my way around the house and not run into things. 

- I just want to eat eat eat. Thank you, Christmas, for providing me with the opportunity to eat even more than I usually would. After my breakfast of leftover bean cake from last night's Christmas party I weighed myself this morning and am officially the heaviest I have ever been in my life. I still fit my clothes, so let's just roll with it. Pass the cookies.

Currently.

craving: Chocolate. I went to the gym last night to walk like an old person on the treadmill. I normally go Friday nights and there's no one there, but apparently Mondays are for righting weekend wrongs and it was really busy. No one around me was running, either, it was just a bunch of walkers. Apparently I'm not the only person that enjoys walking on the treadmill before dinner. The thing is, the last couple times I've been to the gym to get my senior citizen on, I've really felt it afterwards. Last night I ended up on the couch with a heat bag on my back because apparently any exercise whatsoever is going to make me cramp these days. Holla at the almost third trimester. As a woman, I associate cramping with chocolate. Thus the craving. If going to the gym is going to send me into a chocolate eating spiral I should probably just give up on fitness. It seems counter productive.

watching: Call the Midwife season 4. I got it from the library but couldn't get through it all before I had to return it. Gone are the days of binge watching shows in a week. I contemplated bringing it to work to watch on my lunch break, but I cry during every single episode. I feel like I need to maintain some dignity.

wishing: That the American election would make the US dollar go down. I know I'm horrible, but even if it just does it for a day or two I'd be happy. I really want to order some yarn off KnitPicks and I can't afford to pay 25% more for the exchange rate. Remember when the Canadian dollar was higher than the American? Those were the days. I also want to buy my dad this mug. 

anticipating: Two things. I have a package waiting on my front porch at this very minute with the most amazing mug in it. I'm talking about the kind of mug I daydream about. I can't wait to drink coffee out of it in three months from now. (Why can't I have a sugar aversion instead of coffee? Life is hard when all you want to do is eat Mike and Ikes.) Also, I'm going on a husband-less babymoon tomorrow. I'll be in Victoria until Sunday night, snuggling my friend's brand new little guy, dancing in the rain, eating so much west coast food, and finishing up my Christmas shopping. Other highlights will include going to the bathroom alone and attempting to sleep past 7 a.m.

organizing: The baby's room. This is taking much longer than anticipated due to having another child to look after, but I'm getting really excited about it. I have a couple days off next week so I'm hoping to make some real progress. There are few things I enjoy more than organizing a space while listening to a good audio book.

cooking: There's a beef stew in my crock pot at the moment and I made shepherd's pie on Sunday. Last week I made lasagna soup and decided to try making French bread to go with it. French bread and I have an abysmal success rate, but I managed to make three delightfully edible loaves. We ate a lot of white bread last week, including French toast Sunday morning. I'm basically Martha Stewart. .

reading: I'm just about the start The Story of the Trapp Family Singers. I'm excited. I also finally joined Goodreads and I kind of love it.

planning: What I'm going to eat once I give birth. Sushi, chocolate cake, and coffee, for the record. 

drinking: Stash decaf chai spiced tea.

eating: Fig newtons. Like an old lady boss.

feeling: Like a whale, gumball, or sausage depending on what I'm wearing.

wondering: If WestJet will let me get away with a suitcase slightly larger than their allowable carry-on dimensions. Maybe if I cry. Also how much knitting I should bring for four days and two flights away.

feeling: Proud of myself for not eating the bag of Skittles in the cupboard I bought for my flights tomorrow night. Every time I get Parker a graham cracker I see them and I get twitchy. My name is Anna and I'm a sugar addict.

missing: This is Us. It won't be on tonight because of the election. Now that I've returned Call the Midwife to the library I have no excuse to cry in front of the television tonight. Hopefully. Thank God for Netflix.

Left. Right. Left.

We celebrated Thanksgiving this weekend and it was marvelous. Except that half the people at supper on Sunday were sick Monday and it snowed all weekend, but aside from that it was fantastic. The family and I drove to Edmonton where we stayed with friends and played games, ate dairy-free doughnuts, hit up IKEA, crafted with yarn scraps, and had a fabulous mom date that involved Starbucks, H&M, a children's consignment store, and two thrift stores. And then we ate turkey and it was good.

Parker and I flew home Monday. It was a bold move considering how well things went last time, but only involved 90 minutes of two children compressing my bladder instead of 7 1/2 hours in the car with just one kicking my insides. Let's just say, things went better, but I still had flashbacks. I also may have had to use the airplane bathroom on our 90 minute flight. It wasn't actually that bad, seeing as teeny tiny spaces don't really leave anywhere for crazy toddlers to go. I felt pretty accomplished and am surprised no one clapped and cheered when I walked back to my seat. I am Super Mom with an incredibly small bladder.

Parker stayed true to form and passed out with 20 minutes left in the flight.

When we got home I dropped Parker off at the neighbours' so I could run to the grocery store. It was snowing, I needed to install his car seat, and he'd already had a long day of travelling. I figured playing with other children would be more fun than picking out bananas. When I got back they were feeding him supper. When we move I'm taking them with us. I love them.

Normally Karl runs the bath time show while I clean the kitchen. Karl wasn't around, though, so it was up to me. I decided it would be the perfect time to introduce Parker to his first bubble bath. He didn't understand at first, then loved it. He also kept trying to put the bubbles in his eyes. The whole lavender scented experience was so relaxing for him, in fact, that he decided to just let it all out. In the poop department. I'm so #blessed.

This morning Parker woke up an hour early and decided to chase me around the house whining all morning. I was so excited to drop him off at daycare and escape to work that I put my boots on the wrong feet. I noticed two hours later after I'd taken my wrong footed feet to daycare, Starbucks (because the sun wasn't even up when Parker was), and around my office for two hours. I miss coffee.

We have our small group tonight, so my friend that watches Parker/is the pastor's wife/hosts small group told me I should just leave him there after work and take a couple hours to myself before coming over for dinner. I love her, too. Maybe she noticed my boots and didn't tell me.

When having a baby hurts your career.

Sixteen months ago I had a baby. Two and a half years ago my husband and I moved to Saskatchewan for my career. If you do the math on that one, I worked for 15 months before going on my year-long maternity leave. I knew that my employer was probably not going to be thrilled with the situation, but I was not about to put my family on hold forever for a job.

Leading up to my maternity leave there were a number of instances where my boss made it fairly clear that he did not appreciate the situation. Without going into great detail, he lessened my work load, didn't give me projects, and no longer acted like he trusted me to do my job. It was a difficult several months.

Then, six weeks before my leave was scheduled, my replacement started. This wasn't a big problem, as I assumed my boss just wanted to make sure she knew the ins and outs of everything. Two days later, though, she took over my full position, including my title and work space, and I was demoted to an overpaid receptionist, a position that I technically supervised.

After crying about it after work that night, I contacted HR. I was informed that what had happened was constructive dismissal and that, if I chose to pursue it, I would be eligible for severance. An employer can't demote you by changing your responsibilities or who you report to like that. 

My boss was forced to apologize, but nothing changed. I decided to focus on the fact that I'd be having a baby instead of my frustration with my work. I told my boss in no uncertain terms that I expected to put back in my normal role day one my return, and he promised that I would have a job and be getting paid. I left it at that, aware that there would likely be a battle upon my return.

I popped into the office every month or so during my leave, not wanting anyone to forget who I was, and usually bringing baked goods. It's how I buy love. I was missing a very big organizational event and everyone was really busy, so I figured it was the least I could do. Banana bread and Timbits soothe the stressed out soul.

A couple months before my scheduled return, I phoned the office and spoke with the second in comand, confirming my return to work date, and requesting some end of summer holidays. She said she didn't foresee any issues, so I shot off an email to our HR guy to let him know about the conversation and asked to see if he knew what my job would look like upon my return. He had told me to email him around Thanksgiving and I still hadn't heard back from him in April.

HR replied back to my email the next day letting me know that he and my boss had been talking about what my return to work would look like and could I please come in for a meeting after hours the next Monday? Hello, red flags. I knew then that I would not be going back to the same job I had before. 

I contacted a friend that works as an HR manager for some advice and to be sure I knew what my rights were going into the meeting. When you go on a maternity leave your employer is required to keep a position for you. It does not have to be the exact same one you were in before, but any shifts have to be lateral in pay and responsibilities. That said, sometimes employers will restructure employees out while on leave. Yes, it is allowed, but it's complicated and employers need to be careful how they do it. Is it good? No, but done properly and legitimately it is legal.

When I went into my meeting that Monday night they handed me a letter letting me know that, due to restructuring, they no longer needed someone to fill my position full time. When I asked what they would be doing instead, they said they weren't quite sure yet, but that the position would be eliminated the day I was scheduled to return. In the letter they offered me one month's salary, to forgive my outstanding moving expenses and maternity leave top-up, provide me with minimal moving expenses should I decide to move back to B.C. before the end of the year, and offered some financial help to work on my resume.

When an employer ends their relationship with you and you have outstanding return to service commitments with them, it's their job to eat those costs. They were offering me the bare minimum, with some moving expenses thrown in to sweeten the deal.

I countered their offer, requesting a severance amount more in line with the standard for such circumstances, indicating that my husband and I had relocated specifically for this job and the five year contract I had signed. I also noted that I would be unable to find equivalent work and wages before my return to work date.

In their response, they politely declined, stating that their offer was firm.

My second letter was not as friendly. I laid out the list of reasons why they got rid of me because I was pregnant and had a baby. I was clear and unemotional, using concrete examples, of which there were many. I reiterated my counter offer and informed them that if they didn't change their offer I would be getting a lawyer.

It took a couple weeks to hear back from them, as I later found out they had hire an employment lawyer to deal with another lawsuit against them from a former employee. I really didn't want to get a lawyer, knowing that they're expensive and that it would be months before I would see any money. I also didn't want to back down. 

When the letter finally came, it was a big moment. My former boss wrote that my accusations were offensive and untrue, but that I was right about a legal battle being a waste of money, so they would give me everything I asked for. It was a big, victorious moment. I'm not saying I sang We Are The Champions, but I'm not saying I didn't.

A couple months later I had lunch with a former colleague from that office. She told me that my boss had hired someone to fill my eliminated position part time, and that she made significantly more money per hour than I had. I just laughed. Of course, right? Of course he hired someone else to fill the position that they didn't need, the one they kicked me out of due to restructuring. 

After that I got in touch with a lawyer. We had a good meeting and he didn't charge me for the time on the initial consultation. It turns out that, while what my boss did is despicable (not my word), because I had signed their severance agreement in my right state of mind there wasn't much I could do. He also told me that he was impressed with the severance amount I negotiated and that, had I come to them in the beginning, chances are that I wouldn't have gotten as much and would have had to pay legal fees on top of that.

When I went to the lawyer I wasn't looking for more money I just wanted to know if there was anything I could do to ensure that what happened didn't get swept under the rug while my boss essentially got away with it. The only thing I can do is send a letter to the head of the board that hired my boss, but the lawyer didn't recommend it as a wise career move. I took his advice and haven't done anything more and, while the situation still rankles me a little, it's over. 

The only thing I can do now is share what happened. I want to share my story and experiences because this happens much more often than we think it does, and a lot of women don't stand up for themselves. It's a lot easier to take the initial buyout and use it as an excuse to stay home longer with your kids. There is nothing wrong with that but make sure you're getting the best deal you can get. Don't let people walk all over you. And while you're at it, ask for a higher salary at your next job interview. Don't undervalue yourself. We are women, let's roar.

Remember, I'm Canadian and speaking from a Canadian perspective.

15+ months of breastfeeding

We did it. We survived over a year of keeping a tiny human alive thanks largely to my breasts. If that's not impressive, I don't know what is. It will never stop blowing my mind that at some point that kid survived in and then off of me. Growing people is weird.

We were fortunate that breastfeeding came relatively easily to us. We never needed to supplement or stress that Parker wasn't getting enough. I also, thankfully, never had any clogged ducts or mastitis to deal with. Thank you, Jesus. That said, breastfeeding still had its ups and downs.

From the very beginning I wanted to approach feeding my baby realistically. Yes, I think breast milk is best for your child. It's the easier, more natural way of feeding the spawn of your loins. Sure, the concept can seem a little strange, but when it comes down to it your body kept that kid alive for nine months on the inside so it makes sense that until he can eat actual food your body just keeps on doing its thing. That said, I know that not everyone can breastfeed. Some people just don't have milk come in, some people have difficult recoveries, some people just aren't given the support they need to do something so natural but so very new and challenging.

My ultimate desire was to breastfeed for a year, but before Parker was even born I knew that I wasn't going to beat myself up about it if that didn't happen. So I started with baby steps. First, we'd just see how it went. Then we'd shoot for six months. Then a year. Then, as time went on, the goal was two years, as recommended by WHO.

Everyone tells you right from the get go that if you're doing it right, breastfeeding should not hurt. I just want to stand up right now and publicly debunk that nasty rumour. Breastfeeding, in fact, does hurt when you first start it. We spent an extra day in the hospital because I was convinced we were doing it wrong, even though the nurses kept saying Parker's latch was great. If everything was going so well, why did it hurt so much?

Enter common sense. A sensitive part of your body is suddenly being sucked on by an unrelenting leach for eight hours a day. That sensitive part of your body is chaffing like you wouldn't believe, and there's this toe curling pain that happens every time that leach hooks onto you. Looking back, I feel like it's so obvious that breastfeeding is going to take some adjustment, but I wish the information out there was more realistic. You and your tiny new stranger are learning new skills and your body is adjusting to them. Eventually you'll have nipples of steel, but it takes a couple weeks and a lot of nipple cream to get there. And, remember, that's assuming everything goes well to begin with.

So yeah, breastfeeding was not the most comfortable starting point. I also didn't know that it can take some kids 24 hours to actually want to eat after birth. After labour I was inhaling muffins like they were going out of style, but Parker seemed to deal with his trauma by ignoring it. It's okay, he's since learned to be an emotional eater. It took a full 18 hours of life before Parker even tried to nurse. No one told me that was a thing, they just told me that I needed to feed that little baby every three hours, even in the middle of that first exhausting night. 

Let me tell you, there is nothing better than having been awake for 30+ hours, pushing a human out of your nethers, then having the best sleep of your life for an hour before trying to breastfeed an unwilling baby. Every story you've ever heard about kids feeding successfully right after birth is running through your head and you feel like a big old failure because the most natural thing in the world is just not happening.

Eventually we got ourselves sorted out and went home. When Parker was about three days old we hit our next breastfeeding hurdle: milk. Can I just say, that there is nothing more terrifying/impressive than your milk coming in. All of a sudden I had rock hard boobs that reminded me of Bane from Batman and Robin.

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They also leaked everywhere. I would be getting dressed and all of a sudden there would be a puddle of milk on the floor. From my breasts. Hello, side show. And that, I kid you not, is what life was like for weeks. Breast pads were my bffs and constantly being changed. I got used to smelling, like Parker, like sour milk. 

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Mostly because I had to bring a clean shirt, nipple cream, and breast pads with me everywhere I went. Yep, life as a mom really changes things. Eventually things sorted themselves out and it became more manageable. 

All that milk did not just end up on the floor or in my clothes. I was blessed with a very generous milk supply. At the risk of oversharing, Parker could have just opened his mouth and said "Ahhhh" and gotten a full meal. Fortunately, after two or three months, that sorted itself out, too. Until he started sleeping through the night, of course.

It was around that time that we started having some issues with breastfeeding. First of all, I was very uncomfortable feeding Parker in public without his nursing pillow. I definitely relied heavily on that pillow, and couldn't figure out how to discreetly feed him when we were without it. It was also the middle of summer, and way too hot to nurse with a cover on. That, and I'd get the nervous sweats whenever there was the possibility of a nip slip. Let me tell you, feeding my son in public was one of the most stressful things I had to do, especially when it resulted in me flashing an entire Tim Hortons.

Parker, my wonder feeder, also developed a lazy latch. This was probably a result of my generous supply and just laying him on the nursing pillow so I could be hands free. It was a good setup for cookie eating and Netflix watching, but led to some issues. I almost saw a lactation consultant about it, but was told by my health nurse to look into biological nurturing/laid back breastfeeding.

At first I was skeptical because it was just another breastfeeding position (and, hello, not one of the ones they tell you that you must use when you have a baby), but it was like hitting a magical reset button. Parker couldn't be lazy anymore and latched right on. Never mind that it's the perfect baby snuggling and lounging about position. That, combined with practicing not using my pillow, made breastfeeding so much easier. I still used my pillow until Parker was about six months old, but I didn't need it anymore.

Another thing that saved my sanity when it came to nursing happened when Parker was about four weeks old. I read a book on sleep training your kid. The big takeaway for me, though, was making sure he had full feeds. Parker has always been a sucky kid and would always look like he was trying to suck or nurse, and all the health nurses tell you that you need to feed your newborn as soon as they start giving you those hunger cues so they don't freak out. After a few weeks of doing that I was losing my freaking mind. Parker constantly looked like he wanted to suck on something (my boob) so he was constantly nursing. It was exhausting and frustrating, especially when he'd throw up from having eaten too much. 

I learned that instead of letting your kid snack, you can try to give them a full meal. I also gave my kid a soother, something I swore I never would (health nurses say it's sin). Glory, hallelujah, life got better. Parker was no longer attached to me 24/7 and was eating every 2 1/2 hours like clockwork. I also didn't let him fall asleep while nursing (for the most part, it's hard with newborns that sleep more than cats) and it saved my sanity. He didn't need me for sleep, and I could get some (sleep).

We were also really lucky that when we introduced the bottle at six weeks Parker took it like a champ. I know a lot of people give bottles earlier, but we were told that giving him one before then would cause nipple confusion and that would be the end of our breastfeeding journey. Same with soothers. Basically, we were scared to do anything wrong so tried to go by the health nurse book. 

Parker would take the occasional bottle during church and on Friday nights, and when I left the house for more than an hour. Breastfeeding still went really well.

When it came time to start cutting back on nursing with the inevitable return to work, it was pretty easy. I'd just stop offering and give him more food instead. I was nervous at first because it felt like it took forever to get solids really figured out, but everything happened with enough time. 

When I went back to work, we were nursing in the morning, before afternoon nap, and before bed. We just dropped the afternoon nap and eventually the before bed one, too. It was easy. I wasn't there in the afternoon and Parker was too distracted to really get into the before bed one. On Saturday, we had our last morning feed. 

Being pregnant, my amazing supply is starting to dry up. It's still there, but there isn't much and it's mostly colostrum. I'm kind of sad, but at the same time looking forward to having only to supply for one kid at a time. I let Parker decide when it was time, which was nice, and he doesn't seem to miss it at all. We didn't make it to two, but never had to supplement and I like to think that some of those breastfed super powers will linger for a while. We're over a year, it's not essential to keep him a live anymore, and I get a little more personal space in the morning. 

And in five months I get to start it all over again. Oh boy!

Adjusting to a lack of luxury

Going back to work after an extended maternity leave has been, predictably, an adjustment. I've been faced with the extra adjustments of not only being off work for 13+ months, but going back to a new job, in a new office, while pretending that I'm not in the throes of first trimester life sickness and exhaustion.

There's definitely something to be said about taking a short maternity leave. I imagine those mothers (I'm looking at you, Americans) that are only allowed a handful of weeks to recover from the chaos of childbirth actually have, in some respects, an easier time adjusting to the return to work.

Whereas I'm coming off 13 months of the leisurely stay at home life, those six-week-return-to-work-moms never really got to dig into the glorious routine that is the non-newborn. Whereas I could (attempt to) make homemade bread for our dinner during afternoon naptime and got used to the life of one nap housework one nap me-time, those six-weekers might still have babies that don't know the difference between night and day. They could still be ripped and torn in unspeakable places and leaking through their shirts every two and a half hours and so sleep deprived they can't remember their baby's birthday and back to work they go. Well they've kind of got it going on, because they don't know what they're missing. Now that I'm back at work, I know, and the struggle is real.

I only work part time so you'd think I'd have it going on, but really I don't. I may get home with time to put Parker down for an afternoon nap depending on what daycare did that day, but gone are the days of simple "me" time. No, I come home and nap (which I'm mostly done with) or look at my disgusting house and cry because I'm too tired to clean it. And it's only 4 p.m.

I found a frozen bag of soup in the freezer today and almost wept with joy. It's not enough to feed all of us, but with some noodles thrown in there and maybe some french fries on the side (french bread would be ideal, but I hear making that involves more than turning the oven on and opening a bag) we can almost pretend that I'm back on the homemaking train. (Side note: I put too many noodles in the soup. It now looks like the world's saddest tomato sauce.)

One of the biggest joys of going back to work with a 13 month old, though, was that I was ready. All maternity leaves should be 13 months instead of 12 (sorry, Americans) because beautiful little babies turn into socially inept little toddlers at 13 months. All of a sudden they realize that it isn't their duty to be sweet little things, and that they are the rulers of one and all. Basically, Parker needed daycare and to hang out with other kids and I needed a break from the hair pulling.

It's definitely been an adjustment going back to a regular person lifestyle, but there's a glorious silver lining at the end of it: come early 2017 I get to start my life of stay at home luxury all over again. Because two should be easier than one, right?

Having a baby? You will die if you don't have these things.

I've planned on having a baby, been pregnant, given birth, and now have a baby. There's a lot of stuff that goes along with the whole infant thing and I know it's a hot topic in the blogging world as to what you actually need for this wonderful stage of your life. So, if you're thinking of having a baby, pregnant, in the process of giving birth, or now have a child you're probably dying for my "must have" list of baby gear. Or, as we call it in this household, baby crap.

Chocolate. Seriously. There is no time in your parenting journey that chocolate will not be necessary. Trying to conceive? Chocolate. Pregnant? Chocolate. Giving birth? Chocolate (when the nurse isn't looking). Have a baby? Chocolate. Are you seeing a trend here? Chocolate.

Clothes that fit. I am incredibly cheap so this was a tough one for me. Maternity clothes are very expensive and often the quality just isn't there. There aren't a lot of places to shop where I live, so my selection was limited. In my experience, Motherhood Maternity is hugely expensive and the quality is terrible. Thyme Maternity had better quality and good sales, but some things, like their bras, seem good but aren't. I was warned against them, didn't listen, and later paid the price.

I didn't want to spent $50 on a pair of cotton maternity leggings because it seemed like a rip off. When I was in my third trimester I bit the bullet and lived in them for the rest of my pregnancy. Just do it. You jumbo thighs will thank you later. Sometimes comfort and savings just don't go hand in hand.

That said, I wore a belly band before people even knew I was pregnant to accommodate the ever attractive bloating I was experiencing and loved it. I wore my favourite pants up until I gave birth thanks to that thing and it helped me fit into a lot of normal people clothes post-pregnancy, too. It got hot in the last month of my pregnancy but my thighs were too big to fit any of my old shorts or capris so I bought a clearance pair of capris that fit over my thighs and wore them for my last month at work. They're a size bigger than I was before I got pregnant and they fit me perfectly right now. Totally worth the $12 I spent on them. I did the same thing with a pair of shorts for the summer. My belly band saved me a ton of money on maternity pants.

Towards the beginning of my pregnancy I bought a couple of low-band maternity jeans. Learn from my mistakes and don't do that. Even if they're on clearance, you won't get a lot of mileage out of them. I thought I'd wear them post-pregnancy, too, but no dice. They were fine in my first trimester, but after that they made my displaced belly fat bulge over top. That only gets worse after you have a baby. They also added extra pressure on my bladder since I was carrying so low. Instead, go for full panel pants. They're so much more comfortable and you can reasonably wear them up until the last few weeks of your pregnancy, when nothing fits over your belly anyway. Then you just wear dresses and XXL shirts.

If you can, buy used. Most of my maternity shirts I got from Value Village and I'm still wearing them nine months later. Unless they have side ruching, it's impressive how many shirts can double as normal people clothes.

Dresses and shirts in bigger sizes and long lengths are also really good for covering the baby beer belly. I wore long Old Navy tank tops the whole time in my usual size. They didn't get stretched out and I still wear them all the time. I got some button up shirts off their clearance rack in a size up that worked, too. The thing is, you can wear your normal buttons ups with belts over tank tops to look just as put together. Keep in mind, though, that rib cages spread and boobs grow, so things that used to do up suddenly won't.

Loose non-maternity clothing is great because it doesn't cost as much, isn't weird and cutesy (because when you're pregnant you need to dress like you did when you were eight), and can be used afterwards for breastfeeding and hiding the post-baby jelly belly.

The bottom line is, I recommend getting a couple things that fit, no matter what they cost. You're going to be uncomfortable no matter what so investing in a couple things that fit really well will help. For me that was pants and leggings. I only ended up buying one good pair of leggings and everything else was used. Next time I'm going to buy a good pair of jeans and something I can wear to work. The belly band can work for everything else.
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Some people get maternity coats but I just didn't do mine up. I don't spend a ton of time outside in the winter and my core temperature was a lot higher while I was baby incubating. Even in -40 I was fine with my parka unbuttoned for everyday life.

Nursing bras are also good to start with, but I got mine from Thyme and they stretched out weird after a month or so. Next time I'll bite the bullet and get a couple high quality ones. I just wear a regular bra now that I can pull the cups down on now that my supply has evened out. I got a couple from Aerie for $20 so they're good quality but also cheap enough that I don't feel bad abusing them. I've had them for several months now and they're no worse for wear.

Used. Baby crap is expensive. While I wish we had a million dollars to buy non-ugly baby gear we just don't. Sometimes you have to accept the fact that you're going to have a Disney character swing in your living room because the price was too good to pass up. (Free. It was free.) Take the ugly with the cheap and the free and reinvest it in your chocolate stash. Your baby won't know and later on you can just reinforce your hipster cred by calling it vintage. Just make sure you clean it really well before using it. And don't buy used chocolate. For obvious reasons.

Video monitor. I know these things comes off as incredibly creepy, especially since there are some terrifying stories of them being hacked, but we love ours. It's a Levana and runs through our WiFi directly camera to monitor so, even though I'm not a tech expert, I don't think it's the kind getting hacked. It's especially helpful when we're trying to do things in the yard or garage that take us out of earshot but still keep us in close proximity. And, bonus, it plays lullabies. Grumpy Parker is a big sucker for lullabies.

A good car seat. As far as I'm concerned, all car seats currently sold in stores are safe and you don't need to spend a million dollars to get a good one. But, and this took a while for me to learn, not all car seats are created equal. We've been fortunate enough to be loaned and then given our two bucket seats. The first one we had was the one our nephew used and the second is from a friend. I am all about borrowed car seats as long as they're not expired and haven't been in any accidents.

My nephew's car seat is Winnie the Pooh (not my first choice) and has really annoying straps to adjust. You had to go around back and loosen and tighten them individually. When Parker started hating his car seat the straps were a real pain to adjust because we were loosening and tightening them every time we put him in and out of it. It was a nightmare. The one we got from our friend is blue (hallelujah!) and has a heaven-sent strap right between the baby's feet that tightens and loosens all the straps at once. It's like the difference between lace up shoes and slip-ons,

I'm sure the centre strap pull (that's the technical term) is standard on everything these days but, if for some reason you're given the choice, 110% get the car seat with the centre strap pull. Your screaming baby will thank me later.

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Do you notice in the above picture how the top of the seat tapers in at the top where the baby's head goes? Another thing we love about our new to us car seat is that taper that helps Parker's head not loll from side to side while he falls asleep in there.

I also recommend getting a car seat that will last longer. We live in the frozen tundra here, and my goal was to keep Parker in that bucket seat as long as possible. His goes up to 30 lbs or 30", but a lot of them only go up to 22 lbs. Unless you gave birth to Gumby, your child will likely reach 22 lbs before 30".

I have no advice for the post-bucket seat car seat purchase, because we're just starting to explore our options for that now. I've heard good things about both the $90 and $380 options and I value your opinions on the matter.

Big nursing pillow. This isn't a necessity as I know a lot of people just use regular pillows to nurse, but I loved my big pillow. I had a little one for the first couple weeks, but life got so much easier once my big pillow came into my life.

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I don't use it anymore but when Parker was smaller it helped free up my hands so that I could go on my phone, drink coffee, or talk enthusiastically while he ate.

The only thing I don't like about it is that it doesn't come with a cover. You can buy them but they cost almost as much as the pillow. I usually just lay a burp cloth down on it, but it's kind of gross now, especially since you're not supposed to put it in the washing machine. There's only so much spot cleaning someone can do before it's a lost cause. After knowing what my pillow's been through in the last few months I recommend splurging the $30 for a brand new one.

Accessories for your breasts. Yep. Nipple cream. Use it. Love it. Bathe in it. Be smarter than me and bring it to the hospital.

Breast pads. I tried fabric and disposable ones and am fabric all the way, except for when I wore my sports bra. They do show through your clothes more, but they feel less like a feminine hygiene product and more like clothing so I think it's worth it. I kept both on hand. Some people need them more than others, though, so maybe you'll be fine. I had a very generous supply, though, and used them for several months.

As far as I'm concerned, you don't need a nursing cover, swing, or electric double breast pump. They're bonuses that you may or may not use.

I say if you can avoid it don't use a swing. Parker didn't use it until he was a couple months old because he just didn't like it and we didn't realize it could recline (d'oh!).

I had a terrible time using an around the neck nursing cover and ended up going without and getting a nursing infinity scarf for times when polite company dictates I use it. If you wear a loose shirt with a tank top underneath it'll draw less attention to you and cover things just as well.

On that note, I didn't get a single nursing shirt. They're wildly expensive and I just wear a tank top I can pull the neck down on. I haven't had any stretch out yet, but they're $6 vs $40 so replacing it won't be a pain at all.

I do have a double electric breast pump. I bought a middle of the line one and am happy with it. I don't think the double pump is necessary since I find it far too awkward to do both sides at a time. I haven't tried a manual pump, but I like the ease of the electric. Sometimes, though, I find that expressing manually is more effective, so it can be a hassle to try and fill a bottle. I think having a pump is wonderful but pumping is a pain and I'm not sure that I needed one as high tech as I got because Parker's never taken more than two bottles a week, and it's significantly less now that he's sleeping through the night and a more efficient/discreet eater.

Honourable mention here should go to our fishy aquarium and Zipadee-Zip. We can no longer afford to send Parker to college because of the cost of one of those Zipadees (the dollar hurts so bad!) but it's well worth it for the through the night sleeping he does.

Seriously, though, the only thing you absolutely need to take care of a baby is diapers. Whether they're cloth, disposable, or made from fig leaves, you need something to try to catch the poops. And yes, I did say try. 

Parker's birth story/The coolest thing I've ever done

I always thought it would be weird to write a birth story. I never thought much beforehand about whether I would share Parker's or not. I guess I just kind of assumed I wouldn't. Now that it's happened, though, and people keep asking me how it went, I think writing it down makes so much sense. I mean, there was a human living and growing inside of me and then suddenly he was living and growing outside of me. It's still blowing my mind.

So what follows is Parker's birth story. If ever there's a time to over-share about the cringey stuff, this is when it's going to happen. Be warned, I will be using the term "leaking" an awful lot. If you can handle that, though, I recommend grabbing a snack before jumping in. I recommend some sort of baked good and an iced coffee. This might take a while to read. Your call.

Drop it like it's... a baby?

Parker carried really low throughout my whole pregnancy. From the time I was about five months pregnant he hung out on my bladder most of the time. This meant that I didn't look as big and round as most people, that I constantly had to pee, and was generally really uncomfortable. It also meant that when he dropped I kind of thought he might have, but was kind of just guessing. Everyone says you'll definitely know when the baby drops, but they have no idea. I think he dropped the Friday before he was born but the only thing I noticed was that I could actually hear my stomach gurgling under my ribs for the first time in months and that I was getting uncomfortable and crampy. After comparing a couple belly pictures it looked like he may have dropped a little bit, but it was hard to tell.

The Monday before he was born I started having signs aside from crampiness that maybe baby might come early. I'll spare you the details. It was supposed to be my last week at work but I had a few sick days banked so I was going to see how things went. I was so uncomfortable that I couldn't imagine another 40 hour work week. My co-workers were pretty sympathetic, and when our receptionist commented on the fact that I was starting to waddle a bit (it's okay, she's truly delightful and it was true) I knew people would understand when I decided that I'd stick out Wednesday morning then just call it a week. They were having an office potluck/bbq in honour of me and a couple other people's big life events (a wedding and a departure) Wednesday afternoon. My goal was just to make it to that lunch.

I had my 38 week (and 4 day) check up with my doctor over my lunch break on Tuesday. He informed me that I was 1 cm dilated and, in parting, said that he hoped to see me before my next week's appointment. I was excited. A lot of people are dilated for weeks before they actually have their babies, but my doctor's words gave me hope. I could be one of those rare first time moms that wasn't ten days overdue!

A couple hours later I was chatting with a co-worker and looking at pictures of his 1 1/2 year old when I suddenly felt like I'd peed myself a little. Except, even though there was an enormous amount of pressure on my bladder, I was pretty sure I hadn't just become incontinent. I wrapped up our conversation pretty quickly (read: walked away mid-sentence) and thanked the clothing gods that I had decided to wear navy blue pants instead of tan ones that morning. My water had most assuredly just broken while talking with my co-worker, and he hadn't even noticed. File that one under awkward encounters with everyone.

I called my doctor's office, totally unsure of what to do and thankful that it was still business hours. The nurse that answered checked with my doctor and informed me to go to Labour and Delivery after heading home, showering if I wanted, and getting my stuff.

I phoned Karl and my parents, my dad already being on his way, and told them that we were going to have a baby soon. My mom wasn't supposed to be out for another week and a half, so right away she started changing her holidays around.

They say that only about 15% of women have their water break before they're in actual hospital labour. I imagine a good chunk of those that do have it happen in the comfort of their own homes, too. They also say that it doesn't happen like it does on TV and that it's not a big dramatic gush all over the place. I was grateful for that. I had the chance to say my goodbyes to my co-workers and not one of them noticed that I was walking around in soggy pants, intermittently leaking.

Karl beat me home, and we went about packing everything up. I went through a couple pairs of leggings, trying to determine exactly how much liquid I needed to anticipate coming out of me and eventually accepted that it would be a lot. Bring on the massive hygiene products. How much amniotic fluid does one person's body actually hold? And how long does it take to all come out? Forever. The answer is forever. It never stops coming out until the baby's head plugs its exit route. At least I think that's what the nurse said. When we had that conversation later on I was a little preoccupied.

We got to the hospital feeling really good about ourselves. Driving across town to the hospital in rush hour, during construction season, was our worst nightmare. Except we weren't in labour and were feeling really good. There was no panic, just a wonderful sense of anticipation. It was 10 days to my due date! Way to go, baby boy!

When we checked in at Labour and Delivery we let them know my water had broken and my doctor had told us to come in. Just as they were about to send us to sit tight in the waiting area to be assessed things got real. I had my TV worthy water breaking moment. A veritable tsunami of fluid came gushing out of me, all over my last pair of clean leggings and the floor. Karl was horrified. I was embarrassed, having essentially wet myself in front of the nurses. Apparently they're used to that kind of thing there, though, and they just shuffled me off to lay in a recovery bed while we waited to be assessed.

They hooked my stomach up to some monitors and informed us that it was going to be a bit of a wait to see a doctor because they were full up. We hung out for five hours, waiting, anticipating, and leaking (me, not Karl). A nurse came by fairly early on and asked us about our birth plan, informing us that we'd likely be given the option to be induced if we wanted it. We were all over that. I was so tired of being pregnant, and did I mention the leaking?

"I'm leaking!"

We were close to Labour and Delivery room 5. Karl and I both got the uncomfortable giggles when we could hear the poor woman in there wailing her way through labour. My big fear was that I was going to lose my dignity by using all the swear words I know and being nasty and mean. My second big fear was that I was going to become one of those panting, wailing, moaning women we saw in the video in our pre-natal class. A wailing woman just like the poor lady in Labour and Delivery room 5. So we laughed at her for lack of anything better to do. But eventually we heard the sound of a screaming baby and it was one of the greatest sounds ever. Soon that would be our screaming baby!

Eventually a doctor came and assessed me, told us that my doctor wanted me to be induced if I wanted, but that we'd have to go home because they were too busy induce us. Another nurse informed us that we would likely hear from them around 8 a.m., or earlier if we were okay with a middle of the night call. If we hadn't heard from them by noon we were to give them a call. She let us know, though, that if we didn't get induced the next day we'd have to come in for a non-stress test and possibly an ultrasound to make sure everything was okay with baby.

I had always been under the impression that if your water breaks they want that baby out in the next 12 hours because of the risk of infection. In reality, if your strep test (the dreaded Q-tip test) came back negative they're happy to let you wait for labour to start naturally, you just have to count baby's movements every two hours and take your temperature every four. Most people have labour start within 12 to 24 hours of their water breaking. Most people also don't have their water break while they're at work. Spoiler alert: I'm pretty sure that if I'd waited for labour to start naturally I would probably still be pregnant.

We got home around 11:30, snacked, and went to bed. While we were kind of disappointed that we weren't coming home with a baby, we knew that it was likely going to be our last night ever to get a good night sleep so we took advantage of it. A morning induction would be the best thing, because we'd be bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready for life's next big adventure.

The call never came. Just before noon the next day, I called the hospital and was informed that they were still quite busy but we'd probably get called right after lunch and wasn't I waiting for labour to start naturally? I informed them that, no, I was waiting to get induced because that's what my doctor wanted.

We went to my office's potluck that afternoon. We had missed dinner the night before and I really wanted to eat as much and as well as possible before baby go time. My office is also a five minute drive from the hospital, so we were ready for their after lunch call. When it didn't come we went home, did some laundry, and took a nap.

We phoned again just before dinner time. I had done an excellent job of planning the week's meals (for once) and wanted to know if I'd have time to actually make a proper meal. Once we established with the nurse that I was waiting to getting induced, per my doctor's wishes, and not waiting for labour to start naturally (because it really wasn't) I was once again informed that they were still very busy and that they'd have to call me back around 8 p.m.

As you can imagine, we were getting tired of waiting and were gearing up for another night at home. The waiting was brutal. I was uncomfortable and the baby was starting to put more pressure on my insides. Also, we'd just finished watching Friday Night Lights so we didn't have anything good to watch. I was starting to lose my patience.

At 8:30 we got in touch with the hospital again. I informed the nurse that we were waiting to get induced, not for labour to start naturally like she thought. Finally, we were told that they had room for us and we could come get induced. The only catch was that my doctor wasn't on call that night so depending how quickly things happened he might not be there to deliver. I asked the nurse about getting a non-stress test or ultrasound and she said that we could come get the test if we wanted, but that my doctor would have to schedule the ultrasound the next day. I asked her if we should come in for the non-stress test and she said it was really up to us but that she probably would. I then asked if we should get induced or wait until the morning and she said it was also really up to us, but that they couldn't predict whether they'd be busy again in the morning. We decided to go in for the non-stress test to make sure everything was still going well, and would decide from there how to proceed. Off we went to the hospital again.

During the non-stress test there was either a problem with the monitor they used on my stomach or Parker's heart rate was dipping a little bit, they were never quite clear on that, so, instead of the usual 20 minutes, I was hooked up to the machine for an hour and a half. Eventually we got the go-ahead that we could go home and keep waiting for labour to start naturally (are you sensing a pattern here?). It was getting late, and we were a little worried about baby's heart rate so we decided to stay and get induced. How quick could we actually expect labour to be anyway? My doctor would probably be back on call by the time I was ready for him anyway.

The doctor that came in and checked my progress was a nightmare. She brought in a med student, but, much to my surprise, he wasn't the problem. Where he was as gentle as you can be when feeling a baby's position and checking dilation, she was like a bull in a china shop. My china shop. She must have been punishing me for correcting her when she said that we had changed our minds from waiting for labour to start naturally. I'm almost positive she wanted to see if she could manage to make me give birth through my mouth with the amount of force she used to check me. One thing I knew was that I did not want that woman to ever touch me again, so when she asked if she could show the student something and use me as a further teaching opportunity I didn't even feel bad for telling her no. Besides, the student thought I had gone to 2 cm, but she said I was still only 1 cm. What a jerk.

My dad got into town while we were getting the non-stress test and we needed him to bring some paperwork to the hospital so I got to see him for ten minute before heading into my room. It was surreal knowing that the next time we saw each other there would be a new little Morton with us.

I was assigned to Labour and Delivery room 5. The humour of it was not lost on us.

At 11:45 that night they started me on the oxytocin. It was a long, uncomfortable night. I didn't get much sleep because I was still crampy and uncomfortable. The difference between spending the night getting induced and spending the night at home in your own bed is that you're hooked up to a bunch of monitors and can't move around very much. Also there are apparently certain positions that your unborn child doesn't like you to lay in. Every time I thought I was comfortable I would start to ache another five seconds later. My hips were like fire, and sleep wasn't really on the horizon. Both Karl and I tried to nap and I think we may have managed a collective hour or two.

Our night nurse was amazing. Seriously, I have this little daydream where we bump into each other in Superstore and become BFFs.

I'd gone into labour with no real birth plan. We wanted to have a health, happy baby by any means necessary. I wasn't afraid of being induced like so many people are, and even though I didn't want a c-section I wasn't about to fight against one if it seemed necessary. Modern medicine seems to have its act together (nurses pushing for waiting for labour's natural start not included) and I'm not a doctor. I'm happy to defer to the experts.

As far as pain management went, I knew I wanted to labour in the tub, on the ball, and try using laughing gas to get through contractions. With its excellent reputation, I was really looking forward to giving the laughing gas a go. Initially I'd thought I'd wanted an epidural but the more I learned about them the less sure I was. I wasn't afraid of my spinal cord being hit or anything, but I was worried about the terrible headache that people sometimes get from the removal of that little bit of spinal fluid. As a migraine sufferer, I really didn't want my nether regions to be ripped and torn with a really bad headache to top it off. That said, I wasn't about to be an unnecessary hero so I was still open to the idea one.

I spent a little time on the birthing ball to ease my discomfort but it only served to put more pressure on my insides and I found I was more comfortable in bed. Well. I knew before the oxytocin even kicked in that I was going to want an epidural. Since the birthing ball did nothing for me with just regular cramping and I was already so uncomfortable with nothing having even started, how was I going to survive what lay ahead?

When we said goodbye to our night nurse we all joked that we hopefully wouldn't see each other again that night, but the way things were going we probably would.

Our day nurse was really good, too. I informed her and our departing night nurse that I was hoping for a really easy labour where the baby just kind of fell out of me with one, maybe two pushes. I was really afraid of tearing and there wasn't going to be any of that going on either. Things were going to go really well. The birthing ball hadn't worked so maybe the power of positive thinking would. The nurses all thought I was hysterical, but our day nurse high-fived me. Again, I knew we'd be great friends.

My doctor popped his head into the room at some point to check in and say hi. He asked why I'd gotten induced the night before when he'd told them he didn't want me to be until he was on call. Naturally.

After ten hours of being induced with nothing happening, I heard that the woman in the room next door had less than half the oxytocin going and her contractions were two minutes apart. I was happy for her, I guess, but jokingly wished that she'd have tearing. I think I was joking.

My nurse suggested that maybe getting in the bath would help with my discomfort. At first, the tub was amazing. Why hadn't I taken more baths at home throughout my pregnancy? I was really uncomfortable still so Karl rubbed my back through the worst moments. I then proceeded to projectile vomit all the blue Jello I'd eaten (a lot) into the tub with myself. Then things got real. Like the Jello had been what was holding me back, things started to move forward. And by things I mean pain.

I got back into bed, convinced that the agony I was in meant that labour had finally started, but what felt like contractions weren't registering as anything. Still just cramping. My nurse had already thrown around the idea of an early epidural and I told her I was ready. There was an hour before the anaesthesiologist had a scheduled c-section so I was hopeful that I could sneak in there first.

Even though it didn't register on the monitor as anything, what I felt was like a constant contraction. The pain didn't let up much at all. Except it wasn't a contraction and I wasn't in labour but, oh, it freaking hurt. Then they checked my progress and determined that I was only 3, possibly 4, cm dilated. They estimate for every 1/2 or full cm of dilation it takes about an hour to get there. I knew I had a long road ahead of me and that drugs were going to get me through it.

I was informed that the c-section had gone in early so I'd have to wait for my epidural. I asked for laughing gas, knowing it was going to be my new BFF. Except apparently I don't like laughing gas. It made me nauseous and I had to take several big hits for it to do anything else. I could still feel my non-contractions clear as anything but I wanted to puke and everything else went numb. Crushing disappointment.

The next big disappointment came when I was informed that there was an emergency c-section and I'd have to wait another hour or so to get my epidural. At this point, I had become the moaning woman of Labour and Delivery room 5. I only dropped one little curse word the entire time and only Karl was in the room to hear it. So at least I wasn't the cussing woman in Labour and Delivery room 5, too.

I kept telling the nurses and Karl that I couldn't do it anymore, and couldn't understand why anyone would have more than one child. And I wasn't even in labour. The nurse told me that I was, in fact, doing it so I totally could. Easy for her to say, she'd never had a baby. I kept asking how long it would be before I could get my epidural. Knowing it was just another defined amount of time helped me get through it.

I'd been told earlier that sometimes people have to be induced twice. I'd initially thought that would be the worst thing ever in the entire world, but I didn't even realize that they had turned my oxytocin off until I started to fall asleep between non-contractions. Apparently I'd been in so much pain that my eyes were rolling back in my head. Karl kept having to remind me to breathe while I dozed between the painful moments but sleeping was just so much more appealing, especially after over 12 hours in that darn bed.

Finally, the anaesthesiologist was done with his c-sections and came to see me. It was a beautiful moment. Although I'd hardly noticed it at the time, I was glad they'd stopped giving me the induction drugs so that I could rest. Non-contractions are no joke, especially when they don't have definite breaks between them.

I was excited to get my epidural and get some sleep. I requested that my nurse give me a catheter, too, since I had no interest in making anymore bathroom trips. I just wanted to sleep and let labour eventually start without me even knowing it.

I'm sure the anaesthesiologist is the most popular person in Labour and Delivery. Things had calmed down enough that I was able to appreciate him coming in and joke with him. He gave me a really generous sized dose of whatever they put in there and I felt better almost immediately. The nurse was impressed by how much he gave me. My toes were tingly and mostly numb, I couldn't feel the fire in my hips anymore, and cramping? What cramping? I don't remember his last name, but if we hadn't had a name already picked our Parker might very well have been named Mark.

Once the epidural was in they put me back on the oxytocin, starting my induction all over again. My doctor came in and he checked my progress again. It had only been about four hours since my last check, so when he said that I was fully there and ready to go we all looked at him like he was lying to us. I'd would have told him not to lie to a not-quite labouring woman, but I was so comfortably numb in the lower part of my body that I really didn't care if he was joking with me or not. Except he wasn't. He asked if I wanted to push and I said no, so he said to call when I did and figured he'd see us in an hour or so.

The nurse told me that contractions were finally starting to register on the monitors. They weren't regular or anything, but something was definitely happening. Cheers to Mark and his fully loaded epidural! I couldn't feel anything, but apparently I'd become relaxed enough for things to start moving forward. Contrary to popular belief, epidurals don't always slow things down.

My nurse told me that she could see Parker's head and, when I asked, that he had hair. Apparently my low-sitting little boy was slowly making his way out on his own, just like I'd predicted.

After a while she asked if I was ready to think about pushing and I thought I probably was. I could feel a bit of pressure, like I maybe needed to go to the bathroom, but aside from that nothing.

When the doctor came back to the hospital we had a great time. The worst moment was when he told me I might need an episiotomy. That's when I prepared myself for a rough recovery because episiotomies aren't really done that often anymore, the preference being for more natural tearing. So if he was suggesting that? Well, thank God for my epidural.

They monitored my intermittent contractions and told me when to push until I started feeling more pressure and could feel for myself when it was time. Giving birth is really a lot like pooping. You use the same muscles to push the baby out and, at least when you've got that epic epidural, all that pressure just feels like maybe you've waited a little too long to go to the bathroom. Too much information? Well, I wasn't leaking anymore, in case you were wondering.

Karl sat back and ate an apple while I pushed. Neither of us wanted to see what was going on down there. No mirrors here, thanks very much.

I was feeling so good that my doctor put on some music. We started our 45 minutes of pushing to Weezer's Island in the Sun. It was kind of the perfect happy song after so many hours of waiting. The hardest part was not letting my doctor make me laugh while I pushed. He commented that he hasn't had many people giggle between pushes before.

I surprised myself by wanting to see Parker's head when given the opportunity. It was that or close my eyes. His head looked like some sort of alien rock or egg, all slimy and grey, nothing like a little boy's skull. I didn't see when his head came out because that push required a lot of concentration, but I did see his body come out.

When they put his slimy little body on me I couldn't believe that he was ours. Sure, I'd seen him come out of me, but it was still so surreal. So tiny and so perfect. And had Beverly Hills been playing in the background? No one had been quite paying attention.

He slid right out of my child-bearing hips a perfect 6 lbs 10 oz, at 5:45 p.m. on Thursday, May 28, our little Parker Karl Morton.

Stop. Hammer time. Break it down.

My doctor had been right about my good hips and smaller baby. He was wrong about my episiotomy, though, because after seeing how things went I only had some internal tearing. Where first time moms usually have second degree tearing, two hours of pushing, and go late, I had only first degree tears, 45 minutes of pushing, and a baby eight days early after my water broke. And I didn't even get a catheter. Boom.

(Side note: 1st degree tears = internal, 2nd degree = external, 3rd degree = to the pooper, 4th degree = you're ripped completely in half)

The only downside was that my doctor informed me I likely won't be able to get an epidural next time around considering how quickly things progressed. The joke's on him, though, because I'm going to ask for one as soon as my water breaks again (in line at Walmart probably, knowing my luck).

We did see our night nurse again, but only long enough for her to get some Parker snuggles in and send us to our new room. She had the fun jobs.

Not a poop!

It's been three weeks and I'm still in disbelief that this little boy is ours. We love him so much, even when he pees on us, eats non-stop, or shoots milk into our faces out of his nose (he's very advanced). It's hard to believe that this child is the little ninja that lived inside me for so many months, or even that he's the wiggly little bean that peed in that first ultrasound six and a half months ago.

Long story short, we had a baby and are going to keep him forever. Because we luuurve him.