March for Babies 2010 : Team Bronx

I am walking in the March for Babies this coming new year in celebration of my son, Bronx. He was born prematurely at 35 weeks due to unknown causes and he needed extra medical care at birth. It was heartbreaking watching him struggle that first few days, but thankfully he made a quick and complete recovery.

Sadly, we know that some families are not as lucky as we are.

Every day, thousands of babies are born too soon, too small and often very sick. Our team is walking in March for Babies because we want to do something about this. I know you care, too. That's why I'm asking you to join us. It's easy: just click the picture of Bronx on the sidebar, or click the logo at the bottom of this post.

If you can't walk with us, please help by donating to our team. Thank you for helping us give all babies a healthy start!

The mission of March of Dimes is to improve the health of babies by preventing birth defects, premature birth and infant mortality.

As the mother of a premature infant, I am extremely passionate about this cause. I urge everyone to please support me. If you have had a premature infant in your life, you know how important this is. And those who have been fortunate enough to be blessed with a healthy infant, give thanks and help us fight for those babies who have not been as lucky.

Thanks again, with all my heart.

What is Twilight Teaching Me?

I was browsing other blogs awhile back, and a fellow blogger had a picture of the Twilight cover along with the message "What is Twilight Teaching Her?" on the sidebar of her site. It seems that some people think Stephenie Meyer is sending the wrong message to the girls that read her books. I don't really care about that whole arguement, but I have given the question some thought, and I would like to share what the famous vampire series has taught me.

1. It is impossible for me to be afraid of anything that sparkles. This means that my fear of vampires is no longer relevant.

2. If two guys fight over you, watch out for the one that loses. He will inevitably become a pedophile and go after your daughter.

3. Puberty can give you body hair and B.O. Or it can transform you into a hot-headed werewolf. Either way, there is fun to be had.

4. It should be illegal to print 754 pages of battle preparation only to leave out the actual battle.

5. If your boyfriend leaves for twelve chapters and promises to leave no evidence of himself behind, check under the floorboards. The piano serenade he composed for you and all the photos will be there.

6. Vampires are smart enough to use a VCR to bait you into a trap. And you, being a human, are dumb enough to fall for it.

7. I'm pretty sure that the fairytale cottage in the woods that Bella and Edward are living in used to belong to Snow White. The dwarfs probably suffered a foreclosure due to the hard economic times.

8. Although they drink blood and are generally thought of as evil creatures, vampires have a solid moral compass that includes waiting to have sex until marriage. How honorable.

9. Bella is a whiny and annoying narrarator. I wish Stephenie Meyer had thought of Midnight Sun first.

10. Even though Edward has a better POV, he's still kind of a douche.

11. If someone really loves you, they'll keep you from making an ass out of yourself in Italy.

12. If a vampire is controlling, it's because he's protective. And if he beats the crap out of you during a romp in the sack, it's not domestic violence. It's just his superhuman strength getting in the way.

13. Vampires are always exceeding the speed limit, but they never get a ticket. If you have a chronic lead foot, this may be the team to join.

14. Your prospective in-laws may like you more if there is a chance that they can drain your delicious blood when the relationship goes sour.

15. Discussing the three phases of cell mitosis is great way to flirt.

16. Red-eyed and pale skinned? This person is not your friend.

17. Teenagers are irritating.

18. Teenage romance is even more irritating.

19. Native American forklore always turns out to be true.

20. Even the undead can knock you up. Use a condom.

As you can see, I've learned some pretty important lessons. I think I'll put on my best flannel and go cook all the men in my life dinner while they watch sports and drink beer. And maybe I'll let some obsessive guy watch me sleep at night in my room and completely control my life...but only if he's, like, really cute.

Land of Confusion

Drumsticks from my very first
Phil Collins concert. Circa 1994.

I found out today that my lifelong hero, Phil Collins, has lost his ability to play the drums. For most people, this probably wouldn't be such a setback.

Phil Collins has let his heart beat through his drums for almost his entire life.

I've seen him perform live four times in my life. Three during solo tours and once with Genesis during the 2007 reunion. The guy is amazing. And he can wail on a set of drums like nobody's business.

Seriously, who doesn't beat out the drum solo to In the Air Tonight on their steering wheel when that song comes on the radio? Okay, maybe that's just me...but you all know the beat. You are playing it out in your head right now.

I imagine that he is at a total loss right now. And it makes me unbelievably sad to know that I will have to put in an old concert DVD if I ever want to see him play again.

His talent is now trapped inside a body that cannot cooperate. My sister said it best when she compared it to "having a million dollars, but not being able to spend it."

In case you were never able to see him live, I have posted a video of him in action. I hope that someday he will be able to go back to doing what he loves best.

Life is so ironic sometimes.
Click here to read the original news article about Phil Collins.


I thought that I had moved past this ages ago, but really I haven't. I just buried the pain so deep that sometimes I could barely tell it was even there anymore. I thought I was the strongest person ever.

And now, after giving birth for the second time, it has all come flooding back over me like someone pouring an entire can of salt into an open wound. It turns out, time doesn't heal. It just creates space in between the hurting.

I always thought that once I had children who were here with me, safe and sound, that I would feel better about all of this. I couldn't have been more wrong. It probably has made it worse. And now, after years of just trying to cope with it all silently, I've decided to take a different course of action.

I think it's time I actually let myself heal.

So, after almost a decade since my first loss, I have stopped smothering the pain and finally started grieving. I gave the babies an identity. I named them. And last night, I lit a candle for each one of them for the National Day of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness.

I can now give them the rememberance that they deserve and I can have some of the closure that I have been searching for.

Tummy Troubles.

In case you haven't heard via Facebook or by talking to me, Bronx has been having some digestive issues. He started throwing up after feedings over two weeks ago. Just to be clear, he was projectile vomiting Linda Blair style. It wasn't every feeding and sometimes he would go a day or two with no problems at all, but it still keeps happening. At first, we thought it was just because we were all sick with some kind of bug. But Bronx was the only one who ever threw up. And then we all got over the bug, but the throwing up never stopped.

The doctor suspected pyloric stenosis. It's a condition in infants around Bronx's age that causes the muscles around the stomach to harden which narrows the space for food to pass, and then stuff comes back up. It has to be corrected with surgery. It's another one of those things that is more common in little white boys (go figure).

So, last Thursday we were sent to the hospital lab to have a blood draw. Blood draws on infants are awful. Especially when you get a phlebotomist that can't find a vein. Luckily, the girl that drew his blood on Thursday hit his vein on the first try. There were still tears, but at least there was no torture.

The blood tests showed that Bronx's sodium levels were low. The doctor admitted him to the hospital on Friday for I.V. fluids and an ultrasound. The ultrasound of his stomach came back fine, but we stayed overnight for the fluids and for observation. This time, Bronx wasn't so lucky. The nurse who tried to start his I.V. (key word here is "tried") couldn't find a vein in either one of his hands and she took her time fishing with the needle. As a former phleb and the mother of the child being used as the pin cushion, it was awful to watch. And on top of that, before they even started they advised me to leave the room! The idea of leaving Bronx to deal with all that stress alone was so heartbreaking. The least I could do was make sure that his mommy was with him while all of this was going on. So, I stayed and watched the fishing and bit my tongue.

Eventually, the nurse gave up and later an anesthesiologist was called in to start the I.V. He tried Bronx's foot first, but it didn't work, so he ended up putting the line in his leg. They taped it up like crazy to keep it from moving. It almost looks like a little baby cast in the pictures.

After the I.V. was placed (which fell out on it's own the next morning) and his ultrasound was done, Bronx met his evening nurses. One of them was a student nurse who made the stay so much easier. Bronx took to her immediately and talking with her helped to ease my anxiety. It was so neat to see him stop crying and just listen to her talk. She was a bit sassy and I think he really liked listening to her speak. So, I took a picture of him with his new friend.

Later on that night, I almost lost it. Bronx started screaming and I could tell he was in pain. I called the nurse, who never showed and I called again. This time,  a different nurse came and explained that my nurse was tied up. I told her my baby was in pain, and asked if he could have some Tylenol. She said that she'd have to ask his nurse, who would have to talk to the doctor to get the okay. Poor Bronx waited and screamed for almost two hours while Matt and I took turns trying to comfort him. I would have given him some Tylenol myself and just told the nurses to make a note of it, but I didn't think I had some. The nurses finally did show up with the stuff and later on I discovered that I had Tylenol infant drops in the diaper bag.
The next morning they scheduled Bronx for an upper G.I. study, but then it was moved to Monday because the hospital staff discovered that the radiologist wasn't there on the weekends. Bronx was discharged later in the afternoon and we went back on Monday for the G.I. study, where they strapped the poor kid on a board and fed him barium while we watched it flow through his esophagus and into his stomach. A half-hour later they followed up with a chest x-ray. The results should have been ready by yesterday afternoon, but when I called they told me that they only had partial results and the nurse would have to call me back. Almost 24 hours later and I still haven't heard anything. It's starting to make me nervous. Keeping my fingers crossed.

Update: The doctor's office finally called and the tests came back NORMAL! No Pyloric Stenosis! No out-of-town surgery! The doctor is pretty confident at this point that he is just having severe symptoms of reflux, so he may need to go on medication, but otherwise he is fine!

The Lost Blog Archives : Wanna Get Punk'd by Someone Better Than Ashton? (2006)

This douchebag learned everything he knows from me.

Next time you head out to Michigan, you might want to bring a sister who gets off on watching you have a panic attack over a plate of crabcakes at a nice little outdoor cafe. Case in point, my sister Kila was completely unaware that she would be vacationing with the "punkmaster" when I tagged along on a family vacation over the past fourth of July. As we started our day roaming around little shops in the village, I fell in step behind Ki, and that gave me free grabs at everything in her open purse that was slung over her shoulder. I found myself gazing upon her cell phone, which could barely even be considered as being in her purse because it was clipped to her strap and hanging out of the top. So, being the considerate older sister, I had to teach her a lesson. Oh, and the phone was just screaming "Steal me" from its tempting location in that stupid purse. And that's when I snatched it and tossed it into my handbag in one slick fluid movement that would have even impressed and mystified the king of magic, David Copperfield.
The day went on, we shopped and I held my breath when Kila got out her wallet to pay for a pair of sunglasses. She was, of course, way too interested in the new accessory she was purchasing to have even a clue that her only lifeline to the world outside was missing. Many hours pass (somewhere close to five, if I remember correctly) until we all end up at a outdoor bar and grill. While we are eating, Kila starts to get out her phone and realizes that it has been abducted. "Quick, give me your phone Britt!" she yells in such a panicked tone that you'd think someone had cut off her oxygen. This was too good, she had asked me for a phone. So I handed over the swiped goods and she immediatly began to dial in a fit of psychotic anxiety. So stressed was she (I've been taking speech lessons from Yoda) that she did not notice for a good thirty seconds that the phone in her hand was the one that had disappeared. By the time she did, I had her angrily muttering, "Yeah, I got punk'd". Sucked for her, but now she knows who's boss in this family.

The Lost Blog Archives: The Brittany vs. Britney Deathmatch (2006)

Due to the fact that whenever I tell people my name is Brittany, I get this dumbass reply: "Oh, like Britney Spears!" and because now everyone insists on spelling my name wrong because of that shit-for-brains bimbo, I decided to throw out a little side-by-side comparsion. Hopefully, this showdown will prove once and for all that I am the better Brittany. (Hell, I even spell it better because I have two t's! Double the pleasure & Double the fun!)


Britney: Walks into gas station bathrooms barefoot contracting bacteria in an alarmingly gross fashion.

Me: Walks into any public place with shoes on!


Britney contracts a nasty case of athlete's foot while I remain disease free.
0 points - Britney, 1 point - Me.

Federpoon (aka. Mr. Britney Spears): Has no job, but still manages to bring in the goods by swiping Britney's Platnium plastic all over California. (I guess it does require a fair amount of manual labor to reach into your wallet and pull out that credit card.) Oh, and he is working on an album which could be considered as work, except all he does is talk into a microphone (badly) while everyone else at the studio actually does the work.

Matt (aka. my husband): Works two jobs, one full-time and one part-time. Oh, and he has his own credit card that I don't pay the bill for.


I wonder who's Visa paid for that gas....and that SUV.
0 points - Federpoon, 1 point-Matt

In this round, the criteria is : Which couple looks the least like white trash?

Britney & Federpoon:

Wifebeaters & three-day old unwashed jeans. However, no one is smoking Camels or drinking Red Bull.

Brittany & Matt:

Ah, a much more wholesome couple hanging out at the dock in matching sweaters. Sailing, anyone?

Based on a worldwide poll, Spears & Federpoon = White trash.
0 points total - Britney & Federpoon, 3 points total - Brittany & Matt


Britney & Federpoon : Held a "surprise" wedding at the home of their wedding planner. Lots of red ("traditional color for streetwalkers", according to Mrs. Doubtfire) and stupid little jogging sweats with "Pimps" and "Maids" on the back.

Brittany & Matt: Held wedding at a church, didn't use red anywhere, and NOBODY had jogging sweats.

Our wedding may have cost alot less, but I still win because I married someone who doesn't already have kids with Shar Jackson.

FINAL RESULTS: Britney & Federpoon are no match for Brittany & Matt. Start sobbing, losers!

Update: Since I originally posted this blog onto MySpace back in November of 2006, I thought I'd add in some additional rounds to prove why, 3 years later, I am still the better Brittany.

Extra Round #1: The Offspring

Both Britney and myself have two children. All of them are boys, so there is an even playing field for comparison, and since Kevin Federpoon is presumeably the father of both of her kids, I have no compelling arguements in the "at least my kids have the same daddy" category. Boo.

So here's the deciding factor. First a picture of my kids:

Notice the absence of any alarming headlines that might attract the attention of Child and Family Services.

Now, take a look at a photo of the Spears/Federpoon spawn:

Crack is clearly not the breakfast of champions.

If that isn't enough, let me refresh your memory about Britney's well-publicized parenting skills:

She gave Sean Preston his first driving lesson at 5 months old.

She did her car seat installation herself.

And let's not forget the time she almost let the baby go ker-splat.

This stuff is just from the first kid...and that was before she shaved her head or started attacking SUV's with umbrellas.

So, DCFS has never come to our house.

Brittany & Matt : 1
Britney & K-doodle : 0

Extra Round #2: Love & Marriage

Oh, who didn't see that coming?

Still married.

And did I mention that our marriage has lasted 4 years? Double the length of the Spears and K-douche union, which only lasted for 2.

Brittany & Matt : 2
Britney & ???:
Oh, screw the points. I still win. That's why my slogan is: Better than the other Britney.

A Star is Born

Matt and I were both in denial on the way to the hospital that Wednesday night.

I was still five weeks away from my due date and any plans for an early induction were still at least two weeks into the future. We figured we'd get sent back home after a few hours of monitoring in Labor & Delivery.

How wrong we were.

Hours earlier, I had been at the pool with Kamryn and Matt's brother. Everything seemed normal all day, with not so much as a twitch from my uterus.

I came home with Kamryn around 3:30 that afternoon. We ate dinner with Matt and then he went back to work.

Between 5 and 6 that night I had about four contractions. I started timing them around 6:30, and for the next hour I was contracting every 4-5 minutes. for 45 seconds at a time. They weren't horribly painful, but I did have to breathe my way through them. At 7:30, I called the doctor. He told me to go to the hospital. I asked him if he thought I could wait another hour until my husband came home from work. He said that he wouldn't risk it. Matt got the call to come home.

My hospital bag wasn't packed, but I had been setting aside some of the stuff I wanted to take on the dresser. I was under the assumption that we'd have plenty of time to prepare for the trip to the hospital, after all, the doctor had said he wanted to schedule an induction when the baby's lungs were ready. So packing the bag got put off, until that night. Matt came home and called his brother to come baby-sit for Kamryn and we started throwing everything in sight into our luggage. By 8:30, we were headed to the hospital. When we walked through the parking lot toward the hospital I had to stop to get through a contraction. A lady outside saw us and ran in to tell the front desk to bring a wheelchair out to me. I reassured the woman who pushed me upstairs that there was no need to hurry, I didn't feel like I was going to give birth anytime soon.

The Labor and Delivery unit was a madhouse that evening. Every pregnant woman in town had apparently went into labor and there wasn't enough nursing staff to go around. It took forever for them to get around to admitting me. By the time they did, the contractions were getting stronger. A nurse checked me and said I was dilated 1-2 cm. I was happy to hear that all this contracting was actually doing something, but 1-2 cm isn't all that exciting. Even though she commented that the baby's head was very low, we still thought we were getting sent home.

The contractions kept on coming, and pretty soon I was asking the nurse for an epidural. She said the doctor wanted to wait and see if I was dehydrated because that could be causing the contractions. They put me on an I.V. and fetal monitors.

Shortly thereafter, I started begging for the epidural. They checked me and I was 4-5 cm. The doctor finally gave the okay for the epidural over the phone after the nurse told him how much pain I was in. (I had went from just stopping to breathe through a contraction to screaming obscenities and pounding on the hospital bed in less than an hour.) Unfortunately, the anesthesiologist was already in the process of helping someone else enter the land of pain-free euphoria, so he was too busy to help me. I started feeling like I had to push and that's when the panic set in.

Maybe I wouldn't get the epidural in time and I'd have to do this naturally. Oh, shit!

I kept bugging the nurse between contractions, which were coming back to back at this point. "How long until the anesthesiologist gets here?" I whimpered. I didn't dare tell her that I was pushing for fear that she'd say it was too late for pain medication. I couldn't risk her sending the anesthesiologist and his magical bag of drugs away from my room. The thought was much too terrifying.

He finally arrived. And I think he was annoyed with me because I couldn't hold still. I was pushing all through the placement of the needle. The nurse kept telling me not to move, and finally I blurted out that I had to push so I couldn't stay still.

She did that thing that the nurses do when you are in labor and there is no obstetrician in the room. She told me not to push.

There is a reason they tell you not to do this. If you aren't fully dilated and you start pushing, you can cause the cervix to swell and this makes it harder to push the baby through. That said, It is IMPOSSIBLE to not push when your body wants you to push. And my body wanted me to push for a reason. As soon as the epidural was in, the nurse checked me and discovered that I was at 10 cm. Fully dilated. And the head was super low, which made it easier for them to place the fetal scalp monitor, since the belly monitor wasn't picking up the baby's heartbeat very effectively. This was most likely due to the fact that I was thrashing around from the pain of my contractions like a seizure patient, so I kept moving the monitors. I also managed to unknowingly rip an entire I.V. line out of my hand during a contraction, which no one noticed until Matt saw a gush of blood running down my arm.

It took 3 pushes to get him out once the doctor came. Everything happened so fast that there wasn't even time for the epidural to get turned on. Considering the fact that my back felt like someone had beat it with a baseball bat the next day, I probably should have just skipped it. But I didn't know that I only had 20 minutes of hell to go when the anesthesiologist finally showed up. And the contractions were total hell.

After the baby was delivered, Matt cut the cord and the doctor handed the baby to me. I held him for only a minute before one of the nurses took him so the pediatrician could look him over.

That's when reality sunk in. This little baby was five weeks early. What if his lungs weren't ready?

I asked my doctor how 35 weekers normally do. He sighed and said that little white boys usually do the worst.

I had just given birth to a beautiful, little white boy.

Even though his APGARS were both 9's, Bronx was having problems with his lungs. He was breathing way too fast. The pediatrician had him sent to the nursery. Matt went with him. I wasn't allowed to go until I had eaten something and gone to the bathroom. It was almost 2 hours before I could see my baby again. It was a horribly awful 2 hours.

I wasn't there, but they started giving Bronx oxygen before he even got to the nursery. Matt managed to snap a photo in the midst of all the chaos. It was our baby's very first picture.

When I got to the nursery, Bronx was in an oxygen tent. The nurses had him on several different monitors and there were wires sticking to him everywhere. Matt was sitting next to the warming table that the oxygen tent had been set up on and he was holding Bronx's little hand through a small open spot in the bottom of the tent. It was so scary to see my baby like that. I had no idea what condition he was in, the nurses hadn't really explained that much to Matt, and he was in as much shock as I was so whatever little they had told him hadn't made much sense. I sent Matt back to our room a short while later to sleep while I stayed with our new little miracle.

We took turns all through that night staying with Bronx while one of us tried to sleep back in the hospital room. Matt slept a little, I didn't sleep at all until the last night of our stay and that was Ambien-induced. I still don't know how anyone ever sleeps in a hospital. It seems impossible to me.

The nursery was full of babies that first night. Bronx was on one side of the room in his little tent, while the other babies were all in regular bassinets on the opposite side of the nursery. The other babies were all at or near term, all breathing regular room air. Those babies were being picked up and held by the nurses and the only reason they were in the nursery was because their mothers had chosen to send them there so they could sleep. Bronx had to stay at 30% oxygen (room air is 21%) so he couldn't come out of the tent. We couldn't pick him up, or feed him or change his diaper. All we could do is sit with him and hold his hand and hope he would pull through soon.

It was awful. The doctor came to check on him several times and it seemed like his breathing was pretty much staying the same. That was bad. His body was working way too hard to keep his lungs full of air and pretty soon there was talk of transporting him to a NICU at another hospital 45 minutes away. The hospital I delivered at didn't have a NICU and there wasn't much left they could do. The doctor said he would check on him one last time and if there was no improvement in the baby's breathing, then he would order the transport either via ambulance or helicopter. I found out a little later that almost all 35 weekers get transported to the other hospital. Matt and I were really starting to freak out. The transport would mean that a team of paramedics would take the baby to another hospital and Matt would not be able to ride along. He would have to do the 45 minute drive separately. And I would be stuck at the hospital alone for another two days or so until I was discharged. It was a nightmare to even think about.

Thankfully, that never happened. Even though the transport orders were written up and ready to go, Bronx never had to make the trip. When the doctor came back early that Thursday afternoon, he was amazed that the baby's breathing had improved enough for him to stay. Bronx's lungs were slowly adjusting to life outside the womb. He had even had a minor setback earlier that morning when my OB came into the nursery and noticed that the oxygen in Bronx's tent was at 22%. He commented that Bronx must be really doing well for the nurses to wean him down so close to room air so fast. Matt and I thought this was strange. None of the nurses had mentioned lowering his oxygen during their visits through the night and we had not seen them adjust anything. So we asked. That's when the nurse discovered that the oxygen tube had fallen out of the back of his tent. Who knows how long that had been going on. She fixed it and his monitors started looking a little better.

Turns out he just needed a little more time transitioning from my belly to the outside world. His breathing kept improving, so later on that night one of the nurses decided to keep the bottom half of his tent open after a diaper change. She didn't have any orders from the doctor to do this, but she said we could try it and if he didn't do so well we could put the tent back down completely. We went along with it because we were so anxious to get him the heck out of there. It could be hours before the doctor got around to trying this or anything else. So, the nurse left the tent open for a good hour or so. After that, she completely opened the bottom half of the tent. He did fine with that for another hour, so she pulled him out of tent completely and let him lay on the warming table for awhile. His respiration rate was normal and he was oxygenating well, so she called the doctor.

"What did you call me brag?" The doctor asked when she called. He was impressed and a little surprised by Bronx's progress, so he gave the okay for Bronx to be picked up and held and I finally had permission to try feeding him. Matt and I were thrilled. I had only been able to hold him for a few minutes after the birth and Matt had not been allowed to hold the baby at all. So, finally after 20-some hours of waiting, my husband was finally able to hold his son for the first time.

It was so nice to be able to see his little face without the thick plastic from the tent in the way. The plastic made it hard to get a good look at him, especially because it would frequently get fogged up from all the humidity building up inside the tent. After Matt held him for awhile he passed him over to me and I fed him for the first time. He ate like a champ, so the doctor was called again. He gave the okay for Bronx to be moved to a normal bassinet in our room. As long as he stayed on the monitors.

That monitor turned out to be a lot more trouble than we thought. It was hypersensitive, so it kept going off constantly. The first few times we freaked, thinking our baby was in some sort of terrible danger (even though he looked just fine) and we hit the call button and asked for a nurse. Eventually, his monitor was switched out to one that didn't go off every five seconds and all was good.

Then, the last night of our stay, the nurses informed us that because Bronx was so small he would have to pass a car seat test. This meant that he would have to go to the nursery again and sit in his car seat for 90 minutes while hooked to the monitors. If all his monitors stayed normal, he would be allowed to come home with us on Saturday morning when I was being discharged. If he failed the test, he would need to be sent home in a special car seat that allows the baby to lie completely flat. We weren't allowed to go with him while he was taking the car seat test because the nursery was too crowded (it seems like everyone had a baby that weekend.) He passed the car seat test, and we were pretty confident that Bronx would be coming with us when we left the hospital the next morning. The only thing that was up in the air now was whether or not he would be sent home on the monitors.

Our confidence was a little shaken the next morning. Matt went off to work for a few hours before I was to be discharged and I started packing up all of our stuff. A nurse came in to check Bronx and she told me that she could hear a little bit of an irregularity in his heart. She said that the monitors were picking it up too. So now Bronx's homecoming was up in the air again. If the doctor agreed with the nurse's findings, Bronx would have to either undergo an echocardiogram or an EKG to determine what was causing the irregularity. I told the nurse that I had undergone a fetal echocardiogram at 22 weeks and I knew from those results that the baby did not have any structural defects with his heart. I told myself that over and over while I waited for someone to come to my room to take Bronx for the tests. The only person that came was the doctor, who gave him a clean bill of health. He said his heart sounded fine, his breathing was good and he could come home!

The nurse came and cleaned him up for us so we could put his going home outfit on. They wanted to stabilize his breathing, so they didn't clean him up completely after he was born, they just wiped him off a little. There was still goop matted in his hair! Poor kid.

After that, the nurse took out his I.V. (which took up his entire arm because it had to be immobilized with a splint so he couldn't accidentally pull it out) and she removed his monitors. That was a horrible experience. The probes on his chest were super sticky and they pulled his skin as she was taking them off.

Once the wires were off, the hospital photographer came and took his first professional portraits. Finally! I felt bad because she had stopped in our room on Thursday and I told her that he was in an oxygen tent, so he couldn't be photographed. Then Friday she stopped in again and I had to explain that he was on the monitors, so we still weren't ready. Saturday morning she came in and I had to tell her to come back after he was taken off the monitors. I'm so glad she was able to take his picture before we left. We used one of the shots on the birth annoucement and it turned out beautiful. I think he looks so angelic.

When we were done with the pictures, we dressed him up in his going home outfit. We had brought an outfit with us that I had picked up months ago, but it was newborn size. Way too big. So, while we were still in the hospital, I sent Matt out to pick up a preemie outfit for the baby. We dressed him in that, (and it was even a little big!) and we loaded him up in the carseat for his first ride home.

On the way home that day, we stopped and bought every preemie outfit in town. Sorry to all those naked preemies born after Bronx!

Welcome to the World!

Baby Names - Name Badge Ticker

He's finally here! Baby Bronx was born on August 13, 2009 at 12:11 a.m. He weighed in at 4 lbs 13 oz and was 17 1/2 inches long. I'll be posting his birth story on here soon, so check back to read about the wild roller coaster ride that we got on by surprise Wednesday night.

Skinny Little (Pregnant!) Bitch

Update 6/2011: This post is now part of Rockin’ the Bump sponsored by Things I Can’t Say.

I have to admit, even though I have been absolutely miserable with this pregnancy, I have had one thing to gloat about. I am the skinny pregnant chick. It used to be just a myth that such a creature exists, but then Angelina Jolie and Nicole Richie started waddling around Tinseltown with baby bellies protruding from their stick-thin frames. Alas, the skinny pregnant chick was real. Well, at least as real as Hollywood.

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The proof is in the picture: This is me 12 days before giving birth to Bronx.

Ah, but it is real. While I am no anerexic-prego, I have managed to stay surprisingly slim.
The best part about this? I haven't had to go near maternity clothes. At 8 months pregnant, I am wearing a size 3 in Hollister shorts. Not stretchy gym shorts either. Regular shorts. And I still have extra room in them. I know how absurd this is because when the sales girl helped me find them she thought that I was insane to ask for such a size. Imagine her surprise when I walked out of the fitting room and went straight to the rack to grab three more pairs in other colors. I'm sure that she, like a ton of other regular-sized women in America, hate me.

I guess I was in pregnancy delusion for awhile. I didn't realize that I was the Skinny Pregnant Chick (or S.P.C.) until just a few short weeks ago. Sure, I got a bit of a clue after the Hollister incident. But even after that, I still felt like I was huge. An extra nineteen pounds on anybody feels huge.

Little did I know what real pregnant people looked like. Up until now, my only real references for this sort of thing were straight out of celebrity magazines. So now we're back to those images of Nicole Richie.

Ah, then came Kamryn's Sibling Class at the hospital.

There I was, for the first time in my life, in a room with women who were just as pregnant or more pregnant than I was. Looking around the room, I slowly began to notice that I was the smallest one there. By a landslide.

That day, I finally realized why maternity clothes don't fit me right. Most pregnant people gain weight everywhere, not just in their bellies. And now I don't feel so jealous of those women who brag about never having morning sickness or any of the other annoying issues that I've had to deal with during pregnancy. I bet none of them could fit into a size small in their last trimester.

I hope this gives all of you girls out there who are thinking about having a baby, but are letting your vanity get in the way, worried that it will wreak havoc on your body, a tiny glimmer of hope.

If that doesn't help, try and remember this:
NOBODY looks good during or after labor. Trust me, you won't care.

Early Arrival?

It's been awhile since I've updated because we haven't had any other news about the baby. We've been waiting and waiting for our 32 week appointment so we could see what was going on with all the issues I've been having this time around. That appointment finally came today. We had an ultrasound, and the tech determined that the placenta has moved out of the way. Yay! That's one less thing to worry about. The baby is measuring about a week smaller than where I'm at, but his growth rate is still normal. More good news, since we've been worried about him becoming too large because of the gestational diabetes.

We were caught by surprise when we saw the doctor after the ultrasound and he explained what we're going to be doing in the weeks ahead. In two weeks, I go back for a regular prenatal appointment. In four weeks, I am having another ultrasound to measure the baby's growth again. Sometime during one of those appointments, I am also scheduled for a non-stress test, to determine how the baby is doing. Then, at 37 weeks (which is exactly 5 weeks from now), the doctor wants to do an amniocentesis to check the baby's lung development. For those of you who don't know, an amniocentesis is a procedure where they draw amniotic fluid from around the baby out of my belly through a super-duper long needle. I don't have a problem with needles (I used to be a phlebotomist!) but this even scares my socks off. If his lungs look good when the results come back, then they want to induce labor. So it looks like the baby will be here sometime at the end of August rather than September.

I'm a little freaked out by this, because I really wanted to avoid an induction at all costs. However, the doctor thinks that it is medically necessary to do this because of the risks associated with the diabetes.

I guess that means we're going to meet our little guy in a little over a month now, versus two! We can't wait to see him!

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These are the sonograms that were taken at today's ultrasound. I wish they had turned out better, but they ended up being really blurry because he wouldn't hold still. He's always moving around like crazy in there and today was not an exception at all. It also didn't help that he kept blocking his face with his little hands, so it was hard to get a decent shot. The ultrasound tech was happy when she finally got a picture where you could at least make out an eye socket, so I guess we'll have to be happy with that since we're not going to have to wait too much longer to see him in person.

That reminds me, I should probably get started on packing that darn hospital bag...

Pass Me the Splenda.

It's been a busy few weeks. I have had some major issues adjusting to this stupid new diabetic-friendly diet (Does everything have to be carb?!) and my husband is on the other side of the world for over two weeks (Who takes a 16-day vacation?) And to top it all off, he had to be gone for his birthday, my birthday, Father's Day and the 4th of July. So here I am, trying not to go crazy with a big belly and a psychotic toddler.

It gets worse. I took Kamryn to the pool yesterday and I only put sunscreen on him. Looking at my now blistering red shoulders, I'd say that was a pretty stupid move. It took me all morning to find the aloe vera. And then there are the endless finger sticks and insulin injections, which only seem to keep my blood sugar in check every once in a while. Oh, and I'm sick of Coke Zero.

I'm trying my best to hold it together. It's only sorta working at this point.

I hope the Shaolin training he's getting in China (what the hell does he think he's going to be, a ninja?) prepares him for the ass whooping he's going to get when he gets back.

Blood Troubles.

I got a phone call this morning from my doctor's office about the results from Wednesday's tests, and it isn't so good. I was expecting everything to come back normal, because it usually does. This time, it didn't. The nurse told me that my CBC test came back low. This means that I have lower than normal hemogloblin levels, so they are putting me on some sort of medication for that immediately. From what I have Googled so far, this means that I'm anemic. Maybe that explains why I'm always so wiped out and dizzy.

Oh, but that's not all. The nurse went on to tell me that my glucose screen didn't go so well either. A normal 1-hour screen should be at about 135, and I had a 190. The nurse told me that I should be concerned about gestational diabetes at this point. So, now I have an appointment later on today at the hospital's diabetic couseling center to meet with a nurse and a nutritionist to try to help manage my blood sugar levels. What a mess.

I'll post more after my appointment today. Hopefully then I'll have a better idea of what the heck is going on with all of this.

Never Hire an Attractive Nanny...or OB/GYN.

The doctor's appointment went by fast yesterday. We finally met the new doctor that was added to the practice after Kamryn's arrival, and she looks just like that actress from Coyote Ugly and Cheaper by the Dozen, except the doctor looks like she has a really good tan. Just in case you don't have a crazy movie obsession like my husband and I, I've provided a visual aid of said actress, Piper Perabo.

This wasn't supposed to be a problem, until I pointed out the uncanny resemblance to my husband. He replied with this: "Yeah, I know. She's pretty hot. I'd do her. You know, if I WERE SINGLE and if she..." Okay, blah blah, whatever. I stopped listening at this point because a horrifying possibility had dawned on me at that moment.

What if SHE was the doctor on call when I delivered?

Oh No! Images of me in labor, all sweaty and contorted with pain while pushing a baby out of my nether regions flashed through my head. While my husband standing at my beside, is undressing the sexy doctor in his mind. What an FML moment.

Then, as I tried to burn that visual out of my brain forever, I realized that I have only a one-in-three chance of having that particular doctor during the delivery, and even if she is the one on call, I'm sure Matt will be way too distracted with the baby and the birth to even think twice about what kind of underwear the doctor is wearing underneath her white coat. Okay, moving on...

Anyways, I had my glucose screening lab drawn and the results should be back by Monday. I also found out that they aren't planning on checking my placenta until later on (around the 32nd week) because I haven't had any more bleeding. No one seems all that concerned about it, so I'm guessing everything is probably okay at this point. And now that I'm at 26 weeks, I have to start going to the doctor every two weeks. Yay! We're at the homestretch!

My Lovely Baby Bump

Here it is, my most recent belly photo, taken at 24 weeks.

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I also have a new post all set up for when we announce the baby's name, which will be revealed at a later time (Probably after his birth, so give it about 3 more months. I know we've been slacking on the name thing this time around, but we have a toddler who is very distracting.) There is also a doctor's appointment coming up this Wednesday, where hopefully we will get an update on the placenta issue. And I have my glucose screen that day. Looking forward to fasting before I have to chug a bottle of liquified orange sugar...and then I get my blood drawn. Believe me, it's not as fun as it sounds.

In other news, the nursery is pretty much completed. I have two remaining wall decorations that I can't figure out what to do with, but other than that, it's done. Check it out:

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copyright-suburban princess diaires
copyright-suburban princess diaires
copyright-suburban princess diaires
copyright-suburban princess diaires

Now that the kids' rooms are done, I'm focusing on getting things together for the big trip to the hospital. I just ordered a new robe and some nursing bracelets online and I'm working on getting some cute and comfortable pajamas for after the delivery.

On a completely different note, we took Kamryn to the portrait studio today to have his 2-year photos taken. This was our second attempt. We overbooked ourselves last weekend and had to take him to his appointment without a nap. Needless to say, he wouldn't cooperate. We made sure he got a full nap in this time around, but it was still almost impossible to get him to sit still long enough for the photographer to get a decent shot. Getting him to smile AND sit still was a miracle. We ended up with a total of three good poses out of seven. That's right, in a 45 minute session Kamryn only had seven frames. Hopefully, he'll be able to sit still a little longer when we get our family portrait done in October.

I won't have his new pictures for another few weeks, so until then amuse yourselves with these snapshots of the lil' guy with a bucket on his head.

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copyright-suburban princess diaires

He is his father's son. That's for sure.
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