China hutch from a garage sale: $50
Baby girl napping long enough for me to put the china away: priceless
Monday, May 28, 2012
Baby-proofing step 1: put china behind closed doors
Complete 10-place-setting timeless white-and-silver china set from a garage sale: $50
China hutch from a garage sale: $50
Baby girl napping long enough for me to put the china away: priceless
China hutch from a garage sale: $50
Baby girl napping long enough for me to put the china away: priceless
Saturday, April 28, 2012
5 months later ...
There are two reasons that blogging since Ginny's birth has proved to be nigh impossible.
1. There are no words to describe the emotions of new parenthood. Or rather, if the emotions of new parenthood were like a balloon floating high in the sky, I could, with great effort, find words to build a ladder tall enough to let me reach up and just touch the balloon - just brush it with my fingertips - not to grasp it or to pierce it or to linger with my hands on it, but just for a second to reach it, before the ladder would give way beneath me, the words would fail, and the balloon would be sailing again in the sky out of reach. And as even this inadequate and shaky ladder of words would take a dedicated and sustained effort, I feel tired before even making the attempt, and simply haven't bothered. If you have children, you have a balloon for yourself and don't need it described to you anyway. And if you don't have children, just wait til you do.
2. The things I would take the greatest pleasure in detailing are - shall we say - inappropriate for mixed company. Like the mishaps of nursing ("How do I shut these things off?") or the consistency of Ginny's poo. While these subjects might make for good reading, a certain amount of tact would still be required in the writing of them, and most nights I'm just too tired for tact.
The third reason - that of not having time with the demands of a new baby and working full-time - is true, but it is not a real reason. Unless blogging is your source of income, no one has time to blog, any more than anyone has time to read a novel or go out for a cup of coffee. You choose to make time, or you choose not to.
That's why facebook has taken the place of Blogger and photos have taken over for words. See how cute she is?
She's almost more than I can stand.
1. There are no words to describe the emotions of new parenthood. Or rather, if the emotions of new parenthood were like a balloon floating high in the sky, I could, with great effort, find words to build a ladder tall enough to let me reach up and just touch the balloon - just brush it with my fingertips - not to grasp it or to pierce it or to linger with my hands on it, but just for a second to reach it, before the ladder would give way beneath me, the words would fail, and the balloon would be sailing again in the sky out of reach. And as even this inadequate and shaky ladder of words would take a dedicated and sustained effort, I feel tired before even making the attempt, and simply haven't bothered. If you have children, you have a balloon for yourself and don't need it described to you anyway. And if you don't have children, just wait til you do.
2. The things I would take the greatest pleasure in detailing are - shall we say - inappropriate for mixed company. Like the mishaps of nursing ("How do I shut these things off?") or the consistency of Ginny's poo. While these subjects might make for good reading, a certain amount of tact would still be required in the writing of them, and most nights I'm just too tired for tact.
The third reason - that of not having time with the demands of a new baby and working full-time - is true, but it is not a real reason. Unless blogging is your source of income, no one has time to blog, any more than anyone has time to read a novel or go out for a cup of coffee. You choose to make time, or you choose not to.
That's why facebook has taken the place of Blogger and photos have taken over for words. See how cute she is?
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Ginny's 2-month check-up & shots
Ginny did not enjoy her shots last week. The pediatrician gave the usual line that it's tougher on the parents than the kids. But that is not to say that it's a comfortable experience for the kids. However, I suppose that for the most part, Ginny got her shots and got over it; whereas I can't stop reliving the way her eyes snapped open in shock when that first needle went in, or how red her poor little face got from crying afterward. I mean, I'll never get over that. Thankfully the nurse was swift. I don't know how nurses steel themselves for that kind of thing.
The very best way to prepare yourself for your child getting shots is to read all about the illnesses they're immunizing against. It will only take the briefest moment of imagining your child with those illnesses - in fact the thought won't even fully develop in your head - before you'll be thanking the Lord for the medical advances that have brought us vaccines.
So here are her measurements as of last Wednesday:
Weight: 11 lbs, 11 oz (there are those elevens again. Her favorite number?) = 70th percentile
Height: 23.8" = 92%
Head circumference: 39.6 cm = 72%
The very best way to prepare yourself for your child getting shots is to read all about the illnesses they're immunizing against. It will only take the briefest moment of imagining your child with those illnesses - in fact the thought won't even fully develop in your head - before you'll be thanking the Lord for the medical advances that have brought us vaccines.
So here are her measurements as of last Wednesday:
Weight: 11 lbs, 11 oz (there are those elevens again. Her favorite number?) = 70th percentile
Height: 23.8" = 92%
Head circumference: 39.6 cm = 72%
Monday, January 16, 2012
Baby Ginny: 2 Months Old
Virginia Charlotte Helquist was named after our maternal grandmothers. She'll meet my grandmother, her Great-Grammy Virginia, when we visit Arizona in March. Anders' beloved grandmother Charlotte died two years ago and is greatly missed. We think our daughter's name is beautiful.
She goes by Ginny mostly, but we revert to "Virginia" whenever we feel like she needs a reminder of her full name. I love calling her Virginia because it's beautiful and I love calling her Ginny because it's adorable.
Most common nickname: Ginny-Mini. Others: Ginny-Mini-Moo (usually in a sing-song followed by "Ginny I love you"), Gin-Gin, Ginny-Bug, and occasionally Ginny-Midget and Ginny-Bitty. Also today I was calling her Gingerbread. I also sing "Virginia" to the tune of "Tradition" from Fiddler on the Roof.
She is now two months old, and resembles her daddy in looks. We were going through Anders' baby pictures, and a few of them could be Ginny. Without a doubt she has his eyes. She also has one mommy ear and one daddy ear. My ears are pinched at the top so they're kinda pointy like elf ears. Ginny's left ear is pinched, and her right ear is normal. How awesome is that?
So far she's a well-behaved and emotionally secure baby. We are pretty spoiled. She sleeps great at night. At first she slept in a bassinet in our bedroom, but that feels like a long time ago now. Now she's in the crib in her nursery. She has fussy days every once in a while that I'm beginning to associate with physical and/or cognitive growth spurts, but most of the time she's content, and only cries to get fed or changed or held. She likes to cuddle. I'm so relieved and thrilled that she likes to cuddle. I like to cuddle too.
One of my favorite things in the world is Ginny's pouty face. Which is mean of course, but perfectly justified since her pouty face is so stinkin' cute. I laugh at it every time. She also has a frowny face that we see quite a lot, when she looks at new people or studies interesting objects (such as light fixtures). Newer than the frown: the smile. A big, bright, fabulous smile that will just melt you right into a puddle.
When Ginny was born, the pediatrician on call diagnosed her with hip dysplasia and fitted her with a Pavlik harness. Three conditions increase the likelihood for hip dysplasia: if the baby is 1.) first-born, 2.) female, 3.) breeched. Ginny was, of course, all three. The doctor told us she might have to wear the harness for two to four months. The thing was made of cloth straps and velcro, and it worked simply by keeping her knees at right angles. There was nothing painful or uncomfortable about it for Ginny. We were very happy to get the harness because if left untreated, hip dysplasia can require surgery later in life. But we were even happier when they checked her again and told us her hip was a-okay and the harness could come off after less than five weeks. From that point on, two experiences became immensely more satisfying: 1.) holding her, and 2.) dressing her in cute outfits.
Her two-month appointment is Wednesday (shots! noooooo!), so I'll have updates on her measurements then. But I can tell you she is packing on the pounds, and in the words of Stuart MacKenzie, has a huge noggin! She was born at 7 lbs 10 oz, and at four weeks was up to 10 lbs, and her head circumference was in the 86th percentile.
She goes by Ginny mostly, but we revert to "Virginia" whenever we feel like she needs a reminder of her full name. I love calling her Virginia because it's beautiful and I love calling her Ginny because it's adorable.
Most common nickname: Ginny-Mini. Others: Ginny-Mini-Moo (usually in a sing-song followed by "Ginny I love you"), Gin-Gin, Ginny-Bug, and occasionally Ginny-Midget and Ginny-Bitty. Also today I was calling her Gingerbread. I also sing "Virginia" to the tune of "Tradition" from Fiddler on the Roof.
She is now two months old, and resembles her daddy in looks. We were going through Anders' baby pictures, and a few of them could be Ginny. Without a doubt she has his eyes. She also has one mommy ear and one daddy ear. My ears are pinched at the top so they're kinda pointy like elf ears. Ginny's left ear is pinched, and her right ear is normal. How awesome is that?
So far she's a well-behaved and emotionally secure baby. We are pretty spoiled. She sleeps great at night. At first she slept in a bassinet in our bedroom, but that feels like a long time ago now. Now she's in the crib in her nursery. She has fussy days every once in a while that I'm beginning to associate with physical and/or cognitive growth spurts, but most of the time she's content, and only cries to get fed or changed or held. She likes to cuddle. I'm so relieved and thrilled that she likes to cuddle. I like to cuddle too.
One of my favorite things in the world is Ginny's pouty face. Which is mean of course, but perfectly justified since her pouty face is so stinkin' cute. I laugh at it every time. She also has a frowny face that we see quite a lot, when she looks at new people or studies interesting objects (such as light fixtures). Newer than the frown: the smile. A big, bright, fabulous smile that will just melt you right into a puddle.
When Ginny was born, the pediatrician on call diagnosed her with hip dysplasia and fitted her with a Pavlik harness. Three conditions increase the likelihood for hip dysplasia: if the baby is 1.) first-born, 2.) female, 3.) breeched. Ginny was, of course, all three. The doctor told us she might have to wear the harness for two to four months. The thing was made of cloth straps and velcro, and it worked simply by keeping her knees at right angles. There was nothing painful or uncomfortable about it for Ginny. We were very happy to get the harness because if left untreated, hip dysplasia can require surgery later in life. But we were even happier when they checked her again and told us her hip was a-okay and the harness could come off after less than five weeks. From that point on, two experiences became immensely more satisfying: 1.) holding her, and 2.) dressing her in cute outfits.
Her two-month appointment is Wednesday (shots! noooooo!), so I'll have updates on her measurements then. But I can tell you she is packing on the pounds, and in the words of Stuart MacKenzie, has a huge noggin! She was born at 7 lbs 10 oz, and at four weeks was up to 10 lbs, and her head circumference was in the 86th percentile.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
My Labor Story
Remember how impressed I was by my doctor's confidence in ascertaining the baby's position in utero, and declaring her to be head-down? Well, it turns out I should have trusted the other doctor, the one who said "I can't be sure." Ginny was breeched! And we didn't find out until the last possible minute! But before I get to that: here's my whole labor story.
Four weeks ago, Ginny decided it was time to make her entrance into the world. Her 11/11/11 due date had come and gone. I started my maternity leave from work the day before she was due, which meant I was finally able to leave that Baby Mode/Work Mode switch in my brain positioned at Baby Mode permanently, and that was blissful. By that point Anders and I had acquired everything on our Baby Shopping List, and the nursery was done, so I spent my free time baking and making Christmas crafts ... and constantly hoping that a contraction would interrupt me.
On Tuesday I was four days overdue. That night we decided to try spicy food as a labor-induction technique, so we went to dinner at HuHot Mongolian Grill, where I bravely ladled their spiciest sauce over my noodles and chicken. The result was not exactly at a Man-vs.-Food level, but it was certainly spicier than what I normally eat. No sooner had I cleaned my plate and leaned back in my chair than Jabberwocky (she was still Jabberwocky then) began to boogie. I don't know whether her frenzy was caused by delight or disgust, but either way, Anders and I sat and watched the tumultuous movements of my tummy in bemusement for a good five or ten minutes.
On Wednesday - my fifth day overdue - we figured we'd give the spicy food thing another try. Around 7 p.m. we were about to leave for an Indian restaurant when I felt it! Finally! It was a special kind of pain, dull and deep, lasting a few seconds. I knew exactly what it was. I informed Anders. And then off we went to the Indian restaurant.
Ah, Jewel of India, how fondly I feel towards you now. I had several more contractions at the restaurant. I didn't need spicy food anymore but ordered it anyway, chicken curry with a side of garlic naan. Our meal was quiet, quick, and happy.
Once we got home I lost the mucus plug. See how flippantly I can talk about these things now? Living through labor tends to strip one of one's delicacy, I think. Anyway, contractions steadily became more painful and regular, so there was no doubt this was the real thing. I took a shower and went to bed. I slept better than Anders did that night. I was able to drop off between contractions, but he doesn't go in and out of sleep as easily as I do! He timed my contractions and kept telling me I was doing a good job, sweet man. It feels good to hear those words when one is in labor.
We almost went to the hospital at 4:30 a.m. Anders had the car running and everything. Contractions had been around four minutes apart for a solid hour. But once I got up and moved around, they slowed down, and we decided to wait.
Good thing we did. By mid-morning on Thursday, we were hanging out in the sunroom, watching episodes of '30 Rock' on the computer. My contractions were more severe but stubbornly irregular, sometimes three minutes apart, but more often nine or ten minutes apart.
We made the decision to go to the hospital around 1:30 in the afternoon, after 18-plus hours of labor. Contractions were averaging something like seven minutes apart, and getting longer and pretty painful.
Now, up to this point, labor had honestly been rather fun. We were, after all, relaxing together at home on a work day. And there was the joyful anticipation of it all. Once we got to the hospital, however, things took a turn.
At 2:00, we were in the delivery room. At 5:00, we were back in the sunroom at home. They'd discharged us from the hospital. At 7:00, we were in the car, driving back to the hospital in a panic and praying we'd make it in time, as I'd reached the point where I was PUSHING with each contraction.
Those hours at home between 5 p.m. and 7 p.m. were dark, wretched, horribly painful hours. At the hospital they had told us that labor wasn't progressing, and even that it might be several days before the baby came. "You'll know when it's time to come back," a nurse told us with a tender smile, "because the pain will get much worse."
I had planned to do labor with no meds. But when I heard that, two options presented themselves to me: 1.) I was going to get an epidural, or 2.) I was going to die. Because the pain was already as much as I could bear. I can't do this, I thought. I can't endure these contractions for another - how many hours? Twenty-four? Thirty-six? Forty-eight? The idea was devastating.
Now, the nurse had based her opinion on my cervix. I don't know about you, but I've always thought cervical exams were a fairly straightforward business. There aren't any loops or corkscrews in the diagrams I've seen of female anatomy. It's a straight shot to the cervix. You reach in, and there it is.
Well, my cervical exams on the afternoon of Thursday the 17th were not straightforward. Three separate nurses told me they couldn't find my cervix, after spending much more time with their hands in my nether-region than was entirely comfortable. Finally one of them believed she had struck upon it, and it was only open one centimeter. Meaning I still had nine centimeters to go before I would be ready to deliver.
So either I dilated nine centimeters in two hours, or the nurse was wrong in her assessment. Either way, I shouldn't have been sent home, shouldn't have had my pain made light of, and shouldn't have been made to feel like labor would be endless. As it was, I was quite near the end and quite capable of doing it without medication, but I didn't know that. One cannot blame the nurses, of course. They didn't want me sitting in a hospital bed for two days while nothing was happening. And for my part, never having given birth before, I couldn't tell them whether I was suffering enough to be there or not. I had to take their word for it that I wasn't.
So after two hours of intense labor at home, Anders and I show up again at the hospital in a dither. I'm trying to explain to the nurses that I can't stop pushing, and I'm not sure they believe me. Contractions are coming super quick. So they go in for another cervix check ... and that's when the nurse says, "Uh oh, I think I'm feeling a baby butt."
A hasty ultrasound confirmed this. "The head is up here," the doctor-on-call said, pointing to the top of my belly. "So she's breeched?" I asked, and he nodded. "So that means a C-section?" I asked, and he nodded. "Let's do it!" I cried. I was desperate simply for it to happen quickly, because my body was aggressively trying to push that baby out, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
What came next is a blur, as I spent most of the time in eyes-closed agony. I know there was a man next to the bed who was describing, with an infuriating lack of urgency, the risks involved with C-sections, but I have no idea what he looked like. And I know there were nurses on one side of me who were trying to draw blood, and nurses on the other side who were trying to insert an IV, and it was tough going on both sides. I had multiple punctures, bruises and blood streaks up and down both arms by the time they were done. I remember Anders making phone calls, and asking him to call people to pray for us. Then I was getting wheeled into the surgery room where they gave me the epidural. And I remember the voice of the anesthesiologist in my ear, talking me through what was happening, and feeling comforted by him.
All of this was awful. It was awful because I was worried it would be too late. That I'd already pushed too much. (I was dilated ten centimeters at this point, according to the doctor who performed the C-section ... not that I had any lingering doubts.) It was a dreadful time leading up to the surgery. In the midst of it, I was aware that the medical staff was moving swiftly and expertly, and for that I was immensely glad.
And then Anders was by my head, and it was done! We heard our baby cry! From that moment, everything was wonderful.
They took little Ginny to a table under a heat lamp and cleaned her up while I got stitched. We looked at her, and saw all four limbs moving, and listened to her voice. I was so happy.
All I felt, when I was back in the recovery room with Ginny on my chest, was perfect, unhindered joy. I still get that feeling when I have Ginny on my chest.
Four weeks ago, Ginny decided it was time to make her entrance into the world. Her 11/11/11 due date had come and gone. I started my maternity leave from work the day before she was due, which meant I was finally able to leave that Baby Mode/Work Mode switch in my brain positioned at Baby Mode permanently, and that was blissful. By that point Anders and I had acquired everything on our Baby Shopping List, and the nursery was done, so I spent my free time baking and making Christmas crafts ... and constantly hoping that a contraction would interrupt me.
On Tuesday I was four days overdue. That night we decided to try spicy food as a labor-induction technique, so we went to dinner at HuHot Mongolian Grill, where I bravely ladled their spiciest sauce over my noodles and chicken. The result was not exactly at a Man-vs.-Food level, but it was certainly spicier than what I normally eat. No sooner had I cleaned my plate and leaned back in my chair than Jabberwocky (she was still Jabberwocky then) began to boogie. I don't know whether her frenzy was caused by delight or disgust, but either way, Anders and I sat and watched the tumultuous movements of my tummy in bemusement for a good five or ten minutes.
On Wednesday - my fifth day overdue - we figured we'd give the spicy food thing another try. Around 7 p.m. we were about to leave for an Indian restaurant when I felt it! Finally! It was a special kind of pain, dull and deep, lasting a few seconds. I knew exactly what it was. I informed Anders. And then off we went to the Indian restaurant.
Ah, Jewel of India, how fondly I feel towards you now. I had several more contractions at the restaurant. I didn't need spicy food anymore but ordered it anyway, chicken curry with a side of garlic naan. Our meal was quiet, quick, and happy.
Once we got home I lost the mucus plug. See how flippantly I can talk about these things now? Living through labor tends to strip one of one's delicacy, I think. Anyway, contractions steadily became more painful and regular, so there was no doubt this was the real thing. I took a shower and went to bed. I slept better than Anders did that night. I was able to drop off between contractions, but he doesn't go in and out of sleep as easily as I do! He timed my contractions and kept telling me I was doing a good job, sweet man. It feels good to hear those words when one is in labor.
We almost went to the hospital at 4:30 a.m. Anders had the car running and everything. Contractions had been around four minutes apart for a solid hour. But once I got up and moved around, they slowed down, and we decided to wait.
Good thing we did. By mid-morning on Thursday, we were hanging out in the sunroom, watching episodes of '30 Rock' on the computer. My contractions were more severe but stubbornly irregular, sometimes three minutes apart, but more often nine or ten minutes apart.
We made the decision to go to the hospital around 1:30 in the afternoon, after 18-plus hours of labor. Contractions were averaging something like seven minutes apart, and getting longer and pretty painful.
Now, up to this point, labor had honestly been rather fun. We were, after all, relaxing together at home on a work day. And there was the joyful anticipation of it all. Once we got to the hospital, however, things took a turn.
At 2:00, we were in the delivery room. At 5:00, we were back in the sunroom at home. They'd discharged us from the hospital. At 7:00, we were in the car, driving back to the hospital in a panic and praying we'd make it in time, as I'd reached the point where I was PUSHING with each contraction.
Those hours at home between 5 p.m. and 7 p.m. were dark, wretched, horribly painful hours. At the hospital they had told us that labor wasn't progressing, and even that it might be several days before the baby came. "You'll know when it's time to come back," a nurse told us with a tender smile, "because the pain will get much worse."
I had planned to do labor with no meds. But when I heard that, two options presented themselves to me: 1.) I was going to get an epidural, or 2.) I was going to die. Because the pain was already as much as I could bear. I can't do this, I thought. I can't endure these contractions for another - how many hours? Twenty-four? Thirty-six? Forty-eight? The idea was devastating.
Now, the nurse had based her opinion on my cervix. I don't know about you, but I've always thought cervical exams were a fairly straightforward business. There aren't any loops or corkscrews in the diagrams I've seen of female anatomy. It's a straight shot to the cervix. You reach in, and there it is.
Well, my cervical exams on the afternoon of Thursday the 17th were not straightforward. Three separate nurses told me they couldn't find my cervix, after spending much more time with their hands in my nether-region than was entirely comfortable. Finally one of them believed she had struck upon it, and it was only open one centimeter. Meaning I still had nine centimeters to go before I would be ready to deliver.
So either I dilated nine centimeters in two hours, or the nurse was wrong in her assessment. Either way, I shouldn't have been sent home, shouldn't have had my pain made light of, and shouldn't have been made to feel like labor would be endless. As it was, I was quite near the end and quite capable of doing it without medication, but I didn't know that. One cannot blame the nurses, of course. They didn't want me sitting in a hospital bed for two days while nothing was happening. And for my part, never having given birth before, I couldn't tell them whether I was suffering enough to be there or not. I had to take their word for it that I wasn't.
So after two hours of intense labor at home, Anders and I show up again at the hospital in a dither. I'm trying to explain to the nurses that I can't stop pushing, and I'm not sure they believe me. Contractions are coming super quick. So they go in for another cervix check ... and that's when the nurse says, "Uh oh, I think I'm feeling a baby butt."
A hasty ultrasound confirmed this. "The head is up here," the doctor-on-call said, pointing to the top of my belly. "So she's breeched?" I asked, and he nodded. "So that means a C-section?" I asked, and he nodded. "Let's do it!" I cried. I was desperate simply for it to happen quickly, because my body was aggressively trying to push that baby out, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
What came next is a blur, as I spent most of the time in eyes-closed agony. I know there was a man next to the bed who was describing, with an infuriating lack of urgency, the risks involved with C-sections, but I have no idea what he looked like. And I know there were nurses on one side of me who were trying to draw blood, and nurses on the other side who were trying to insert an IV, and it was tough going on both sides. I had multiple punctures, bruises and blood streaks up and down both arms by the time they were done. I remember Anders making phone calls, and asking him to call people to pray for us. Then I was getting wheeled into the surgery room where they gave me the epidural. And I remember the voice of the anesthesiologist in my ear, talking me through what was happening, and feeling comforted by him.
All of this was awful. It was awful because I was worried it would be too late. That I'd already pushed too much. (I was dilated ten centimeters at this point, according to the doctor who performed the C-section ... not that I had any lingering doubts.) It was a dreadful time leading up to the surgery. In the midst of it, I was aware that the medical staff was moving swiftly and expertly, and for that I was immensely glad.
And then Anders was by my head, and it was done! We heard our baby cry! From that moment, everything was wonderful.
They took little Ginny to a table under a heat lamp and cleaned her up while I got stitched. We looked at her, and saw all four limbs moving, and listened to her voice. I was so happy.
All I felt, when I was back in the recovery room with Ginny on my chest, was perfect, unhindered joy. I still get that feeling when I have Ginny on my chest.
Virginia Charlotte Helquist
Welcome, Ginny!
Virginia Charlotte Helquist
Born 11/17/11 @ 8:51 p.m.
7 lbs, 10 oz
20.5"
Monday, November 14, 2011
Three Days Overdue!
Yes, Jabberwocky is still in utero. Today I tried reflexology on my feet, massaging the pressure points that the Internet told me are supposed to induce labor. My eagerness is immense, but I am not forgetting to also be grateful for the peaceful time I've been having pre-baby.
Several times every day I experience a distinct wave of emotion that lasts for a minute or two and then subsides. I'll be sitting calmly, and suddenly it feels like someone has poured liquid on my head and it flows down my body and sinks in through my skin and gets absorbed and turns to nothing. The emotion is a painfully sweet nostalgic feeling, like joy and sorrow at the same time. This has only been going on for the past three days. I'd think it's related to whatever hormonal changes I'm undergoing in preparation for labor.
Well. I just made several trips to and from the basement to set up my station in front of the TV. I have my plate of food, my mug of tea, my cup of water, and my computer. Then I spent 10 minutes flipping through the channels trying to find green-and-gold uniforms. Then my husband informed me that the game is on ESPN, which we don't get. If I want to follow the Packers tonight, I have to turn on the radio. Which is upstairs.
If my final trip back upstairs brings on contractions, I'll be much obliged to ESPN.
Several times every day I experience a distinct wave of emotion that lasts for a minute or two and then subsides. I'll be sitting calmly, and suddenly it feels like someone has poured liquid on my head and it flows down my body and sinks in through my skin and gets absorbed and turns to nothing. The emotion is a painfully sweet nostalgic feeling, like joy and sorrow at the same time. This has only been going on for the past three days. I'd think it's related to whatever hormonal changes I'm undergoing in preparation for labor.
Well. I just made several trips to and from the basement to set up my station in front of the TV. I have my plate of food, my mug of tea, my cup of water, and my computer. Then I spent 10 minutes flipping through the channels trying to find green-and-gold uniforms. Then my husband informed me that the game is on ESPN, which we don't get. If I want to follow the Packers tonight, I have to turn on the radio. Which is upstairs.
If my final trip back upstairs brings on contractions, I'll be much obliged to ESPN.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)