Just Heather

A new addition to the nerve pinching problem—purple legs! I was on my feet a lot on Sunday so I wasn’t at all surprised when my feet swelled and started to hurt. The real concern was when Stacia freaked out because they were bright red and turning the corner to purple. So I proceeded to sit back with my feet propped up for the much of the night.

Yesterday, it happened again. Only this time I hadn’t spent 4 hours standing up while we cleaned out the garage. No, I simply walked from my car to the pharmacy counter and back again. By the time I had walked from the parking lot, to my doctor’s office my feet were dark red again. That’s what caused me to mention it to my doc. Hey, as long as my purple legs are here, she might as well check them out.

Doc believes it is due to the position of the baby. We think she is sitting sideways instead of head up. This is causing the nerve pinching and restriction of blood flow to the lower half of my body. The solution? Sit back and put my feet up. Right. You have, in fact, met my toddler? Not to mention Brownies, Soccer (hey, I can sit for that—too bad my chair doesn’t have one of those handy footstools), and my regular household management duties.

This is painful and a bit of an inconvenience, but not really a problem. Except for that B-word she mentioned. She’s hopeful that the baby is simply working on heading down instead. This is quite a bit earlier than even I had anticipated, though the doctor doesn’t seem overly concerned. She is just planning to keep checking her position and see another ultrasound in 6 weeks. At that time, I’ll have the birthdate for our baby. It will be scheduled, but hopefully just for inducing as planned.

My biggest concern in this is that her size is deceptive. She’s already measuring a week ahead, but if the measurements aren’t actually getting her length she could be a lot bigger. Of course, that’s just yet another reason for the forth ultrasound. My doctor seems to be taking all this rather non-chalantly so I’m trying not to concern myself with the maybes of this. Instead, I’ll put my feet up and let him pamper me. Ha! Last night my feet turned bright red while I washed his clothes, fixed his breakfast sandwich, and packed his lunch. He did, however, toss his extra pillow at me when we got to bed last night. I feel so spoiled.

Stacia to Daddy on watching Tony Hawk et al:

I’m betting you can’t do that. Those guys are younger. (*pause*) I’m not saying you’re old.

This potty training business is going nowhere. I was really hoping to not have 2 in diapers, but doesn’t look like that will work out. On our good days, we can keep the flowers (aren’t PullUps grand?) all day, but she says “I like to poop in my pants.”  How could anyone like that?

Today she announced that she would wear panties. I thought maybe we were having a break through. I put them on her and reminded her that if she wanted to wear big girl panties, she had to use the potty like a big girl. Okay. She went a few times throughout the morning, as proud as can be. Before lunch, I reminded her to potty again. She said she didn’t need to go. Turns out, she didn’t want to go. Next thing I know, she’s naked and handing me wet pants.

After a quick cleanup and PullUp, she wanted to watch a movie.

“Baby’s don’t watch television.”

“I not a baby!”

“You just peed in your pants like a baby.”

“It’s okay.”

“Um, no it’s not. It most certainly is not okay to pee in your pants.”

This resulted in a lot of tears as I refused to turn on the television. I’m not sure it’s having any impact. Last week while I was at the store buying the week’s supply of PullUps, she used the last one. Daddy scrounged up an old diaper for her, which she was not happy about. As soon as I got home with her “Rella panties,” she insisted on changing. So I decided maybe she just really likes her Cinerella PullUps and I should quit buying them. Tomorrow I’m buying a supply of baby diapers. If it works, they will still eventually get used.

I’ve been having severe pains right about my pelvic bone. Not all the time. Just when I’m sitting, standing, or walking—oh, and sometimes when I lay down. You’d think having spent more than 2 years pregnant I would have seen everything, but this was new. I talked to my doctor about yesterday because I wanted to make sure nothing was wrong. She said it is pinched nerves from the way the baby is sitting. As the baby grows and moves it will either go away or get worse. Gee, thanks, doc.

It is apparently perfectly normal even though it’s all new to me. I am to keep an eye on it though because this sort of nerve pinching can trigger contractions and early labor. Nice. As if the little Braxton-Hicks I have all the time weren’t scary enough. Now I have to worry about the two combining to create the real thing. As much as I would like for this pregnancy to be over right now, I don’t want anything to happen until she’s done cooking.

Day three and I already get called to the school for an injury. Yesterday, as I was on my way to the school to drop off her daily allergy meds I got a call from the nurse first. Stacia fell on the playground and the nurse said she was screaming and crying pretty hard. This is not new. She screams when she gets a small scratch. I asked how it looked and was told it may be “borderline” for stitches. She said it was bad enough to call me so I went to take a look. While it was pretty gruesome, it didn’t look that deep.

I was thinking she’d be fine, but since last time I checked I never went to med school I called the pediatrician. She does sutures and liquid skin in her office. I’m thinking this will be easy, in and out of the doctor’s office. No such luck. With Stacia’s near-panic and the location of the wound we were sent to the ER—where they “have more nurses to help.” Yes, you could hear the terror in Stacia’s voice second-hand through the phone line.

Off we went to the ER—not that I told Stacia that. I simply said we needed to have a doctor look at it. She didn’t notice when we passed right by the pediatrician’s office or when I pulled into the parking lot marked “Hospital.” So far, so good. Then we get inside the door. Sometimes it sucks that she can read.

Emergency?! I am not going in there.”

I spotted the wheelchairs and offered to push her in. She limped her way to the chair and sat down for the ride. They took her right back and I was rather impressed. The speed ended there. An hour later, they covered her knee with “numbing gel” and said the doctor would be back in 10 minutes.

10 minutes became an hour. Her knee still wasn’t numb, or so she said. He added more gel and came back half an hour later. She laid in my lap and we covered her eyes. He started with a Q-Tip which had her reeling and screaming in terror. Obviously all that gel didn’t do shit. Needle it is. Oh, the horror! It worked wonders though and the stitches began while Stacia asked “what are they doing?”

When he got to the final stitch though, it was clear she wasn’t numb there. It is such torture to hold your child down and let someone inflict pain on her. Of course, it’s all cool now because everyone wanted to see her stitches at school today. She’s just mad she can’t do gym or recess for 10 days.

We have a daily ritual—the after-school snack. Dinner is not until 7, and my kids are on full feed, so no way am I stupid enough to expect them to last 7 hours between meals. Lately, the “snack” has taken on a life of its own. Yesterday, she fixed cinnamon toast. Not just one piece as you might expect for a snack, but a plate more full than she would eat for breakfast.

Today, she’s having leftover chicken dumplings. Her choice after I vetoed the chili. The little one isn’t much better. I asked her what she wanted for snack and she said “peanut butter.”

“You want a peanut butter sandwich. For snack. Really?”

“No. I jess want peanut butter.”

My family is so weird.

Stacia just got on the bus for her first day of school. Ah, the first day of school—new clothes, new backpack, new lunchbox, more school supplies than half the school should need. I, of course, took lots of pictures.

I missed out on getting a picture of her climbing onto the bus this morning. We had a little accident on the sidewalk right about then. A little (hurt-free) antiseptic and an Elmo bandage, and all she could think about was the sucker she had tucked into her backpack. Yes, the little one got one too. She carries toys and diapers around in it everywhere we go.

The girls and I had a fun project this year, instead of buying expensive backpacks. They decorated cheap, solid color backpacks with appliques and ribbons. I’m not so sure how well it’s going to last. A few things already fell off of Stacia’s overstuffed backpack. Luckily, she didn’t seem too upset about it. I promised to help her fix it tonight. Maybe I need to dig out the sewing kit and pretend I know what I’m doing to reinforce the fabric glue we used.

Stacia feigned apprehension last night before bed and again this morning, but she took off for the bus before I could blink. Of course, I was busy trying to catch a two-year-old before she hit the concrete, but I still think she was in a pretty big hurry. When she returns, I’ll get barely a “fine” when I ask about her day. However, by dinner I’ll have heard everything about the day minute by minute.

Remember how excited I was that school was almost starting? Yeah, why didn’t someone remind me of the 50 million things to do, places to be, and meetings to attend. I completely blocked out a rather significant fact about the school year—we have about eleven hundred accompanying activities.

School starts in 2 days. I had my first meeting last night, the one for Girl Scout leaders. It brought everything back in stunning clarity. Free time? Right—the white spaces on my calendar are rapidly disappearing as activity schedules roll in.

  • Kids’ Church Choir—twice a month
  • Brownies—twice a month (being the leader did give me the opportunity to arrange the schedule so these two alternate)
  • Soccer—twice a week
  • PTO Meetings—once a month
  • PTO committees—I begged off this year (maternity leave?)
  • Brownie Leader Meetings—once a month
  • Bible Study—once a week (this one’s for me!)
  • Baby Doctor appointments—every two weeks for now; moves to weekly the last month (that doesn’t even account for the inevitable trips to the pediatrician now that everyone else’s germs will come home with my kid)

That works out to about 5 things each week. How ever did I manage to forget about that? For the foreseeable future my meeting notebook will be permanently grafted to my arm, my chauffer’s cap shall not be removed, and my bottom will be firmly planted in the doctor’s office waiting room. What idiot coined the term stay-at-home mom?