Males find shopping boring.
(even the candy aisle)
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Feeling Your Pain
In high school my skin was always . . . less clear than my friends'. It was the main thing I was unhappy with about myself, I think. (not that I was unhappy, but it would have been the first thing I changed if I could). But we were all teenagers, and none of us had perfect skin.
I remember occasionally standing in front of bathroom mirrors at a dance or at school with my friends and one of them complaining about their one zit. I would immediately point to myself and say, "Hello! You should be grateful!"
Starting around that time I began learning something. Just because my skin was worse than theirs doesn't mean that it wasn't a big deal for them to have a zit. They could be as unhappy about their one as I was about my twelve.
Because women compare themselves to each other so much, even those of us who feel we don't (I'm talking to you, self), complaining about or mentioning something like weight, pregnancy, physical appearance, almost anything, can turn into something of a competition, or at least can get people feeling defensive or offended. I hate that.
I'm sure there are some women that make jabs at a "friend" who is 30 pounds heavier than them by saying, "Oh! I'm just so fat! I really have to get rid of these disgusting 10 pounds!" But I doubt it happens a lot. Mostly, I think we worry more about ourselves and aren't thinking so much about those around us.
When a friend of mine who, to me seems quite thin talks about needing to lose weight, I only feel empathy. I know exactly how it feels to really want to lose weight. Just because I want to lose (insert number) pounds and she couldn't lose more than (insert much smaller number) without looking anorexic doesn't matter (I'm exaggerating, of course, but it sometimes feels like this). She has the same feelings I do. And that is okay.
I have felt a little sick after complaining about my child's behavior during church when I realized that the person I was talking to struggled much more with her children. I would not want her to think I was suggesting that even my mild mannered child was bad, so I must think her children were terrible.
I appreciate when this happens and instead of getting offended and holding it against me the person says something along the lines of "Oh, then you must think MY kids are little hellions!" or something like that. Of course I feel awful realizing what I sounded like, but then I can apologize and we can be fine. Hopefully. Everyone sticks their foot in their mouth sometimes, but we should give each other the benefit of the doubt. And even if someone does seem to be unkind on purpose, that's no reason to get offended or hold a grudge (see earlier post on taking offense).
But mostly I think we have to recognize that everyone has trials on their own level. Shoot, I can't remember who posted about someone telling them that they only had two children so she could not empathize with what she (a mother of four) was going through. Really? Back when you had two you never felt stressed or overwhelmed? It doesn't matter whose is worse, we have all felt it to some extent. Let's commiserate with one another!
Okay, this really doesn't sound how I mean it to. I'm not saying everyone should complain and we should all just try to make each other feel better. I'm also not saying that it's perfectly fine for people to complain about something the person they are complaining to struggles with more than them. But I am actually saying both of those things a little bit.
Mostly I just think we need to have all of our sensitivities be on the side of the things we say about ourselves in order to be careful not to hurt others, and not be so sensitive to what other people say about themselves and letting those things hurt us or think ill of the person saying them. We're all in this together. Really. We should respond with a heartfelt and sympathetic, "I know!" and leave off the "better than you do!"
I remember occasionally standing in front of bathroom mirrors at a dance or at school with my friends and one of them complaining about their one zit. I would immediately point to myself and say, "Hello! You should be grateful!"
Starting around that time I began learning something. Just because my skin was worse than theirs doesn't mean that it wasn't a big deal for them to have a zit. They could be as unhappy about their one as I was about my twelve.
Because women compare themselves to each other so much, even those of us who feel we don't (I'm talking to you, self), complaining about or mentioning something like weight, pregnancy, physical appearance, almost anything, can turn into something of a competition, or at least can get people feeling defensive or offended. I hate that.
I'm sure there are some women that make jabs at a "friend" who is 30 pounds heavier than them by saying, "Oh! I'm just so fat! I really have to get rid of these disgusting 10 pounds!" But I doubt it happens a lot. Mostly, I think we worry more about ourselves and aren't thinking so much about those around us.
When a friend of mine who, to me seems quite thin talks about needing to lose weight, I only feel empathy. I know exactly how it feels to really want to lose weight. Just because I want to lose (insert number) pounds and she couldn't lose more than (insert much smaller number) without looking anorexic doesn't matter (I'm exaggerating, of course, but it sometimes feels like this). She has the same feelings I do. And that is okay.
I have felt a little sick after complaining about my child's behavior during church when I realized that the person I was talking to struggled much more with her children. I would not want her to think I was suggesting that even my mild mannered child was bad, so I must think her children were terrible.
I appreciate when this happens and instead of getting offended and holding it against me the person says something along the lines of "Oh, then you must think MY kids are little hellions!" or something like that. Of course I feel awful realizing what I sounded like, but then I can apologize and we can be fine. Hopefully. Everyone sticks their foot in their mouth sometimes, but we should give each other the benefit of the doubt. And even if someone does seem to be unkind on purpose, that's no reason to get offended or hold a grudge (see earlier post on taking offense).
But mostly I think we have to recognize that everyone has trials on their own level. Shoot, I can't remember who posted about someone telling them that they only had two children so she could not empathize with what she (a mother of four) was going through. Really? Back when you had two you never felt stressed or overwhelmed? It doesn't matter whose is worse, we have all felt it to some extent. Let's commiserate with one another!
Okay, this really doesn't sound how I mean it to. I'm not saying everyone should complain and we should all just try to make each other feel better. I'm also not saying that it's perfectly fine for people to complain about something the person they are complaining to struggles with more than them. But I am actually saying both of those things a little bit.
Mostly I just think we need to have all of our sensitivities be on the side of the things we say about ourselves in order to be careful not to hurt others, and not be so sensitive to what other people say about themselves and letting those things hurt us or think ill of the person saying them. We're all in this together. Really. We should respond with a heartfelt and sympathetic, "I know!" and leave off the "better than you do!"
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Hence the Nesquick Bunny
On Saturday Greg took the kids (all four!) for a walk in the forest so I could have a chance to do some writing in peace and quiet.
They were walking for an hour and a half and as Greg was carrying the baby, David helped Aaron navigate the terrain and protected him from all the spiders and beetles. When they came home Aaron started calling David his David. Except that he pronounces David "Defed". We heard a lot of "Where's my Defed?" on Saturday.
They obviously came to some fields, too. Go Ev with the Nordic Walking!
Also, Aaron was a little concerned when he saw rabbit droppings scattered here and there through the forest, right in the dirt and not in a bowl. "Uh oh, cereal!" he said.
They were walking for an hour and a half and as Greg was carrying the baby, David helped Aaron navigate the terrain and protected him from all the spiders and beetles. When they came home Aaron started calling David his David. Except that he pronounces David "Defed". We heard a lot of "Where's my Defed?" on Saturday.
They obviously came to some fields, too. Go Ev with the Nordic Walking!
Thursday, March 18, 2010
You Might Be In Poland
If people stare at you in shock or don't believe you when you tell them that you don't iron your jeans.
If the whole concept of lighting is completely different than you're used to. (more on this later)
If the woman scanning your groceries at the check out stand asks what tortillas are used for and almost nobody around has ever heard of a burrito.
If all shops close at 6 pm weekdays and 2 pm on Saturdays.
If you have to stock up on certain food items (even in large grocery store chains) because they may suddenly be out of stock for many months at a time (or never be seen again).
If you've never had to find out the cut-off date for kids going into elementary school. (If you were born in 2003 you'll be starting first grade this fall, on September first or the first weekday thereafter, no matter where you live in Poland. Genius.)
If you've been told that it is disgusting/unnatural that in America your milk can sit in the fridge for a couple of weeks. This in a country where milk can sit on a shelf in the cupboard for up to 6 months before it's opened (UHT milk).
If a doctor's frequent response to questions posed by patients concerning details about their health is "don't worry", and there seems to be a general policy of "less is more" when it comes to sharing medical information. This to the point that it is still common practice for doctors not to inform someone if they are diagnosed with a terminal illness, instead letting members of the family know.
If you only pay for calls you make from your cell phone, and not for incoming calls.
If food made with the simplest ingredients taste like heaven.
If the pace of life is slow and steady, and you think therefore you may possibly win the race. Or at least complete it eventually.
If the whole concept of lighting is completely different than you're used to. (more on this later)
If the woman scanning your groceries at the check out stand asks what tortillas are used for and almost nobody around has ever heard of a burrito.
If all shops close at 6 pm weekdays and 2 pm on Saturdays.
If you have to stock up on certain food items (even in large grocery store chains) because they may suddenly be out of stock for many months at a time (or never be seen again).
If you've never had to find out the cut-off date for kids going into elementary school. (If you were born in 2003 you'll be starting first grade this fall, on September first or the first weekday thereafter, no matter where you live in Poland. Genius.)
If you've been told that it is disgusting/unnatural that in America your milk can sit in the fridge for a couple of weeks. This in a country where milk can sit on a shelf in the cupboard for up to 6 months before it's opened (UHT milk).
If a doctor's frequent response to questions posed by patients concerning details about their health is "don't worry", and there seems to be a general policy of "less is more" when it comes to sharing medical information. This to the point that it is still common practice for doctors not to inform someone if they are diagnosed with a terminal illness, instead letting members of the family know.
If you only pay for calls you make from your cell phone, and not for incoming calls.
If food made with the simplest ingredients taste like heaven.
If the pace of life is slow and steady, and you think therefore you may possibly win the race. Or at least complete it eventually.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
No Offense
"He who takes offense when no offense is intended is a fool, and he who takes offense when offense is intended is a greater fool." - Brigham Young
The older I get the more I see the wisdom of this quote. There is never really a good reason for getting offended. Excuses - yes. Reasons - not so much. Today I have two good reasons not to be offended by things that would normally seem a little rude.
First of all: I'm never inviting my blogging friends over to my house. There is a good reason for this, so you should not be offended:
Last night I dreamed that 5 or 6 of you came over to my house. The house was huge and old. The neighborhood was creepy and for some unknown reason there were about ten random relatives (who don't exist in real life but I knew them in the dream) in the same large reception room as I seated my friends in. This made chatting awkward.
But it doesn't matter how awkward talking would have been anyway because NOBODY was talking at all (except for the relatives who were across the room).
Instead, everyone was silently watching me as I balanced on a stool and straightened a painting on the wall (or I believe I was actually hammering something into the wall with a shoe, how dream-like). By the time I realized I had been doing this for many minutes I looked around to find that my blogging friends had left.
Then an hour or two later I found out that one of you had remained and had been sitting silently among the relatives. I only learned this when she got up to leave.
I think this dream comes from two sources. a) I really wish I could go to the Casual Blogger Conference, or more likely just meet up with some of you guys in an even more casual setting, and b) I am very aware that I am not a very conscientious hostess and it obviously weighs on my mind.
So that's why you shouldn't be offended if I never invite you over. That and also because I live a little too far away.
Recently Aaron started shouting, "I hate!" Whenever he's frustrated. Now hate is not a good thing, but up until recently it was just the expression of frustration, like when David was a little boy and got mad, he would say, "Alcohol!" as if it was a swear word. Same thing with Aaron and the "I hate!"
Recently he started adding nouns at the end. The first time he said, "I hate daddy!" I was a little shocked. Then the next day he said "I hate mommy!" We've been working with him to teach him that this is unkind and makes people sad and to find a different way to express his anger or frustration.
Still, I knew for sure today that I should never take it personally if Aaron ever says he hates me. Before his nap today he said, "I hate Sally!"
Sally is the cute girl car from the movie Cars. When my mom brought toy Mater, Lightning McQueen and Sally for David when she came last week, Aaron immediately fell in love with Sally. He pretty much declared her his own. He takes her everywhere. He definitely doesn't hate Sally.
Sally has been missing for almost 24 hours and he was frustrated that he couldn't have her with him during his nap. That's why he said, "Oh no! I can't find it! I hate Sally!"
And that's why I know "hate" doesn't mean "hate" to Aaron. It means, "oh dear!" (which he also says regularly).
And thus I am coming ever closer to not judging or being offended by people's actions or motives. You just never know why people say or do some things!
The older I get the more I see the wisdom of this quote. There is never really a good reason for getting offended. Excuses - yes. Reasons - not so much. Today I have two good reasons not to be offended by things that would normally seem a little rude.
First of all: I'm never inviting my blogging friends over to my house. There is a good reason for this, so you should not be offended:
Last night I dreamed that 5 or 6 of you came over to my house. The house was huge and old. The neighborhood was creepy and for some unknown reason there were about ten random relatives (who don't exist in real life but I knew them in the dream) in the same large reception room as I seated my friends in. This made chatting awkward.
But it doesn't matter how awkward talking would have been anyway because NOBODY was talking at all (except for the relatives who were across the room).
Instead, everyone was silently watching me as I balanced on a stool and straightened a painting on the wall (or I believe I was actually hammering something into the wall with a shoe, how dream-like). By the time I realized I had been doing this for many minutes I looked around to find that my blogging friends had left.
Then an hour or two later I found out that one of you had remained and had been sitting silently among the relatives. I only learned this when she got up to leave.
I think this dream comes from two sources. a) I really wish I could go to the Casual Blogger Conference, or more likely just meet up with some of you guys in an even more casual setting, and b) I am very aware that I am not a very conscientious hostess and it obviously weighs on my mind.
So that's why you shouldn't be offended if I never invite you over. That and also because I live a little too far away.
***********
Normally when someone says they hate you it is at least a little unsettling. I've learned recently to not let it get to me. Here's why:Recently Aaron started shouting, "I hate!" Whenever he's frustrated. Now hate is not a good thing, but up until recently it was just the expression of frustration, like when David was a little boy and got mad, he would say, "Alcohol!" as if it was a swear word. Same thing with Aaron and the "I hate!"
Recently he started adding nouns at the end. The first time he said, "I hate daddy!" I was a little shocked. Then the next day he said "I hate mommy!" We've been working with him to teach him that this is unkind and makes people sad and to find a different way to express his anger or frustration.
Still, I knew for sure today that I should never take it personally if Aaron ever says he hates me. Before his nap today he said, "I hate Sally!"
Sally is the cute girl car from the movie Cars. When my mom brought toy Mater, Lightning McQueen and Sally for David when she came last week, Aaron immediately fell in love with Sally. He pretty much declared her his own. He takes her everywhere. He definitely doesn't hate Sally.
Sally has been missing for almost 24 hours and he was frustrated that he couldn't have her with him during his nap. That's why he said, "Oh no! I can't find it! I hate Sally!"
And that's why I know "hate" doesn't mean "hate" to Aaron. It means, "oh dear!" (which he also says regularly).
And thus I am coming ever closer to not judging or being offended by people's actions or motives. You just never know why people say or do some things!
Saturday, March 13, 2010
A Father and His Kids (Sunday Edition)
Ewelina:
There is a tradition among Polish kids that they take a little journal to school and have their classmates sign it or draw in it or write little poems. It's not at the end of the year or anything, just any old time. Evie asked me and Greg to write in hers and here is what Greg wrote for her:
Dawno, dawno temu, za wieloma górami
Mieszkało w niebie dziewczę z braćmi i siostrami.
Jej Ojciec był bogiem - nic więc dziwnego, że chciał
Dać wszystko swej córce - nawet wszystko to, co miał.
Stworzył więc ziemię piękna, dla drogiej swej córy
A na niej morza, lądy i skaliste góry.
A w górach tamtych leży Szczęśliwa Dolinka;
I tam właśnie przyszła na ten świat Ewelinka.
I odkąd tu żyje - nie przestaje się uczyć
Pomagać, pracować, przebaczać oraz służyć
Zło od dobra odróżniać i zawsze się starać
Wybierać to, co dobre a co złe obalać.
Bo wie i też rozumie, że sprawa to słuszna,
Gdy Boga nie widać - nadal jest mu posłuszna.
I tak dziewczynka ta i wszystkie Boga dzieci
Powrócą kiedyś do tego, który dał im życie.
I tam żyć będą z Bogiem - wesołe i szczęśliwe
Bo podczas tej próby wybrali, co właściwe.
I can't translate the poetry of it (which I love), but I can sort of capture the content (the author was unavailable to help me translate).
Long, long ago and far, far away,
A girl lived in heaven with her brothers and sisters.
Her Father was God, so it's no surprise that he wanted
To give his daughter everything, even all that he had.
So he created a beautiful world for his dear daughter
And placed on it seas, lands and rocky mountains.
In those very mountains there lies a Happy Valley
And that is where he sent Ewelina into the world.
And as long as she lives here she will never stop learning
To help, to work, to forgive and to serve;
Distinguish good from evil and always try
To choose what is good and avoid evil.
Because she knows and understands that it's right
That although she can't see God, she still obey Him.
And that's how this little girl and all of God's children
Will return one day to the One who gave them life.
And there they will live with God - happy and joyful
Because during this life, they chose what was right.
(signed "Earthly Father")
David:
One Sunday when we weren't able to go to church Greg asked everyone to bring in their Book of Mormon* so we could do some scripture study. David said, "I don't know where mine is."
Greg replied in a mock angry voice, "See David! That's the difference between you and Joseph Smith. He found the Book of Mormon and YOU lost it!"
Aaron:
A few Sundays ago Greg put Music and the Spoken Word on the computer for us to listen to in the background while we all went about our business. I was in the kitchen, the kids were drawing or something but this is what Aaron was doing:
.jpg)
Notice the straight back. He sat this way through the whole program and would not let us talk to him or even kiss him on the cheek. He is very serious about his Sabbath day observance.
*I will not spark controversy by inserting an "s" to pluralize "Book of Mormon". I personally consider it a title and put the s after Mormon, but you're welcome to put it after Book in your mind if you so desire.
There is a tradition among Polish kids that they take a little journal to school and have their classmates sign it or draw in it or write little poems. It's not at the end of the year or anything, just any old time. Evie asked me and Greg to write in hers and here is what Greg wrote for her:
Dawno, dawno temu, za wieloma górami
Mieszkało w niebie dziewczę z braćmi i siostrami.
Jej Ojciec był bogiem - nic więc dziwnego, że chciał
Dać wszystko swej córce - nawet wszystko to, co miał.
Stworzył więc ziemię piękna, dla drogiej swej córy
A na niej morza, lądy i skaliste góry.
A w górach tamtych leży Szczęśliwa Dolinka;
I tam właśnie przyszła na ten świat Ewelinka.
I odkąd tu żyje - nie przestaje się uczyć
Pomagać, pracować, przebaczać oraz służyć
Zło od dobra odróżniać i zawsze się starać
Wybierać to, co dobre a co złe obalać.
Bo wie i też rozumie, że sprawa to słuszna,
Gdy Boga nie widać - nadal jest mu posłuszna.
I tak dziewczynka ta i wszystkie Boga dzieci
Powrócą kiedyś do tego, który dał im życie.
I tam żyć będą z Bogiem - wesołe i szczęśliwe
Bo podczas tej próby wybrali, co właściwe.
I can't translate the poetry of it (which I love), but I can sort of capture the content (the author was unavailable to help me translate).
Long, long ago and far, far away,
A girl lived in heaven with her brothers and sisters.
Her Father was God, so it's no surprise that he wanted
To give his daughter everything, even all that he had.
So he created a beautiful world for his dear daughter
And placed on it seas, lands and rocky mountains.
In those very mountains there lies a Happy Valley
And that is where he sent Ewelina into the world.
And as long as she lives here she will never stop learning
To help, to work, to forgive and to serve;
Distinguish good from evil and always try
To choose what is good and avoid evil.
Because she knows and understands that it's right
That although she can't see God, she still obey Him.
And that's how this little girl and all of God's children
Will return one day to the One who gave them life.
And there they will live with God - happy and joyful
Because during this life, they chose what was right.
(signed "Earthly Father")
David:
One Sunday when we weren't able to go to church Greg asked everyone to bring in their Book of Mormon* so we could do some scripture study. David said, "I don't know where mine is."
Greg replied in a mock angry voice, "See David! That's the difference between you and Joseph Smith. He found the Book of Mormon and YOU lost it!"
Aaron:
A few Sundays ago Greg put Music and the Spoken Word on the computer for us to listen to in the background while we all went about our business. I was in the kitchen, the kids were drawing or something but this is what Aaron was doing:
.jpg)
Notice the straight back. He sat this way through the whole program and would not let us talk to him or even kiss him on the cheek. He is very serious about his Sabbath day observance.*I will not spark controversy by inserting an "s" to pluralize "Book of Mormon". I personally consider it a title and put the s after Mormon, but you're welcome to put it after Book in your mind if you so desire.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Women
Happy Women's Day to all you great women!
One of my favorite women in the world came to visit this week. She's my mom and she was here for five days. She is such a pleasure to talk to. She is such a great grandma and I was reminded of my own childhood while she was here.
I'm so grateful my kids got to feel her love up close for a while in our own home. I appreciate that she came to be here and help out with Spencer's blessing and David's baptism yesterday. Having her here made those important moments even more special. I am proud she is my mom and I aspire to be like her in many ways.
So I think this holiday (which claims to be international but definitely skipped the U.S.) is supposed to be about men appreciating women, but I appreciate them, too. My mom and sisters, as well as all the good friends I keep here in my computer. Happy Day, Women!
One of my favorite women in the world came to visit this week. She's my mom and she was here for five days. She is such a pleasure to talk to. She is such a great grandma and I was reminded of my own childhood while she was here.
I'm so grateful my kids got to feel her love up close for a while in our own home. I appreciate that she came to be here and help out with Spencer's blessing and David's baptism yesterday. Having her here made those important moments even more special. I am proud she is my mom and I aspire to be like her in many ways.
So I think this holiday (which claims to be international but definitely skipped the U.S.) is supposed to be about men appreciating women, but I appreciate them, too. My mom and sisters, as well as all the good friends I keep here in my computer. Happy Day, Women!
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Answered
I woke up at 4:30 to give Spencer his once-nightly feeding (very nice baby). As I had suspected it would, this feeding perfectly coincided with when Greg had to wake up to get ready for his 4 hour drive to Warsaw for a church correlation meeting.
As I sat in bed nursing the baby, listening to the water run as Greg showered in the bathroom next door I started thinking my usual thoughts when he has a lot of driving to do on not enough sleep: "I hope he'll stay awake okay. I hope he'll pull over for a nap if he gets tired." etc. etc.
From there I started thinking about what if something happened to him. Just technical, unemotional things like how would the police know to contact us. What is the protocol. I began to feel that this was a kind of dangerous trip. Greg does tons of driving and is very responsible about being smart and not driving when he's tired, but I felt rather worried.
I decided to stop myself from worrying and pray. I prayed earnestly, certainly more sincerely than I ever have about safety during travel. I reflected on how I need to always be doing my best to be worthy of important blessings I may need to ask for, in order to have the confidence and faith to have my prayers answered.
Greg came into the darkened room, kissed me and the baby good-bye and headed off.
Four hours later he called. He had arrived at the chapel safe and sound. Prayer answered. Then he explained exactly how that prayer (which he wasn't aware I had offered) had been answered.
At one point during the drive Greg's mind wandered, causing him to miss his turn off. Fortunately he noticed it right away and got back on track, losing only a minute or two. Later on in the trip his own premonition from reflections he'd had earlier in the drive lead him to recognize the men on the side of the road waving through the thick fog for what it was: a warning to slow down because of an accident ahead. The road was extremely slippery and visibility was very poor but he was able to stop within inches (or possibly inch) of the car in front of him, which had stopped right behind an overturned car in the road. That accident had happened approximately one or two minutes before he got there.
Heavenly Father loves me, and I love him, too.
As I sat in bed nursing the baby, listening to the water run as Greg showered in the bathroom next door I started thinking my usual thoughts when he has a lot of driving to do on not enough sleep: "I hope he'll stay awake okay. I hope he'll pull over for a nap if he gets tired." etc. etc.
From there I started thinking about what if something happened to him. Just technical, unemotional things like how would the police know to contact us. What is the protocol. I began to feel that this was a kind of dangerous trip. Greg does tons of driving and is very responsible about being smart and not driving when he's tired, but I felt rather worried.
I decided to stop myself from worrying and pray. I prayed earnestly, certainly more sincerely than I ever have about safety during travel. I reflected on how I need to always be doing my best to be worthy of important blessings I may need to ask for, in order to have the confidence and faith to have my prayers answered.
Greg came into the darkened room, kissed me and the baby good-bye and headed off.
Four hours later he called. He had arrived at the chapel safe and sound. Prayer answered. Then he explained exactly how that prayer (which he wasn't aware I had offered) had been answered.
At one point during the drive Greg's mind wandered, causing him to miss his turn off. Fortunately he noticed it right away and got back on track, losing only a minute or two. Later on in the trip his own premonition from reflections he'd had earlier in the drive lead him to recognize the men on the side of the road waving through the thick fog for what it was: a warning to slow down because of an accident ahead. The road was extremely slippery and visibility was very poor but he was able to stop within inches (or possibly inch) of the car in front of him, which had stopped right behind an overturned car in the road. That accident had happened approximately one or two minutes before he got there.
Heavenly Father loves me, and I love him, too.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
You Might Too
This postpartum period has been the best one for me, ever. It has also been the worst. I have had the most support from Greg this time, taking shifts every night for the first 6 weeks (I wouldn't allow him to with the first three kids since he had to go to work and all) meaning more sleep than ever and he's given some good help around the house, too.
On the other hand, I have visited the hospital no less than three times (I think I know all the doctors there now) and visited my OB/GYN once, and still haven't been for my regular 6 week check-up (though I'm two weeks late). I've only thought "it was something serious" about 14 times, but I never died even once.
Spencer took a few hours to get the hang of nursing but has done very well since then, unlike most of the others. However, I have had other nursing related problems which are what have had me in the hospital (nothing serious, just urgent-ish after hour visits to the doctor, with plenty of physical pain and emotional stress for me).
Despite the (sometimes serious) stress and worry I've had off and on, the depression I feared would envelope me after the birth has never made an appearance. I am so grateful.
I have spent the weeks since the birth doing as little as possible. Feeding people has been my main activity and cooking and baking and nursing (when I'm not crying in pain) are things I love/don't mind doing. Besides that I have only been keeping the house tolerably clean with Greg and the kid's help, and having good food and a clean-ish house has made me very happy. Oh, that and having a SUPER sweet newborn around.
.jpg)
Cocoa Fudge Cookies
1/4 c butter
5 T cocoa
25-50g dark chocolate (maybe 1/4 c chips?)
1 c sugar
1/3 c plain yogurt
1 t vanilla
1 c flour
1/4 t baking soda
1/8 t salt
milk or semi-sweet chocolate chips (1 cup? less?)
Melt butter and cocoa. Stir in dark chocolate to melt. Stir in sugar then add plain yogurt and vanilla and stir. Mix in dry ingredients and chocolate chips. Bake in the usual way (350 for 8-10 minutes)
These cookies are much better quite undercooked (as are all chocolate cookies, IMO) and pretty much not worth eating, or at least not worth the calories, if cooked through (as are all chocolate cookies IMO).
On the other hand, I have visited the hospital no less than three times (I think I know all the doctors there now) and visited my OB/GYN once, and still haven't been for my regular 6 week check-up (though I'm two weeks late). I've only thought "it was something serious" about 14 times, but I never died even once.
Spencer took a few hours to get the hang of nursing but has done very well since then, unlike most of the others. However, I have had other nursing related problems which are what have had me in the hospital (nothing serious, just urgent-ish after hour visits to the doctor, with plenty of physical pain and emotional stress for me).
Despite the (sometimes serious) stress and worry I've had off and on, the depression I feared would envelope me after the birth has never made an appearance. I am so grateful.
I have spent the weeks since the birth doing as little as possible. Feeding people has been my main activity and cooking and baking and nursing (when I'm not crying in pain) are things I love/don't mind doing. Besides that I have only been keeping the house tolerably clean with Greg and the kid's help, and having good food and a clean-ish house has made me very happy. Oh, that and having a SUPER sweet newborn around.
.jpg)
***********
So I wanted to share two recipes that I absolutely love and have made waaaay too many times in the last two months since just before the baby came. This first is a pasta dish that is so easy to make it's unbelievable. My family cannot get enough of it and I have made it once a week since I got it in a recipe exchange (these weeks super fast and easy AND delicious is EXACTLY what I need). It might not be your cup of tea but I would feel terrible if I didn't share it just in case you love it as much as we do and you never had it to resort to for those last minute meals we all sometimes have to throw together. It's made of foods that I personally have on hand at all times (pretty much). I've changed it from the original recipe but here's how I make it:Thai Peanut Noodles
1/4 cup peanut butter (crunchy or not)
1/3 cup soy sauce
3 tablespoons water (I take it from the water the chicken boiled in)
1/3 cup firmly packed brown sugar
1/4 cup sesame oil
2 garlic cloves pressed (or minced)
1 teaspoon ginger powder
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (I leave this out since I can't handle heat)
1 lb chicken (I only use one small breast since we eat very small amounts of meat around here)
3/4 lb. spaghetti noodles
Bring water to boil and boil chicken (I first cut into even sized pieces, otherwise my chicken is tough on the thinner parts). Remove to cool and cook noodles in the water. In a separate small pan whisk soy sauce and peanut butter together. Stir in remaining ingredients until smooth. Shred chicken and add to sauce. Keep on low to warm sauce while noodles cook. Drain noodles and toss with sauce.
***
Then there's this dessert which is lower fat so I think I've convinced myself it's good for you. Also, there's no eggs so it's great for snacking on the dough. I tweaked this one, too by melting in chocolate, which you don't have to do. The original recipe only uses cocoa, just add a couple extra tablespoons if you omit the dark chocolate for melting.Cocoa Fudge Cookies
1/4 c butter
5 T cocoa
25-50g dark chocolate (maybe 1/4 c chips?)
1 c sugar
1/3 c plain yogurt
1 t vanilla
1 c flour
1/4 t baking soda
1/8 t salt
milk or semi-sweet chocolate chips (1 cup? less?)
Melt butter and cocoa. Stir in dark chocolate to melt. Stir in sugar then add plain yogurt and vanilla and stir. Mix in dry ingredients and chocolate chips. Bake in the usual way (350 for 8-10 minutes)
These cookies are much better quite undercooked (as are all chocolate cookies, IMO) and pretty much not worth eating, or at least not worth the calories, if cooked through (as are all chocolate cookies IMO).
*****
Maybe you don't care about recipes, but maybe you're like me and you try almost any recipe that's recommended to you. I just wanted to share because I reeeeally like these recipes and I thought You Might Too.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
A Birth Story
Boy, I sure have put this off a little, haven't I? Oh well.
This is a journal post, hence the details people who aren't me probably aren't interested in.
First let me say I have never been quite so (disappointingly) wrong as I was about when this baby would come. This pregnancy was rather different than my other three. Morning sickness wasn't bad at all, but other things were much worse. Around the fourth month I got my first taste of depression. It was a very difficult two or three months. I was very worried it wouldn't go away or at least that I would end up with severe post-partum depression. For the last two months the depression abated but I felt far more physically uncomfortable than ever, even though my weight gain and everything else was the same as my other pregnancies. I felt just like the pregnant women in movies who seem to exaggerate every movement and always walk with their hand on their lower back etc.
I finally understand those women who say they just don't do pregnancy very well (or that they hate it). And admire women who keep having kids when their pregnancies are like this one.
So the baby was supposed to come in the first two weeks of December according to my doctor. I KNEW I wouldn't go past the first week. Frankly I was surprised I made it through the Thanksgiving weekend. Then I kept being pregnant. Over and over. I kept waking up still pregnant.
The Birth
At my last visit to the doctor on the 9th he said the baby would surely come during the course of the week, but if it didn't that I should check in at the hospital on the 16th and wait for labor. Boy did that sound fun. Also, just before this a pregnant woman had died of H1N1 in our hospital which had thrown everything in disarray. Even my doctor, who used to be the director of the maternity ward, recommended not having the baby there. There were no visitors allowed and Greg would definitely not be able to be present at the birth. The doctor called his friend, the director of the maternity ward in the hospital in Kolbuszowa, the small town where David was born, and got permission for me to go there and have a "family birth".
By prearrangement our neighbors offered to come take care of the kids while we went to the hospital until Greg's parents could get here (they live 5 hours away). Then his parents declared they would come on Saturday the 12th whether I was in labor or not. The baby didn't come so they did. They cooked and played with kids, and we all waited together. When the 16th came and I wasn't in labor at all, (well, technically I was in the first stage of labor, but I wasn't having regular contractions yet) I was supposed to go to the hospital. We put it off, but decided the next day, the 17th that we would go. After a nap I ate some chicken soup and we headed off through the severe cold to Kolbuszowa. By the time we got there it was about 5pm. (the 20 minute drive took more like an hour because of the weather)
The doctor checked me and said that I was at almost 5 cm and the only thing missing was the contractions. After some agonizing I decided to stay in the hospital rather than take the dangerous trip back home, possibly to just turn around again within a few hours. While I was answering questions for the paperwork I started having contractions. Hooray!
They put us in this room, the "family birth" room.
Oh my enormousness
By 6pm or so I was hooked up to a monitor and my contractions were strong and very regular, although not remotely painful yet. I was thinking that this would be like with David's birth, which would mean that the baby would come within 2 or 3 hours. I was looking forward to a quick birth (as all the nurses kept promising me, since it was my fourth) and then a goodish night's rest.
Around 7:30 they started me on an oxytocin drip. When Greg asked what it was for she said, "To make it hurt more." Thanks! Glad that pain is the goal. Instead my contractions got weaker and nothing else was happening, either. From time to time the contractions hurt, sometimes pretty badly, but then they would stop hurting again.
I wanted to sleep. That bed was so obnoxious It was very tall and you had to climb over the metal railing. It was extremely difficult to get in and out of at my size and tiredness level. Also, my contractions were just strong enough that I couldn't sleep through them, and they were worse when I laid down.
We waited all night. We took turns resting on the bed and I paced and sat on an exercise ball and eventually cried. I didn't love it. I remembered that in Provo with Evie I had been induced as well and nothing happened so they almost had to do a c-section. Apparently I don't respond well to oxytocin.
At 7am a new nurse came in. She assured me, "We're going to have this baby!" She gave me something to "soften my cervix" which made me hot and dizzy. Two hours later we were getting a little closer but I needed another shot of the same thing.
I was tired. I was hungry. It hurt a lot.
Finally they realized that my cervix would never be ready and prepped the bed and everything. The birthing bed had some kneeling setup and the midwife had me kneel through some contractions. It was significantly less painful but I was too tired to hold myself up in that position and said I wanted to lay down again. They thought I was weird but I laid down and it was time to push. On the second or third contraction they said, "Push, push, push. . . " as usual, then they looked a little surprised and said, "Breathe! Breathe!" Right in the middle of the contraction.
I really wanted to push, and breathing was nearly impossible but I managed somehow. They informed me that he had started to come out with his hand on his cheek. Oops! Before the next contraction they had fixed the problem (let's not think too much about that) and a couple more contractions and he was out! (9:40am)
I'm very glad I hadn't been on my knees because I don't think things would have worked out as well, since they might not have noticed his hand etc.
I was, of course, tired and relieved. I held that extremely warm and soft and PURPLE baby for a few minutes before they took him off to find out how enormous he was (9 lb. 23.5 inches). His purpleness was the only thing keeping him from scoring 10 on the apgar. Good boy.
Over the course of the next few hours I felt better than I had in months. I have always felt well after giving birth but I have never felt so much better than before the birth. It was lovely.
The next two days in the hospital were quite nice, minus the missing my family. I felt fantastic, and even got my legs back. My own legs. Spencer only took a full three hour session of work (hard work) to figure out how to nurse and did quite well after that.
Dear Greg braved the weather once a day to bring me delicious food made by his parents and sister. It was like heaven eating that food. Hospital food consisted of three slices of bread plus either a pat of butter, a chunk of pate, a slice of ham or a blob of jam given morning and evening, and for dinner at noon soup and a rather nasty meal.
I was so excited to go home. Here Spencer and I are in front of the hospital. It was recently painted, as it used to all be like the dirty cement you see on the awning.
The drive home was beautiful.
Being home was (and is) even more so.
This is a journal post, hence the details people who aren't me probably aren't interested in.
First let me say I have never been quite so (disappointingly) wrong as I was about when this baby would come. This pregnancy was rather different than my other three. Morning sickness wasn't bad at all, but other things were much worse. Around the fourth month I got my first taste of depression. It was a very difficult two or three months. I was very worried it wouldn't go away or at least that I would end up with severe post-partum depression. For the last two months the depression abated but I felt far more physically uncomfortable than ever, even though my weight gain and everything else was the same as my other pregnancies. I felt just like the pregnant women in movies who seem to exaggerate every movement and always walk with their hand on their lower back etc.
I finally understand those women who say they just don't do pregnancy very well (or that they hate it). And admire women who keep having kids when their pregnancies are like this one.
So the baby was supposed to come in the first two weeks of December according to my doctor. I KNEW I wouldn't go past the first week. Frankly I was surprised I made it through the Thanksgiving weekend. Then I kept being pregnant. Over and over. I kept waking up still pregnant.
The Birth
At my last visit to the doctor on the 9th he said the baby would surely come during the course of the week, but if it didn't that I should check in at the hospital on the 16th and wait for labor. Boy did that sound fun. Also, just before this a pregnant woman had died of H1N1 in our hospital which had thrown everything in disarray. Even my doctor, who used to be the director of the maternity ward, recommended not having the baby there. There were no visitors allowed and Greg would definitely not be able to be present at the birth. The doctor called his friend, the director of the maternity ward in the hospital in Kolbuszowa, the small town where David was born, and got permission for me to go there and have a "family birth".
By prearrangement our neighbors offered to come take care of the kids while we went to the hospital until Greg's parents could get here (they live 5 hours away). Then his parents declared they would come on Saturday the 12th whether I was in labor or not. The baby didn't come so they did. They cooked and played with kids, and we all waited together. When the 16th came and I wasn't in labor at all, (well, technically I was in the first stage of labor, but I wasn't having regular contractions yet) I was supposed to go to the hospital. We put it off, but decided the next day, the 17th that we would go. After a nap I ate some chicken soup and we headed off through the severe cold to Kolbuszowa. By the time we got there it was about 5pm. (the 20 minute drive took more like an hour because of the weather)
The doctor checked me and said that I was at almost 5 cm and the only thing missing was the contractions. After some agonizing I decided to stay in the hospital rather than take the dangerous trip back home, possibly to just turn around again within a few hours. While I was answering questions for the paperwork I started having contractions. Hooray!
They put us in this room, the "family birth" room.
Oh my enormousness
By 6pm or so I was hooked up to a monitor and my contractions were strong and very regular, although not remotely painful yet. I was thinking that this would be like with David's birth, which would mean that the baby would come within 2 or 3 hours. I was looking forward to a quick birth (as all the nurses kept promising me, since it was my fourth) and then a goodish night's rest.
Around 7:30 they started me on an oxytocin drip. When Greg asked what it was for she said, "To make it hurt more." Thanks! Glad that pain is the goal. Instead my contractions got weaker and nothing else was happening, either. From time to time the contractions hurt, sometimes pretty badly, but then they would stop hurting again.
I wanted to sleep. That bed was so obnoxious It was very tall and you had to climb over the metal railing. It was extremely difficult to get in and out of at my size and tiredness level. Also, my contractions were just strong enough that I couldn't sleep through them, and they were worse when I laid down.
We waited all night. We took turns resting on the bed and I paced and sat on an exercise ball and eventually cried. I didn't love it. I remembered that in Provo with Evie I had been induced as well and nothing happened so they almost had to do a c-section. Apparently I don't respond well to oxytocin.
At 7am a new nurse came in. She assured me, "We're going to have this baby!" She gave me something to "soften my cervix" which made me hot and dizzy. Two hours later we were getting a little closer but I needed another shot of the same thing.
I was tired. I was hungry. It hurt a lot.
Finally they realized that my cervix would never be ready and prepped the bed and everything. The birthing bed had some kneeling setup and the midwife had me kneel through some contractions. It was significantly less painful but I was too tired to hold myself up in that position and said I wanted to lay down again. They thought I was weird but I laid down and it was time to push. On the second or third contraction they said, "Push, push, push. . . " as usual, then they looked a little surprised and said, "Breathe! Breathe!" Right in the middle of the contraction.
I really wanted to push, and breathing was nearly impossible but I managed somehow. They informed me that he had started to come out with his hand on his cheek. Oops! Before the next contraction they had fixed the problem (let's not think too much about that) and a couple more contractions and he was out! (9:40am)
I'm very glad I hadn't been on my knees because I don't think things would have worked out as well, since they might not have noticed his hand etc.
I was, of course, tired and relieved. I held that extremely warm and soft and PURPLE baby for a few minutes before they took him off to find out how enormous he was (9 lb. 23.5 inches). His purpleness was the only thing keeping him from scoring 10 on the apgar. Good boy.
Over the course of the next few hours I felt better than I had in months. I have always felt well after giving birth but I have never felt so much better than before the birth. It was lovely.
The next two days in the hospital were quite nice, minus the missing my family. I felt fantastic, and even got my legs back. My own legs. Spencer only took a full three hour session of work (hard work) to figure out how to nurse and did quite well after that.
Dear Greg braved the weather once a day to bring me delicious food made by his parents and sister. It was like heaven eating that food. Hospital food consisted of three slices of bread plus either a pat of butter, a chunk of pate, a slice of ham or a blob of jam given morning and evening, and for dinner at noon soup and a rather nasty meal.
I was so excited to go home. Here Spencer and I are in front of the hospital. It was recently painted, as it used to all be like the dirty cement you see on the awning.
The drive home was beautiful.
Being home was (and is) even more so.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Mother and Baby Well (etc. etc.)
.jpg)
Spencer JosephBorn December 18th 9:40 am
9 lb. (4100g) 23.5 inches (60cm)
9 lb. (4100g) 23.5 inches (60cm)
Thoughts and Observations
- I was not remotely surprised to see how muscular his skinny legs are.
- Some babies are apparently born without eyebrows.
- Always after spending so much time looking at my own babies in the hospital I am shocked at how cute other people's infants are when I look at theirs. Our babies just aren't that cute (and are often quite the contrary: proof below). But they are OURS. (and plus they grow out of it).
- Spencer looks so much like all our other babies. I have not yet taken a picture that captures it, but they always look like wise old men. There is something in their eyes (and their bald and wrinkliness).
- The above fact is rather fitting, since Spencer is named after two wise old men (as I knew them): Spencer W. Kimball and my Grandpa (Spencer's great-grandpa) Joe.
- Spencer is sweet as can be.
- I am extremely grateful about so many things over the past few days.
- Greg and I thought bringing this baby home was the perfect gift for us to give each other on our anniversary today (12 years!).
- Baby and I really ARE both doing very well.
- For those with inquiring minds more details about the birth in an upcoming post.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Oh, Pickles!
You know how in What to Expect When You're Expecting they talk about your water breaking and tell the story of the lady who carried around a jar of pickles in case her water broke in public so she could drop the jar and pretend that that was where the liquid came from? I keep thinking about that.
I'm sure that's an extreme case, and I know that I'm a little on the opposite extreme when it comes to being easily embarrassed, but I have to wonder, do women actually worry much about their water breaking in public (beyond the obviously awkward "Now what do I do?")? If it happened to me I can imagine that I might think or exclaim any of the following:
"Woo Hoo! My water broke!"
"Aaaak! My water broke!"
or
"How about that? My water broke!"
But NEVER:
"My water did NOT just break. This jar of pickles, on the other hand, Whoops! That broke! And most of the pickle juice? Oh! It splashed right up on my crotch and down my legs!"
Never that.
And I'd be happy for my water to break anywhere just now. Preferably at the hospital, though. Within the next few hours. . .
I'm sure that's an extreme case, and I know that I'm a little on the opposite extreme when it comes to being easily embarrassed, but I have to wonder, do women actually worry much about their water breaking in public (beyond the obviously awkward "Now what do I do?")? If it happened to me I can imagine that I might think or exclaim any of the following:
"Woo Hoo! My water broke!"
"Aaaak! My water broke!"
or
"How about that? My water broke!"
But NEVER:
"My water did NOT just break. This jar of pickles, on the other hand, Whoops! That broke! And most of the pickle juice? Oh! It splashed right up on my crotch and down my legs!"
Never that.
And I'd be happy for my water to break anywhere just now. Preferably at the hospital, though. Within the next few hours. . .
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Polish Hospital-ity and Having Babies
No baby yet, but to refresh my own memory I'm reminiscing about this (in a sort of jumbled way):
Greg and I watch a cool Polish drama series that takes place during WWII. A lot of scenes are shot in a hospital and about half way through the series it struck me: They probably didn't have to do anything to the hospital or use special props to take it back almost 70 years. Nope, those are the same white-painted (and repainted) metal framed "beds" and side tables they use in most hospitals I've been to. Those tiny sinks with ancient faucets: same. Strange, thick, stained and holey sheets? Check.
When I was pregnant with David I went into pre-term labor. Of course this meant a hospital stay. The Mielec hospital had recently been renovated and the maternity ward was in a new wing. What this meant was that the halls were a little brighter and the paint was fresh. All the equipment was still old.
When I went to my room, besides surprise at the condition of the sheets and the uncomfortableness of the bed, and the fact that you wear your own pajamas, I was pleasantly surprised to find that there was a bathroom in my room. What wasn't so pleasant was the fact that there was blood on the toilet seat and everything else there was not clean, either. The little table at the side of my bed had sticky rings from other people's cups and was dusty and grimy.
My friend went straight home, got all her cleaning and sanitizing supplies and did quite a number on my room, top to bottom. After that I felt much better.
After a few weeks back at home on bedrest, David was ready to be born. We went to the hospital only to find that the maternity ward was closed. CLOSED. Why? Because they close it down twice a year for a week at a time for a thorough sanitization. I sort of wondered if this is why my room had been so icky: they knew they'd just be cleaning it within a few months anyway?
We didn't have a car at the time so I was driven by ambulance, which looked almost exactly like a station wagon, or a (small) hearse, to the nearest hospital in the small town of Kolbuszowa*. In the hospital we went to the elevator, opened the ancient, creaky metal gate covering it and then opened the swinging door to get in. This little hospital was dark and cramped, but the birthing room was spacious with a wall of windows overlooking the countryside.
What's more, the doctor was terrific. He mostly chatted to Greg and commented repeatedly about how well I was handling my labor (while I wanted to die). He loved that Greg wanted to be there for the birth and said they're trying to get more families to do that. They did a great job with the delivery and they even let me have my own room! Greg stayed with me the first night.
Aaron was born in the Mielec hospital and my midwife was great. The doctor on call didn't care to make an appearance until the baby was pretty much out, but I'm sort of glad because he didn't seem interested anyway and the lady there was very good.
I have felt very confident in the doctors here (in general). Despite some of the scary experiences I've had, I (obviously) don't feel terrified about having children here. People do it ALL THE TIME. So can I. (although not all the time, please. Once more will suffice for me)
Aaron was born at 8:30 am and I was starving. Lucky for me they were serving breakfast just then. I remembered after Evie had been born and they asked what I wanted to eat and drink. I could have pretty much whatever I wanted. Not in Poland, you get three "meals" a day, on their schedule.
So it was Easter morning, and I was beyond exhausted and starved and my breakfast came in the form of a stack of three slices of dry bread and one peeled, hard boiled egg slipping around on the plate (no butter, no salt, no fork or knife). Of course only hot tea to drink (this is all they serve), which I passed on, so it was my lukewarm water from my bottle.
This isn't meant to be a food log, but Greg went home and popped the caramely french toast dish (which I'd prepared just an hour or two before my water broke the night before**) from the fridge into the oven and brought me a huge dish of it, all warm and gooey and crisp and perfect. Which I ate with relish only two hours after the birth. Mmmmm. So strange the different forms bread and eggs can be served in. . .
They have ultrasound machines and some other decent equipment, but nothing like what is the norm in the US. I had an ultrasound at every doctor's visit. That's what you get when you get rid of insurance and have public health care! You also get everything else that's written in this post (except the french toast. You only get that if you visit me). (and of course America will never have holey sheets and poor furniture etc. I mean socialized health care in a poor country. I didn't mean to get all political!)
* We took my mother to see it and she was rather shocked, without even going inside. I have a picture that I need to figure out how to get up here.
**I had actually been cooking (cheesecake, seven layer bars and preparing that french toast) cleaning and filling and hiding Easter baskets right up until midnight, when I laid down in bed and my water broke. If anyone was leaving home well prepared, it was me!
Greg and I watch a cool Polish drama series that takes place during WWII. A lot of scenes are shot in a hospital and about half way through the series it struck me: They probably didn't have to do anything to the hospital or use special props to take it back almost 70 years. Nope, those are the same white-painted (and repainted) metal framed "beds" and side tables they use in most hospitals I've been to. Those tiny sinks with ancient faucets: same. Strange, thick, stained and holey sheets? Check.
When I was pregnant with David I went into pre-term labor. Of course this meant a hospital stay. The Mielec hospital had recently been renovated and the maternity ward was in a new wing. What this meant was that the halls were a little brighter and the paint was fresh. All the equipment was still old.
When I went to my room, besides surprise at the condition of the sheets and the uncomfortableness of the bed, and the fact that you wear your own pajamas, I was pleasantly surprised to find that there was a bathroom in my room. What wasn't so pleasant was the fact that there was blood on the toilet seat and everything else there was not clean, either. The little table at the side of my bed had sticky rings from other people's cups and was dusty and grimy.
My friend went straight home, got all her cleaning and sanitizing supplies and did quite a number on my room, top to bottom. After that I felt much better.
After a few weeks back at home on bedrest, David was ready to be born. We went to the hospital only to find that the maternity ward was closed. CLOSED. Why? Because they close it down twice a year for a week at a time for a thorough sanitization. I sort of wondered if this is why my room had been so icky: they knew they'd just be cleaning it within a few months anyway?
We didn't have a car at the time so I was driven by ambulance, which looked almost exactly like a station wagon, or a (small) hearse, to the nearest hospital in the small town of Kolbuszowa*. In the hospital we went to the elevator, opened the ancient, creaky metal gate covering it and then opened the swinging door to get in. This little hospital was dark and cramped, but the birthing room was spacious with a wall of windows overlooking the countryside.
What's more, the doctor was terrific. He mostly chatted to Greg and commented repeatedly about how well I was handling my labor (while I wanted to die). He loved that Greg wanted to be there for the birth and said they're trying to get more families to do that. They did a great job with the delivery and they even let me have my own room! Greg stayed with me the first night.
Aaron was born in the Mielec hospital and my midwife was great. The doctor on call didn't care to make an appearance until the baby was pretty much out, but I'm sort of glad because he didn't seem interested anyway and the lady there was very good.
I have felt very confident in the doctors here (in general). Despite some of the scary experiences I've had, I (obviously) don't feel terrified about having children here. People do it ALL THE TIME. So can I. (although not all the time, please. Once more will suffice for me)
Aaron was born at 8:30 am and I was starving. Lucky for me they were serving breakfast just then. I remembered after Evie had been born and they asked what I wanted to eat and drink. I could have pretty much whatever I wanted. Not in Poland, you get three "meals" a day, on their schedule.
So it was Easter morning, and I was beyond exhausted and starved and my breakfast came in the form of a stack of three slices of dry bread and one peeled, hard boiled egg slipping around on the plate (no butter, no salt, no fork or knife). Of course only hot tea to drink (this is all they serve), which I passed on, so it was my lukewarm water from my bottle.
This isn't meant to be a food log, but Greg went home and popped the caramely french toast dish (which I'd prepared just an hour or two before my water broke the night before**) from the fridge into the oven and brought me a huge dish of it, all warm and gooey and crisp and perfect. Which I ate with relish only two hours after the birth. Mmmmm. So strange the different forms bread and eggs can be served in. . .
They have ultrasound machines and some other decent equipment, but nothing like what is the norm in the US. I had an ultrasound at every doctor's visit. That's what you get when you get rid of insurance and have public health care! You also get everything else that's written in this post (except the french toast. You only get that if you visit me). (and of course America will never have holey sheets and poor furniture etc. I mean socialized health care in a poor country. I didn't mean to get all political!)
* We took my mother to see it and she was rather shocked, without even going inside. I have a picture that I need to figure out how to get up here.
**I had actually been cooking (cheesecake, seven layer bars and preparing that french toast) cleaning and filling and hiding Easter baskets right up until midnight, when I laid down in bed and my water broke. If anyone was leaving home well prepared, it was me!
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Dry
Have you ever cried so hard and so long or so frequently that you found yourself constantly amazed that your body could produce so much liquid? Have you ever cried non stop for days, trying not to let the people around you see it, doing much of it from the inside? Have you ever wished that tears really were as precious as they are made out to be in poetry and that your abundant offering would somehow have at least some small impact on the people and situations you are crying for?
If so, I'm very sorry. I know how you feel.
I'm closing comments on this one. I'm okay, and I hope you are, too.
If so, I'm very sorry. I know how you feel.
I'm closing comments on this one. I'm okay, and I hope you are, too.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Preparation
Yesterday I took the Christmas decorations down from the attic. We decorated the tree to Christmas carols and ate mint brownies. I think we're ready for Christmas. (except for the shopping. . . minor details).
While I was up there (in the attic, not the tree) I thought maybe I'd take down the baby clothes and stuff like that. You know, since I had an important reason to be up there anyway and everything. I sorted through them and now I just have to wash them. Last week I bought some doll sized diapers and wipes and nursing pads (that's everything, right?). I think we're ready for a baby.
Good thing too, since my doctor estimates he'll come in the next week and a half or so. Any day now, really. My strategy for preparing myself for giving birth is to not think about it until it starts to hurt. Clever, aren't I?
There was one other thing I've been pretty concerned about: Aaron. He's been the baby of the family and gets LOADS of attention, since Ev and Dave were pretty old (5 & 7 irrespectively) when he was born. He's excited every time we talk about having a baby in our house, but of course, I've been worrying a little about jealousy.
Last weekend we went to visit some friends in Warsaw who have a three month old baby. Liz (aka Lith, aka Anion,according to Aaron for some strange reason), the mother, was shadowed by Aaron almost the entire time we were there because he just couldn't get enough of little Ania and watching and "helping" Liz care for her.
I worried a little that he wouldn't want me or Greg to hold her, but the only issues of jealousy were expressed this way, "Aaron hold it!?! Aaron hold it, baby Ania!?!"
This picture, taken after at least five minutes of him sitting like this, sums up how Aaron feels about babies. I think he's ready to be a big brother.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)