Adventures with Hodgkin's

Our next door neighbors are renovating; they're re-doing the back of their house, very similar to what we had done. Our houses are, at most, 10 feet apart. So the noise is quite similar to what we experienced during our renovation, sans the dust and reverberations. But these neighbors weren't living in the house when we were renovating, so the only retribution is ours.

So far, the noise hasn't been an irritant, or much of one. But as it goes on, day after day, and it will. I was at home for much of ours since halfway through the renovation I relapsed and had another round (radiation only) of cancer treatment. I managed to deal with our noise/dust/reverberations pretty well until the day they were making our porch steps. They're curved, and curving wood means sawing partway through the wood repeatedly. It was the sawing put me over the edge, but I did mange contain myself and not do anything foolish. But after that day almost any construction noise irritated me.

When I reach that limit and my reaction may be tempered a bit because I also feel guilty. Early one morning (how early, I don't know because I refuse to look at the clock but it was still dark) I heard what sounded like work starting up on their house. People walking around, tools being tossed about, etc. The next day when I commented on it, I was told they were not working, but being burglarized.

It never occurred to me that something nefarious was going on. I feel like I should have done something. Not that I would have gone down there in my robe and slippers, but SOMETHING. Hell, I could have called the police without getting out of bed! But I didn't, because my sleep-deprived brain merely noted the sounds as an irritant--do they have to start working BEFORE the crack of dawn?

I remember with Conor I thought nursing women should be the neighborhood watch, because we did see so much of what went on in the wee hours. But that was back when nursing was a clear-the-decks kind of activity, where I turned on the lights, got out of bed, and kept track of how long and which side. With Lucy, it's more of a hey-only-one-of-us-has-to-be-awake effort where I don't even look at the clock and half-heartedly check the diaper in the hopes that it will make it until morning.

We had the neighbors over for dinner last night, which assuaged my guilt a bit. (No one mentioned the burglary at all.) I had asked about dietary restrictions (this is California, after all) and was told that she keeps kosher. I thought I did well (she ate everything), until I realized that the pan I'd used to roast the vegetables was the same one I'd used to cook bacon on that morning. I'm definitely going to hell.

I am breastfeeding Lucy, as I did Conor, and reactions to it are interesting. For one, I'm a lot more comfortable and less embarassed that I was with him. But I still wonder why on earth other moms say it's too much trouble. Now, I'll skip the health benefits and the cost benefits and go right toward the key selling points.

1. It burns 500 calories per day (200 more per day than pregnancy!)
2. It makes your boobs bigger. (Always a bonus, but more so when you've still got "baby fat" around your middle.)
3. Did I mention it burns 500 calories per day?

The need to market breastfeeding like an infomercial. Fat burning! Boob enhancing! It's two things in one! I fail to understand why people aren't lining up around the block to do this.

We had Lucy's one month visit and Conor's 5 year doctor visit. Lucy's now at 8 pounds, 14.5 ounces. Time to break out all those 3 - 6 month clothes!

Lucy's first checkup was yesterday, and she's gained 14 ounces; she's now half an ounce heavier than her birthweight. And she's 19.5 inches tall, for a growth gain of 1.5 inches. And her umbilical cord has fallen off. Now, that's an advanced child.

Let the competitive mothering begin!

There's much I could say about the timing of Lucy's birth, but what will probably go down in the annals of family lore is how she wanted to come to Conor's birthday party, which is why she was two weeks early. And how lucky we were that Grandpa John was in town to help out! But there may have been another force at work, one we'll talk about in quiet voices or around a campfire or whatever other cheesy theatrical trick will indicate our fear of the unknown.

My father-in-law is a Reiki Master. He was in San Francisco at the beginning of April for a family wedding, which he, Kevin, and Conor attended. (It was a few hours away.) During his visit, Grandpa John had the opportunity to ask my doula friend about using Reiki during labor and delivery as a relaxation mechanism. What I remember distinctly from that conversation was his oh-so-casual mention of the fact that the woman DOES NOT HAVE TO BE AWARE OF THE REIKI FOR IT TO TAKE EFFECT.

Hmmmm, exactly how "lucky" were we? Did Grandpa John use his mojo to ensure he'd be able to meet his latest grandchild?

Lucy was born today. (For the record, I'm not blogging on the actual day of her birth.) The short version of what happened:

Early Sunday morning, 3am-ish, my water ruptures, but it's a small leak. (Similar to what happened with Conor.) Sunday afternoon is Conor's birthday party, so this little girl is intent on coming to her brother's party. But contractions are irregular, so we stick it out until after the party. My contractions get very regular around 9pm, 5 minutes apart and lasting a minute. They go on like this until 1am, when Kevin and I decamp for the hospital.

At the hospital, they check my progress. Let's just say that on a scale of 0 - 10, where 0 = no baby, and 10 = PUSH!, I'm at 1. I am disappointed. (This is another one of those times where I wonder why people don't swear, but there's something about a hospital and the hostpital staff that seems to prevent that. We decide to keep laboring on. For the record, I am not one of those active participants who walks the halls, squats, etc. I decide that if I can sleep, even for four minutes at a stretch, then prone is the position for me.) At 6am, I feel the need for drugs--the contractions are getting a bit stronger and they're starting to piss me off. They check my progress again, and I am still at 1.

Again, for some reason, I do not take up swearing.

I request a shower, an epidural, and a visit with my doctor who's just arrived at the hospital. She double-checks my progress because she can't believe I'm still at 1, but I am. She agrees that this little girl isn't coming out on her own, that someone is going to have to go in and get her.

Lucy Alice McNamara Muerle is born at 1:02pm. She is 7 pounds, 7 ounces and 18 inches long.

For the record, Lucy wasn't in the best position. She was in occiput posterior position, or OP for short, which means she was facing up towards the mother's pubic bone causing the harder part of their skull to rest on the bony part of mom's spine. Her head was also up a bit, instead of having her chin tucked on her chest. This isn't her fault, however, because on the very top of her head was a squished ring. This is my pelvic opening, which is apparently too small for a baby.

St. Stupid's Day costume! (If you don't have St. Stupid's day in your neck of the woods, check out: http://www.saintstupid.com/event.html)




Rub my belly and I'll tell you your fortune.