mindless woman, mindless ramblings

Here’s my utterly mindless recap of the past couple of weeks sung to the tune of “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” So what if the quantities of all the items don’t go along with the all of the corresponding days of Christmas with the song (the 7th day of Christmas = 7 ladies dancing and all that jazz). I did my best. I’m sure you’ll all get the point. And another warning – this is painfully long. You might wanna go take that potty break or get something to drink before you start reading.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to meeee…one football player drumming.
Jaiden has been football crazy the past few months and in addition, the only thing he really specifically asked for this year was a drum set. Put the two together and you get:

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to meeee…tachycardia and a night’s stay in L&D.
Is there some unwritten rule somewhere that at least once in their pregnancies surrogates have to spend at least one unexpected night in Labor and Delivery? On December 15 I stayed late at work for a retirement party for one of my assistant principals. As I was casually walking from the office to the cafeteria,  my heart just took off as if I had been running sprints down the hallways. I eventually had the nurse take my blood pressure and pulse. My pressure was slightly elevated and my pulse was racing at 140 for no apparent reason. I had Leticia drive me home, and on the way I spoke with a clueless on-call nurse from my doctor’s office and made the decision to just go to the ER to be safe. Frank and I then made the 45-minute drive into Savannah. By then, I could tell that my heart rate was starting to go down even though it was still rapid.

I called Steph and Terry right as we got on the road. I hated having to call and worry them. They were getting ready to go to a Christmas party, and instead they had to meet me at the hospital. I did my best to reassure them that everything felt okay with Tony; he was squirming around and I didn’t feel anything that could even remotely be described as contractions. Though I know she had to have felt some concern for her baby, Stephanie almost refused to hear about that- she wanted know how I was doing and was concerned about me.

The four of us arrived at the hospital at the same time. Steph and Terry were all decked out in their festive party clothes and believe it or not, I was as bubbly as I usually am and really wasn’t all that worried. They sent us straight up to L&D. Only one person was allowed back in triage with me and I chose for Stephanie to come. The guys hung out in the waiting area snoozing and watching TV, interrupted only by either me or Steph calling to give them updates.

We spent three hours in triage with me hooked up to the monitors, which showed no contractions and a very active Ducky. My blood pressure and heart rate gradually decreased into perfectly acceptable levels. The on-call doctor, a colleague of Dr. Edwards, decided to keep me for observation for two reasons – Tony showed some slight heart decelerations for about 20 minutes (which seemed to stop after I drank some water), and she wanted me to have a consult in the morning with a cardiologist. We were also supposed to have an ultrasound in the morning. We made the decision that Stephanie would stay with me that night (on the oh-so-cozy pull-out chair/bed), and our menfolk would go home, get some rest, and make it back to the hospital in the morning in time for the 8 am ultrasound. To try to make what’s turning into a long story shorter, here’s a mindless ramble about the rest of the visit:

*Tony wouldn’t sit still and kept hiding from the monitor; therefore, every 30-40 minutes the nurse had to come readjust the straps. This meant two things – I got nearly no sleep, and Stephanie managed to see nearly every body part that has never seen the light of sun.

*At midnight an ultrasound tech came in to do the Level II ultrasound. We were upset that they came so early and Terry had to miss it, but it was still fun to get such a long look at Tony. The ultrasound lasted an hour and though it was fun, both Steph and I had a hard time staying awake for it throughout the duration. He seems to have Terry’s Italian nose.

*Dr. Blohm (our RE) has a nurse named Bridget who works part-time assisting with his egg retrievals. Stephanie vaguely remembers Bridget from her egg retrieval and I had never met her. Her full-time job is as an L&D nurse, so my OB, Dr. Edwards, has worked with her many times over the years and are good friends. As we’ve heard several times through Edwards, Bridget is VERY excited about our journey and has already “claimed” us as hers when we deliver in March. Well, our morning nurse turned out to be Bridget. When she came in at 7 am to introduce herself (and readjust the monitor yet again), I once again had to “identify” who was who when she said to me, “Your baby just won’t sit still, I’ve heard.” I said, pointing, “That’s Stephanie and SHE’S the mom – I’m just the babysitter.” Bridget stopped, turned around and looked at Steph and said, “Stephanie S****?),” as the realization of who we were dawned on her. It dawned on Steph and I at the same time who Bridget was. That was pretty fun. She’s a great nurse and I know I’ll feel very comfortable with her as I’m being hacked into on March 26. Steph and I were somewhat celebrities. All the nurses came in to see how we were and asked us all sorts of questions about surrogacy in general and our journey specifically. And ALL of them said they want to be sure that they’re on staff the day we deliver.

*Okay for real- this is the end VERY short. The guys arrived at the same time around 8am. We hung out for a while eating donuts and laughing. The nurses said I could finally come off of the monitors and take a shower. Steph and Terry left the room for a bit to get some air and walk around while I got cleaned up. I called them back (and they returned with a basket of flowers and a little statue of an angel holding a baby for me)when the cardiologist came in, who just happened to be Dr. Edwards’ fathers’ cardiologist. He was completely enthralled about the surrogacy and I think we spent more time talking about that than we did about my heart! He said that there really was no explanation for my heart racing the way it did and that it’s common in pregnant women. He didn’t feel that it was anything to be overly concerned about, and that if it was to happen again, I just needed to lie down and rest then call his office for an appointment, where he would give me an event monitor to try to catch and record the next episode if there was one. We were discharged (finally), and aside from being very tired from the lack of sleep, I felt wonderful.

*The best part of the whole thing was that Stephanie got to feel Tony move for the first time. The week before, Steph, Terry, and Lauren all made a trip out to my house in the hopes that they’d feel their baby move. Tony the Turd decided that he wasn’t going to cooperate through the whole three hours. Not one thump was felt on the outside. In the hospital, Steph and I joked that Tony made my heart race in effort to see his Mom and Dad again so that he could make his presence known to them. We were still in triage when he started his nightly active phase at 9pm. I called Stephanie over to my side and wedged her fingers between the straps of the monitors. After a moment, Tony let out a mighty thump and several smaller ones right behind it. If only I had the words to describe the sheer joy and surprise when Stephanie’s big blue eyes welled up with tears as she exclaimed, “Oh my God! That’s my baby in there! We’re really having a baby!” as if after all these months and ultrasounds and belly growth she really, finally just realized that in a few short months, she’ll be a mom again and Terry will be a father for the first time. That look on her face and the excitement and joy and happy tears shed as she called Terry in the waiting room – those are the things that makes this all worth it and make surrogacy the beautiful thing that it is.

Okay…back to the song (finally)…

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to meee…23 strangers hovering over me.
While we’re on the topic of freak pregnancy health events, we may as well discuss my passing out on the 23rd. I took the twins and Jordan with me to buy Frank’s Christmas gifts. I didn’t do a lot of walking because I knew exactly which two gifts to purchase in two different stores that were on the same strip in the shopping plaza. The kids and I were in Rhino video game store waiting in a ridiculously long, slow-moving line to get the one game that Frank asked for. It was a sweltering 80 degrees outside that day and I’m sure it was even hotter in the crowded store. Despite the wait, the kids were doing exceptionally well behavior-wise. Suddenly, I began to sweat and felt very dizzy and had a general feeling of unease. Other people in line (that went to the back of the small, sardine-packed store) were fanning themselves so I felt somewhat relieved that it wasn’t just me.

After another five minutes we were third in line, but close enough to reach the end of the long checkout counter. I leaned against the end of it for support because that hot and flushed feeling started to increase. I began to think crazy thoughts like “Please God, don’t let me embarrass myself by passing out, and should you find it necessary to make me take an involuntary nap, please keep my shirt firmly secure around the girth of my belly so as not to be further embarrassed by my boobs being on vulgar display in this way-too-small bra… If I pass out, hopefully the kids won’t get squashed under me because they’ll never be able to escape the gravitational pull force of my ginormous body holding them firmly to the ground.” Obviously I wasn’t thinking too rationally but somewhere inside I knew I was going down. I squatted down for a minute, and when I stood up the room started spinning. The last semi-rational thought I remember having was “TIMBEEEEEERRR!!!” and the next thing I knew, I could hear a cacophony of simultaneous yells coming from what seemed to be a distant, dark cave:

SOMEONE CALL 911!    HOLY SHIT, SHE’S PREGNANT!!! IS SHE IN LABOR???    IS SHE BREATHING???   I HEARD HER SAY SHE WAS HOT!   SOMEONE GET A CHAIR!!!   SHOULD I GO GET HER SOME WATER?   YEAH, GO GET SOME WATER!!!    SHE’S BREATHING, THANK GOD!  

And in small, non-panicked, mature, matter-of-fact voices, I heard Kyra, Jaiden, and Jordan have this conversation:

Kyra: I think she’s just too hot. What do you think, brothers?
Jaiden: Perhaps we should fan her.
Jordan: Yeah, let’s use the candy.

The kids had each picked out a tube of candy or gum to give to Frank, and when I opened my eyes, I could see the three of them standing over me madly waving the plastic, candy-filled cylinders over me in an attempt to cool me off. God bless them.

Also hovering over me seemed to be every store patron and employee. It’s funny; you’d think that with all those eyes staring down at me (with blessedly unexposed boobs), I’d be overcome with that embarrassment that I had previously anticipated. The reality is that I was more embarrassed before I hit the deck and was oddly relaxed afterwards. Once I was down there I thought to myself, “Well hell, I’m down here now and I can’t do anything about it, so I might as well just stay here and take a little rest because I was quite tired any-damned-way. Your boobs are still on lockdown – be thankful for that.” A couple of minutes later I felt stable enough to sit up. Several people helped me up, then helped me sit in the folding chair that had been brought out for me. Just then, a teenage skater kid ran back inside with a cool bottle of water that he’d purchased for me from an adjoining restaurant. We checked out a few minutes later (from the safety of my trusty folding chair), then noticed that just as I was getting my change, EMS arrived.

The EMT’s escorted me and the kids outside as I thanked everyone in the store for their help and concern. The kids thought it was cool to see the inside of an ambulance and only looked mildy worried when the techs suggested that they take me to the hospital. My pulse, blood pressure, heart rate, and blood sugar were all normal and nothing funny was going on with Tony (other than the fact that he was trying to kick the freshly-consumed water from my bladder). Adding that to the fact that I had my kids with me, I declined being whisked away back to Savannah, but promised to call my doctor and if he suggested I go, then I would have Frank take me. And I promised not to drive home. I signed the “acting against medical advise” consent forms gathered the tribe, then walked back to the van to wait for my sister to come pick us up.

I called the on-call nurse with Edwards’ office and got Patty, a nurse whose capabilities I trust a whole lot more than the clueless one I’d spoken to the week before. She said that passing out is just “one of those pregnancy things” and happens from time to time and since all of my stats were normal, I was free to go home and she did not think that a trip back to L&D was necessary. I was given strict instructions to do nothing but rest for the remainder of the day and to eat every two hours just in case the culprit of my passing out was low blood sugar, and was also instructed to call her back and head to the hospital if anything with my heart happened or if I passed out again.

Chanel came to pick us up shortly thereafter and I spent the rest of the day in bed working the preggo card like nobody’s business. Passing out while under the influence of pregnancy apparently has positive perks. Say that five times fast.

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to meee…two twinners dancing.
The week before school got out for Winter Break, I took the twins to their first school dance:
   
Jaiden busting a funky move….                        

 
and Kyra getting her unadulturated groove on…

and no dance would be complete without the Funky Chicken:

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to meee…a trip to see the other Rainbow Baby.
Okay, so this really happened late November. I finally managed to make it to an Atlanta Peach Meet. Peach Meets are when members of the Georgia surrogacy community (or anyone who happens to be in the area) get together just to hang out. Most of us are online acquaintances, but we manage to get together every few months or so.

Catherine, my surro-buddy who lives in the Savannah area and I (with Kaelyn in tow) made the trip up to Atlanta. I was so excited to see Sarah and the family again. Ella is so HUGE in comparison to Kaelyn, who is two months her senior. Katie was hilarious with her toothless “pumpkin” grin. Here are a few pics from the Peach Meet lunch at the Olive Garden:

Ella: They call me Moo-shoo. I know the Zen secret of the Silent Hand of Stealth. Wanna fight? Fight me!
Kaelyn: Oh no you DIDN’T! There ain’t nothin’ between us but space and opportunity, so STEP!

 Ella: I was just kidding. These are really the Confucian Fingers of Friendship.
Kaelyn: Mmmmhmmm…I knew you were really just a softie…

…and I apologize for sticking my tongue out at your mom.

 
Ella: That’s okay, you’re still my Rainbow buddy!
Kaeyln: Yeah, you’re pretty okay, too! 

 

 On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to meee…the girls in matching pj’s and a three-year old in tighty Spideys.
Leticia and Terry (the kids’ Godparents) came over Christmas Eve to give the kids their yearly Christmas pj’s. The girls got adorable matching pj’s, complete with robes and slippers, Jordan got his favorite Spiderman, and Jaiden got Superman pj’s with a detachable cape. I didn’t manage to snap a picture of him, probably because he was flying around somewhere trying to save the world.  
 

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to meee…six collections of bath and shower soaps.
Between my students and a coworker at school and gifts from family, I received six complete sets of bath and shower stuff. Either they all want me to slow down and relax, or they’re trying to drop some serious hints.

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to meee…FIIIIIIIIIVVE BELLY PIIIIIIICS!
Okay, so these belly pics are really for you, but one hint that I have picked up on from Stephanie is that I need to put a few belly pics up here. Ugly 7am pics and stretch marks ahead – proceed with caution:
 
23 weeks, 1 day pregnant

I sent these to Stephanie and Terry on Christmas morning, and they’ve now made the circuit among their family and friends:
 

My sister Danielle did the writing and my Mom drew the Christmas tree. Everyone had a whack at drawing that tree and we went through a ton of baby wipes trying to see who had the best one. When it was determined that Mom’s was the best, she drew it for a second time, but only after I kissed butt and apologized profusely for talking so bad about the first one.

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to meee…a zillion loads of dirty laundry.
Honestly – I stopped counting after I got to the eleventeenth load. Frank is good at a lot of things house-related, but laundry is just not one of them. He does enough to keep us afloat and enough to keep the kids out of outfits that repeat every three days, but laundry has a way of magically appearing faster than he manages to keep up with it. The result- mountains of dirty clothes that don’t get washed until I have a block of time off to devote the time and energy required to go on a washing marathon. I washed clothes for five days straight, day in and day out. The very last two loads were nothing but white socks – that’s how much freakin’ laundry there was. Once everything was washed, dried, folded, and put away, I couldn’t help but feel a bit like Zelda Rubenstein, who played the chubby little psychic named Tangina who had exorcised the demons from the poltergeist-ridden house built upon the ancient Indian burial grounds: “This house….is clee-ah”. From here on out, Frank should only have to do one measly load of laundry per day to keep my house “clear” from haunting dirty laundry.  I’ve already told him that by the time I get home from work, the laundry from the day before should already be folded and put away. If not, I’ll be the one who turns into a possessed demon and there will be much hell to pay. A bucket of holy water, a stack of Bibles blessed by the Pope himself, and all the Navajo peyote-induced hoo-doo in the world won’t stop the ungodly wrath that will befall Frank should he not be a good boy and do as he was instructed. Amen.

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to meee…a crate of projects waiting to be graded.
I brought them home with the intent to have them graded well before it was time to return to work on January 2nd, which is tomorrow. As of yet, they’re still in the van, having never left the back seat where they were placed. Damned that damned laundry. I guess you know what will keep me busy once I get finished with this epic journal entry.

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to meee…two fuzzy kittens,
who we’ve named Rex-Kwan-Do, AKA Rex (Napoleon Dynamite fans will understand – “Bow to your sensai!!!”), because Rex started off as an ornery little booger who wanted nothing more than to scratch the living daylights out of my poor dog Spunky, and the other is Hermione (there are more Harry Potter fans than Napoleon Dynamite fans so that one should be easy). They’re identical grey tabbies from the same inbred litter, courtesy of my mom’s Feline Reproductive Firm present in her apartment. Rex and Hermione brought the cat population in her apartment up to 9, thereby prompting her to give away our two and five others to other families. Rex and Hermione have made welcome additions, and spend their days either terrorizing each other or snuggled up on whichever person is sitting or laying still enough for them to cozy up to.

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to meee…a pair of awesome IP’s (intended parents for you non-surrogacy people).

It’s the first day of 2007 and the countdown is on…just 84 days to go until you’re really holding your baby. I hope these last three months go by just as fast as the past year has!