tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28933081373286651202024-02-07T05:12:47.758-08:00That was the planWhen we planned on having a baby, we surely didn't plan on all of thisMs. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.comBlogger171125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-11813619657369844332011-07-25T14:27:00.000-07:002011-07-25T14:58:29.644-07:00Here's Where the Story Ends<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTiQmrektt0KUlRJJRNYGST3Wa9_hrz1x4eTygWMnhskrUA0URgpyKtcbPz74kcVwiN_YiVxn60B5Xyzgbb_OA7YJuUe3RAbnc4KB6lqqQ-aNaP5XyKdDjAqUlTmugna08UWfOZEEbp0wZ/s1600/Fourth+of+July+2011.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633411582183074722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTiQmrektt0KUlRJJRNYGST3Wa9_hrz1x4eTygWMnhskrUA0URgpyKtcbPz74kcVwiN_YiVxn60B5Xyzgbb_OA7YJuUe3RAbnc4KB6lqqQ-aNaP5XyKdDjAqUlTmugna08UWfOZEEbp0wZ/s320/Fourth+of+July+2011.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">Yesterday, the very reason this blog was conceived told me that she - and I quote - <em>"needed her privacy"</em> (ahem) - while using the bathroom.</span><br /></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">Her younger sister - the "baby" is pulling herself up to stand at nine months and crawled at seven.</span><br /><br /></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">Life with two young children, a thriving business, a solid marriage, frequent jaunts into the mountains and a sputtering-but-still-alive yoga practice has a decidedly chaotic hum to it. A much different hum from when I started writing here after suffering miscarriages and wanting so desperately to start a family.</span><br /><br /></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">I've meant to start another blog but haven't found the time and inclination. I still may concoct something and, if so, will post the link here in case any one of my former blog friends stumbles upon it and cares to see what we're up to.</span><br /></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">Until then, it is time to close this chapter.</span><br /></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">In closing I want to let all those who I connected with on this journey - in this medium - how much that connection meant to me. How grateful I was and am to have it in my life. I think about many of you on a daily basis.</span><br /></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">I once counseled a friend who was trying to conceive that she <em>had</em> to believe she would be a mother one day. How everyone I knew - and there were many of you! - who was struggled is now a mother. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">But how <em>hard</em> that was for me to do. I believed the worst would come from my failure to hold on to a pregnancy. And now only the best has come - well, mostly the best. (I will try to remind myself of that the next time both girls are going off simultaneously.)</span></div><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">Those were some hard lessons learned. But I truly believe that those very lessons of belief, trust and patience - mostly the patience! - are helping me in my journey to become the mother I want to be for my two lively girls.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">Speaking of, to close is the photo of Missy (Piper) at 3 and Sissy (Sammie) at 8 months on Independence Day 2011.</span></div><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Many happy days to each of you. All my love and support to you on your momma-hood journey.</span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">xoxo,</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Ms. Planner<br /><br /></div></span>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-33140741404750865192011-03-15T21:42:00.000-07:002011-03-15T22:07:50.728-07:00I promise. It is coming.<div><span style="font-family:verdana;">The new blog, that is. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">I've been designing it over and over in my mind. I hope to find more inspiration from some upcoming trips to the mountain. Yay! </span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">Sammi is 4 months and ready for mountain daycare. Piper has taken the big chair lift up several times already this season with Cowboy. Momma is ready and chomping at the bit to get up on snow.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">An aside, when not planning my new blog in my head, I am planning how I will manage getting two wee ones up and out to mountain daycare by myself since daddy has to boot up for ski patrol at 7 AM sharp. Goes something like, "<em>Nurse Sammi in camper at 8:00 AM. Haul both girls and their stuff to mountain daycare from camper. Give self 30 minutes. Could take an hour. Drop off at daycare. Return to camper. Get my gear. Ski until 11. Nurse Sammi. Get Piper. Take a couple of runs with Piper. Get requisite hot cocoa. Pick up Sammi at 1. Wait! How do I get a baby in the Ergo, a three year old, their gear, my skis and Piper's skis back to the camper? Frick</em>!" </span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">I haven't had the balls to calculate how much we will pay in daycare fees so that I can ski for about an hour-and-a-half. I think it comes down to a dollar a minute.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">An investment in the future, I guess.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">In the meantime, here is a blurry photo of Sammi at 4 months. Snot dripping from nose (oh, the poor second child - no time for carefully crafted photos) included. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584539716210977570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcaKODRLMTrcg32rjbosXLA77cVS3-Gg8VNRFoXZ-NntFzdnyi8SXPDbZTs5Y9jprsux4h84Qc5Eu-CRxWMejdlPh0FP3p8L_I7qR5uaYIkoyqAs1V8z5ncT2_vBhlmqvTXr1M7B_vnSXF/s320/4+months.jpg" /><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-53168399259121586312011-01-03T14:31:00.000-08:002011-01-03T14:44:21.909-08:00Milk does not do this body good<span style="font-family:verdana;">What is that old saying?<br /><br />Something about making a plan and giving the Universe or God or whomever a laugh.<br /><br />So after smuggly congratulating myself that I put up tons of food for the birth of my second child, it appears that said second child has a dairy intolerance. Not an allergy (yet) but she vomits copiously and has troubling digesting, and therefore expelling out the proper end.<br /><br />Of course, nearly everything last thing I put up has cheese or milk in it.<br /><br />But it is so heartbreaking to watch her struggle after I eat a serving of chicken linguine casserole - and I am committed to breast feeding her until two - so I am off the cow for now.<br /><br />If anyone has suggestions for vegan cookbooks or resources or ways to replace items like butter with something else, I am all ears and eyes.<br /><br />Cowboy is going to have fun eating all those lasagnas and chicken pot pies himself!<br /><br />The only upside is how quickly the baby weight is coming off.</span>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-66904524335379740692010-12-20T14:48:00.000-08:002010-12-20T15:06:23.728-08:00Random Market Research - please participate!<span style="font-family:verdana;">One of the things I love most about this blog is my blogroll on the right hand side. I have enjoy immensely watching (and reading) the new blogs that everyone creates as they leave the world of IF and get on with real life.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">It's like the IF blog was only just a glimpse into the otherwise diverse and multi-dimensional lives we all lead. And my life beyond IF belongs to the mountains. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">When we're not in the mountains, we pine for the mountains. The rhythm of our year revolves around snow season. Our friends know not even to call us for weekend dinner plans until May. Others can count on us to jump into the car at a moment's notice for a quick road trip for some good skiing - even with kids in tow.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So I want my new blog to be a place for mountain mommas, even if you're just going to be one for a quick weekend trip to the Rockies. Because being a momma in the mountains takes gumption and planning. And usually a lot of gear.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">What you will find there are gear reviews for the best kid's outdoor products. And tips on introducing kids to the mountains. And musings from the momma of mountain girls and the wife of a ski patroller.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">What you won't find are fleece jester hats for kids. Because those are just plain wrong.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">And because the mountains demand that you never take yourself too seriously in them, I want to call my new blog "Mountain MILF." </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">What do you think? </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Honestly.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">(And if you don't know what a MILF is, please email me.)</span>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-87240359084136207082010-11-23T12:48:00.000-08:002010-11-23T13:05:31.798-08:00"Adorable Little Boys"<span style="font-family:verdana;">It's already snowing in the Pacific Northwest.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I took the girls up to Mount Hood for Sammi's first snow this past Saturday while Cowboy was on ski patrol at Timberline. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I didn't take a photo because - good lord! - hauling around a wee baby in a front pack in a still-too-big down suit AND a toddler in all her snow gear AND all their diaper gear AND assorted practical gear is quite the logistics feat that I haven't cracked the code on yet.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">But there I was practically short-roping both girls up the stairwell: Sammi in the Ergo front pack and Piper on my hip ("<em>Momma, carry you</em>," she said). Both girls are in blue snow suits because I flat out refuse to buy pink outdoor gear. REI and the Patagonia store in Portland - regrettably - don't leave me many options. <em>I</em> don't wear pink in the outdoors. Why should my girls?</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">"<em>Oh, look at those adorable little boys</em>," a women remarked on her way down the stairwell.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I guess I should expect as much when I dress them in blue.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">But it pissed me off. So I am starting my one-woman mission to rid the outdoor industry of gender color stereotypes for children's gear. I'm tired of choosing between pink and blue when I drop a shit-ton of money on quality kid's outdoor gear. Because I will ALWAYS choose blue. Just to make a point.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">For this and so much more outside fun, please stay tuned. I finally have figured out my new blog "voice" as I transition from family-building to family-managing. Just haven't had time to execute yet.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Story of my life these days.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-6580649773498963312010-11-07T10:49:00.000-08:002010-11-07T11:03:29.544-08:00The Newest Little Mountain Girl<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536884554026505986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFCbIFnOKvgLRXWnhtPt9omspNcYQWuZllpjFyzAzbiB1TNdJDxxh-Kf0zoNgutZrzdNCRZv5JiWihQdS_ImDHXDzCH7y58CJ-85IXkXJCRQj1thpd6ICezC1PK_6lZPvpusmgsTBjcaIn/s320/Piper+and+Sammi.jpg" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0lZAkYSp5PNC7iC_9a7edstmutuXTEsaqy6sil0n1tunLCFVqfb6u-PpcrSfDjQuBGoP9fmMFej3vsJ_R9l2NrXRKD6oyuDm6Ts-q0LUFOV8hqthMtJM_CJv4GvEYBOLTDnrNzHPiqcJE/s1600/Sammi+day+2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536882096312664322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0lZAkYSp5PNC7iC_9a7edstmutuXTEsaqy6sil0n1tunLCFVqfb6u-PpcrSfDjQuBGoP9fmMFej3vsJ_R9l2NrXRKD6oyuDm6Ts-q0LUFOV8hqthMtJM_CJv4GvEYBOLTDnrNzHPiqcJE/s320/Sammi+day+2.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Samantha Mohr J.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Tuesday, November 2, 2010 @ 10:07 AM</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">8 lbs (!), 21 inches</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Sammi is our Buddha baby. She's big and chunky and calm (so far). Nursing with no problem and is almost back to her birth weight.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Born the traditional route although I caved and requested (begged for) an epidural when I stalled out at 8 cm for 2 hours. For days following Sammi's birth, I would look at her and marvel at her size and still can't quite believe I delivered such a strapping baby.<br /></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">We are home now and are navigating how to manage it all. Ever so grateful for my parents and Cowboy who are holding down the ship with Missy and household while I get my bearings.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Despite the trepidation and the stitches, I am so happy and blessed. When I started on this journey, I had no idea it would turn out so wonderfully. Now it is my time to just serve my family in gratitude for it all.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-2458791249518245952010-10-30T14:09:00.000-07:002010-10-30T14:29:01.121-07:00End Date<span style="font-family:verdana;">My due date is Nov. 5.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Despite being at 3 cm dilated, daughter #2 has not dropped. My OB estimates that the baby is 7 lbs and she does not want her to get much bigger. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I have a narrow pelvic opening courtesy of 2 lousy tailbone mishaps and there is a genuine issue of a "bigger" baby not making it through.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">As such, we've been asked to come up with three dates next week to schedule an induction. Which means the "p-word" (pitocin), which I had hoped to avoid.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">My OB says there is little risk of a c-section using pitocin on a 2nd baby when the first was delivered via the traditional route. I just really, really, <em>really</em> want a natural childbirth this time around and know that pitocin amplifies the contractions for momma and can stress out the baby. Leading to all sorts of rash decisions in a clutch.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I know this sounds incredibly silly and maybe a bit selfish. However, I am the kind of person who often sets physical goals for herself though, so the desire to deliver naturally is not entirely surprising.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I have vowed to keep a mental image in my head of the obscene amount of the money I wrote in the check to the doctor who performed my epidural the last time, which essentially cost $10 per minute of pain relief.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">In the meantime, I have tried acupressure and acupuncture on the labor points to no avail. In fact, I have tried all the Old Wives methods, save for castor oil. Just can't go there.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Anyone know a good astrology source where I can find the best birthday for my little Scorpio-to-be?</span>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-77530942090561746602010-10-23T15:31:00.000-07:002010-10-23T16:06:50.580-07:00No action yet (sigh)<span style="font-family:verdana;">The moon is full tonight. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The barometer has dropped so that now it is cold and raining. The first snows are predicted in the Cascades.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I have nested to the enth degree: floors cleaned and re-cleaned; rugs rolled up, sent to the cleaners and returned; blinds vacuumed. I even re-arranged the furniture in the living room in an attempt to bring on some labor action. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The freezer (and we have one that is big like a full-size refridgerator in our garage) cannot absorb one more food item. It is stocked to the gills with homemade chicken potpies, lasagnas, and - Missy's favorite - 70 lbs (!) of frozen blueberries from a local orchard. (We go through blueberries in this house like some toddlers roll through string cheese.) That this baby's due date coincided with the final harvests of the season is somewhat to blame. I think I have 12 full chickens and our Thanksgiving turkey in there, too.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The pantry is likewise: shelves of pasta, boxes of Annie's bunny crackers, bags of flour and sugar along with dozens of quarts of applesauce, nectarines, peaches and roasted tomatoes put up in the past 6 weeks.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Everything for baby has been (a) pulled out, (b) laundered, (c) put in its place. All the momma necessities I didn't plan for with Missy - <em>breast milk storage bags? wtf?</em> - are under the counter in the bath.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">My bag is packed. But its contents are much different than the first time. Gone are the ipods, magazines and books. In their place is a breast pump, sterlized bottles for collecting colostorum and warm shirts and hats for the baby. Did I ever mention I forgot to pack clothing for Missy the first time around?</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Everything that I wasn't prepared for with my first baby has been checked off the list.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Everything except for how agonizing and physically painful those last few weeks of pregnancy can be. I am generally not a whiner, least of all about physical pain, but - <em>Good Lord Almighty</em>!</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">By being born at 36 weeks, Missy spared me this final assault on my body. Her little sister, however, seems intent on picking up the slack.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I guess this is a precursor of life to come: what one doesn't teach and prepare me for, the other one will. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>Bring it, girls</em>, I think with a mixture of pleasure and ruefulness.</span>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-50688488187557071822010-10-14T10:52:00.000-07:002010-10-14T11:01:00.810-07:00Waiting, Waiting, Waiting...<span style="font-family:verdana;">I am in my 36th week. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">There is dilation and effacing and all sorts of random OB-speak going on. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Unlike the days before Missy arrived - and I wanted to spend time doing all these things by <em>my</em>self - now I want to spend them as mother and eldest daughter.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">As such, I am insanely jealous that my nanny is outside blowing bubbles with Missy in the early fall sunshine (we still have some sun in the PNW...and it is <em>October</em>!), who is shouting "<em>Bye-bye bubbles. See you next time!,"</em> as each one floats over the back fence into the park.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Working from home is pure bliss. And pure torture sometimes.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-40325280104385974372010-09-23T12:54:00.000-07:002010-09-23T13:17:56.485-07:00Looking Back<span style="font-family:verdana;">What a lame title.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Yesterday I had lunch with a potential partner for my business. She's younger than I, but our lives track in so many ways. She admitted during lunch that she left a monolithic Portland-based sports company in order to start her own company so she and her husband could have flexibility when they started their family.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Only trouble is they have just discovered that they are having trouble starting one.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Sound familiar?</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">For the first time, I - at 34 weeks pregnant with my second - was clearly on the other side of the IF fence. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I tried to commiserate. I am an open book when it comes to our struggles. How timed sex sucks. How hard IF can be on a marriage. How lonely it can seem. How, yes, I too wanted to kick people in the shins when they asked us, "when are you having kids?"</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">But I wanted her to know that - although it doesn't seem so now - if she really wants to be, she WILL be a mom someday. How every last person I "know" who struggled is now a mother. (I did not explain the blog and blog friends and how many of you there once were). How she has to believe in this. Even though it is so very hard to do so at this point in their journey.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Her situation broke my heart. I so clearly saw myself four years ago reflected in her.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Like many of you, I want to close my door on IF and miscarriages and white-knuckled pregnancies. In all likelihood, I will in a few short weeks when our second daughter arrives. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">But I don't want to foresake all those who are beginning to struggle or who are still in the trenches.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So this blog is at a crossroads. For once, Ms. Planner finds herself without a plan.</span>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-48143234051394042332010-08-12T14:14:00.000-07:002010-08-12T14:34:59.288-07:00Gus<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy8HvGjrO4LrRHZva5u6DT-myJe_M354rnpBL9SMUWNClszJR18eIA1mVQKq3ssxHGd3nnMqkiuCulkeZw1vugxdN3_trnEICVJkJkYLJudCuEpu6FBCCw1rEotpuMnGx-6RyKuosQ353q/s1600/Picture+013.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504637741044417650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy8HvGjrO4LrRHZva5u6DT-myJe_M354rnpBL9SMUWNClszJR18eIA1mVQKq3ssxHGd3nnMqkiuCulkeZw1vugxdN3_trnEICVJkJkYLJudCuEpu6FBCCw1rEotpuMnGx-6RyKuosQ353q/s320/Picture+013.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnWmzgo1OPnS9OBuh1LjvLsjK5u6NKT9Ffx6fNnQLAJdzZT7LQTf101djuOSZy3X9r3YVaqC9MxwVq_X9mLwmrPgjmoqZtjuhERH9OWDyhj3YgI2pvATwcFWX3Cyz6mi2-T3YYGLnOZSGx/s1600/Gus+winter+06+004.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504637530087812626" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnWmzgo1OPnS9OBuh1LjvLsjK5u6NKT9Ffx6fNnQLAJdzZT7LQTf101djuOSZy3X9r3YVaqC9MxwVq_X9mLwmrPgjmoqZtjuhERH9OWDyhj3YgI2pvATwcFWX3Cyz6mi2-T3YYGLnOZSGx/s320/Gus+winter+06+004.jpg" /></a><br /><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwe2GB3tzgi9WhT8-V8Rw-iotBGZOAEi4imE8A0EBWXOw2cD8SVZ3HcMPd9YUmZmD-Hjc7ts-x3zar_guNg3bErLpA_NOdZSa5ATpHcc0BveiVBI1SfZCtz5nw7L668kzhP6VpSwOyEh-5/s1600/Nov+2005+010.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504637049928708530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwe2GB3tzgi9WhT8-V8Rw-iotBGZOAEi4imE8A0EBWXOw2cD8SVZ3HcMPd9YUmZmD-Hjc7ts-x3zar_guNg3bErLpA_NOdZSa5ATpHcc0BveiVBI1SfZCtz5nw7L668kzhP6VpSwOyEh-5/s320/Nov+2005+010.jpg" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">Five weeks ago, sweet Gus, our almost-16-year-old golden retriever was diagnosed with bone cancer. It is spreading to other parts of his body. He cannot use his back hind leg and is in pain. He has lost 15% of his body weight in a month.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">Tomorrow, Cowboy and I will make that woeful trip to the vet for the inevitable.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">In his younger days, Gus used to run next to my mountain bike, trail run and backcountry hike - he once chased a black bear away from our camp.</span></div><div> </div><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;">He kissed plenty of tears from my face. After break-ups in my single days. And BFNs and miscarriages during my married ones.</span></div><div> </div><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;">He is in our wedding picture. The one we have on our wall.</span></div><div> </div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">He loves snow. And swimming. And bread. Not necessarily in that order.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">I cannot decide which is sadder: seeing him hobble around in pain or not having him around.</span></div></div></div></div>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-21003649444084482112010-07-20T12:29:00.000-07:002010-07-20T12:52:09.438-07:00Are You Happier Now That You Have Children? Duh.<span style="font-family:verdana;">I have had no less than three friends either email or mention </span><a href="http://nymag.com/news/features/67024/"><span style="font-family:verdana;">this article from last week’s New York Magazine to me.<br /></span></a><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The article is about parenting and happiness. Or, really, a purported lack of happiness among parents. My first reaction was: why did they forward this to me? I know I have been sick, so very tired and a little bit angry about it all, but do I really seem <em>that</em> unhappy?<br /><br />Reading the article got me thinking.<br /><br />Of the friends who mentioned it to me, none of them experienced infertility, miscarriages or had even the smallest amount of difficulty conceiving their children.<br /><br />I’ve had to stop myself from blurting out or emailing back that the hardest day parenting is way easier than a day of dealing with infertility or the aftermath of miscarrying a very-much-wanted pregnancy.<br /><br />Since most of you still reading this blog also dealt with some form of infertility, how do you feel about your role as a parent to young children? Are you happier now than you were before kids?<br /><br />As a market researcher, I have a lot of issues with the methodology employed in many of the studies and anecdotes cited in this article.<br /><br />Chief among them are the New York City- and Los Angeles-based examples that nearly all NYC writers use. Authors who cite only examples in two of the most unique markets in America need to get outside of their bubble. I cannot take their articles seriously. Every researcher knows that you have to temper the vibe of such cultures with milder ones. There are many extraneous variables in those markets that can muddy the waters of the parent-happiness-index: (1) lack of easy access to natural spaces (any place where you can still hear traffic, such as Central Park, does not count); (2) extreme costs of living that all but demand dual-income parents; or (3) a parenting culture that encourages overscheduled and micro managed children, to name just a few.<br /><br />Granted, the author employs Texas-based and Danish-based studies, but, again, every good researcher knows that you can’t draw broad assumptions based on data from just one population, unless you are, say, focused on only Danish parents or Texan mommies.<br /><br />The article also cites the theory that unhappiness caused by a shortened amount of leisure time that parents have today versus 1975 – a whole 5.74 hours less per week! Which, if you do the math and adjust for 8 hours of sleep per night per week (she hypothesizes optimistically) means that parents today have 4.8% less leisure time than parents in 1975. Are you seriously going to blame rampant unhappiness on less than a 5% loss of leisure time?<br /><br />I have my own theories about why these parents are unhappy. I am sure you do, too.<br /><br />Raising babies isn’t easy. But – in my opinion – it is not the chief culprit in why these parents are unhappy with their lives. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">When I reconsider of my most unhappy, challenging days as a parent - the days or nights when I was the most frustrated with Missy - it wasn't at all about her. If I was honest with myself, it was always about something else or myself. And she was the most accessible person on whom to lay blame.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">With that in mind, I’d trade with these unhappy parents a day during my past IF slog – say, a two-week-wait day or the day after AF arrives - any day.<br /><br />They might have a little more perspective.</span>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-15736893678508400922010-07-19T14:06:00.000-07:002010-07-19T14:24:49.637-07:00Big Girl BedWe transitioned the nursery into the girls' room this weekend. <br /><br />I always seem to wait until we pass the 24-week gestation mark to take such bold steps. <br /><br />Missy and sleep has been one of the biggest challenges in my evolution as a parent. The one that blew my confidence out of the water. Which also made it so gratifying when I could put her in her crib awake and she would fall asleep on her own without crying. It took us nearly two years to get there, but we made it.<br /><br />So it was with much trepidation that I approached THE BIG GIRL BED.<br /><br />We kept the crib in the room as back-up - also because Sissy will occupy it in a scant few months. And gave her the option between the two. Big Girl Bed won, although there was a moment of hesitation.<br /><br />We listened on the monitor last night as she chatted away, obviously quite pleased at the new freedoms such furniture allowed. I checked on her at one point to find that she had deposited <em>every last book</em> from her armoire onto her duvet.<br /><br />Apparently she likes to read in bed.Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-50262541219389962632010-06-16T12:13:00.000-07:002010-06-16T12:34:20.247-07:00Rain, Rain, Go Away<span style="font-family:verdana;">During their 7-month tenure at Fort Clatsop, Ore., in 1806, Lewis & Clark endured a winter where it rained all but 12 days. They saw the sun just six days in that 7-month period. No surprise that they were eager to leave.<br /><br />I know how they feel.<br /><br />By yesterday - halfway through the month - Portland recorded its second rainiest month in history (the record was set in 1888) with record low temperatures across the state. Until last Saturday - when the sun <em>finally</em> shone for a brief 24 hours and we all crowded onto the sunniest spot on our deck, eager for a Vitamin D fix - it had rained 18 days. in. a. row. This is the longest time on record that it has taken Portland to reach 80 degrees. These days, we are happy to reach 70.<br /><br />I honestly can’t remember the last time I’ve seen the moon or stars.<br /><br />I shouldn’t complain. A nearby friend’s father is dying of cancer and – until last weekend – he was despondent that he would leave this earth without ever seeing the sun again. Imagine that. Never seeing the sun again. Ever.<br /><br />I called our vet in tears yesterday because poor, old Gus is having a hard time using his back legs. He needs help getting up and then gimps around when he does. The vet urged me to hold out for warmer, drier weather before making any rash decisions about his fate. All his “senior patients” are having a rough time with arthritis this spring, he said.<br /><br />Please warm weather. Come. Now.<br /><br />For Mr. Knight, so he can sit on his porch during his last days. For Gus, so he can use his back legs and live a few more months.<br /><br />For this momma, who yearns to see some sun-kissed cheeks on her sweet girl.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483454853298642946" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK5i44oQU9ptukFrl2dmsB8J-bHYEgaCa_nOpzcvMqTn7sY6KdwtdlWLtd2aayH0N-ijAt3bsCJ_3PUcH8gS50-6szi8Kvf2vuyFb_2vpLz-Aq1nYWkXk9IJr6hbCkSCGHrVfQ-JuCbTeq/s320/March+2010+016.jpg" /> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Missy and Boo head outside during a break in the rain. Thank heavens for our hand-me-down raincoat - a wardrobe staple this spring. Oh - by the way - did I mention that Boo blew out her knee and is having knee replacement surgery today. Happy first birthday, Boo! Hope you like you new knee since it cost 4 large and now we can't afford to vacation to someplace warm. When it rains, it pours!</span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-62917521593657155692010-06-14T22:15:00.000-07:002010-06-14T22:21:33.920-07:00Beautiful BabyThose were the exact words both the technician and the perinatologist used to describe Sissy at our 18-week ultrasound.<br /><br />Those heady words still can't stop me from feeling guilty for feeding this baby more anti-nausea meds than food during her first four months in utero.<br /><br />The nausea is mostly gone but I am still exhausted. I guess some recovery from a three-month long sickness is to be expected. Unfortunately, I put off a lot of client work until this month and now I am slammed. Don't know how I will do this with 2.Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-58210634481339218572010-05-29T20:26:00.000-07:002010-05-29T20:43:13.584-07:00Retail Therapy. Check it out.<span style="font-family:verdana;">For those of you out there who are (a) still reading and (b) pregnant or breastfeeding. Have I got a find for you...</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><a href="http://www.jakfish.com/"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jakfish</span></a><span style="font-family:verdana;"> - clothing for active, knocked up or breast feeding ladies</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I just ordered some goodies and can't wait for the cozy fleeces and skort to arrive. It is still rainy and in the 50's in Portland, so I anticipate living in fleeces for the next several weeks. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">(Note to the weather gods: we Northwesterners generally prefer our <em>la nina's</em> to commence in winter, when the ski areas are actually open. Otherwise we just get bitter and depressed when it is June and is still rainy and cold).</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">But back to shopping. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">When I was pregnant with Missy, I stretched the living shit out of every single one of my Prana yoga pants - even to the point of holes in some of them. I still haven't replenished my stock. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">And there is nothing more depressing - for you AND him - than wearing your honey's XL sweatshirt from college. Again.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So treat yourself!</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I know this post sounds all chipper, but I am nearly 17 weeks and still sick for fuck's sake. My OB is going to put me on predn1sone next week if the nausea doesn't abate by then. It is hard to drive (motion sickness) so a little online retail therapy was in order as Cowboy does the evening bed time routine with Missy.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I am supposed to be working. <em>Shhhh.</em></span>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-80677819158283723082010-05-17T12:45:00.000-07:002010-05-17T13:02:48.880-07:00Who Needs Pony Rides...<span style="font-family:verdana;">...or bouncy houses when you have a <em>helicopter</em> at your two-year-old's birthday party.*</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Looking forward to putting, "First helicopter ride: Age 2" in Missy's baby book.</span><br /><br /><p></p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472330980973679810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Z_CdUEa3DdTnHP9Boc-FeMPWgZLG0QGsPqOPgOKjEEXr2Dk9r_v7LO69SlvhMFVE8aZ0qVPeQKWj73IUkSpa-YeuDOfQ81JUMyHc6XLV9vi2Rsz_fIrIdO2DlQeRx5pyrPwaAjfGcI0M/s320/2nd+birthday+023.jpg" /> <p></p><p></p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472330762735124002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgACsDFJ4YpOSQ7YvXbcpZbL2vC5bMyO5jPC2ibq7lRl9g-WTZKd9R-ZM-2vog_BQgGJsdMM9pUCURyzmGBcCQAVyHuoWLViQCNF4cYyOoPxnhrLMU_EsiteQhrnxoUm7GEOL4NcLLbqRZt/s320/2nd+birthday+025.jpg" /> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472330535973422386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvlahzGnqefTeBzUAHszpO0IfF8C3VFouwtWNUccJoBzZ1OrdhrHNXYnF91hc3U5M09lsWp7u51oUx1u-e9fYQq7a3Qdioph63KMYuoYnXFlQKRnKuMJ4TxNANtkBisMnQ4Za2Ak-EcjZc/s320/2nd+birthday+028.jpg" /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472330240087371666" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0YMWN1en0LKEB6uraOeg0Lz4-J1e5aRfPjyh3Rw_ogEmdTGkOcznq0mo-zLfwGBVHUiCtfE-uECz1ecF5e0eivyp4xGf0AXicFBXSC9qbhzXo3U0AoM-_JH3cI0gooByFZAbr0BuaGXZU/s320/2nd+birthday+031.jpg" /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:78%;">* In our defense, we are <em>so</em> low key we would have never really commissioned a helicopter for Missy's birthday. But we celebrate her birthday at a local vineyard with friends and it turns out that the winemakers were offering helicopter rides as a special event that day. How could we not give it a go?</span>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-58670990110009777772010-05-11T15:54:00.000-07:002010-05-11T16:04:08.416-07:00Missy's Sleep Saga<span style="font-family:verdana;">And a saga it is. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">When I first became a parent, I naively thought that – if you were a proper, disciplined parent, <em>ahem!</em> – your kid would sleep when it was supposed to and, more importantly, when <strong>you</strong> wanted it to. That such a routine would happen overnight. At your will and bidding.<br /><br />Oh, how karma works! Chuckle. Chuckle.<br /><br />So of course I was blessed with one of the worst sleepers. Ever.<br /><br />Missy fussed. Had to be held to sleep. Had to be held all.the.time. Nursed to sleep. Rocked to sleep. In defense of my daughter, the kid sure had the deck stacked against her. Reflux not properly brought under control by the proper medicine until she was 7 months old. (If you have a baby with reflux, demand Prevac1d. It is the only thing that works on infants). And then sleep apnea diagnosed and treated when she was 18 months old.<br /><br />Through it all, she never learned to soothe herself. Never latched on to a thumb, a binky, a favorite blanket or other transitional object. Oh, though we tried! I did the evening routine with blankies and other assorted lovies for weeks on end.<br /><br />One evening I succumbed to the realization that Missy’s journey into big girl sleep would be a <em>looooong</em> one. With maybe no end for Momma until she could read herself to sleep with a head lamp under the covers.<br /><br />And then I began to relax about it. I had faith that it would come. If we were compassionate but consistent, I knew that one day she’d get there.<br /><br />Oh, but it wasn’t all that pretty. There were some nights when I got frustrated. When she got frustrated. Where we both sobbed in the rocking chair as she tried to sleep and I tried to understand what I was doing so wrong.<br /><br />But we moved gradually. Mastering each new transition over months at a time. She weaned from the Amby bed to the crib for naps. She weaned from co-sleeping at night to the sleeping by herself in the crib. Weaned from nursing to sleep to rocking to sleep. And then it stopped.<br /><br />My dirty little secret was that, at 21 months, I still rocked Missy to sleep for her nap and bedtime. She still had not learned to soothe herself. So – if she awoke in the night, which still happened from time to time – she needed Momma or Daddy to pat her back to sleep. (Thankfully, we had earlier weaned her from being picked up and rocked during the night.)<br /><br />Her pediatrician – the new one who specializes in sleep issues – counseled me that this was OK until she was about 2-1/2. And then he wanted us to get more aggressive about her soothing herself. His rationale is that as children understand more language and object permanence, they understand that Momma and Daddy also go to bed. Children begin to understand that parents aren’t just in the room and then not in the room. And pissed about it because they want “<em>Mom-ma</em>!”<br /><br />So we planned on rocking until this summer. And then I got pregnant and so very sick.<br /><br />Rocking in a dark room with nausea was out of the question. Unfortunately Cowboy’s job doesn’t allow him to be home consistently by bedtime. But as luck would have it, the pregnancy coincided with a rapid development in Missy’s language skills. So I went for it.<br /><br />A little rocking, our nightly made-up prayer, some singing and then into the crib.<br /><br />The first night, Missy wasn’t having any of it. As directed by our pediatrician, I comforted her briefly every 5 minutes, where I was met by demands to “<em>Yock</em>!” and “<em>Pat</em>!” followed by dramatic screeching and big crocodile tears when I left.<br /><br />The beauty of it: I just didn’t care. I was so sick, I was completely dispassionate. Every five minutes, I would haul myself out of the guest room bed, which is closest to Missy’s room, go into her room and explain that it was time to sleep. I gave her a hug, handed her the baby doll <em>du jour</em>, laid her back down, gave a few “<em>shhh’s</em>” and left.<br /><br />Then I collapsed on the guest room bed. There was no hand wringing or second-guessing. It was time. It was Missy’s first hard lesson as a big sister that the world no longer completely revolved around her.<br /><br />Two months later and we’ve made it. We have a little crying on occasion, but more often than not, Missy chatters herself to sleep for night time and naps.<br /><br />When she wakes in the night, which is rare, we only go to her if the crying gets out of control (again, rare) or if she directly calls for one of us (also, rare). Usually, she puts herself back to sleep.<br /><br />Good Lord. It is a beautiful thing. I know it won’t last. There are new baby transitions, big girl bed transitions and potty training on the horizon.<br /><br />But I’m gonna soak in all this liberating, hard-earned sleep while we have it.<br /></span>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-21381164052979396852010-04-26T11:54:00.000-07:002010-04-26T11:59:32.052-07:00ExhaleNormal, healthy baby.<br /><br />Bring on the fights about sharing clothes and a bathroom... another GIRL!<br /><br />I am so relieved. I just about cried. I would have been happy with either gender but I secretly really, really, really wanted two girls. <br /><br />Let's be really original and call her "Sissy."Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-4522975434915657652010-04-24T19:30:00.000-07:002010-04-24T20:07:19.467-07:00Post- (Almost) Everything Update<span style="font-family:verdana;">My most sincere thank-you's to all of y'all sweet gals who left birthday (and Earth Day) wishes for me. It brought me to near tears - all of those wonderful well wishes. I sure needed them. And they did my heart so much good.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The CVS went as well as such a thing can go. I wasn't nervous. Just stoic. There is still a fetus. I don't know if it is measuring on schedule because I just plain forgot to ask. It has all appendages. And apparently likes to wave its left arm around a lot. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Or maybe it was just trying to shoot me the finger for some days giving it more drugs than nutrition. Safely, doctor-perscribed drugs that is. I haven't resorted to medical marijuana (legal here) to quell the nausea. Not really thinking my OB will consider mary jane such a good idea.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The preliminary results will be in on Monday morning. Which - I think - is the third anniversary of <em>That Was The Plan</em>.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I am not an overly religious person but I do converse with God, Buddha and a small cadre of my favorite saints when the going gets tough. I've been praying a lot that this unrelenting nausea and near constant urge to vomit depart soon. My family can only take so much of it. And I want the old me back. So very badly.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">My protocol is 8 mg of Z0fran 2x per day. I've developed evil headaches from it - a side effect. Some days I try to get by on one dose. I take 1 Un1som at night, which is about the only thing that works. Though it knocks me clear out so taking it during the day with Missy is a no-go.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">They tried Phenegran(sp?) but it didn't work. The Z0fran prevents me - for the most part - from vomiting but it does not help the nausea one bit. Have you ever felt so nervous or scared that you were on the verge of throwing up? That's the feeling I walk around with from about the moment I sit upright in bed until I lay down at night or during Missy's nap. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Hence, I have a lot of trouble eating. I have lost 3 pounds this month. It concerns me because I'm three months pregnant and nearly at what I consider my "fighting weight" for my not-pregnant body. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Nothing glamorous for myself post-CVS or on my birthday. I don't have the energy to plan anything. And surprising the wife with a spa gift certificate is, apparently, in Cowboy's estimation, sooo <em>first</em> pregnancy. (Well, I mean, so first non-<em>miscarried</em> pregnancy).</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">As for Earth Day, my goal this year was to begin baking our own bread. But since the only thing my oven has seen in the past three months is frozen pizza for Missy and Cowboy, I've failed mightily at that goal.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Stay tuned for Monday. I will post the results as soon as I process them. If all is well, we will find out the gender, too.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Thank you again for your love, support and bearing with me through yet another post about nausea.</span>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-55559023388807641372010-04-19T12:19:00.000-07:002010-04-19T13:00:16.924-07:00Day by day<span style="font-family:verdana;">Sometimes hour by hour. That's how roll these days.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">And this week, in particular.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">It is week 11. CVS week. On Thursday. I should have the results by this time next Monday.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I am so not connected to this pregnancy. (I know this is a horrible sentence to put on an infertility and miscarriage blog so I write this with much gravity). Perhaps I am staying unconnected so I can control myself through the spectrum of outcomes - one of which is certain to happen - both good or bad - that the CVS will bring.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The sad thing is that I will not even feel relief with a positive outcome. Because it means I will still be so sick for who knows how long. God, what another horrible thing to write. Even to think.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I try to keep the big picture in view. I really do. But it only lasts for about 15 minutes as I lay in bed before Missy wakes up. Then I get up, the nausea kick starts and I try to make it through another day. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The only thing I look forward to is when I take a Un1som tablet and drift to sleep at the end of the day - sleep being my only refuge from the extreme fatigue and nausea. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Which is a third horrible thing to write when I have a life full of things in which to bestowe much gratitude.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Gratitude but precious little joy. Is there such a thing?</span>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-73041740833456318862010-04-08T10:59:00.000-07:002010-04-08T11:19:54.643-07:005 Years Ago...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie7EIFKGDA0PqW6xa4eZZVhU2wv-Fns1X4OTj-JaoCXtdlSRS49i3qEqTpYRRFut33-U81fkTBpSq82KA46d5drmADo5ZGLiYP80NuASzq0muCdCokVGmGeD6QlSWYTzE1OaXJy8E6YVY-/s1600/Cheers+y%27all.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457830405934192866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie7EIFKGDA0PqW6xa4eZZVhU2wv-Fns1X4OTj-JaoCXtdlSRS49i3qEqTpYRRFut33-U81fkTBpSq82KA46d5drmADo5ZGLiYP80NuASzq0muCdCokVGmGeD6QlSWYTzE1OaXJy8E6YVY-/s320/Cheers+y%27all.JPG" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">We eloped. And went to New Zealand and Australia for three weeks. Then we came home and held a backyard reception replete with hay bales, watermelon and homemade cupcakes. We served BBQ on china. The day after, I rinsed out and recycled every single one of those red plastic beer cups (yuck), which held Shiner Bock Beer from a keg ordered from Texas. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">It seemed like such a simple time. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">It <em>was.</em></span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">Before miscarriages and infertility, then a baby, then another on the way and crashing into bed at 8:00 in the evening because you are so sick with nausea.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">From where I sit today, five years seems almost like a lifetime ago. A different life entirely. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;">But with one constant. Cowboy.</span></div>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-40551506380813069872010-04-01T14:54:00.000-07:002010-04-01T15:03:39.761-07:00Your Feedback Solicited Here<span style="font-family:verdana;">We have a CVS scheduled for April 22 during week 11. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The CVS was originally scheduled for April 19 (Monday) but then my lovely husband asked me to please change it because he has to prepare for his company's annual shareholder meeting also that week. I need him to take the day off to care for Missy post-procedure as I am supposed to rest and not lift anything for 24 hours following.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Changing the CVS by a few days is no big deal. Unless you count my nerves. And that I will now have to wait through an entire weekend to get the early results, instead of getting them a mere 48 hours later. And that April 22 is the <em>day before</em> my birthday.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So what do you think that kind of trade-off warrants?</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">It is so not like me, but a posh hotel room by my lonesom, room service and in-room facial spring to mind.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Sorry to sound like such a whiner. But I'm sick of feeling sick and so very tired. I just needed to vent.</span>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-5256807608175109762010-03-21T14:22:00.001-07:002010-03-21T14:36:48.995-07:00Several IV Bags Later<span style="font-family:verdana;">Good Lord. I just spent a good spate of time in the L&D ward where I delivered Missy. Hooked up to an IV dripping several bags of delicious hydration into my body. The Z0fran wasn't bad either. Took the edge off.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Nausea hit hard and fast late last week. I managed well for a few days but then it just accelerated. I couldn't keep anything down. Which put me in a downward spiral, dehydrating me further. No energy. Dry heaving the nothingness in my gut. Lying awake at night with gnawing hunger, dry mouth and so much nausea I could barely leave the bed. It was a very desperate feeling.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">My OB admitted me right away. And the kind nurses pumped me with fluids. I feel almost human again.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I also had an ultrasound, which showed a measuring-spot-on embryo with a heartbeat of 124 at 6.5 weeks.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The daily Z0fran and the nightly Un1som tablets keep the harshest nausea away. I still have a constant low-grade nausea that hangs about me like a robe but I now I can manage it.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The whole experience has left me feeling like such a hypocrite. Here I try to be all natural-like but when push comes to shove I'm the one begging for the extra 2 ounces of Z0fran and am popping my nightly Un1som like it's Pez.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">At least the wee one has cleared another hurdle. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Not so sure about momma.</span>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893308137328665120.post-47493341681874580892010-03-08T09:53:00.001-08:002010-03-08T10:04:13.720-08:00First Day of the Season<div><span style="font-family:verdana;">For every parent who loves the mountains, this has got to be one of the most anticipated, most celebrated days on snow. Equal to (or, dare I say, <em>better</em> than) those bluebird powder days.</span></div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446324226411192354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGOfN2LpWUkiDa3AbBW8nhWy0yuuyqjl5B_yoktNnDpoBWZiPomAmXB43gb1d9b9nmIQC1K-X6o9bdRmeEYIBiUNnBtwatrAospvUwJBYdUyDBljbe81Aacz-xIKvLpasbdI1CKw2Xja-V/s320/March+2010+036.jpg" /> <p></p><p></p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446324041482206002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpZ2lUB3lz75EKCcHvq9tME21oOgcYOZfjU8EEoBRpHSRycZumuF5tb6r9C_ZJ2Wox0t_8soiN-jWSHqZuj_FlvY2_X-OUiY864DMUhlQx-g78TFRFFprfrpEzq-6euXAYS4lqA9bVdZOV/s320/March+2010+029.jpg" /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">We'll consider the emphatic "<em>Mo' ski! Mo' ski! Mo' ! Mo' ! Mo'</em> !" as verdict that she loved it as much as we did.<br /></span><div> </div>Ms. Plannerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01409133656377265127noreply@blogger.com4