I just wanted to post a couple pictures before I get in trouble from friends and family far far away that want to see. The impatience has been sweet. I didn't take any pictures during labor or the birth, and Cole and I still have not seen any yet (can't wait). The first pics that I actually took were during the newborn exam, directly after we knew Cole was safe and sound and not in any danger. During labor I was locked in with Cole, and then all the sudden I had the baby in my arms all gooey and gross and perfect while we checked over Cole. So as soon as I handed her over for the newborn exam, my camera went in my hands and Cole and I marveled over this little girl, and her little cries during the first good look over. So many stories to tell... and I can't wait to tell them. I am going to do a post about the birth when I get the pics back from Gabi and I feel like I can actually write. Until then we are going to lay low for awhile and just soak this all in. I can't believe she is already 2 days old.
We didn't really realize just how many comments and emails there were until this morning, and it was so overwhelming and sweet... and what an awesome welcome into this world for Tessa when she is older to see how many people were excited to meet her. Thank you so much for the support and interest and love that you threw our way. It is so appreciated. And so many people remembered to say hi to the Littlest Buddy who needs to hear a million I Love Yous right now. So thanks everybody. So very much.
* I know what you're thinking.... How the fuck did he get a post up with a baby being born at almost 2AM?! While Cole was in the beginning of her labor we were in bed for hours, talking, and working thru the smaller contractions. She managed to nap for 30 minutes and I started this post and just now finished it at 11:27AM the next day. I need to take a nap. Cole and baby are sound asleep.
When we woke up we decided our Sunday would be handled much differently then our Sat had. We totally did the sit around and wait thing the day before. We sat around like a couple of teenagers trying to figure out of they were drunk or not... "you feel anything yet? How bout now?" Nothing happened but boredom. So Sunday the plan was to wake up and be over productive. We planned to do the Week 39 shoot, and finish the nursery and finally take pictures of it all set up, and then we made dinner plans with friends. The thinking was that we would never ever finish these things, now that we had made them. It worked like a charm. I finished up some stuff in the nursery for Cole that she couldn't reach, and then we set up for the Week 39 pic after lunch. We took about 4 pictures and then she was hit HARD with a contraction and she said: "I remember these!" I actually snapped a picture of one of the very first contractions that she had. It was the contraction that made us call our midwife and kicked everything off.
I plan on writing a big long winded blow by blow play of the days events and how mind blowing terrific Cole did in labor when we catch up a bit. Our friend Gabi came over and took pictures so we have no idea what they look like yet from the birth. I am in awe of Cole in ways I never knew I could be. She was so brave, and so determined, and she never had to be encouraged a single time. She listened to her body the entire time. She knew when she was fully dilated before anyone had to check. She just said "Im there." and she was. Like I said more later :)
This house is busting at the seams with love. I just watched Cole feed this baby and do some practice burping. I can't believe how much this baby moves and her eyes are so very curious. LB came home at 9AM and ran around the house yelling for Mama for a good 10 minutes before he would come in our room. We had Cole in the bed waiting for him without the baby, and the baby in her crib so that he could see her by himself for the first time, on his terms. He was upset at first running in and out of the room and shouting "MAMA." But once he walked over to the crib and saw his "dister" he melted. He stood and took his minute with her, grabbed her hat and took it off and put it back on her, and then looked at us and ran out of the room. It's going to be a long hard transition and we aren't going to fool ourselves to think it isn't going to be so tough on him.
I will upload baby pics tonight some time later, and I am sure I will be annoying the world with a million pictures of this little girl.
~ This waiting is insane. That is all I have to say about that...
~ Dear pregnant people, I wanted to offer a thought. When your mucous plug falls out, don't worry about calling your husband/partner into the bathroom to take a quick look at it on the toilet paper. We don't need to see that. We will totally believe you that it indeed fell out. We don't need the hard proof. It kind of reminds me of the time when my dear sweet friend Chloe would insist on showing me things like THIS whenever she would get a sinus infection. Sorry about that. I guess that is actually 100 times worse then the plug thing. I think we can move on now.
~ Cole is sitting here across from me with a pile of crafty type supplies and working away at birth announcements. She is breathing like a geriatric on an iron lung and making the focus face. I had no idea she had this creepy Martha Stewart thing channeling thru her body. Sewing machines were blazing, stamp maker stamping, glue sticks, and exacto knives exacting. It's fucking crazy. But I have to say the cards are super cool. She has saved a blank spot to paste whatever little picture I end up taking of the baby. I told her that I think we should drive all the relatives extra crazy and we shouldn't tell anyone the sex until they get their birth announcement. Just say: "Sorry... it's in the mail!" Wouldn't it make opening the announcement so much more exciting?
~ Today we are getting the phone calls from everyone. Cole's Dad just called to find out if she is dilated yet. "Are you dilated? You should be dilated by now? You gotta be at least 3 centimeters by now! YOU should be dilated! You're sure you aren't dilated?" Hilarious. Upon learning that she has not been doing any dilating, he insisted that we come to his house to eat chicken and that he has made grape leaves. Something that Cole can not resist. They are fantastic. A little Lebanese food would be lovely tonight.
~ So the point of this post was chicken. I wanted to tell you about taking chances on some of the little weird places that maybe you drive by and never look twice at. I recently went out on a photo outing with some pals to Christmas FL and on the way there in the middle of nowhere HWY 50 we stopped off at this little chicken shack. We had decided that we would believe the hand painted sign, that boasted that they had in fact figured out how to cook, and had become "The Best in Chicken." The price was right $3.95 for a lunch. So yeah, we stopped. It was fucking amazing and blew away any disgusting liquid smoke soaked nasty fake grilled chicken in a bucket. We walked in, made a selection and we had a huge plate of food within seconds. Chicken in Sauce over black beans and rice and it sang. Like the God sound. When you would bite into it. That angelic chorus of "AHHHHHHH" and you tingle from your mouth to your butthole and it makes you wiggle in your seat while you chew it. I don't know what kind of magic they put in this chicken but it is mind blowing. And $3.95 and it made me remember touring.
When I was doing the tour manager thing and driving all over this gorgeous little earth, we would stop as often as we could at "local" places. The food was always the best, and the price was always right. I have grown to despise the franchise chains over the years because they make the truly wonderful places fail. I still can't believe that anyone eats at things like the Olive Garden and can actually keep a straight face when they say that they have just eaten Italian food. The soulless food giants that line up on the sides of major highways have figured out how to make the best bread on earth... and somehow that makes people come in droves to sit and feast on the "free" bread, followed by incredibly mediocre food. Cheddar Bay biscuits, yeast rolls, and garlicy breadsticks are the fucking devil and are a distraction to the crap on your plate. But don't let me get to nuts on this topic. I just wanted to remind people that sometimes-- those little out of the way places that look "scary" because they aren't themed, or filled with crazy-fun servers covered in flair and suspenders, doesn't mean that the food is terrible. These kinds of places are little food gems, and should be mined and cherished. Do not forget about your Moms and Pops. I'm not saying everything in the world with a hand painted "worlds best" sign in their store front will actually deliver on their promise. I have been fooled before (mostly in Texas and those damn best chili signs) and my colon has paid the price, but I would say that 99% of the time you get charm, personality, and tradition with your food, and it always tastes better then any jack-daniels rubbed sizzling taste fiesta explosion jammed onto a skillet and served sizzling.
Off the soapbox. Apologies to all
For the love of Chicken - All the Love in the Universe ~ Me
P.S. For those of you who live in Central Fl. This place is on HWY 50 just outside of Christmas FL, on the way to Titusville it is on the left hand side if you are headed East and next to some Auto Junkyards. You can get this chicken fried, roasted, or with sauce, and we got all three. It really is the best chicken I have had on the side of HWY 50 and that is one long ass HWY. So keep your eyes out for it when you are doing the beach drive this summer.
P.S.S. This was my Follow Friday on twitter which I rarely do... but Cole always reads me his tweets and he is hilarious. He just tweets the funny shit his filipino Mom says: Follow
I wanted to post a little shot of how eerily calm it has been around here lately. Last night like every night after the important task of scrubbing off food, dirt, paint, and dried up play-doh is done, LB gets some private playtime in the tub to do whatever he wants. A free swim. Usually we hear him dumping his toys into the bath and splashing around, blowing bubbles, or the constant turning on and off of the water. Or he will shout for "mama" to come and sit and watch him do whatever it is he wants to do with an audience. Last night we didn't hear a peep. Cole was quiet on the couch working on busy work, (making birth announcements I think), and I was staying on top of the kitchen and cleaning up the days mess. As the baby pushing gets closer I have started to obsess over keeping everything spotless so there is nothing to worry about when we start boiling water and tearing sheets. Last night was one of those moments where everything felt finished. So as I stood in the kitchen and realized there was nothing left to clean I could hear how quiet the house was. When I went and peeked around the corner to see if LB had fallen asleep in the tub,(which he has been known to do) I looked and all I saw were his little feet lounging on the edge. He had propped himself up and was laying arms behind his head, looking quite content and just smiling. One of those moments where it just kills you because you can't ask what he was thinking about. We are simply happy when he is happy.
So back to this eerie calm I started with. You know how when you say good bye to a place, like maybe a childhood home, or somewhere that you loved to work, somewhere you will never be again but that is filled with so many fond memories and laughs, you walk around kind of like a ghost from room to room and just sit in it. That quiet thoughtful goodbye. That is what it feels like around here. That long still stare where you soak in the moments and relive laughs. It is common to even start laughing out loud like you jumped time and were back in that exact memory. I think Cole is going thru quite a process of letting go right now. She feels all of this coming to an end and a new beginning drawing close. She had a little knot in her throat the other night and was talking about how strange it feels that all of this work and growth that her body has done is going to fall out and die, almost conveying sorrow over the losses of all of the support that is grown to protect and nourish the baby. The mucous plug falls out, the water breaks, the cord is cut, the placenta dies, all of these things that have transformed her body and that caused chemical changes all letting go and dying for this baby. It was definitely something I had ever thought about. It is easy for me to brush off some of the overly emotional silliness that comes out of Cole with these hormones erupting lately, but this was not one of those instances. It carried weight and it was obvious that this was part of a process. She was reasoning out this baby. It has carried on quietly past that short conversation, and I can see it in the way that she walks, and the way she will linger in a room, the way she will fold LB's clothes and run her hands across his shirts. But it is the most obvious when I see her holding LB. It is like the both of them are saying goodbye to this time. He hugs back so tight. It is deeply touching to see this exchange. It gets so quiet during these moments and I leave them to it. I wish so badly that he could ask all of the questions he must have, so we just keep explaining and giving answers to anything we think he might be wondering about. And are sure to remind him how much we love him and how that will never change.
I know it is natural to worry about the feelings of a child as they are about to get a world shaking, but this was unexpected. I know it would be easier if he could just have an exchange of questions and answers. You know how all your feelings will come gushing out when you finally just say something that has been troubling you. All of the sudden with the troubled words comes snot, and tears, and the blubbering that you didn't even know was in there... I just know if he could ask and express himself all of that would have a chance to get out of his belly. Instead we just see it come out in these bouts of frustration, and off the wall behavior. He will get frustrated and just stand over a toy and press the same sequence of buttons over and over and over and put himself into a trance. He has been truly sweet and most of his behavior is so obviously connected to being in the know about what is about to happen. He knows the deal. He has gone thru this at his Dad's house and has learned to share his father with a baby brother. And now a year later it is happening to his Mama. He has to be thinking WTF is this bullshit?! He has a way of putting worries at ease when he will lay and stare at Cole's belly and then wiggle over and kiss it or try and hug it. They are certainly settling moments. And he continues to refer to this baby as his "dister". I have based a lot of my assumptions of gender on the fact that LB has always thought it was a little girl. We will all know soon.
All the Love in the Universe ~ Me
P.S. I wanted to be sure that if you have a twitter account and are interested that you go ahead and add me soon. I don't think we will be sending out blow by blow plays of the birth or anything, but I know I will at least send out a few updates. So if you have not sent a request follow this LINK.
If I was a rich man sometime around mid-July I would just move my family into a Twistee Treat and live there until September. It would be our summer home. We would not sell any of our ice cream to anyone. It would be ours. Oh Summer... you just got here and I hate your guts already.
Cole and I barely have any pictures where we are together, and so this morning we ventured outside to snap a couple family photos before the 3 of us turns into the 4 of us. I have been joking around and laughing with Cole the last couple of days looking at maternity shots online, where the wife somehow convinced the man to take his shirt off and pose with her in a supportive skin on skin embrace. I just can't fathom that exchange leading up to the picture. "I've been thinking we should do these shirtless honey, (then, under her breath) that way none of your guys friends will ever talk to you again." I mean I suck a big fat one for making fun of people that have done this and that love the results, that shit makes them happy inside, just like velvet art, and the red lobster, but for me I just can't wrap my head around it. There were so many pictures of these grizzly, hairy-backed, balding men, with chubby back-fat, bear hugging their pregnant partner in a supportive embrace. It's sweet? As a photographer I just don't know what I would do if I was with a client and the shirts started coming off. Or is this a situation where the man is badgered into it... and instead of dealing with the embarrassment of arguing in front of a stranger with a camera, they just go with it and regret it later? Finally putting their foot down when the picture ends up in a frame in their living room. Who knows.
It is really tough for me to not feel like a complete ass taking posed pictures... and there I was this morning standing next to Cole and LB with my camera on a tri-pod, the timer beeping down, standing in our unkept yard in this ridiculous FL heat. It just won't do. If only I lived near this photog I would be asking for some help. In the meantime I need to figure out a better way to make this happen for Cole. I look like someone just shoved a fist in my asshole in all of the pictures, sweat in my eyes, all grimacing and annoyed and then said: 3-2-1 look natural!
It was 9:30AM and we were outside for 5 minutes and we came back inside soaked from all the humidity and sunshine. It's just gross. I have walked around the desert heat when it was 115 degrees and the wind whipping, it really feels like someone walking in front of you with a blow dryer blasting in your face. That isn't so bad actually. Here in FL-- take that same heat and add the feeling of someone dumping metal buckets filled with hot spit on your head that's been sitting out in the sun for a few days. It's fucking gross. I keep flip-flopping around between this awkward heat, and these shitty photos I just took. Clearly I am distracted today. Wanna know why?
We were up all night in contraction city. Not the real deal, but consistent and unrelenting enough to pucker assholes and raise some eyebrows. They came on fast and strong, lasting about 60 seconds and came every three and a half minutes. There was an awesome moment around 11:30 PM last night when we had timed the 10th one and they were so consistent that we thought it was going to get real. It was nice to feel how we were going to react. Big huge dumb smiles like the way we looked at one another when we were married. There was no fear, and that made me feel calm. The contractions stopped around 8AM and had steadily spaced way out as the night wore on. So Cole is off napping after a night of "practice" labor, and I am trying to figure out WTF I am going to do for some paid gigs.
I came up with a new idea for a maternity series and now I am going to start searching for a good subject around here and see if I can talk them into committing to the project. I won't be ready for a little while but am excited to try this new idea out. Cole was explicit and telling me to just make sure it isn't a better idea then our series. I assured her that I would hold back :) Possibly just specialize in shirtless embraces. Could become my thing.
I wrote early on about how clinical and mechanical baby making sex can be, the spontaneity completely robbed from it, the romance gone, intimacy barely clinging on. I know I shouldn't make generalizations, I am sure that many couples have managed to be all sweet and sensitive during this moment, but not for me... all of the sudden I was a lion, pumping away and copulating as many times in a day as my dick could stand. All timed out perfectly with the results from a pee soaked ovulation stick. We were sex machines. I was really excited to write about the progression of sex going from these exciting clothes ripping brawls of passion and hair pulling upon us first meeting-- to punching a time clock at the ol' baby making factory and pulling that lever 5,000 times. (You can read the post HERE if you are interested.) I never got the chance to really explore this procedure for long. We had the mechanics down and the male and female universes collided and exploded into a new life after just one or two tries. I admit I found the whole exercise to be hilarious and couldn't imagine what sex would eventually evolve into if we had to keep trying for a good long while. I was a little surprised at our quick success as I think at some stage, almost all men (including me) convince themselves that they are sterile, or they at least fear it enough to the point of crippling anxiety causing it to actually happen. The panic dam goes up and not enough gets by. It's amazing what stress can do to a body... I am getting off track here.
The reason for the reminiscence and the stroll down memory lane was that I was reminded last night of how business the sex had become, as soon as the decision was made to baby make. Because here we are now, at the very end of the 9 month journey, and just the other night Cole quite plainly requested and pleaded with me to please go ahead and fuck her doggie style until her water breaks. Her delivery of this request was so honest and matter of fact, I almost considered it, like it was just something that I was naturally required to do. In the hospital they squirt you with Potosin, and so maybe in the case of a home birth you have rough sex with your partner until contractions start? Had I missed that chapter? I need to finish reading the Birth Partner is it in there?
And so here we are. Oh the sweet circle of life.
I instantly get this image upon her request, and I can hear the sounds of a clumsy butter knife scraping around the sides of a big empty jelly jar, searching for enough spread to fill up a sandwich. Just trying to wiggle the last little bit of jelly stuck to the bottom loose so it will fall thru the opening and into our life. I told Cole that I couldn't imagine telling our little one when they grow up their birth story and saying: "Then at the end of 9 months, when we were tired of waiting, I banged mommy doggie style until her water broke." haha of course even if we did that, it would never be passed on with the story, but I would always think it when I thought of their birth and I would just go red faced. I'm not sure how serious Cole was with her request. She is relentlessly funny and knows how to make me laugh. I need shocking, so some of the stuff she comes up with is incredible. In the end, I can see her being done. With all of these sleepless nights her frustration and discomfort can be overwhelming, and so I know she is ready to have this baby. I am at the phase now where I feel guilty for a good nights sleep, I wake up and Cole reports all of the road blocks that kept her from a peaceful slumber, and I just make sure that she is able to cat nap during the day to make up for it.
I know that this topic isn't completely unique to our situation-- I am sure that many many woman have requested the jarring act of sex at the end of a pregnancy with the hope of shaking things into action. It is a fact that sperm causes cervical changes and can get things moving. Sex is listed alongside of spicy food as just another "thing" you can do to get things going. It was incredible to me how quickly all of the little nuances that usually lead to mind blowing sex are thrown out the window, the scenario and setting aren't important any longer, it just becomes something that is requested, required, and turns very specific. Having sex while pregnant sounds like someone directing you to an itch they can't quite reach on their back: "A little higher, now to the left, harder, stay right there, there it is, oh that feels good, stay right there, keep going, NO-- NOOO-- don't stop!" This is just something that I have found the most puzzling. The evolution of sex during this process has been fascinating and confusing at times. How quickly it changed when the purpose switched from raw pleasure and fun, to the act of creation, switching back to her hyper sensitive cravings of pleasure, and then it was for comfort and reassurance that she is still desired, and then in the end for relief. To go ahead and please round this out-- we started this whole thing with sex, we can finish it with some.
I have heard and been reading that it can be difficult to get back to that honeymoon sexual bliss after having a baby, and it takes time and sensitivity to find your way back to the intense mind blowing sex from the beginning. So I am not going to delude myself into thinking that as soon as it is safe, and the all clear sounds that we are going to just fall back to where we began. We were joking last night and promised that we would never become the old couples that you see on stuff like HBO's Real Sex taking blow job classes and watching other couples 69'ing and sucking off dildos, as some creepy creep wanders in and out of fat naked bodies, barking instructions and saying shit like: "Right on! SWIRL your tongue, two hands, NO in a circle motion!" It's absurd. I am going to assume that all of the reports of intimacy and sex being hard to come by with a demanding 4yr old and a newborn in the house are true. But I also know Cole and I will find ways to improvise and manage. I don't subscribe to all the warnings, of "just you wait, you will never sleep, you will never be the same, it is going to be so hard." Cole and I have avoided so many of the other marriage pitfalls and cliches that ruin relationships, we manage to not turn on one another in dark financial times, and stressful bouts of unemployment and uncertainty, we have not buckled under the pressure and sadness of a difficult life changing diagnosis with LB. So why all of the sudden will we fall into the stereotypes of newborn struggles?
So for now, it is a waiting game. I would like to be able to look our child in the eye when they are older and not have the memory, that in the end we resorted to taking a stick and knocking the apple out of the tree. You know what I mean? but I also know that Cole usually gets what she wants and if she wants some good old fashioned rough sex, with a little hair pulling and maybe even some choking, who am I to say no to her.
A little late posting today, but we got it done. We had a super quiet weekend and are in full swing with LB back in the house and he is just so full of summer. It has been fire and brimstone hot in FL for the past few days and it just melts you to be outside. I can't imagine how Cole feels walking around in this ridiculous heat. At this point, there isn't much left to say that I haven't written about. Right now it is a battle of nerves, and fear, and joy, and curiosity and none of this circus going on inside me even comes close to upstaging the show raging in Cole's head. She has settled into this pregnancy so well and as long as she walks around in the air conditioned meat locker of a house, in her underwear and droopy dress, she feels great. We blew up the birth pool and got it ready to go, and now I kind of just always want a big blow up pool right next to the bed. Pretty awesome. Also thanks for the good suggestion to read "The Birth Partner" the best one yet. Our Midwife lent us a copy when she heard that it was being suggested.
This really felt like the last shoot before the baby comes. By the time this posts Cole will be on the first day of week 39. We have no idea what she would wear if she does go another week, so if she does end up pushing all the way to 40, I guess we will just have to go naked for the last shoot. That would be weird.
Thanks to everyone that wished a Happy Fathers Day yesterday, it was so nice to get the messages. I hope all the Dads out there had as good a day as I did. I was definitely spoiled rotten with more then just super gifts.
Cole and I are so very similar when it comes to gift giving. The patience just flies out the window and the urge to give that gift is so overwhelming that it usually happens early around here. I am considerably worse, and have been known to buckle weeks before the special occasion (and then have to figure out something new to get), but yesterday afternoon Cole caved, jumped up and said: "I HAVE to give you your Fathers Day gifts RIGHT NOW, it is killing me." So I wasn't going to complain, and she waddled off down the hall and came back with some packages for me that she had decorated... she was careful to keep them tough enough using brown paper and twine, and an amazing homemade card that she and LB had made.
This was the first time I have ever celebrated Fathers Day on this end, and as I detailed in the post below it has become a day of worry and guilt for me, so I have been secretly dreading it. Cole had just learned of this the past couple days and I think it caught her off guard a little. She had been saving and squirreling away money for months, and managed to save up for the super awesome Nikon 50-mm 1.8 lens that I have been yapping about forever now and she was so excited to give this gift to me. I could go on and on about how amazing this little hunk of plastic and glass is, but I will spare you the commercial. Seriously if you have a Nikon, buy this lens. It is so affordable, and you will probably end up keeping it on your camera all the time. Amazing in low light, fast, sharp, and so very versatile. Cole totally surprised me yesterday, money has been so tight, but she had been setting small amounts of cash aside from the salon for months planning for this Fathers Day. I think we were both convinced we were going to be having this baby this weekend, and that is all my mind has been on since Saturday. So far all is quiet and that baby is hanging home for awhile longer it seems. Maybe I will go make some spicy chili and have a bunch of sex--that actually sounds like a pretty good Fathers Day.
Late afternoon right after the gift giving, we got a call from some pals and they were up for some dinner and hanging by a swimming pool on the hottest day of the year (so far). Heat index had us around 105 I think, some say hotter. So we headed over to Cole's Dad's house and we had ourselves a really relaxing afternoon.
I sat by the lake and took a picture for Cole with my new lens...
I drank a margarita (possibly two, but that was it)...
And we watched the sunset, while we all sat around and talked about life, and loss, and the birth, and days ahead...
And then ate crab legs by the pool, and a bunch of other delicious food prepared by our friends Gabi and Jason. A total surprise and awesome treat, they are such terrific company. Cole asked Gabi last night if she would come and take pictures at the end of her labor, because she wants to be sure someone is there to capture the first moments that I meet this little one. It is a lot to ask a person and I am really excited for her to witness this.
This morning when I woke up, I kept thinking about how quiet our house was, it feels wrong when it is this quiet. This house is supposed to make noise. We lingered in bed for hours this morning. I always feel really lucky when Cole and I talk for so long and I think how nice it is to be with someone that can make me laugh and share conversation so well. We talked a lot about the baby and tried again to finally lock down a girls name. We just keep flip flopping between the two names.
The boy name was simple and there was no discussion once it was said aloud it was perfect and we both loved it right away. If it is a little boy his name will be: Elliot
and we like: Tessa or Veda if it is a little girl...
Cole joked the other morning that if she is bad, I will start calling her Darth Veda... and well, that is almost reason enough to stick with Veda. But Tessa has such a great ring to it. The very first months we knew Cole was pregnant she started calling the baby Tessa Tangerine as a little nickname. So yeah. We will have to wait and see how it feels. I took a picture of Cole's belly this morning while we were laying around because it was blowing my mind. The soft light I use for the maternity series always washes out the veins in her stomach that I think are so incredible and I want to remember them. Laying in bed watching this baby wiggle this morning and knowing how soon it will be here was almost too much to take. The emotions are so high around here, I can't imagine what a viewing of "Old Yeller" or 'Where the Red Fern Grows" would do to me right now. We have so much love pooling up ready to wash over this baby that it is just gushing out of us.
All the Love in the Universe ~ Me
P.S. I called my Mom and Dad last night and we talked for awhile. Baby steps
* I deleted this post 20 damn times this morning, finally publishing it now thinking that it would have made me feel good finding something like this while I was in the darkness. So here it is.
To simply say that Fathers Days past have been a burden, and a huge source of frustration and sadness would be about as understated as Nancy Pelosi's recollection of torture briefings on waterboarding... I usually avoid the entire holiday from my father (beyond a phone call with the happy fathers day greeting), and a couple days after I feign some sort of regret over my less than enthusiastic approach to the holiday, and say stuff like: "I am sorry for being such a lousy disappointment of a son." I offer up these apologies and excuses to my mother, because my dad would never mention being bummed about me bowing out on spending the day. He never burdens me with the extra guilt. You see the problem is (beyond my stubborn selfishness of hanging on to the past) I have still not figured out how to completely embrace the man that stands before me as my father ever since his recovery from a head injury. To say he is the same man would be a lie, and to admit that I miss who my Dad was before the accident is a family taboo. I am to just be grateful of Gods miracles and be happy. I have never really decided (even as I am typing this) how-- and if I would ever approach this topic of my father here on this blog. It weighs me down with so much internal confusion, and is a wellspring of darkness and hatred for me, and I am sure that I cannot pen an accurate explanation of it, I can't explain my assholishness (because I don't even fully understand it myself). It's a touchy topic for me.
I have mentioned briefly in past posts that my father suffered a traumatic head injury years ago from a ladder fall, and I have written some about his heroic recovery from it. I have never been specific about it, but with this fathers day approaching and I am about to witness the birth of my first child in a matter of days, it is forcing all of these unsquashed emotions to the forefront. All the shit I have not dealt with is screaming out of me. I have been a miserable wreck for days, and it has been the biggest pretend to hide this from Cole this week. One of the most vivid moments of my fathers accident was just before he went into surgery. Just minutes after I ran into the ER and saw my mothers face staring down at my dad on that stretcher. It was within these moments when I knew just by looking at his head, that my father was never going to be the same man again.
I stood in the ER next to my father, red faced and screaming at nurses and doctors to please help him, as he lay there with his skull crushed and bleeding, we were told his surgery would have to be delayed, because a 15 yr old kid was hurt in a jet skiing accident, and had just been flown in, and he was younger, so he would go first. That kind of news is hard to take and you just watch the clock and hate the world. As my father's injuries were being tended to and managed while we waited for his turn at surgery, they kept sending us a priest to offer comfort. My mother took his comfort gratefully and willingly (this was the first time I had ever witnessed my mother pray), for me this man filled me with creeps, for me he was Death, wagging his stupid finger crosses at us, and whispering prayer-- I hated him. I wanted him away from us, and to stop with the just-in-case closure he was pushing. It was days after my Dad's second surgery when I stood in the ICU and watched the monitor that measured the pressure in his head and would time it out with the clock, knowing that every second that the pressure was that high in his head, that it was doing damage to my father. And so I just stood there for days, and watched that number rise and fall, just wishing and willing it to go down and stay down so that he could start to recover. It was on the 4th day that I sat down and wrote a goodbye letter to my father and read it to him aloud alongside the buzz and hum of all of the machines keeping him going. I had been convinced by Doctors that he would not live, and if he did, that he would never be the same man again. So while he was still asleep, somewhere in my head I could pretend and had convinced myself that he could hear me perfectly fine, and he knew exactly what I was saying, and I told him what he had meant to me, and all the things that he had taught me, and how much I loved him, and I said my goodbye. And I feel like that was the last time that I was with my Dad. And I miss him. And I feel like such an asshole for not being more appreciative of who i have now. And I don't know how to let go of it.
And the story goes... that he DID (despite stacked odds) survive and come back to us, and every second he recovered and progressed were happy moments for all of us. Every step of the way was a relief as he kept surviving and doctors scratched their heads. Watching him find his strength and life return to his eyes all of it amazing, and yet despite all of the crying and begging the sky for him to please live, and to please not leave us, and he is right here now living and breathing-- I feel cheated. I feel like it isn't fair. Why does he have to be so different? My mother loves him so deeply and completely, and cherishes their days and they live out their lives like a storybook romance. They are best friends, and in so much love, and I have never seen two people so dependent and attached thru great love like this in my life. I know that if one of them dies, the other will perish within days from grief. So how was my mother able to do this? How did she let go? Is this the spoiled kid that lives inside of me still? The kid mentality of wanting it all? Do we ever lose that? Why can't I just accept what happened and let this man in my life?
I want to look my dad in the eyes and find him again. I miss his advice, and his thoughts, and his attitude. I don't recognize him anymore. The man who remains, the man that replaced him is this incredible big hearted person. He has childlike optimism and sweetness, he never stops joking, he always wants to help, he loves to tell long winded stories (wether they are relevant or not) there is nothing "wrong" with this man beyond some quirks and kid-like traits. He is just not the man I remember, and it has been so very hard for me to move on. I feel like I am not allowed to say how fucking angry I am that this accident happened in the first place, and I just don't know how to let it all go. People would look at me and say, you are so lucky and you must be so happy, and I would always smile and say "yeah." but deep down in the places I don't talk about, I was pissed. And I am still pissed, and there has to be other people that know what this is like. Other people that feel ashamed because they don't know how to make peace with the new person.
So as this Father's Day ticks closer, and I watch this little baby wiggle in Cole's belly and I know that I am about to hold this child in my hands and stare down into its eyes any day now, and we will begin to bond. I keep thinking about how my dad must have felt the first time he held me, and I wonder how he remembers it, or IF he remembers it. So this year instead of being so afraid that his answer will be that he doesn't remember, I am going to stop being such an ass and just ask him. No matter what his answer is, I need to start feeling lucky that I still have a dad that I can ask these kinds of things about, and maybe start letting go of how cheated I feel. I am so tired of feeling bad about feeling bad.
Cole took this adorable picture with her cell phone yesterday during a swim "lesson" that we gave The Littlest Buddy. If you were wondering... he really enjoys his summers. He wears it in that content smile he is floating around with. Today I am heading off to the weird and rarely visited corners of Central Florida to shoot a new photo post for Dad Centric. I am pretty sure I fucked myself debuting with that chicken slaughtering series right out of the gate. I will do my best to come up with something as interesting and delicious. Hopefully everything goes swell today, and Cole does not go into labor while I am out and occupied. This seems like just the sort of thing that will happen. I have been fighting the urge to ask her every 15 minutes "you feel anything yet?" or "should I check your cervix? You want me to do that? I can do that!" I just keep watching and listening and hearing her say little things like: "It feels like there is a boulder between my legs that's pulling my pelvis apart." that kind of sounds like a sign that things are moving along.
Thanks for all the help yesterday with the voting, that was just something I had no interest in deciding. I would not have been able to choose on my own. In the end it was an entry with no picture at all that managed to win the Makr goods. Who would have thought that was possible?! So congrats to Laura H with entry #23 and her story about her Dad. Send me an email with a shipping address and I will get it to Makr and they can get it to you. And an honorable mention for entry #12 that was so very close to the win... (just a few votes shy actually) submitted by Amy over at Amy's Daily Photo
Well sorry for the no post, post. I have a busy morning and need to get shooting...
Last week I posted my first ever-- and probably only contest/giveaway that I'm going to be doing around here for a good long while. Unless, part of GM's new business makeover is to give bloggers a new streamlined, fuel-efficient, more reliable, technologically superior, American made car to review, and of course one to giveaway to readers, as they claw their way back from the bottom of the auto industry. Apart from the car giveaway, and the huge bag of Ameros I am going to give away to my one millionth follower on google friend connect, (only 999,236 more to go) this Makr wallet contest was in fact the big shebang as far as contests at Pacing The Panic Room go. So today is supposed to be the day we find out who won the goods. The only problem I encountered was that I fell short on convincing a high profile celebrity judge, and I did not want the responsibility of deciding who would win these gorgeous wallets myself... as I am extremely biased and would have totally cheated.
For those of you who are new, and have no idea what I'm talking about, here are the original contest details.
For those of you who would like to see the entries you can take a good look here.
So here is my solution...
I think the best thing to do here is to make this a readers poll, and open up the contest to voting by all of YOU exceptional people. All of the entries are numbered, so if you have some time today and would like to help pick a winner. Just take a look at the entries and leave me a comment right here on this post, and simply say which entry is the most deserving by leaving the entry number you liked best. Remember this contest was based on "need" and so not all entries had photos, they still had stories attached as to why they felt like those wallets should be their prize. It isn't a photo contest, it is just who demonstrated that they need an upgrade the most.
So PLEASE, I am really counting on the blog readership to come thru today and help me pick a winner. The entries are here! Please leave your choice as a comment on THIS post-- and at 12 midnight tonight EST-- I will count them all up and whoever got the most votes will win the wallets from Makr.
I am going to give out advanced thanks to anyone that decides to go ahead and help out, and get opinionated. The most votes wins it all. Good luck to everyone that entered and thanks a bunch for taking time to put some effort into this contest and making it fun. The pictures and stories were great, and if my huge bag of Ameros weren't already being used for that other giveaway, I would have traded them for wallets and sent all of you new Makr goods. Someday... now please go and vote!
All the Love in the Universe ~ Me
P.S. The only votes that will count are when you specify the entry number, please make it simple and let me know exactly which entry number you are voting for. Thanks again
A good long while ago I pestered the always friendly Rebecca Woolf over at Girls Gone Child about where she was finding such cool T-shirts for her little boy Archer, she let me in on her source if I promised to never write her again and swore I would link her blog in my sidebar, I agreed. So she told me about this rad Portland, OR based shop called Black Wagon that sells kids clothes online. After searching thru their inventory of clothes I started the obsessive email writing to BW almost immediately. I had a photo series spring to mind after I got about halfway thru searching their T-shirt line that I wanted to try out as soon as possible, they had so many looks that kept spurring the ideas along-- so I was really crossing my fingers that they would be down to work together somehow. The concept was simple, I wanted to do an imagination photo series with kids, based off the images on some of their T-shirt designs. No big deal. Just try and get awesome and think like a toddler. So of course for the first try at it, I would use my favorite subject, the always photogenic Littlest Buddy.
One of the big disadvantages to The Littlest Buddy not being able to talk to us, is never really knowing exactly what he wonders about. For so very long when he would play with his toys it was never in traditional ways, action figures were never engaged in clear activities, cars were not racing along. So many times while watching LB play in silence with toys, or while he was looking thru books, I was always wondering what he must be imagining when he starts gazing off into a vivid image. For us the very first signs of pretend play he exhibited here at the house, and obvious signs that he was in fact stretching his imagination-- was in association with Dinosaurs and Monsters. He would always roar and curl his fingers, and try and stomp around when he saw any kind of Dino image. So when I saw the Tokyo Street Tee on the Black Wagon site I wanted to try and capture how giant LB might feel when he pretends to be a Dinosaur Monster that can breath fire, crush rogue robots, and blast laser beams out of his eyes.
LB is wearing the Misha Lulu Tokyo Street Tee, dark-wash Appaman Straight Leg Jeans for Boys, and the Vans Classic Slip-on Multi-Dinosaurs Shoes
So this is the first in a series I am doing with Black Wagon and I am really excited how it turned out. I am going to try and do one of these a month. Black Wagon was cool enough to partner up with me to see what I could come up with... so if you think you might like to see more in this imagination series please show it some love and say so in the comments, or just head on over to their site and take a look around at their goods by clicking on the picture above. Beyond their modern kid clothes they also have a bunch of unique gifts for the kids. Black Wagon is a good destination for birthday presents when you're afraid everyone is going to all go shopping at the same mega super store giant and end up buying the same stuff.
If anyone is interested in seeing this new picture of LB viewed large on black... here is a handy link to do that very thing. View Large On Black it's fun to see him giant stomping around Tokyo! As for the: "how did I do this?" I took an old image that I shot at Shibuya Crossing when I was in Tokyo, and then shot LB on a white wall, and gently placed him into the scene-- looking as fierce as LB can look in his Tokyo Tee. I can't wait for him to get old enough and give him a print of this one. Then we can sit around and make fun of that piece of crap Godzilla update starring Matthew Broderick that came out. I am guessing by the time LB is older, Tarantino will have remade this flick, and have it fighting an enormous skyscraper sized Uma Thurman. Oh man, that would be good-- such long high kicks.
All the Love in the Universe ~ Me
P.S. ALSO today is the last day for the Makr Contest-- and if you have not entered--but would like to enter--well today is kind of your last chance to get your act together and get an entry in and win these gorgeous wallets. Tomorrow morning, around morning time I will be announcing a winner. I asked Jenny from The Bloggess to judge the contest but she said she had to take a week long nap. SO... we shall see. Good luck everybody
This was such a calm week for us as far as the pregnancy goes. Cole hit her stride after she shook the fever shakes, and almost the very second that I started feeling defeated, and like there was no way I could handle another day without my partner, she was cruising thru life again spurring it on with encouraging ass smacks and high fives. Cole has hit her stride. She suffers almost no discomfort at all, has enormously high energy levels, a ferocious appetite, she feels gorgeous and (I agree) and she will not stop talking about how fabulous she thinks her hair is. All of this flurry of good vibrations translates to the baby is preparing for arrival. Her body is oozing out confidence and radiance and I am so excited for how great she feels. I feel like this is a little gift from her body right before it gets down to the hard business of labor. This is exactly how she felt a few days before The Littlest Buddy arrived. Cole informed me about the days before LB arrived, calm and casually just after she had dissembled our linen closet and reorganized and folded everything in it saying, "People are going to be here at our house and looking for things in our closets, and I don't want them thinking we are some kind of unorganized freaks!" Of course this makes perfect sense. And I am happy to have such organized linen closets.
I can feel the energy building in our house and this week coming up is going to fly by, I just know it. I hear knocking on the door. We have one more round of birth classes this week and our house is ready to go. Everything is ready. I am going to take pictures of the nursery this week for Cole like I promised and get a post together. Things are good.
Cole and I still have no idea about the gender of this little he/she and we flip-flop week to week from boy to girl. This is such a rad surprise to be rewarded with in the end... and I am so glad Cole stood up to me and convinced me this was the thing to do. It is so awesome not to know what is coming our way.
All the Love in the Universe ~ Us
P.S. Please don't forget about the Makr contest!! Word spread, enter, enjoy!
P.S.S. Cole and I were so amazed nobody made fun of her pop a squat pose that we thought was so funny... but we appreciate and thank you for the support and sweet thoughts sent our way as we get ready for the big push (haha)
As a young gross confused boy, I remember weekends sprawled out in our living room, behind the big recliner, against our floor to ceiling book shelves. I was surrounded by boxes and searching my grandfathers entire National Geographic collection for nudity. It may have initially been motivated by boiling hormones, but it might have been all of that early exposure to such incredible photography that stuck with me as I grew up and kept dreaming of being a photographer. In between searches for a boob, I would constantly stop and point out shots and scenes of life that were so very far away and foreign and I was fascinated. I wanted in this club. I went thru a phase where I would wear this safari photographer's vest everywhere I went that I got from Banana Republic, when BR was still a "safari wear" brand. Remember? They would send out those ridiculous catalogs with entire families dressed head to tow in pith helmets, and knickers, and jungle boots? The art in the catalogs were irresistible to a young kid. Their stores at the mall were fashioned to look like giant arcadia trees, and everything was in cargo boxes. haha It reminds me now of the stuff Elaine Benes pumped out at the fictional J Peterman catalog on Seinfeld. Stuff like the Urban Sombrero, and the Himalayan Walking Boots. That was what their early catalogs were like. So yes... sorry for the tangent. I was obsessed with going on safari is the point I was making.
I was convinced I wanted to be a world shaker and see all of the sights that I had first witnessed in National Geographic. Its one of those boyhood or just childhood dreams that stick with you. I know piles of adults that have been dreaming of going to far away places and capturing images for National Geographic for decades. So when I saw this contest put together by Energizer and National Geographic coming up, I was pretty thrilled about it, and the more I look into it, and see the images being entered the more exciting the contest is becoming. It would appear that it's going to be a highly competetive contest, which is a no brainer with the stakes so high. Winning the big show not only gets your image into the magazine for their December issue, but it gets you on a 10-day expedition to the Galapagos Islands for two! Judging all of the inspired Photography is the wonderful Jim Richardson, who is no freakin slouch with a camera. Imagine hanging out with that dude over a beer and listening to the stories he has. Here is a handy widget that takes you to the contest and to the entries and when I figure out how, and exactly what to take, I will be entering for sure. So if you're bored this weekend, go and click thru the entries, and if you are a photographer and want in. Get your self together and enter.
Who else remembers the old Banana Republic? And who else grew up with National Geographics? Seems like my family had a subscription my entire life and all the kids I know did as well. Is this still the norm?
I'm just about there. To the calm cool center of awesome, and you never get there by making a mad run for it, all huffing and puffing and dying for air and rest, look at you. You're embarrassing. Go calm down and get yourself together freak. You have to kind of jog up nice and even and say, "hello awesome, I've been meaning to talk to you about hanging out again, sorry for getting all sweaty and crazy, and falling so far behind."
So... I just need some more time to push forward on finishing up projects and promises. Looking back, I had been putting myself out there with as many things as I could think of trying to make some money, and too many things opened up at once. I was used to hearing "no" so much that I figured I had to keep asking twice as much, and then things finally fell in place all at once. I am not going to say no to much right now, unless it's illegal, or sickens me, so as I have been emptying my plate, I've been scooping another big pile of chances onto it.
Some of the crazy talk from the last post was actually relevant, and some super deep seated fears came out of my mouth. Hearing myself admitting and discussing them surprised me. Privately I have been scared shitless that I am going to stall and stop moving forward with the photography pursuits. I am terrified this baby will be a dreamsmasher, and I will take nothing but "cute" shots at home of my family, and lose the time and the drive to keep developing technically. The kind of things I want to get into take so much time, and money, and planning, and so naturally this new arrival has me laying in bed wondering how am I going to make this all happen?! I don't want to be like the bundles of other "photographers" that bought nice gear and take "cute." These are natural fears, and as much as I realize that all of these frights soon shall pass, and a rhythm of chaos will be absorbed and become our life, I am still in the phase of working thru them. They are still rattling me. I have been reading these "dad" books and they all talk about the standard inadequacies and feeling guilty for worrying, or feeling resentful about changes, and YES, I am churning helpless thru the "that's just life" machine right now, and find it so very curious -- that all though I know I will be just fine, that does not impede the worry. I suppose it would be like having your arm chopped off. The Doctor is looking you over and saying, "that's a nice clean cut, I'll be able to sew that back on and it will be fine again in no time." it doesn't keep you from screaming and staring at your bloody nub wondering, how will it ever be the same again!? It's impossible to just breeze thru that without any anxiety gushing out. Long before the baby is out and starts devouring boobs, it feels like this baby has eaten my arms... and I am standing here bleeding out, wondering how the fuck am I supposed to take better pictures if I don't have any arms? And of course I know in the end, I will have the time, the drive, and the arms to do it.
But I am still worried.
These books are ridiculous in regards to the delivery of the information. I know not everyone likes their info handed over crass and crude, but I would really enjoy reading something that sounded more reassuring and real, rather than the kid gloves I'm a "sensitive partner" approach. You can be a sensitive partner and not be a pansy about it, being informed makes you sensitive and the more you know the better she will feel. That is what I am figuring out. So this is my pep talk to myself, that I need to hear right now. I sat down and opened up my vault and took a long hard listen to me-- tell ME-- it was going to be okay:
Hey buddy, feeling insane? You look it. Listen, just before this baby comes, when your wife is gargantuan and physically can't do ANYTHING to help you, and you have been put thru the emotional ringer juggling your wife's mood swings from her constant discomfort and her patience peeling away... you might start feeling like you want to go ahead and eat a few oxycontin to take the edge off, or maybe just suck on the open end of a big long bottle of whiskey and disappear for a night in drunken adventures. Don't get all twisted about these harsh feelings and fantasies of inebriated escape, it's natural, you are going to think all kinds of unspeakable truths for awhile. Be a man, swallow them down deep in your belly and keep them from your wife forever, have secrets, because telling your wife you think she is being a total crazy B, or that she is wrong, or pointing out that she can't remember anything, isn't going to change anything now. That shit goes away in a couple years, (unless you are an ass and get pregnant again right away). Listen, as soon as you meet your baby, and it kind of looks like you, and it makes some adorable gesture or silly face, you will forget you ever felt all of this fear and worry. Your dick will immediately want to start making more of them on the spot. So twist that fear into smiles, and man up. Help your partner around the house, and do it without complaint. The more you project your displeasure with your escalation in domestic duties, the worse things will be for you. Get smart and build in shortcuts to life, go paper plates and cups for awhile, get moms, and grandmas, and MIL's to bring you meals. Accept help, everyone is all excited at this point and are probably bugging the shit out of you to help somehow. If you're afraid they are going to be an added annoyance to the mounting annoyances than just say, "we could really use some pre-made meals." because you do. And it saves time and money and you don't have much of either of those right about now. Do not ignore help! I can't stress this enough.
Things might start to get under your skin more than usual. The little things that used to roll off your back have become obese and are knocking you over now from the weight they have taken on, and no amount of teeth mashing will calm the tension you wear in your face. Knowing the baby is coming, is like the bitter end of a long bad relationship, all of the stuff that you thought was going to be kind of cute, becomes aggravating. nothing you have heard about babies or have seen babies do will make up for the huge amount of annoyances that are bearing down on you. All you can think about is the piss, the shit, and the crying, and you start to feel like a total unsupportive asshole. You doubt your tolerances. Doubting yourself is part of the process. It's just you fucking with YOU! The truth is, you won't know your place until you are told your place. You don't know how involved or to what end things will happen, and she doesn't either. She knows it is all going to come flooding out, and she is relying on you to keep it all together. Be happy that she did not pain you thru extensive birth plans and long lists of how things will be done, because she has simple needs and wants, and she knows herself well enough to know that she will react-- how she reacts-- and has no idea how that will be exactly just yet! So stop worrying about what to do, more than she is. Seriously... stop it! you're embarrassing yourself now. Knowing the physical process inside and out is the best thing you could have done. When you see things like a baby turtle heading in and out of her vagina during decent, you won't get all panicked and project that onto her. That is a big service man. Be proud of that. Keep your shit cool man. Take some of the deep breaths when she does. You will need them.
... remember how big you smile every morning when you pull the covers back and see that belly. What is going on here is amazing and you are amazed. You are starting to feel like you can't do it, and that's okay. This is your first time, of course it's scary ding dong.
This is just where I'm at, casually walking to the calm cool center of awesome.
I was driving to a Walmart yesterday, which truly only happens maybe once a year when I give into the pressure and the poverty, and decide I can possibly stomach the trip from the overwhelming feeling of winning I will get from the mind blowing savings. It never goes well, it always sucks, and I always say (after I threaten to burn it down) that I am never going to go there ever again. It must have been long enough between trips, because it was my suggestion to go when Cole and I started figuring out that we had a long list of supplies that we had to get on top of for birthing babies at home. This list had been a burden to Cole ever since she recovered from the fever, and she felt completely uneasy and terrible as long as it remained unchecked. So I packed up LB and Cole, and we drove to Walmart, which was the beginning of this recent batch of insanity that I needed to get off my chest.
I think I must have spent a good few hours yesterday massaging a sour mood and letting it set in good and nasty. It had been awhile, but I am just overwhelmed with how far I have fallen behind on projects and am convincing myself that I will never catch up, or regain that momentum I had going. When the negativity comes I can physically feel it moving thru my body like a bad chili dog, and I have this urgency to spread it liberally throughout my body. It starts with that one big smear of hateful nastiness on my heart and proceeds up my throat swelling up and out in big burning bubbles of mean spirited fire balls, a gross heavy blob of self doubt and worthlessness sits in my belly and keeps fueling me along into these passionate rants about how fucked everything is. I am bad company and a horrible vibe since yesterday afternoon. It's this disgusting heat and humidity. It has to be. The first lashes of summer always does this to me. Somewhere in June I end up giving the why do we live in such an absurd place speech. I really just hate the sweaty heat.
I'm sitting here now, physically sweating, wrecked with heartburn and a sour stomach, and a headache driving nails into the right side of my face from a handful of teeth that have been steadily rotting out of my head for the last few years. I use any and all of the physical pain I can muster to partner up with these bad feelings I've been brewing. I seek out national news and read about new policy so that I can heat up and get aggravated on topics that have nothing to do with what is really scaring the shit out of me. When the crazy comes on heavy like this I have to let it get thick and pour it on so that it will run its course. No amount of chipping away at feeling better works. It's the same idea as sticking your finger down your throat when you know you're going to end up puking anyway. You just go for it and get it over with because you know after the sick, you start to feel better.
So this brings me to the part where I was going to just get crazy and admit all of the shit that has me so scared and angry, and doubting myself and my abilities. But right now, as I got to this part I decided that instead I would get up. Close my computer, and just get caught up.
A day late but we fit it in some time to capture week 36. Cole's legs fell asleep during this one so we only snapped a few. She always looks gorgeous, but these last few weeks she has been blowing my mind. Things are good for us. That scare shook things up in smart ways, and turned some lights on in some areas I hadn't realized I was still in the dark on. I am going to do another shoot in a couple days and try and get caught up in the series like we had planned last week.
Some really awesome news was confirmed to do some shoots of the new line for Fuzi Bunz cloth diapers, which Cole used for The Littlest Buddy and just loved them. So she was pretty piss your pants excited when she found out that the owner of Fuzi Bunz was going to outfit the new baby in her new line, and I would be doing some shoots to show off their new digs. I started casting Mamas and babies for the shoot to model, and am going to have a ton of fun with it. I am new to the whole cloth diaper thing, and it makes no difference to me. Gross baby poo is gross baby poo, I am just happy that Cole is happy. She really loves this company so I felt like a hero being able to make this happen for her.
Four years ago at the height of boredom and tired of always hearing the belly aching about how nothing good ever happens in our downtown, I invented a drunken photo scavenger hunt for my friends to play that takes place in our downtown district right here in stupid Orlando, FL. It happens every year in the middle of July, right when it starts to get really disgusting and hot, and right when my friends were going out of their minds with nothing to do. It's hard enough to get bands to come to Orlando, but in the summertime, the selection of shows seem even slimmer, and that means we were pretty much just left to drink, and talk about the stuff that happened the night before when we were drinking. It can be a sad thing when you work in the service industry downtown like I did... It was easy to get caught up in a lifestyle that is designed to keep you in the loop, so that you have enough "friends" going out on a regular basis that the bars stay filled with people dropping by to see you at your bar. Working downtown 5 nights a week and then "hanging" out on our nights off, kept us pretty much drunk for months at a time. Sometimes I can't believe I am still alive. It has been just over a year since I stopped bartending and hanging out every night in that scene. I don't miss it at all. But I'm fucking glad I did it. I had a blast and laughed hard enough to have fond memories of it all. So back to the drunken photo scavenger hunt.... whenever summer would roll around I would start getting this event planned and it has always gone down as "the best night ever" a streak I am proud of.
I invite fourteen of my jackass friends, to invite five of their jackass friends, to form teams of six and compete each year in a game I named: "Photo Royale" and this year with the baby coming I am running late with the planning. So I figured if I blog about it, then it will get me started on it. I have so much crap to do and if I drop the ball on this I will be letting down a bunch of bored man children that want to run around in costume and get crazy in the city.
Of course the first thing I needed was a corporate sponsor, and so I asked my buddy to get Pabst involved and they sponsor the event every year. This is the poster from the first year when there were only seven teams of assholes running around, and now we are up to fourteen teams of six.
Part of the game is that each team must dress in some sort of costume. And last year my team stole the Best Costume Prize when we showed up as "The Last Unicorns"
In a nutshell, I get all the teams gathered at the bar I worked at The Matador, we all laugh at one another in our costumes and drink for an hour, and then each team Captain is given their first game packet. In this packet are all the first set of items that your team will find and photograph, and a riddle to solve (that usually will hold some kind of bonus item or extra points). Each team gets paired up with a "rival" team and is assigned matching check in times, the whole game is on a fast paced time limit. At the check in time the two teams are put thru the ringer of all kinds of beer challenges, and ridiculous sloppy relay games. When their is a winner, each team gets the next packet and runs out the door to photograph the next set of items. This happens a total of four times and the game takes two hours to play. It's the most favorite thing I do downtown... and I am hoping this year can happen again. I wasn't sure if it was possible with the baby on the way so soon.
one of the photo's we had to take was to write something in lights
this was switch clothes with someone on your team
one of the games we played against the Lucha Libres and the Indians
So that is Photo Royale, and I need to get to work on planning this years event and invite the players to start forming their teams. I am so very bummed Cole won't be able to play this year, and I am the designated sober guy on the team. It has been so long since I drank that I would end up sick if I tried to jump right in and hang with these downtown kids.
Today I am getting caught up on belly shoots and getting started on some new great big ideas. I have a really cool photo project I am getting into this week with a Portland based company called Black Wagon. I am excited to get things rolling with them and have been testing the waters with The Littlest Buddy to see if he is into shooting. He has been signing for my camera lately because it has been so long since we took a picture.
Cole and I have a punch list of all the things that need to happen before she starts getting all birthy, it feels like there is a stop watch in my ear lately. I look at the clock and think, holy cow that baby is going to be here any minute and this place is a fucking pig sty. I feel like a teenager again, who just woke up on the bathroom floor covered in vomit all hung over from a keg party I threw for the whole school and my parents are going to be home anytime in the next few hours. It feels good to have this punch list, now by the end of the day it would be nice to see almost all of it crossed out.
Who wants to come find king sized rubber sheets with me? Anyone?
I guess this is a Place-Holder/Update for now until I get my shit together.
I read some thrilling blog post in my reader late last night about essential tips on how to write a captivating blog title, I think there were 7 of these little beacons of brilliance. ALL about how to draw people in... and get people riveted to read more. A how to guide on making them choose my little blog over the millions screaming for attention. So I wanted to try it out this morning: "The Sexiest Excuse I Know" Who doesn't like sex? Or a good tip? Don't you just want to make-out and dry hump that title like drunk teenagers? No? Well it was the best I could come up with.
However, I do not have a sexy excuse for why the weekly picture isn't done and being posted this morning. I heard that people think the truth is sexy, (so long as it isn't specific truths about themselves). Cause nobody likes to hear that they're fat and lazy, but they do enjoy hearing the truths of other people. The truth here is I'm exhausted, and the weekly series has always been something fun that we do, and I don't want to mess with that. So later today if Cole keeps feeling better, and we get all caught up with getting this house back together, then we will take some belly pictures if the mood is right. This is our get all the things that scared the shit out of us when we thought the baby was going to be taken out done week. We have loads to do, plus all the domestic annoyances of a house that was left alone while Cole was sick this weekend. And of course the grass in Florida grows so fast, we are "that" house again on our street. Ya know the house that looks like it was abandoned. haha we are such assholes. I hope we don't have a neighborhood association.
I spent the day on Sunday shooting pictures at Premeire, the International Beauty Show for the hair industry, and got to see a bunch of my old buddies working hard and doing what they do. The bummer was that I was so distracted the entire day about Cole and if she was doing better, which by the way her fever FINALLY broke and did not come back at around 6:30PM yesterday. Just in time to set up camp on the couch and watch the Magic try and redeem themselves. Here are a couple of shots from the day that I liked.
The wallet contest needs to get updated with the entries that rolled in this weekend. I would really like to get that thing going strong again, I feel like it got sabotaged by this virus. So if any of you are into it and want to word spread a little that would be cool with me.
AND if you are like most people and don't go near blogs on the weekend, I sat and typed out the whole "fever" ordeal with Cole one night while I sat and stared at her sleeping and sweating and wiggling around uncomfortably. The first part was the hospital experience as they ruled out any emergencies, and the second part was the battle at home.
THIS is a a HUGE week for us, for everybody and I am starting to constantly be nervous/excited about what is coming our way. The big focus is on getting Cole's energy back up so if she does happen to go into labor she has enough juice to squeeze.
I ended the first half of this update with Cole’s temp reading 102.9 and we immediately thought… let’s go back to the hospital. Taking a second to consider the entire situation before barreling on back to be rescued, we remembered they did say the fever could come back, and if it did, to do all that could be done to bring it down and see if it stays. The process of fever squashing at home was the exact same thing they were doing at the hospital. 650mg of Tylenol every 4 hours, push fluids, icepacks and wet towels, and rest. So it was determined that Cole could not rest at the hospital, and so after we discussed our plan with both our Midwife and Doula we opted to stay home and fight this thing ourselves for awhile. If we couldn’t get it off the danger line in a half hour we would go back.
So within a half hour of doing the ice routine, she was down to 101. This was still in the late morning, around 11AM or so. Right when we thought we could relax it all came back.
I won’t type all of this out hour by hour because it’s really easy to just write about 4 hours and then say… repeat. Because that is what went down, a 4 hour cycle of pushing the fever back down low, and then as the Tylenol would wear off and she slept, it would rise. The shivers were the worst, because as her temp would rise the colder she would feel and the shaking would start. Which seemed like it was a real recipe for contractions starting again. So it was trial and error. A four hour cycle would tick thru, and the end result was always a high fever. We were so exhausted at this point from being up for so long, and just frustrated. I was running on empty and out of ideas and convinced we were going to have to go back to the hospital and they would say something like: “Well, we are worried this fever won’t go down and this is the second time you have come in, let’s go ahead and get that baby out.”
So I had to call our midwife a few times for some reassurances and to know that we weren’t being assholes about any of this. And our doula came by the house and gave us a pep talk and a shot in the arm right when we needed it the most. Right before she got to our house at around 6PM I had just put Cole in a tepid bath to soak for a minute, and then let the cool air hit her skin to try and get her temp down. This was a disaster. Cole looked at me like I was killing her. She cried so hard when she was in that bath, because she was at her most exhausted now, and was burning up in the 102 range for the 3rd time that day. This was by far the worst thing I have experienced with Cole. She was so sick. And nothing I was doing was making her feel better. The inner dumb brut male side of me was raging and if I could have physically fought this virus I was imaganing all the ways I would murder it with my bare hands.
So when our doula arrived I was ready to breakdown, and Cole was just empty, she was convinced she was going to be sick for weeks and we were both ready to go back to the hospital.
I took the time and let Cole get some care from someone else and listen to a much needed pep talk. The ol’ shot in the arm that we could get thru this. I went and resupplied with ice and gatorade, and food for Cole. So by the time I got back, it was time to start in again and get this thing beat. Her temp was down to 99 and she was resting. By the time she woke up it was right back up again. And that was when Cole figured it out for herself, she really listened to her body, she knew that her body wanted to burn out this virus while she slept and to sweat out the bad stuff, but that would hurt the baby and be too big a stress, so she just decided not to sleep. And so we got her out of the bed, and onto the couch. Put on the NBA finals and watched that rat face Kobe spank the bottoms of the Orlando Magic. We realized that we had been idiots and came home and went right back to the hospital method of treatment, sick in a bed. So we decided to try one more 4 hour cycle, but to try it our way.
Feeding a Fever- I can’t tell you enough how much everything changed once we got her out of that bed, sitting up around a mighty pillow palace on the couch, surrounded by cold drinks, and food. I set the temp in the house to 74 and she wasn’t allowed to cover up with anything, even a sheet would warm her up too fast. We kept her face, and feet, and arms wet, and ice packs under her arms, and she ate. She made the comment that if she was on a cruise ship she would attack the buffet until it was gone. Of all the things, buttered toast was her favorite. This was the fastest her fever went down in days. And it stayed down. As long as she did not sleep, the fever could stay down at 98.6 and we were happy. At around 3:30 AM I fell asleep and Cole just determined as ever to wear out this virus paced around the house and would not sleep. I had no idea. I had my alarm set to go off every 4 hours, so when I woke up at 7 AM she was sitting there looking insane, but happy with her 98.6
Our midwife was coming at 8AM and so I got things ready and fed Cole and we had a great visit. Her temp stayed at 98.6 the whole visit, and the baby was healthy and we listened to it’s little heart beat at the normal 130 beats and were so relieved. She left us the Doppler so we could check on the baby if we got worried about anything. And after she left both Cole and I just passed the fuck out and she slept and slept and we have only had this thing come back one time when we tried to get her off the tylenol. So for now. All things are in the clear.
We know how to manage the fever now, Cole can sleep without the fever rising, and the baby is full of food and heart beating comfortably. Shit is good. I am sitting here watching rain dump down in the garden and Cole is feeling all sick hung over. She is filling out thank you cards she had been writing before she got sick to friends that attended the baby shower. She is so sick of being sick.
The turning point for sure was when she decided and said to me: “I’m going to be such a shitty host for this virus and not do what it wants, that it will eventually leave.” So she kept her body cold and denied herself sleep…. And it worked in keeping the fever down.
I am so backed up on projects and shoots. I have an all day event shoot tomorrow for Redken artist Sam Villa and will get to see most of my friends from my old job again, and I think Cole plans on floating in a pool as long as she can and just enjoy being outside breathing fresh air. We both miss LB so mush we could cry. It feels like we haven’t seen him in a month.
We feel a little more prepared for everything, and we have some good knowledge about the baby we didn’t have prior.
So for now. We are good. We are tired. We are going to sleep like babies.
All the Love in the Universe ~ Us
P.S. Cole reminded me that we tried the ol' apple cider vinegar on the feet trick and it was a good aid in brining the fever down. I would soak towels in the apple cider vinegar and wrap up her feet in them, then wrap her feet up with plastic bags to keep the stench in. She would soak for a half hour and then I would go and wash all of it off and let her feet air dry. We would notice within 10-15 minutes that her feet would feel cold to the touch and slowly her legs would stop burning and on up. It was pretty amazing. Old wives tale indeed.
I was sitting still. In the quiet of the hospital room, seated awkwardly between the arguing of Awake and Sleep, avoiding the invite to relax into the deep worn comfy sag of that hospital recliner that has swallowed up patients and their loves so many times before me. I am sitting because my legs are spent. I'm afraid to look away from the monitor that is telling us how Cole and baby are doing, like the magic of the connection I've made will break somehow and we will all tailspin. How does one get so superstitious? She is lying in a bed, crumbled on her side. I can hear her labored breathing, she is watching as intently as I am. I'm sitting in this dumpy recliner, the both of us glued to the numbers, and the scribbles, and the math, telling us we should be worried and it isn't getting much better faster.
We have been up for over 48 hours now. The heavy blinks lull me into the lean back into the sag of the chair, just for a second, just to see how it feels, and then like a summer bug blowing around in the wind, I'm suddenly snagged, trapped, and being pulled down into the swallow of sleep, sliding down further, and finally resting in the belly of night. I can feel the night winning, and so I let it win... graciously. I am okay. Sleeping fast, because right there, burned into the back of my eyes, I am still watching that heart-blink from that fucking monitor that the Doctors have us attached to. I have watched this blinking for the last 23 hours with worry. I can't get it out of my head.
This was our first night up together with the baby.
This new baby just 36 weeks old reminded me of who I am the other night, while I sat and watched it blink its mark thru this monitoring machine. I was watching this baby tell me "shit was not good." I forgot that I am not always instantly strong when things get crazy. I need someone that I can privately be weak with, so I can walk back into a room after blubbering about all the bad things, and help make good decisions. So I can wear the kind of eyes that Cole can look into and she will know that everything will be all right. I build strength from the reassurances of others. I am scared shitless and have need to empty out the doubt, so I can focus on the small amounts of confidence and courage that I do have and pour it on.
(This is the longest post I think I have ever written, so I am waving you off if you don't give a fuck to read all about this.)
I'm sitting down, finally writing about the last 72 hours. I am beside Cole who is finally sleeping soundly, without shivers or sweats, and without tension in her face. Her body temperature has finally reached 98.6 again, and it hasn't budged in a few hours. We just finished a visit from our Midwife, and just like all the tests they ran at the hospital, the report from her is that we have a healthy little prize, so full of all the gusto of a baby that is going to wiggle and wail.
So for now we just keep fighting this fever until it is all gone.
I am a "fixer" and so when my wife has a fever and the body aches late in her pregnancy, I just start doing all the things you do to "fix" that. When the fever would not subside, and her temp reached our danger line and would not budge from 102.5, we headed to the hospital to deal with the fever that would not go away. Cole was tested for everything that you can imagine to rule out any kind of infection, or rupture, and as we suspected and related to the staff, this was just something nasty, mean, and viral. It was something that wanted to cook its host, and multiply. At the hospital while Cole was on a steady dose of Tylenol, and IV drips, and ice bags in her armpits, she was still running 103 degrees. The baby’s heartbeat would skyrocket as high as 212 beats per minute... but rapid fired in the 180’s and 190's most of the day (it normally beats in the 130's or 140's when all is well). They just couldn't bring this fever down. And as long as Cole stayed this hot, the baby’s heartbeat went wild.
A baby can beat at this accelerated rate without much risk for a good long while. Babies are magic like that. But at some point at the end of the marathon, they get tired, and the heart goes from speeding along, to suddenly crashing. So watching that monitor as the hours ticked by, was like watching that one super courageous asshole running at the back of the pack in a marathon that the commentators keep going back to, the one who isn't winning. The one that is just running on guts, the one running with the pulled hamstring, and barely trucking along, and you are watching, and just waiting for them to give up. The commentators keep up the chatter and say things like: "I don't know what's keeping them going?!" or " At some point they have to quit, sit down, and take a breath." It sucks. I felt like this is what I was witnessing the whole time I was watching the heart rate speed along. I kept cheering on the inside. Keep running your heart out buddy, it will cool down soon. Don't give up. I am watching this blinking light on the monitor, and the hours tick down on the clock. Trying to read the concern on faces of the Doctors coming in and out of the room, looking over the charts.
Here is the part where I get all preachy and tough. Yes. We felt very lucky and fortunate to be in the hospital, and we drew such good cards as far as the staff that was on shift when we made the call to go in. Here is what I have to say about the experience from a Dad-to-be's perspective after watching my wife, who was weak from fever, sleep deprived, riddled with body shakes, and worried that she was "cooking" the baby to death, walk into a Labor and Delivery triage unit to find out if our baby is going to be okay or not.
The staff of doctors and nurses you are assigned when you arrive in a baby triage ward instantly start tapping their knowledge and matching symptoms to possible causes, chasing them down and ruling out the most obvious problems to the most obscure. Starting with all of the life threatening possibilities... working their way toward the more obscure and hidden oddities. All of this takes time, to order tests, perform tests, get results from tests, meet, discuss, strategize, and move forward to do more tests. All the while treating the immediate set of symptoms that are causing harm and creating risk to Mom and baby. All of this is so crucial and I am on board this ship, sailing along and totally getting it. Appreciative of the skill and knowledge, and the persistence that these care providers are demonstrating. Here is where things got weird for us.
As the Doctors were checking down these possibilities of infections, and pre-term labor signs, and it was becoming more clear that this was just something that was viral, and had no "treatment" beyond managing symptoms, this became the point that I started to feel like it was not in the best interest to Cole and the baby to be in the hospital. Cole couldn't carry out the things her body was telling her to do to make baby and herself calm down, because the hospital protocol is not designed around patients exercising much free will. Sure they let you refuse treatment, after you sign waivers saying you will never sue them. You have the free will to say NO to anything.
So I am going to mull thru a list here, in case any of you land yourself in a similar situation.
People have a tendency to blindly follow orders from anyone wearing scrubs and a nametag, and they are not always right. You have to know that absolutely these people are under a ton of stress, and managing care to multiple patients, and they can and DO make mistakes. They have a way of doing things that are efficient and highly effective for them.This does not always translate to you being cared for in a way that enables your body to share a little of the work load, and do some fighting for yourself. With that said...
MONITORS- The monitors they use to track the contractions and the heartbeat, are so archaic and restrictive I just can't even believe we're talking about flying cars, and fingers grown from stem cells, and this is how modern medicine tracks these particular vitals? You're telling me there is no other way to monitor these two things without squirting a pint of surgical jizz on her stomach, attaching two separate hunks of hard plastic the size of fists to straps, and then cinching them tight and around, so they are pressing firm into the Mama's belly? We can download free hi streaming porn from 30,000 ft on Virgin Airlines to our touch-screen phones... but we can't wirelessly place a small unit that adheres to the skin to a giant pregnant stomach, and pick up a heartbeat? Or measure a contracting uterus? There isn't an App for that yet?
Pretty weak. Let's get on that one inventors of great new things for our better future. Wireless monitoring needs to happen.
The problems with these old bastards strapped to my wife are endless. First they were making our baby mad, because it kicked at these things relentlessly, so now along with the stress of the oven being left on Broil from the fever, they put these two fucking fake fists digging into her belly creating a bunch of noise, and the baby is clearly UN-happy. At one point, they even stop to joke: "Oh! The baby doesn't like that." after cinching down the last strap and you could see the baby pushing and wiggling.
Hmm
But the BIG problem is that anytime you start running cords from a pregnant person to a machine, you begin the process of restricting that person. Every instinct in Cole was telling her to get up and move around, and change positions, and now she is being told she has to, "stay in a bed" because she needs to be "monitored" to monitor stress on the baby, which is stressing the mom and the baby out. So basically, they want to be able to watch how much they are actually pissing the mom and baby off. I could see it clearly without looking in Cole's direction a single time, that she needed to eat, and she needed to move, and she needed to get these things off of her body. So a tip, some advice for you dudes or advocates for the pregnant: If the staff is being stern about staying attached to machines, then every time you get the chance to detach from the monitors so she can hit the bathroom, walk it out. Take your sweet ass time. Let the stupid things slide off and fall, and give yourself a break from it all, if that is what the Mama is telling you she needs to do. Let her do her thing. A mother’s instinct is spooky magic and if she needs to move. Make it happen for her.
Cole's contractions were becoming so regular and consistent from her being stuck in that bed and uncomfortable hour after hour, that eventually she would have started actual baby time labor if she was left to lie in that bed for much longer. Doctors and Nurses would come in, read the charts, and say: "we have to stop these contractions somehow." but insist she stay hooked up. Finally she got a break. Cole had so many tests in a row at one point in the night, and was unstrapped and away from the bed long enough, that when they strapped her back in.... the contractions had stopped! Being off that monitor gave her the time and the break she needed to get things to settle.
She finally got the break that she had been requesting by default. The baby was able to move into a better position, and Cole had time to stretch her back, and she had walked around, and the contractions that they "couldn't figure out how to stop", were suddenly gone, and did not come back. Now of course this is all case-by-case. But this is our case, and the point here isn't that the hospital sucks, it is that the hospital is uncomfortable, and does not always listen to the Mom as much as it could.
MAMA'S HUNGRY- Another tip from this fever trip was the restriction of food and drink to Cole and baby. We understood the need to not eat in the first hours as they ruled out the big scary infections. So as soon as the decision was made that she would not be rushed into any cesarean surgery, a big plate of food and a 32-oz belly buster of juice should have been slapped down in front of Cole to consume. They kept telling her "no food and drink" for hours, just in case the contractions that wouldn't stop turned into labor. I said: "She needs to eat and they will stop." and the Doctor said "food doesn't have anything to do with that, it is hydration and she is on IV." and so they went on restricting food and drink. Now EVERYONE knows that if she came in off the street after eating a bucket of chicken and a pound of whipped mashed potatoes, and then suddenly needed a cesarean, they would just stick the vacuum down her throat and suck the food out anyway. So who gives a fuck if she wants to eat. She wanted to feed that fever. She wanted to eat the entire time we were there, and when they finally let her. Within one minute of a banana devoured and a Gatorade chugged the baby stopped kicking and the contractions went away, and did not return again until she was exhausted and in pain from being strapped to the bed as I detailed above. After she ate the Doctor came in and looked at her chart and said: "Huh, maybe that baby did want some food."
It would be cool to see a Doctor that would say something like: "let's see what some food and a little walking around will do for all of this, and then hook her back up and see where we are at." It would have saved them hours of speculation that Cole was going into pre-term labor.
ELBOW DEEP BIOTCH! - When it comes to checking the cervix for changes, you don't need to shove your hand as hard (and as far) as you can into my wife's vagina. Since when do you need to force your hand in elbow deep to try and feel for her cervix? If you can't feel it deep in the back, if it hasn't moved forward, after checking left and right for it hiding out, then she isn't progressing into labor. Duh! So you don't have to force your way past until you cram your hand in deep enough to find it, just so you can say, "Nope, she isn't in any active labor." AND the big thing here to add... is this fucking jackass insistence to force a woman flat onto her back to be able to do this test. You show me a woman who wants to lie flat on her back with her legs hoisted up and open while she is 36 weeks pregnant. I bet you can't find one. We had a new nurse once we moved from the emergency ward to the high-risk wing with one of those "I've been doing this since the 80's" attitudes. She physically tried to force Cole on her back, who fought against her until she got pissed, and I had to stand up and get all macho and say "keep your God Damn hands off her". Actually our Doctor noticed this old bitch try and force Cole on her back, and noticed how fast I jumped out of my chair, and told the lady, "you're not listening to your patient, she is clearly uncomfortable." which was another really awesome moment we had with this guy. He was a hero all day watching out for Cole and got the nurse to stop being a bossy cow and actually listen to Cole.
THE SHIFT CHANGE- the last little takeaway from this experience is the shift change. When Cole was moved to the high-risk wing, she had to endure a whole brand new set of questions right when she was at her most exhausted. She needed to sleep, and this nurse was dead set on filling out her forms so she could be done with the task. She couldn't care less that Cole was exhausted. This was the same lady that had been doing it her way since the 80's, but somehow missed picking up the skills to use a mouse and keyboard like the rest of the world. She drug us thru the process of watching her fumble around computer screens to fill out the pages of the stupid questionnaires while she muttered to herself, asking things like did Cole have Gonorrhea, or Aids, or if she smoked crack, and if she wore glasses. If I could go back in time. I would have told that Nurse to fuck off out of that room with her questions until Cole slept, or insisted that she ask me the questions at her service desk, and she could get the rest later. This was one of the only chances Cole had to sleep before a barrage of new tests started, and it was wasted on this old fuss face and her forms. Lesson leaned.
The last thing after the shift change, our night shift nurse came on. A sweet and efficient woman, no small talk. She moved thru quickly and made shit happen with ease. We both liked her very much. The only problem came about when she did not bring the Tylenol on time, at the end of another 4-hour cycle. She had done the math wrong and was 2 hours behind us. When we first brought it up she was pretty insistent that Cole couldn't have it until later, but we fought her enough that she went and checked, and eventually apologized and came back with the dose. The little over sight took time to correct and threw Cole off her schedule almost an hour, and her fever went right back up to 102 while we waited. A setback. The point here is to stand your ground if you think you are right about something you heard or was told, make them check. Mistakes happen all the time. They aren't trying to be assholes, they are just human and extremely busy, don't be afraid to stick up for your lady or for yourself.
I am done being preachy and all knowing. I just figured if we went thru all of this, I would share the experience so maybe it helps the next scared shitless couple. Because we were scared shitless these past 3 days.
In the end we were really lucky with the doctor and residents, and nurses, and if for some reason we have to enact our plan B during the home birth process I feel really good about the people that will be making decisions for Cole. The triage unit was the best, perhaps the fact that they were younger and seemed on board the midwife ship we are sailing was settling to us. The main OB at this hospital did his first 40 births with a midwife and felt very strongly that if a woman is a good candidate for a VBAC than she should absolutely try to have a VBAC. So despite the total shit circumstances for being at the hospital it was really a relief to experience what our plan B was going to be like. So on top of finding out that Cole and the baby (minus this fever) are so healthy, we got the added relief of knowing that the hospital we chose to roll to in case of an emergency is full of really exceptional people.
So after we were released the next day, driving home felt so good. Cole beaming at a solid 98.6 and looking so pretty and relieved to be out of there with the baby safe and growing in her belly. I was happy. We both just couldn't wait to get home and shower and get all of the hospital off of us.
My mother had cleaned our house while we were in the hospital, did that super awesome hydrogen peroxide anti bacterial scrub of everything in sight method. She disinfected all of LB's toys and all our dishes sanitized our laundry, she was amazing. It felt so good to know we were walking back into a clean environment. She was a true hero. She picked us up some stuff to keep the germs away; it was the awesome side of having a real deal germaphobe for a Mom. It really came in handy.
So we showered. I put Cole to bed. wrote a quick update to my blog, and went out to buy a thermometer, and while I was at the store my phone rang from Cole, who I could barely understand and who was shaking uncontrollably and freezing cold. So I raced home and whipped out that new thermometer and shit my mouth when it read 102.9
FUCK! You have to be FUCKING kidding me. We had been out of the hospital for 2 hours.
So the next post will be all about the big fever battle and how it went down at home. I figured this was quite long enough for now.
All the love in the Universe ~ Me
p.s. I want to be very clear on something. I hope this post doesn't come off anti hospital because in the emergency setting all of the people helping us were incredible and took exceptional care of Cole.
Labels:
first pics,
here she is,
my daughter,
tessa tangerine
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