tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32504950088998868442024-03-13T14:12:54.324-07:00Hysterical-My Quest for SpawnAn open account of a couple fighting infertility!Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.comBlogger250125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-68430267717982056082021-06-11T03:00:00.006-07:002021-06-11T19:56:24.128-07:00The Newest Roommate Arrived!<p>Well, we made it! Lillian is here, and she is beautiful. Both of us are doing well if not a little sleepy, but that was a heck of a ride there for a bit. </p><p>Honestly, I think the anxiety of cholestasis is the worst part of it. Well, sleep deprivation which ultimately feeds into the cholestasis anxiety. Clinically, my brain understood there was a super low chance of anything happening to her even if we did nothing. The stillbirth rate with cholestasis is low at about 3%. That is, however, a fair bit higher than in a population without it which is around 0.6% So my heart, however, screamed ‘Stat cesarean!’ every time I didn’t feel her move constantly the last few weeks of my pregnancy. Fortunately, I can’t make those calls. And again, you tell a sleep-deprived mother of an IVF baby that she’s got any sort of increased risk of stillbirth, and she’s likely to be a little stressed and emotional. </p><p>So, overall the induction was great, I think. It was much different walking into L&D, not in pain, not scared to death thinking my baby was already dead after an obnoxious amount of bleeding at home, and not feeling him move. That was Matt. </p><p>...<i>This is probably gonna go long, so I apologize now.</i>..</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7o3gJd-rCaa30qqaV24sG25wC-mxKHvD3rIbVzVG0gUt9LrH5Et8Xo_U3rhpQZBx9Puv78fXtgcl2oGHjALqdYAr0QfSOCv-4zSHXxta7tJwGBp9jwReZE8pscz4SU386dLidghx3hGQ/s679/EB7751E7-9BAC-4006-A157-0FDF6D72D1B7.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="679" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7o3gJd-rCaa30qqaV24sG25wC-mxKHvD3rIbVzVG0gUt9LrH5Et8Xo_U3rhpQZBx9Puv78fXtgcl2oGHjALqdYAr0QfSOCv-4zSHXxta7tJwGBp9jwReZE8pscz4SU386dLidghx3hGQ/s320/EB7751E7-9BAC-4006-A157-0FDF6D72D1B7.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>PROLOGUE </p><p>There is this thing called being born en caul where your baby comes out inside an intact amniotic sac. To sum up my labor and delivery with Matt, he basically wanted to one up the en caul thing and just be born in my completely prolapsed uterus. His head was low enough (+1) to give me the urge to push, but I was barely dilated. It was stupid. Plus the bleeding from an unknown source...I was contracting frequently enough that the decision was made to go ahead and break my water. So I went from feeling every 3rd or 4th contraction to being on my hands and knees in the floor of my hospital room trying to call my own stat section with no relief between contractions and wanting to push. I felt like I was being torn in half. So I tried a hit of IV pain medication which only served to make me feel exhausted, nauseous, and still in pain. So then I went for the epidural. It took 4 attempts because I am 5 feet tall and have no extra disc space. When the epidural was placed successfully, and I finally got comfortable, it was time to push. I remember asking if I could labor down (when you let a first time mom continue to labor without pushing at full dilation to let the baby come down further into the birth canal), Martha my nurse, just shook her head and said, “You’re already labored down.” No rest for the weary. When I stopped fighting my contractions, apparently I went from nothing to complete in no time. Matt was out fast enough that my OB had to catch him barehanded. (Gross.)</p><p>Aside from being super cheesy (vernix and amniotic fluid really gross me out - I know...considering I came from antepartum and L&D as an RN...but it is my truth and I learned to work around it and dodge splashes as much as possible), Matt was beautiful and healthy. I am forever grateful to Martha and Liz, my nurse and doula for helping make what was a pretty traumatic start for us turn out so well. Even though Matt was only 37.2 weeks along (hence the super cheesiness) he did great and met all his markers to stay out of the NICU or need extra monitoring which I was warned he may need. Since he was a “wimpy white boy” (little white males are notorious for crumping in the NICU) this was a welcome relief. In fact the pediatrician that did his initial assessment asked if we were sure we had our dates right. I told him since he was an IVF baby, we were pretty confident.</p><p>Recovery-wise, I did end up itching from the epidural, and the next day, like the anesthetist warned me, it felt like I had been in a car wreck. My back felt sprained from the 4 punctures. It actually took a couple of weeks for that to resolve. </p><p>So that was my previous birth experience...nothing, then panic, then well, OK...and then praying for a stat cesarean because it felt like I was tearing in half with no relief between contractions, then fast and furious. </p><p>So again, just pleasantly checking in to L&D with no drama was a much better start. I was a little nervous since Lillian was so much higher, that this would go long, but, I mean...what else was I gonna do that day? If it meant I got to listen to her heartbeat longer, and I was in a place where we could get her out in less than 5 minutes if something went awry what’s the downside? We were escorted straight to our room, past triage. In two pregnancies, I’ve only been to OB triage once, and I was admitted, so I think that’s not too bad. As a nurse in this field, I always feared the “walk of shame” when they sent you home from OB triage because you were not in labor. Mission accomplished. </p><p>CHAPTER I- The Birth Plan...or lack of...</p><p>My nurse, Joy, popped in to introduce herself. She was incredible. She let me change into whatever I wanted so I put on my fancy maternity t-shirt and 7.98 athletic shorts from Wal-Mart. Annoyingly, Wal-mart was sold out of the 3.88 ones (#thanksCOVID). </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijULH3z7nGytA_wBjnBL60gPPqwti7XQMxZaKQm58FxHARFRpn-FN3ZsXxqsjISXEhw1nX__TgtCZhTwjfz6WjqIF-rN0pPhhGKqOrlhjPHP2IL9VM6myjIoFjP-GAIhqHksPJIel4YSM/s2048/83C9BFBE-6E1C-4585-8299-8605E1616072.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijULH3z7nGytA_wBjnBL60gPPqwti7XQMxZaKQm58FxHARFRpn-FN3ZsXxqsjISXEhw1nX__TgtCZhTwjfz6WjqIF-rN0pPhhGKqOrlhjPHP2IL9VM6myjIoFjP-GAIhqHksPJIel4YSM/w240-h320/83C9BFBE-6E1C-4585-8299-8605E1616072.jpeg" title="My labor party look..." width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My labor amongst friends look...with the “fancy” Wal-Mart shorts...</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We discussed my “birth plan” or lack-there-of. It was officially “One day, the baby will be on the outside.” I did enough OB and antepartum nursing to know that birth plans are basically a kiss of death. Less to nothing is absolutely more. I mean if you had a birth plan and it worked exactly as you thought it would, then I would consider you extremely blessed. But 99/100 times, things don’t go exactly the way you thought they would... For instance, I never thought I’d have to be induced. If anything I was a little worried I would have a premie since I was early term with Matt. Yet, here we were. </p><p>You may think since I hired a doula that I had this grand plan of giving birth in the woods and eating my placenta, but you would be grossly mistaken. I have to hire a doula to be my birth partner because BJ hates any and all things medical. He would prefer the waiting room 1950s sitcom style with a single-malt scotch and a cigar...God knows I love him, but let’s not waste time, and call a spade a spade. Honestly, BJ needed a birth partner so he wouldn’t panic. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4NVT9t5ufWzZA-o5Vhuj2WNy2e3ojQbGEgozcT7qLKuPUHq-SvbgKfnfmF52O0kh93li-N1JIFrr02Xa3KRCOpvxx1ydtpZJqn603Ekcn0HcJdqr-pojGAZm-n8SUTttridj2MR2DN00/s2048/15F67FC0-F8B5-4E73-AC7F-86ED190DBC61.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4NVT9t5ufWzZA-o5Vhuj2WNy2e3ojQbGEgozcT7qLKuPUHq-SvbgKfnfmF52O0kh93li-N1JIFrr02Xa3KRCOpvxx1ydtpZJqn603Ekcn0HcJdqr-pojGAZm-n8SUTttridj2MR2DN00/s320/15F67FC0-F8B5-4E73-AC7F-86ED190DBC61.jpeg" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#notmybirthpartner</div></div><p>So Joy had to ask me about each option since I had no plan to give her. This included an epidural, nitrous oxide (laughing gas), IV pain meds, birthing tubs, and movement. There are tons of options. And, there are tons of good reasons to choose any/all/your favorite combo platter of the above. I can’t stand the smell of nitrous, nor do I remember getting much relief with it when I was a child having to have some baby teeth pulled. I tried a dose of IV morphine when I was being torn in half with Matt, and all I got was really tired but in too much pain to sleep. </p><p>A birthing tub...I’d rather die, personally, than be in a bathtub stewing with my own...hmm...stuff. That utter, from the pit of my soul, disgust of amniotic fluid and vernix applies to my own as well. I hear people compare a birth tub to an epidural for pain relief and how wonderful and soothing they can be, but it’s just a hard no from me. [<i>shudders...then wretches</i>] Seriously, I’m not kidding about my issues with amniotic fluid. </p><p>I do like to move, be distracted, and not feel like a patient. Fortunately, I delivered at a hospital that has wireless fetal monitoring and allows for that. I eagerly employed that option.</p><p>Epidurals-they are incredible and despite the difficulty I had getting it placed with Matt, it very well may have saved me from needing a cesarean since I quit feeling the urge to push with an all but closed cervix. And it’s also super nice to have for any repairs. (Thank you Matt for giving me first hand experience with that, as well...) People choose to go without any pain meds for any number of reasons. Some women want to feel that urge to push...me not so much. I’ve been constipated before... Some think not having an epidural hastens labor. It’s been about 5 years, but the last study I read said epidurals only increased the time laboring by an average of 20 minutes. That didn’t persuade me one way or the other. I did have some itching with my epidural with Matt, and after not sleeping consistently for the last 6 months due to itching, this was a big con for me. Seriously, at this point the thought of anything that caused more itching made me cry. I also liked the idea of no puncture wounds to my back since that was an unpleasant addition to my recovery with Matt. There is also a lot to be said for being in control of your body- as in not paralyzed and being able to get up after your birth and shower...bc let’s be honest...birth is the messiest miracle I’ve ever been privileged to share with my patients or experience myself. [<i>I’m not going to wretch this time...</i>]</p><p>So, for me, to be completely frank, the biggest contributing factor in attempting an unmedicated delivery is that I have a deep-seated hatred of anesthesia bills. Apologies to all my friends in anesthesia...it’s not you, it’s your billing departments. Their timing is always the worst. You are feeling all well and recovered, you’ve received endless EOBs in the mail, and you’ve paid any number of medical bills. Then, when you are are feeling like life might continue after...oh, for funsies, let’s say a failed IVF cycle with no embryos to transfer for example, and you’re about to purchase a pair of brand new Tieks to show the world you are more than your failing ovaries, and then BAM- a $400.00 or more bill shows up out of nowhere. That’s at least two pairs of Tieks, y’all! Again, I get these bills either for a procedure that didn’t work, a surgery that didn’t answer any questions, so my motivation for going without an epidural was one of mostly spite with some of the above reasoning sprinkled in...I am who I am. </p><p>Anyway, I’m not some super-crunchy mom, in fact, I’m the opposite and a huge proponent of better living through chemistry in most every other situation. Whatever your reasons for choosing any number of options, nobody should judge you for that or make you feel like you have to justify it. You’re absolutely right about what you need pain control-wise for labor. </p><p>So yeah, that leads us to the other big things with the birth plan... Who will cut the cord? ...Well, not BJ. The goal for BJ is for him to not pass out or become a patient himself. He can’t do blood or tissue so an umbilical cord is a marriage made in hell for him. My fabulous and wonderful doula, Liz, would absolutely be cutting the cord. And if I need a cesarean, and can only have one person in the OR with me...I choose Liz...I love BJ, but we both know this is the only way our marriage would survive.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEDtEfyl1o-EBB0Xbymk04NUnqmtz70krUK11AXjR2jFQ9qZ7e7e_fGcamWn6cFeC1L5siByggKzgkHBAGkbpdWmbhFsL8hn6gGQESKOYL6QugytaJ3hmNKSuIqpiZQZLHhfqn68heYkA/s2048/E500B600-FEE1-4294-9953-4513EAB4AC6F.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEDtEfyl1o-EBB0Xbymk04NUnqmtz70krUK11AXjR2jFQ9qZ7e7e_fGcamWn6cFeC1L5siByggKzgkHBAGkbpdWmbhFsL8hn6gGQESKOYL6QugytaJ3hmNKSuIqpiZQZLHhfqn68heYkA/s320/E500B600-FEE1-4294-9953-4513EAB4AC6F.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The one and only Liz...#myactualbirthpartner</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Joy asked about skin-to-skin, which means they immediately put your vernix-covered [<i>wretch</i>] 37 weeker on your bare chest. Forget the greatly increased pain of childbirth, vernix on my skin, whether it’s my patient’s baby or mine...always made me wretch, and there is no epidural for that. Newborns are hot, slimy, and purple before we clean them up, douse them in Johnson & Johnson, and let them pink up. Since I’m too miserly to pay for an epidural, I’m also too miserly to pay for formula. Skin to skin as soon as possible after birth is the absolute best for encouraging breastfeeding...so here we are. Only the best for my miracles, so...check (begrudgingly) on the skin to skin. Also being a healthcare worker in this field, I would feel very guilty refusing evidence-based practices, so...as my mom would often tell me, ’Buck up, Buttercup.’ There were maybe a couple other things like delayed cord clamping and baby meds, which I honestly don’t spend much time following the research on this end of pregnancy. I trusted my medical team so I was happy to comply with the standard of care. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX_XqWVSVeD-swYpQ8V2_GLB4pDHgoYEoRWmjIODwbw4zCyW9Ed79gjFTJVJtnyT7sQqSzBw-kTNH_LKsW4OtbCpYNwFdWCQhgL6rK-d7J0RAkzDeRZMPPl8ad_OH6FMKJ4MwiwYIU0vU/s2048/0A9441F1-770C-4FC3-B6D3-6456718AEDC5.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX_XqWVSVeD-swYpQ8V2_GLB4pDHgoYEoRWmjIODwbw4zCyW9Ed79gjFTJVJtnyT7sQqSzBw-kTNH_LKsW4OtbCpYNwFdWCQhgL6rK-d7J0RAkzDeRZMPPl8ad_OH6FMKJ4MwiwYIU0vU/s320/0A9441F1-770C-4FC3-B6D3-6456718AEDC5.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The “No Plan” plan...</td></tr></tbody></table><p>CHAPTER II - Inducing Labor</p><p>So by 9:06, Liz was with me, I was on the monitors, had my IV, and receiving my first round of antibiotics. Dr. Barry came in to say hello and ordered an intermediate protocol of Pitocin which just means you can increase “The Pit” by 2 milliunits every half hour. Joy had my heart at her diligent titration of my Pitocin. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg45-sCw471Mz65zfOvWwe3SeJ_5mhduo3-Ix_gjNuaKm_aFCoRmMkJu20cW09OQ9dy0YebRNgRMeEvHJ6eArrXc2WH8EzUjFX_pnqEhFaaa9aARMuj2sUpVCsBlGRIoPIq9NYaA_tHQBU/s2048/22187AEB-94E4-4599-963B-D14A7E363608.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg45-sCw471Mz65zfOvWwe3SeJ_5mhduo3-Ix_gjNuaKm_aFCoRmMkJu20cW09OQ9dy0YebRNgRMeEvHJ6eArrXc2WH8EzUjFX_pnqEhFaaa9aARMuj2sUpVCsBlGRIoPIq9NYaA_tHQBU/s320/22187AEB-94E4-4599-963B-D14A7E363608.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking the pit like a champ...</td></tr></tbody></table><p>You should know that as a former floor nurse, working with another healthcare professional as your patient falls into one of two categories. 1.) Super critical hypochondriacs that drive you nuts, shake all your confidence by questioning everything you do for them, likely to stress themselves into a crump, and are basically a nightmare. Or...2.) Embarrassed to be a patient, try to do everything for you because they are embarrassed to ask for help, assume you are too busy to help them, wait too long to report a problem to you because they try to rationalize it as normal until they crump, and are basically a nightmare. I am a category 2. I’ll adjust my own monitors and try to manage myself as much as possible as not to intrude. I apologize anytime my nurse has to do their job. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_OuxY2aVLgdUeGcYjI8kNEBDYujJ3j8oeaNLzrg2UKONhVVCf40z7xDO-mwbHbH_MrYex0z9L_QoTb87wu_k2PaTo7aC3sriATAruMI-geHQO_fx8ASjKulNE2LYNYg6LNP1LQe1uSWk/s2048/C8502B08-D982-48DD-AE8E-36C5462095CD.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_OuxY2aVLgdUeGcYjI8kNEBDYujJ3j8oeaNLzrg2UKONhVVCf40z7xDO-mwbHbH_MrYex0z9L_QoTb87wu_k2PaTo7aC3sriATAruMI-geHQO_fx8ASjKulNE2LYNYg6LNP1LQe1uSWk/s320/C8502B08-D982-48DD-AE8E-36C5462095CD.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhibit A: When you’re a cat. 2 you reapply your own US gel and get the baby back on the monitor, yourself.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I thought with both Matt and Lillian, that I would diligently be watching my tracings from the fetal monitors, but I can say, as long as I heard their heartbeats I almost didn’t care. Turns out I didn’t need the monitor to tell me when I was going to be in pain.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwjPyCXgu7y5K6Idz6R6Kaf2GSqoFHzAWM_xFpHxcs7hbAYFDO3SfWrodICnnxE6iJGVMSvBdIH8Ez9sHFBio54rE2-loh2yHRn_dUtUX8px00gUddCHiSOFNyi5SoBRuoARmrw8bfK8Q/s2048/30406C74-EA5C-4D17-A71A-E765D3BBE0BF.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwjPyCXgu7y5K6Idz6R6Kaf2GSqoFHzAWM_xFpHxcs7hbAYFDO3SfWrodICnnxE6iJGVMSvBdIH8Ez9sHFBio54rE2-loh2yHRn_dUtUX8px00gUddCHiSOFNyi5SoBRuoARmrw8bfK8Q/s320/30406C74-EA5C-4D17-A71A-E765D3BBE0BF.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BJ, myself, and the trusty mascot of this pregnancy - my cherished back scratcher.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>It took a little bit for me to feel my contractions, but the plan was to break my water after my second dose of antibiotics was in which would be around 2:00pm. I will say, I was hoping it would just take a whiff of pit to get me going, but that was not the case. Unlike with Matt, Lillian was not so eager to be on the outside. So I “labored” by enjoying my company which included my mother, BJ, Liz, and Joy. We made fun of my labor playlist which included a lot of late Gen X favorites from Dave Matthews, schmaltzy love songs like Peter Cetera’s Glory of Love, Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire, and an array of other things that were added to the list entirely for their entertainment value over their ability to induce a relaxing environment.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgalkGkkURORiZZ25P3z-_A_TIztA57y0jRzipWuR67jH0ThxgrOPSsWZJi3OnUrIWFIm_tlqMW2v7Svk4MFOHXLfF1SWjs9hPpx3jd78eSZL5bdkqLa3aAEd6KAQOfDWB88Wb5whdIQIQ/s2048/4CD272FA-7C03-40B6-94FA-93FA9AE0A704.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgalkGkkURORiZZ25P3z-_A_TIztA57y0jRzipWuR67jH0ThxgrOPSsWZJi3OnUrIWFIm_tlqMW2v7Svk4MFOHXLfF1SWjs9hPpx3jd78eSZL5bdkqLa3aAEd6KAQOfDWB88Wb5whdIQIQ/w400-h300/4CD272FA-7C03-40B6-94FA-93FA9AE0A704.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to prove to Liz that I was feeling my contractions by appearing distressed. It didn’t work...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>So from 9:00 to 1:00ish, I had a grand old time. I used the exercise ball, peanut ball, walked the halls and visited with my former co-workers since I delivered where I formerly worked as an RN. Unbeknownst to me, Liz was using some spinning baby techniques to encourage Lillian’s head to drop. For most of the morning Lillian stayed on the monitors pretty well, or I was able to adjust and get her back on myself [<i>category 2, remember</i>]. I was starting to feel the contractions, but they were not near as hard or furious as when I had Matt. I was relieved for the lack of pain, but a little concerned that I wasn’t making much progress. <p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPS9HS0vOTABI9qUBbroDaPBAdhHguuQy-LuBycaPDc7F14MHcHdOTaVZxQOlklFupgnwKICJi_KOSjrXnLESmsbpL45n589XI5ir4BgK2LmbTTEYSZsOF2ZHhKL2DVnMEgMq_1Lmu0Hs/s2048/770A1742-403C-4266-96EE-38AB4D659C41.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPS9HS0vOTABI9qUBbroDaPBAdhHguuQy-LuBycaPDc7F14MHcHdOTaVZxQOlklFupgnwKICJi_KOSjrXnLESmsbpL45n589XI5ir4BgK2LmbTTEYSZsOF2ZHhKL2DVnMEgMq_1Lmu0Hs/s320/770A1742-403C-4266-96EE-38AB4D659C41.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling cute...might actually go into labor at some point...</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I got my second dose of antibiotics and the contractions were getting more real around 1:30pm. Lil started throwing some variable heart rate decelerations and my contractions were not picking up as well. I got a fluid bolus, changed positions etc. We went through this a few times and the extra IV fluids would fill my bladder which would make my contractions hurt worse, and possibly cause variables, so that’s a fun little circle you don’t experience with an epidural and a catheter in place.</p><p>Around 2:30 I was in the middle of my contractions being painful enough to make me laugh - because that’s what I do when things are moderately painful and you can’t do anything else about it - but the contractions were not tracing on the monitor very well so I wasn’t getting any credit for them as far as MVUs (Montevideo units that measure the intensity of contractions - important for Pitocin inductions because you don’t want to squeeze the baby to death or rupture a uterus). So I was in the middle of a position change, readjust the monitors, fluid bolus, peanut ball, waiting for the doctor to perform the AROM (artificial rupture of membranes, or when the doctor breaks your water with an amniohook) - kinda moments when all the sudden it felt like I got punched in the crotch. I actually said ouch and then started laughing, and then I felt a gush of fluid...SO GROSS. When I was the nurse for an OB patient about to be AROM’d...I had layered everything up with chucks and towels. I would try to wick up as much as possible so they would not experience this moment. And that’s how it was done for me when I was AROM’d with Matt. And here I was, caught unaware in what seemed like an endless tidal wave of mess...All I could do was laugh...and the last thing you want to do when your water breaks is rush to a vertical position until you’ve established that all is well and good. So it was a minute between getting the baby back on the monitor and making sure nothing complicated like a cord prolapse had occurred, before I could get up and put an adult diaper on. So I just laid there complaining about how gross it was like the trooper I am. [<i>shudders...</i>] (I am a proud proponent of Always Discreet Boutique for your intrapartum and postpartum...issues. I mean what says I am in control of my own body better than a black adult diaper?)</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3F0dCYF3_HLi8tFmMDcgpbQ15pA7GuFbSUTESdh4kehlZYi77KVakRrUPzfK_QJZmZTL6CbECTPaCjsLiBiJcQSdTugxJ5UfBezorDppYAfiBVl0PZsOA12BXwXZ6V5itB8_dfO_Jb48/s2048/7768FFDE-B9C2-411C-87E9-9BD8AAB72B51.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3F0dCYF3_HLi8tFmMDcgpbQ15pA7GuFbSUTESdh4kehlZYi77KVakRrUPzfK_QJZmZTL6CbECTPaCjsLiBiJcQSdTugxJ5UfBezorDppYAfiBVl0PZsOA12BXwXZ6V5itB8_dfO_Jb48/s320/7768FFDE-B9C2-411C-87E9-9BD8AAB72B51.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On my throne Liz prepared. Trying to get Baby Girl to engage...</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUkpwaMvrWlExM3891M6ly_rUJvyd4gH0i86TUaTkO8Jbs_0AXer3ZDjx_9Sel82PouW8Xyy7h3TOp2mTI2AEqAQuUi_eknQtJVsjjHq8M_6XLzCVAoV4vps7OR_wvhnXCcJhQpDKSjyQ/s2048/25D5D3C9-9059-4438-9408-78FE9103AA51.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUkpwaMvrWlExM3891M6ly_rUJvyd4gH0i86TUaTkO8Jbs_0AXer3ZDjx_9Sel82PouW8Xyy7h3TOp2mTI2AEqAQuUi_eknQtJVsjjHq8M_6XLzCVAoV4vps7OR_wvhnXCcJhQpDKSjyQ/s320/25D5D3C9-9059-4438-9408-78FE9103AA51.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More Liz and Joy magic...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2xRWTDk-KGfk50w-qVx7B-7SA-rTYIh8dE7sdig9K26L1GK56LqEmvVYpmoab0EFx72Nl2Ngkhr8FX2ZtNfAArxQMb7rIlwyud9ZiPrztayeKaC-yazf46ojOaIh8JC2Jm21aMLxay-s/s2048/0C7921ED-2684-442E-80D5-D2AC9475C8C8.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2xRWTDk-KGfk50w-qVx7B-7SA-rTYIh8dE7sdig9K26L1GK56LqEmvVYpmoab0EFx72Nl2Ngkhr8FX2ZtNfAArxQMb7rIlwyud9ZiPrztayeKaC-yazf46ojOaIh8JC2Jm21aMLxay-s/s320/0C7921ED-2684-442E-80D5-D2AC9475C8C8.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">EW...it worked...lemme up... Amniotic fluid all over my gown... #gagme</td></tr></tbody></table><p>CHAPTER III - Jesus Take the Wheel</p><p>I was mentally prepared to lose it right around now. With Matt, after my water broke it was just constant pain and pressure that I was not prepared for. So I was greatly relieved to realize the pain stopped when my contractions stopped. I also could feel Lillian pushing at the top of my uterus with her feet with her stepping reflex with each contraction which was pretty neat. So I’d have a little pain, then I’d feel two taps as her feet pushed against my fundus and then it got real, but only for about 30-40 seconds of each contraction. I walked the hall again with all the confidence a woman can have in her Always Discreet underwear. The big difference was that I went from wanting to stop walking during the contractions, to having to stop walking. I didn't have a lot of control over my lower half, or at least it felt like I couldn't withstand the pain and continue moving. Those hip squeezes Liz and BJ did were amazing relief. I don’t know how I would have coped without them.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiclnRZZWiMIob8ehnmmPP3aOKqDYNtzATCWfYDzavQTlzWpQXgXZIRp27HsLVFawphnVzxZbd_6fHNhg9e3cHBeam3irQQAbijYc1Qa-1eZTbzuOihuW8ls1qSjXLpnL1NnQQUbcoO3EU/s2048/9F76BE26-0BD2-4099-B655-3B06530002AB.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiclnRZZWiMIob8ehnmmPP3aOKqDYNtzATCWfYDzavQTlzWpQXgXZIRp27HsLVFawphnVzxZbd_6fHNhg9e3cHBeam3irQQAbijYc1Qa-1eZTbzuOihuW8ls1qSjXLpnL1NnQQUbcoO3EU/s320/9F76BE26-0BD2-4099-B655-3B06530002AB.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can have a contraction or ambulate...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS8lvG3wrtpy-kTPqfVOS5D8Th9hdoLRYHuQbm_VUjpHuVwX6UPvx41YT5AfAhXAb4U9KVUvIPgT3FoX9NbC-Atu28yVhqm9N4ABbYJudfE8WotbvtNNtJ5Aj0i5OwkEi3IJxoK6GknBE/s2048/C9AF2664-4793-48B4-B41A-78ACD62D2CE3.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS8lvG3wrtpy-kTPqfVOS5D8Th9hdoLRYHuQbm_VUjpHuVwX6UPvx41YT5AfAhXAb4U9KVUvIPgT3FoX9NbC-Atu28yVhqm9N4ABbYJudfE8WotbvtNNtJ5Aj0i5OwkEi3IJxoK6GknBE/s320/C9AF2664-4793-48B4-B41A-78ACD62D2CE3.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But not both...</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Joy had palpated a few of my contractions and still wasn’t happy with how they were tracing, so internal monitors were recommended. I was really hoping to have made some progress at this point, because I was not sure how long I could keep my happy-go-lucky, and overall pleasant demeanor. I had not made a lot of change at this point, but between Joy checking and Dr. Barry placing the internal monitors, in less than a half hour I’d made some progress. Once the internal monitors were set, you could see I was having strong contractions...I personally did not need to see that because I was feeling them. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGDGopSVwAAASI4tUh-io1eMcSCT7WNWwVC32a533GRBVhCN6pmYMRGJ42pziw_WRN0HZXJJ_BNXG7Lu4Q8MzR-Lhj6q4efGnxn1F02E-CWjx65q6msxzdDpvgGWsXdG8B8VwiJ19QcT8/s2048/8E43DC40-8799-4E59-974D-FB990395FF6E.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGDGopSVwAAASI4tUh-io1eMcSCT7WNWwVC32a533GRBVhCN6pmYMRGJ42pziw_WRN0HZXJJ_BNXG7Lu4Q8MzR-Lhj6q4efGnxn1F02E-CWjx65q6msxzdDpvgGWsXdG8B8VwiJ19QcT8/s320/8E43DC40-8799-4E59-974D-FB990395FF6E.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When the external tocometer betrays you...</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Around this time I grew to have a better understanding of how people could become infatuated with inanimate objects. For me, the left side bed rail became my very best friend in the whole wide world. Not the right side bed rail... The right sided bed rail was a feckless dud, but my left side bed rail provided me with companionship and comfort during the worst 30 seconds of my life every two minutes or so. I mean Liz and BJ were great, but the bedrail was my comfort object. It let me squeeze the life out of it without ever leaving me. It never complained. So shout out to my LDR08 left bedrail for its unwavering support</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-NCH4CdX0D2NhoVyYXa8w_18bmryukRRF0lxPOJ39hI13tJksgSKTaHX8fqRT1JKIt9Dn06TDeoYxQBMEPQfIHQK6iy-T0FfxBFa00e5g-xUGxa7sqyt59XFLwjaynT2w3FNOy7XSSkk/s2048/50B33AB9-4DE6-4A01-B678-B6AE5FF60B36.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-NCH4CdX0D2NhoVyYXa8w_18bmryukRRF0lxPOJ39hI13tJksgSKTaHX8fqRT1JKIt9Dn06TDeoYxQBMEPQfIHQK6iy-T0FfxBFa00e5g-xUGxa7sqyt59XFLwjaynT2w3FNOy7XSSkk/s320/50B33AB9-4DE6-4A01-B678-B6AE5FF60B36.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I will never let you go!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Lillian was still throwing some variables so I was back on the bed, getting extra IV fluids and changing positions. Liz texted her husband just after 4:00pm to say that I was just now in pain to give him an idea of when she thought she'd be home. The next hour was just sort of live through one contraction and you don’t ever have to do that contraction again...It is a finite experience one way or another, after all. At some point I was checked again, but I still had a bit to go. Liz was phenomenal at keeping me as comfortable as possible and aiding BJ in helping me. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8FXJtsRO-FzaCnbrD6TYog8AEJDqeq2rj1NGVcRkUx7af-z-jCmFt_k6kIKl6OrKQeeE8WRVWDJKAtmnARtZfvYYgxuFOYbV_gVIaTCUAIUixo9Kr1vnGmzQA0nd2dACVnAL7x87-2e0/s2048/0BE23B3D-F857-467C-AF3E-F7C194813621.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8FXJtsRO-FzaCnbrD6TYog8AEJDqeq2rj1NGVcRkUx7af-z-jCmFt_k6kIKl6OrKQeeE8WRVWDJKAtmnARtZfvYYgxuFOYbV_gVIaTCUAIUixo9Kr1vnGmzQA0nd2dACVnAL7x87-2e0/s320/0BE23B3D-F857-467C-AF3E-F7C194813621.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doula magic...</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Eventually all the fluid boluses caught up with me and I remember taking a contraction or two wondering if moving to the toilet would be worth the pain relief of emptying my bladder...Eventually my bladder couldn’t take anymore so I trekked the 10 feet or so to my bathroom. The contractions were pretty intense at this point. I couldn’t quite make it back to my bed in time to get into a position I could withstand a contraction, so I labored on the toilet for a bit having to stand up and lean over to make it through a contraction and then resting by sitting on the toilet. I knew I was in transition at this point, but I had no idea how long it was going to take. It wasn’t more than 5 contractions in the bathroom when I started losing my peripheral vision during the contraction like curtains were closing in. I also felt like I needed to poop...I mean it could have been baby, but what if it wasn’t... So I took that minute or two between that contraction and the next to decide what was worse...pooping the delivery bed, or giving birth on a toilet. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC7ZKZ0j0Not6s_Cd5yGMzxNwAr6N72VLPA_WweZZ6hkFUXTBcNr0t9K5TfKdwV0W2kNN7CL0a_x3gqAL7TnsQLENrRJvoGLxgfR1G8Cale55pcKpqbN6k6LRRIqgDsTOTNANWcCBAyAA/s2048/18A65CE6-1DB2-4C79-98C8-656FD89ABC03.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC7ZKZ0j0Not6s_Cd5yGMzxNwAr6N72VLPA_WweZZ6hkFUXTBcNr0t9K5TfKdwV0W2kNN7CL0a_x3gqAL7TnsQLENrRJvoGLxgfR1G8Cale55pcKpqbN6k6LRRIqgDsTOTNANWcCBAyAA/s320/18A65CE6-1DB2-4C79-98C8-656FD89ABC03.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Weighing the pros and cons of a toilet baby... #transitiondecisions</td></tr></tbody></table><p>With the next contraction it was all I could do to stay up right. I also decided I didn’t want to be the ‘remember when the nurse practitioner from the fertility clinic delivered on the toilet’ story, so I told Liz “I think I’m going to pass out.” She quickly escorted me back to my bed and back to my beloved left bed rail. Then Carrie Underwood’s “Jesus Take the Wheel” came on... in my case the bed rail, but it could not have been timed better.</p><p>CHAPTER IV - “You’re so gross...”</p><p>So Liz mentioned to Joy that she might want to call in the delivery team because last time I rolled over and had a baby. My OB was performing a repair on another patient, but the charge nurse and the baby nurse came in. I don’t think anyone but Liz really knew at this point that Lillian was on her way. I began to burn up. Liz gave BJ a fan, and so his job was just to wave that and keep his back turned to anything happening below my neck. Liz was working her magic because somehow I did not spontaneously combust, but I think I got as close as a person can get and still be here to tell my tale. </p><p>I was trying very hard to not push because I’m a good patient (refer back to the paragraph on healthcare professionals as patients), and I had not been declared complete. I just kept gripping that left bed rail and thinking I may have an hour or more to go before I can push. I remember being checked and instead of getting a number and station it was, “Oh, hello baby head.” At this point, I did not have control of anything below my diaphragm. The charge who checked me and was my former coworker threatened to send me a Venmo if I delivered on her. There is a ton, and I mean a ridiculous ton of paperwork we had to do at the hospital I delivered at if a baby came without a physician or midwife in the room. So I got it...however, there was very little I could do at this point. Hello, Ferguson reflex...</p><p>I just shut my eyes and held on to the left bed rail. The next contraction I remember trying to mentally prepare for the pain and exhale, but instead, my body just curled up and whoops, Lillian crowned. Suddenly a resident appeared and introduced herself. She told me “everything was going to be ok” with all the confidence you have as a twenty-something in an awkward situation, and I remember thinking, ‘Well, yeah...Thanks?’ I was being rolled over and my legs moved for me, and I just kept my eyes shut. Then the next contraction Dr. Barry came in just in time for the delivery. Then I had the most beautiful, albeit the cheesiest, itty bitty baby placed on my chest. So I opened my eyes to see two beady little eyes looking at me like, “What the Hell, Mommy?” And I said to her, “You are so gross, but I love you.” We’ve pretty much been inseparable ever since.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0H7uR4NGyOuMuDsMUZU7DLNi8V8NPDeChmhbbeHoqtnSle1wxGPxT8ohPCE506VVHL6DZVC1K6p_L7zfr3_8xT67nDfhhcGY8A3ByO-9KL6YkRpJU2GrSCa9UUAlh5AhgVrUNgFXpnA/s2048/E60B216C-25F7-4BB4-908B-B3CC62EA9490.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0H7uR4NGyOuMuDsMUZU7DLNi8V8NPDeChmhbbeHoqtnSle1wxGPxT8ohPCE506VVHL6DZVC1K6p_L7zfr3_8xT67nDfhhcGY8A3ByO-9KL6YkRpJU2GrSCa9UUAlh5AhgVrUNgFXpnA/w300-h400/E60B216C-25F7-4BB4-908B-B3CC62EA9490.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All that cheese!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Delivering the placenta was more painful than Lillian’s appearance. I also remember telling patients that if they had an unmedicated delivery and needed a repair they wouldn’t really feel the lidocaine injections because all those nerves are stretched out. Lemme take a second to say I am so sorry for lying to you. I mean it still feels like a bee sting in your already battered vagina, but having a cute, slimy, baby on your chest is a welcome distraction. </p><p>Anyway, since I agreed to skin-to-skin, I got to just soak in the moments...the birth of my beautiful baby, all the ick of a 37 weeker directly applied to my skin, the ability to move my legs, and the ability to shower by myself instead of having two techs come in with washcloths to wash my undercarriage. Overall it was a day I will cherish forever. My nurse told Liz she did not expect an unmedicated labor to go that calmly. *Curtsies* Why, thank you, Joy. </p><p>Lil is my little 5lb 12oz peanut. She is strong, gorgeous, and the answer to so many prayers. She was worth every itch, every sleepless night, every stitch, and every fallen tear. I can’t thank the team at the Fertility Center, and my delivery team enough, for helping us bring this little miracle into the world. Lillian, you and your brother are so loved by so many people. I hope each of you can one day understand how many people prayed for you and how powerful that is. Thank you for choosing us! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvimGd5LAVJ4w4fvoejAHzYkkmdEIunaCRFiJBy3B1zN5xWt7lqqheMBWNOxW9g2e6ZV6FWyQhu418_7UEH2iBmfUIK_UzKqZXo8OrSTloRvo5lwKDU32-c6E6mbQlhOkeK2V5wOjSXjM/s2048/19789A97-FDAC-4BDF-8ED4-A848B9807AC9.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvimGd5LAVJ4w4fvoejAHzYkkmdEIunaCRFiJBy3B1zN5xWt7lqqheMBWNOxW9g2e6ZV6FWyQhu418_7UEH2iBmfUIK_UzKqZXo8OrSTloRvo5lwKDU32-c6E6mbQlhOkeK2V5wOjSXjM/s320/19789A97-FDAC-4BDF-8ED4-A848B9807AC9.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3QKbnmJeZtMeQzda_of8eBIcGymRHD2VLQzOmV4XsDv5aIUn_mh-ifi909aT8Mc0-XasP1bV3ohVgsmcxu2xzAHL285wJFdguo8gm1RPaQUlV5gnB85QvU8mWfKxcG_K_zZ4WynMXZQY/s2048/41882077-30A3-4854-8BA7-816EFBA45075.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3QKbnmJeZtMeQzda_of8eBIcGymRHD2VLQzOmV4XsDv5aIUn_mh-ifi909aT8Mc0-XasP1bV3ohVgsmcxu2xzAHL285wJFdguo8gm1RPaQUlV5gnB85QvU8mWfKxcG_K_zZ4WynMXZQY/w300-h400/41882077-30A3-4854-8BA7-816EFBA45075.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7f1zAk-CFb7W6cSCNptCAImWE6BT4bWtJAb9YJRtkJYbW6WpCTeLR6iD8mFF7Qbc09SKk72orqXaJDnfpw2KT33420ur69e3P1ZC9CXylV72S0ymv1YZK8jV78JrXwriCjEo_EZjy77g/s2048/32C9414D-CBBD-4CC3-8A96-481D6FAE48AA.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7f1zAk-CFb7W6cSCNptCAImWE6BT4bWtJAb9YJRtkJYbW6WpCTeLR6iD8mFF7Qbc09SKk72orqXaJDnfpw2KT33420ur69e3P1ZC9CXylV72S0ymv1YZK8jV78JrXwriCjEo_EZjy77g/s320/32C9414D-CBBD-4CC3-8A96-481D6FAE48AA.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJS_DYxEFy9iFmafaxrQWprDx_ZZNgPAnIaOpRW4xZHc_F4ckqXR8Ifu6LNKE1pbWs0wGFh-3DO2h5X01I8-sFgTT1KIKJhfJ0ZFf8S8dkxt_cgR0ZvbqkKKPDoh7zai7HlDnutNqiLQs/s2048/A852C559-60A9-419A-A838-E5571E3A96CA.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJS_DYxEFy9iFmafaxrQWprDx_ZZNgPAnIaOpRW4xZHc_F4ckqXR8Ifu6LNKE1pbWs0wGFh-3DO2h5X01I8-sFgTT1KIKJhfJ0ZFf8S8dkxt_cgR0ZvbqkKKPDoh7zai7HlDnutNqiLQs/s320/A852C559-60A9-419A-A838-E5571E3A96CA.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzojlig4Kuzn-BT5mYsoz-P-rOnBZzdZust30N5XpRTtFOTMk1vIG8gENGgJV7FsjX7ogIqp0RZc5qIssuw-TTH6VGyNxGDshSgVW-aheX7hRkqp737YplKRk_Yv8pyO4v6WCHQKflfF0/s2048/B397B744-F2D1-42DA-89AC-79943BC65C9D.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzojlig4Kuzn-BT5mYsoz-P-rOnBZzdZust30N5XpRTtFOTMk1vIG8gENGgJV7FsjX7ogIqp0RZc5qIssuw-TTH6VGyNxGDshSgVW-aheX7hRkqp737YplKRk_Yv8pyO4v6WCHQKflfF0/s320/B397B744-F2D1-42DA-89AC-79943BC65C9D.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Peace, Love, and Sweet Relief!</p><p>Mary Katherine</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-52692998239078377742021-05-10T21:43:00.002-07:002021-05-19T18:10:37.011-07:0037.1Lillian and I have made it through the last 5 days with flying colors. This child has passed every test thrown her way. She may look grumpy on her ultrasound photos while doing so, but she’s performed admirably. She had a great non-stress test on Thursday. Monday, she got an 8/8 on her biophysical profile. She’s practice breathing, moving big, has good muscle tone, and the right amount of fluid. <div><br /></div><div>I’ve felt moderately better. The extra appointments and positive findings were a huge relief. Plus Lillian is back to her normal rowdy self the last few days after a few days of being rather low-key for her. She was doing enough, but neither one of us felt totally right, either. I’m definitely more controlled on the Ursodiol medication. It’s not a cure-all...but the itching is mostly tolerable until about 3-5AM. This at least has given me the ability to fall asleep at a more normal time without scratching my skin off and considering filleting myself. When I’m not itching, I get some colicky right upper quadrant pain. It’s not terrible, I just notice an ache. Although Lil’s feet have been in my diaphragm quite a bit, so it could be totally her fault. </div><div><br /></div><div>I’ve gotten plenty of texts, phone calls, and messages the last few days, and I wanted to take a minute to say how very well cared for I feel to have each of you praying and thinking of us. I have had a sense of calm now since I received the phone call with my lab results and a plan. Honestly, it’s really nice having a chance to pack a bag, to not feel as awful the day before I went into labor with Matt, and know that soon I’ll have miss Lillian hooked up to a fetal monitor through this whole process. </div><div><br /></div><div>I wasn’t induced with Matt, so I’m going in blind. I didn’t feel all my contractions with Matt, but by the time I presented to OB triage I was contracting every 2 minutes. I was only feeling every 6th or 7th one. Matt was also very low in my pelvis...Lillian is not so much. So I’m not sure how quick or not this induction will go. I labored with Matt for 5.5 hours...this may be a little big longer...but who knows. </div><div><br /></div><div>Matt keeps telling me he’s very excited to meet Lillian. I’m excited for him to meet her, too. I have no doubt that he will be the best big brother a kid sister could have. He’s too sweet to not be. He is having some extra clingy moments, and I’ve tried to cherish those. In fact we played “Hot Wheels” and “Dinosaurs”, and then “Hot Wheels Dinosaurs” tonight. Again, a perk of this induction is that I felt well enough to have this last evening with him as an only child. He’s also back to repossessing his long lost “treasures” (rattles, and baby toys). At least he states he will share them with Lillian...</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, I just wanted to let you know all is as well as can be headed in to this induction. Again, thank you for your love, support, thoughts and prayers as we tackle this next hurdle. </div><div><br /></div><div>Peace, love, and prayerful anticipation,</div><div>Mary Katherine and BJ<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUzipavPoNKUjLjvcFgajlZ11bg6yJpqxFKCc8IRfxVmCLQOsALDePR0O8J1K4lyBCAnMN2hCE3laKvZ-5vywWcwaFIpCvw6oNvwQM7_mnLIP5eSLa45J-xh9EpbvrQuL2dog5q0strtQ/s2048/3802C224-CB62-4796-A0B1-203A04E5E7A9.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUzipavPoNKUjLjvcFgajlZ11bg6yJpqxFKCc8IRfxVmCLQOsALDePR0O8J1K4lyBCAnMN2hCE3laKvZ-5vywWcwaFIpCvw6oNvwQM7_mnLIP5eSLa45J-xh9EpbvrQuL2dog5q0strtQ/s320/3802C224-CB62-4796-A0B1-203A04E5E7A9.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div>Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-25606730179192453832021-05-05T20:43:00.003-07:002021-05-05T21:05:21.314-07:00To My Lilly-Bear<p>Dear Lillian, </p><p>One day you will ask how you came to be, and unlike your big brother, I don't have years' worth of blog posts to share with you. But don't take that to mean there is not another beautiful story of hope, love and miracles behind your conception. In fact Matt's story is your story. You see, the very same day God, Dr. Donesky, Susan, a very special young woman, and of course, your Dada worked together the miracle of your brother (yes, your brother is a miracle no matter how you feel about him on the day you read this) they also made you. You became one of many BEAUTIFUL blastocysts. On the day of my transfer with Matt, you were frozen. </p><p>And you waited, and we waited. I always knew I did not want two in diapers or extremely close in age. I wanted to relish all the phases of babyhood and early childhood before I diverted my attention. It is my hope that since Matt-Matt is a little older and almost 8% independent, he will allow me to give you as much as I could give him. Plus you'll have him to adore, too. He says he's really excited to meet you, by the way. I'm not sure how long that excitement will last, but at the moment, rest assured it was genuine. Your Dada and I cannot wait either.</p><p>Like your brother, once we got to a healthy blastocyst, you were no problem. In fact, I was in my office 3 days past my transfer when I sneezed and felt a sharp, stabbing pain that only has one etiology. That sneeze sprained my uterus as I like to say, or caused round ligament pain. </p><p>I guess I should insert that some things have changed since I blogged about your brother. I am now very blessed and honored to be a nurse practitioner at the Fertility Center where you and Matt-Matt were created. That being the case, Lillian, this blog is not meant to be taken for medical advice in lieu of seeing an actual provider. It is simply a means to relay my experience as your mother. If you were to need medical advice, I highly recommend contacting your primary care physician/pediatrician, OB/GYN, or going to resources such as ASRM.org and RESOLVE.org if you need more general information about infertility.</p><p>Anywho, there was the sneeze heard round the office, and I knew right then. So, I being the trained medical professional I am and having told numerous patients not to take a home pregnancy test this early, took a home pregnancy test. To be fair, I was under the influence of a co-worker who was using reverse psychology to get me to test early. (That is my story, and will always be my story.) I thought I had waited until the morning, but it turns out I only made it to 1:30am when I had to pee. So I braced myself and reminded myself that it was way too early to test and this was not going to be the best sample. Yet...there was the first evidence of you turning the lightest shade of pink before my very eyes. You were that strong, and that determined, and just that amazing. </p><p>I don't think I slept the rest of the night, which is a theme with you...but we'll get there. Your Dada, was so happy. This is the first time we found out I was pregnant before anyone else! I was a good patient and didn't cheat with Matt. I diligently kept up with my progesterone shots and by day 5 after my transfer, unlike with your brother, I felt gross. Like super gross with nausea but not bad enough to vomit, which honestly is its own kind of misery. So I asked for my progesterone level to be drawn to see if I could cut back on it, and Aunt Alishia accidentally ordered a bHCG in addition to a progesterone test. Muscle memory...it's a thing. And then, there you were...on record, in my chart, and official. I was definitely pregnant. And I also definitely got to cut back on progesterone...</p><p>A few days later, you had an amazing official start with an almost 300 initial bHCG. Forty-eight hours later, you more than doubled the numbers like a champ. We got to take a sneak peak at 5 weeks because the office bought new ultrasound machines, and we absolutely had to test them. We saw your little gestational sac. The next week you did all the things with a great initial heart rate and growing just as you should. Unlike with your brother, I was more keenly aware something was going on this time. Whereas without fertility treatments and frequent monitoring I would have never known I was pregnant with Matt. You, girlfriend, you were present. You even made me throw up a few times. Because of this, I knew in my heart of hearts you were a girl. I was resigned to the idea of being a boy mom. (I hope you like Hot Wheels, Lillian, because we have the entire fleet from 2018 onwards...). I expected to be a boy mom. It had been too long and too hard of a road to just assume I would have my version of the textbook family of a protective older brother to a sweet but sassy little sister that I always wanted to have. </p><p>You continued to grow and do all the things. Aunt Alishia talked me in to doing a blood test to find out your gender. I mean, it also checked for trisomies and some other of the more common chromosome errors, but lesbihonest, we did it for the gender. I don't know if you've officially been told this by this point in your life, but you don't have any trisomies or microdeletions based on this test, congratulations! We waited for reasons I can't even remember, to find out your gender until Aunt Alishia and Aunt Ericka decided to kick Dada out of the house and create a treasure hunt to find out.. </p><p>We failed. To be fair, I still argue that where food gets cold is a refrigerator, not a freezer, but that's not the point. I also failed to video this adventure because of who I am as a person. This is why we do group activities, and I am not responsible for filming them. Anyway with 3 out of 12 clues found, we got to our final goal prematurely. We found the rest of the puzzle pieces over the next 5 days. (Remind Mommy and Dada that if the Amazing Race ever returns, we need not apply.)</p><p>We opened this cute black and white box and found pink ribbon, "it's a girl!" trinkets, and pink glittery shoes. I shut the box super fast. NO WAY! But very much yes way, you are my precious baby girl. My Lillian Leigh who's name I've held on my heart for 13 years. </p><p>Lillian, you are named after your great-great Aunt that your Grammy just adored AND your great-great grandmother Lillian that was also a nurse, like your Mommy. Leigh comes from the middle name of both your Uncles Matt (your brother Matt-Matt's namesake) and Christopher. Just in case you were wondering. I also really like the sound of LILLY LEIGH!!! GET YOUR HIND END BACK IN HERE!!! to the tune of a slamming screen door...we are from the south so these things are important... </p><p>Over the next couple of weeks I got to wean off the progesterone in oil injections which was fabulous because they do make your rump itch. And then my thighs...I didn't give the medication in my thighs, but nevertheless it must've been the progesterone. </p><p>Everything seemed great at my first OB appointment. And then I got COVID...at least a whiff of it...I was one of the blessed people who only had sinus symptoms and a cough. It was a nasty cough. And then with every coughing fit I started bleeding. Again, this is what I do for a living, so I knew the pressure of coughing combined with daily aspirin was likely the culprit, but bleeding while you're pregnant is not what one would call reassuring. The COVID cough, like all things COVID, lingers, but anytime I took a sneak peak by US, you were just doing all the things. You checked out fine, at your 16 week appointment. </p><p>We made it to your 20 week appointment for your big anatomy scan. They verified that "Oh, you are definitely a girl" with perfect hands, feet, abdominal organs, a beautiful 4 chamber heart. You did have a choroid plexus cyst, which is a normal finding when we know prenatal testing has been performed and there are no other defects. So this is where I will forever be grateful to Aunt Alishia for talking me into doing the non-invasive prenatal testing. That would have been the next step, and I cannot imagine how painful the two week wait for news would have been had I been made to endure it. On the upside, you bought us a repeat US at 28 weeks. Did I mention I was still itching?</p><p>I don't remember when I started having to get up multiple times through the night to go pee with Matt. It never stopped from the time of your transfer with you. Not such a big deal, except when I would wake up to use the bathroom, I couldn't get back to sleep for the incessant itching. It started on my shins, but then it would be everywhere. There was no rash, but it also wasn't my hands and feet at first so I wrote it off as some "pruritis of pregnancy"...It had been a problem as early as 14 weeks, but it would be a bad 2-3 nights and then a good 3-4 nights so I wrote it off. Sometimes Benadryl helped...sometimes it didn't...then it became 3-4 bad nights and a couple nights that may have been bad, but I was too exhausted to do anything about it so I mostly slept through it.</p><p>At your/our 24 week appointment, I did mention the all over body itching during the night because I was also driving your Dada nuts. We talked about contact allergies, changing my bedding, lotions (it was winter), avoiding scalding hot water, trying oatmeal baths...so I did all those things, and it seemed like things were a little better because I went a good run of only 2-3 bad nights a week. </p><p>Anyway, you looked amazing at your 28 weeks US. Your choroid plexus cyst had resolved. You had a perfect little belly and such a cute face. You already looked like your brother. We get to 30 weeks and all is grand...still itching, but making it. At 32 weeks things were meh - about every other night I was up itching for 2-3 hours. By 33ish weeks it was most every night a week, and so I mentioned it again. Labs were drawn and came back normal. Labs were drawn the next week and came back normal. Didn't bother with labs at 35 weeks, and then at 36 weeks when I was feeling confident it was just a weird non-rashy itch and annoying but not worrisome, I got diagnosed with cholestasis of pregnancy. So at the time that I am writing this, we are set up for 2 more appointments and an induction over the span of the next 6 days. </p><p>So even though you are not here to read this, Lil, I am asking that you hang in for a few more days. This thing is annoying to me, but for reasons we don't totally understand, it can be really bad for you. Mommy is going to be doing all the things. You seem to be trucking right along with all this, too. However, feeling you move now is the most wonderful and simultaneously relieving feeling in the whole world. So I apologize now, that you will likely be born exhausted because I don't let you sleep for too long without pushing on your back just to feel you move. Your hiccups are everything to me, so you just keep hiccuping away. You've waited too long, and come too far to give up now. So, Miss Thing 2, please hang in there. Your Mommy and Da-da can't wait to see you in a few more days.</p><p>With all our Peace, Love, and Hope, </p><p>Your Mommy- Mary Katherine</p>Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-74035209807191536172019-06-21T05:06:00.002-07:002019-06-21T09:45:29.008-07:003.5 or Thereabouts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I know...I'm a huge slacker...I can't even blame school at the moment.<br />
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So Matt turned 3 in January, and because I'm awesome at the whole mom thing when I waited to schedule his three y/o appointment until March as requested it couldn't be scheduled until the end of April. On the plus side, he did break 30lbs by his 3 y/o appointment...granted he was 3 1/3 years old by then, but who is counting? I did not attend this appointment due to a work conflict, but since I always leave his well-checks feeling like DCS is going to be knocking on my door [<i>I don't know how many calories he eats a day/he's not completed some major developmental task like threading a needle and sewing a button on a piece of cloth independently/he drinks too much Carnation Instant Breakfast, doesn't eat Brussel sprouts/doesn't cut shapes out with scissors </i>(WHAT SAVAGE WOULD GIVE A 3 YEAR-OLD SCISSORS SHARP ENOUGH TO CUT ANYTHING?)/<i>we didn't take him to a pediatric dentist-just a regular dentist, etc</i>], I felt no remorse.<br />
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Interestingly, the things I was disturbed by - his lack of fluency, continence and overall lack of progress towards independent living did not seem to disturb anyone at his pediatric office at all. <i>Seriously, what good is sewing on a button, when you can't even use the stupid button!!! </i> I realize that our pediatrician and we maybe have different goals for Matt at the end of the day, but honestly I thought she'd be more on my side at least on the potty training bit. Instead we got the whole "They'll do it on their own time."<br />
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Well listen, Linda...It's not his time...it's Dada and Mommy's time and MONEY...Matt (and us pending an FBI investigation) got into a great preschool the kind where people with PhDs work with the littles even in the "lower school". Catch being he has to be potty trained...as in going potty independently. And we put a deposit down, and therefore he is going to be potty trained because WE SAID SO, not because he "feels" this or that way about going potty.<br />
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So anyway, I didn't feel the pressure of this in January when we knew he'd been accepted. However, April came around rather quickly, and nothing had changed. I had been reading up on the whole potty training thing for a while...I don't know what generation is responsible for today's parenting articles on the topic, but clearly, they didn't get their feelings hurt enough or something. I did try however...I tried talking it up, about how wonderful independence was...at some point in this time was when we had the whole "Don't you want to use the potty like Mommy and Daddy?" "No." "Why not?" "Cuz, volcanos." incident. I mean, you can't even argue with that logic, technically...<br />
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I guess I should go ahead and tell you that food is still not very high on Matt's priority list. So while I appreciated the approximated 1,347 people that told me all their children needed was M&Ms, when I say that my child is not food-motivated, I'm not lying. M&Ms do nothing for him. They do not melt in his hands or his mouth! I mean I tried. I tried everything...but it was as equally effective as training my golden retriever with raw spinach leaves. In case you're wondering, Emma has never eaten raw spinach, nor has she passed any sort of training course...She is, however, housebroken...<br />
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So I decided to schedule a diaper-pocalypse/naked weekend the first weekend of May. Grammy (my mother) was so very kind enough to be volunteered to take the first shift while I worked the first half of the day. We rolled up the carpet, bought fruit juice and salty snacks, and ripped off the diaper. And lo - this child used the potty three times Friday morning, but never in front of anyone...but there would be pee in the potty, victory shouts, and obligatory "potty prizes" which were any array of things from the dollar store that we put on the mantle out of his reach...the one useful piece of toilet training advice I did receive. So Friday started off great, and then it literally fell to crap from there. He peed on the floor more times than in the potty. He would start off as a good sport about helping clean up as much as you would expect a three year old to clean up. But as the day progressed, these became a battle of wills and time-outs. Luckily it was a nicer weekend so there was some outside time so the "accidents" weren't very tragic. Saturday he used the potty once while all the adults were distracted in the kitchen, and Sunday not once. I was feeling very defeated, thinking about all the diapers I could have bought with our non-refundable deposit...<br />
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Our wise and wonderful babysitter who is full of sage wisdom told me we had to find his currency. So I thought about it. I also thought about what my mom told me from her time working as a social worker and the behavioral group homes for children. Those kids had to earn their sheets back. They had to earn the privilege of putting a poster on their wall. And for not all, but many, it gave them enough grounding that they were able to reconnect their control of their behavior back to outcomes. I thought, 'Well, if it works for children displaying antisocial behavior, maybe it will work for a strong-willed 3 y/o so he doesn't become antisocial.'<br />
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Matt-Matt, my dear, sweet, delightful, loveable, adorable, cute-as-a-button, silly boy is all of these things and more. But since the New Year, I've come to terms that my child is also of the "strong-willed" variety. I had a hard time seeing this, because I've only been around strong willed little girls with their hands on their hips shouting, "No!" at their Mamas. At least that's what my impression of strong-willed was. It took me a bit of time to come around to what strong-willed looks like on an other-wise very sweet-natured little boy. I mean, we already knew he was not a performer. All these Facebook and IG Moms pretty much have us beat hands down because Matt will not just break from something he's doing to sing the ABC song backwards so I can be like, "Look what my 1,253 day-old can do!" Even if he's been doing it since he was 18 months old. [<i>He hasn't...at least not the English alphabet..Swedish is a possibility, however, but since none of use or speak it, we can't verify that.</i>] So anyway...all this reading about how you should basically praise them for their accidents and give them participation trophies for thinking about potty training, letting them tell you when they are ready to go to the potty, or how damaging it is to even "force children less than age 4 to use the bathroom"... Don't get me wrong, I love Matt, and I appreciate effort, but I'm 99.9 percent sure none of his future bosses are going to be overly concerned with his "feelings." Nor are they going to be so very excited about praising his incompetence.<br />
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So this is what went down. Matt lost all his privileges. No TV, no iPad, no outside, no laughing, no talking, no crying, no cars, no diapers, no pants, no happiness, no joy, JUST HIM, ME and a POTTY. Well, there may have been some tears, but we just stared at each other for 20 minutes...which for a 3 y/o and a mother of a 3 y/o stuck in an 18 sq. foot half bath who just wants to take her work clothes off...IT IS AN ETERNITY. It was pretty grueling, and I kept thinking, I wonder if this is what Jeffrey Dahmer's mother did?<br />
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BUT I WON!!!! I broke him...and I did it to him again after gymnastics class. He had stayed dry during his class, so I put him in a stall on his potty adaptor and upon his request left. I checked him frequently, got him down from the potty occasionally, refilled his juice three times, but we did not leave until he peed on the potty. It only took an hour and a half after his 45 minute gymnastics class. Of course he peed his pants on the way home. Instead of telling him it was okay, because clearly he can hold his urine for at least 3-4 hours which is what happens when you wait until you are almost 12 years old to potty train, I told him I was disappointed. "Disappointing" was actually the word I used.<br />
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But, when he did go in the potty, we praised big. We got a potty prize, we got hugs, and "good jobs", and we figured out that Matchbox cars and Hotwheels were his currency. We had been warned that going number one in the potty would come way before going number 2...Nope. Matt easily did both in the potty because he could have done it months ago if I hadn't bought into the "potty-training your toddler's way" philosophy. Before we knew what hit us, we were the proud owners of the entire 2019 fleet of Hotwheels cars, and the shouts of "I did it!" were making us cringe as fast as they once made us celebrate. All of which tells me the kid has been intentionally sandbagging us....I mean he hasn't even really been potty trained a month and makes a 6.5 hour drive w/out accidents if that tells you anything. I knew it...He had all the physiological signs he was ready to potty train at around 22 months...Good thing he's so cute...<br />
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In true Matt fashion, he's probably better potty trained at home than when in public, although he has not had any accidents when we've been out and about while we've been on vacation...so there's that. We've had a few public "outings" so it's fitting this is Pride month...Matt celebrates his victories by even telling the waitstaff that he potties. He tells everyone when I go to the potty, too, saying, "Mommy did-it! Mommy pottied! Gewd jahb!" *SIGH*<br />
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He's still not perfect, but it's more his accidents now are more often operational error rather than distraction. Pottying is still a spectator sport for Matt. I'm not sure what switched, but I guess he decided life was more fun with privileges. As soon as we got to our beach house, he dragged his Paw Patrol Potty out of the bathroom and stuck it in the middle of the living room...*sigh*...I'm picking my battles...<br />
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Matt is the sweetest little handful. He loves us, so we don't stay too worried about him running off by himself. Not that we aren't vigilant, but he just doesn't push that boundary like some children do. Perhaps it's the only child in him, but he really seems to enjoy our company. Bless him, we love him, too. Although when Aunt Kim, AKA Ki (pronounced KEE) is around, all bets are off. He is absolutely smitten for her. He will do almost anything for her including break a tantrum to comply.<br />
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He's a funny little goober. I never thought I'd have "Captain Safety" for a child, but I do. We can be getting his tricycle out of the garage and 20 feet from the road and a car drives by and he will stop and say, "Shoo, dat was close!" 'Huh?! OH!! Yes!! Very close!!' He was scared of Grammy's cake with 9 birthday candles because it was "Too hot!" from all the "Too fire!" His English is rapidly improving and he uses big 4 syllable words. Like early in his housebreaking he had an accident that was not a near miss. I expressed how "disappointed" I was. As I reached for the OxiClean just out of my reach in an overhead cabinet it tipped out and spilled onto the floor making a mess in the laundry room. Matt bee-bopped into the laundry room as I was sweeping to ask, "What hap-peened?" I said I was cleaning my mess up, and he looked at me, shook his head with all of the disappointment in the world and said, "Disappointing." <i>I know, Buddy, I know...</i><br />
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He's obsessed with his Batman shirt with a cape. He would wear it everyday. He would also watch Batman cartoons 24/7 if we would let him, and it's adorable. He's my super-hero. He is kind, loving and delightful. He has moments of threenaging at random times over random things which is what threenagers do, I guess. And as frustrating as those moments are, I also secretly enjoy it as well. Suddenly, he won't want to wear the blue shorts, or he only wants the Batman pjs and everything else is beneath his dignity. BJ is absolutely amazing at working him through these things when Ki is not around. He can make him laugh, if he can't make him reason without fail. They both amaze me every single day. I'm a lucky broad, for sure.<br />
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Gaga also makes his world go round which absolutely melts my heart. June is a rough month for a 3 y/o with a January birthday in our family. I mean Mommy celebrates her birthday from mid-May to the end of June, Ki, Grammy, and Ga-Ga also have June birthdays. Matt (my brother) & Kim, my parents, and BJ and I celebrate our anniversaries as well. As Matt said with a pouty lower lip, "Been happy bertie, Mommy, long time." Well, that's true... But Gaga can fix it!<br />
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Now you may...or actually you've probably never wondered, 'What do all these grocery stores do with these decorated birthday cakes that nobody buys?' Well, apparently, the grandparents of IVF babies buy them for no reason...that's what happens to them. Gaga bought Matt-Matt a Batman Birthday cake, complete with a Batman "Helitocker" So we had a Happy [<i>it's NOT your</i>] Bertie, Matt-Matt celebration complete with a song and candle that he had us light, sing to him and let him blow out 3 times. You know, I pride myself on not raising the stereotypical IVF baby who's too much of a miracle to discipline, but then the grandparents literally take the cake...as they should. And not so secretly, I love it, all.<br />
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Peace, Love, & "I Did-it",<br />
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Mary Katherine<br />
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Matt Facts:<br />
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Height: 39"<br />
Weight: 32 lbs<br />
Clothing size: 18mos waist 2T for length 3T according to height/wt chart, but then it drowns him.<br />
Food: Oatmeal (sometimes pronounced "ought-meal"), Domers - aka Donuts, Chocolate Ju/or Chocolate milk which are completely different or the same depending on how hard we are threenaging (usually it's Instant Carnation)<br />
Toys: HotWheels or any and most toy vehicles<br />
Shows: Batman & Robin Cartoons, PJ Masks, Rob the Robot, Wally, Baby Einstein<br />
Books: StarWars Goldenbooks, Curious George, My First Superman/Batman,<br />
Expressions: "What dat noise?" "Shoo, dat was close!" "I did-it!" "I peed the potty." "Gewd jahb" "I wuv you, too." "____, where awr yoo?" "My name is Matt-Matt Robber!""Kiss awe better?" "Ees too hot!" "Matt-Matt dew it."<br />
Fave Song: B-I-N-G-O!<br />
Favorite Animal: Emma and the "kitties"<br />
Nemesis: Actually "dewing" it. So we just do as much as we can while letting him have the illusion that he is helping all-the-while singing his praises for his "help". I should apologize now to his future wife for the monster I am creating. I'm pretty sure this is how men as poor housekeepers start.<br />
Future Career: "Ashernaut" is still a possibility, but his affinity for safety and finding danger when there absolutely was no danger makes me think he'd be great JACHO inspector...<br />
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Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-64322401076199958072019-01-09T18:35:00.000-08:002019-01-09T20:29:10.152-08:00Happy New Year!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Well, 2018 has come and gone in a whirlwind of change for our family, and it's been pretty amazing!<br />
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I can't believe our little miracle is about to turn THREE!<br />
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In my naivety, I assumed that three year-olds, while not being completely ready for prime-time, were somewhat functional. I thought 2 year-olds were supposed to be terrible, which for our case, was not true. Matt is absolutely adorable, good-natured 98% of the time, and completely unreliable. Perhaps it was the years of infertility and all that time devoted to figuring out what protocols and treatment options we had that by the time I spawned, I was too burned out on reading about how to get and stay pregnant to keep up with "What to Expect when You Have an Actual Spawn..." Anyway, I have distinct memories from when I was three. I was potty-trained, I participated in extracurricular activities independently, slept in my own bed without restraints, and I'm pretty sure I was fluent in English.<br />
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Matt, who, to be fair has 7 days left as a two year-old, is still completely incontinent. Speaks fluent swedish Chef and some English. Enunciation is improving, but it's still kinda like trying to solve Wheel of Fortune puzzles after only 4 letters. Which, would be worrisome if there was a pattern to what he could and couldn't pronounce, but there isn't. He can say all the letters, in no particular order, mind you, but if a word requires more than two consonants to be articulated he will randomly select two of his choice. For example, "Doma" is what you and I would call a "donut", yet he can say "P-Nutter" for peanut butter.<br />
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He still sleeps in a crib because he has not offered to climb out, and when given the chance to sleep in a bed, he gets up multiple times a night to run around, climb in different people's beds, chatter, laugh, and play with his toys. The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends staying in a crib until age 3 as long as they aren't going to injure themselves climbing out, and since Matt has not offered to climb out of his crib since I dropped it to the lowest setting the first time I saw him hike a leg up around 1 year of age (BWAHAHAHAHA), we've been able to follow that suggestion. I'm not, however, encouraged to graduate him to a bed anytime soon, especially after his week with his grandparents where he has an adorable toddler bed that he's accidentally slept an hour in once.<br />
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As far as potty-training...BWAHAHAHAHA. My husband and I have carefully discussed this and we are down to 3 options at this point.<br />
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1. Shaming<br />
2. Beatings<br />
3. Prophylactic colostomy and catheter with leg bag<br />
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He wants to wear a diaper. He asks for a diaper when we put training pants on him. While he sits on the potty for his sitter, at home it's like trying to put a feral cat in a bathtub full of water. He has enough control of bladder that he waits until he is in the tub or has a diaper on to relieve himself. He does discuss poop or "poopt" (see...2 consonants whether you need them or not). Everybody poops, just like the book, and it's a great conversation. We love to point out all of the people that have "poopt"...Mommy "poopt", Dada "poopt", Gaga "poopt", Emma "poopt", Grammy "poopt"...endless possibilities to the number of people and things that have poopt. He's told us a couple of times that he "poopt" and was then compliant during a diaper change. Other times, he's told us that his Uncle Marvin the Goldendoodle "poopt" in his diaper, which I have difficulty believing.<br />
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Shades of the mythic threenager are starting to become apparent. Where he used to not care what kind of cup/character juice container he had, suddenly these things are very important. I had no idea a blue cup when you wanted a green cup could ruin your life...like for forever...Sheesh...and then he doesn't seem to appreciate it when I laugh. Apparently I'm not "honoring his feelings", but they don't deserve to be honored, so I'm okay with it. I also throw away participation awards. This is why I'm not winning any mother of the year awards.<br />
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He also has all these mystery injuries all the time that "hurts" and need kisses. Like he can be sitting next to you and then his hand just spontaneously becomes injured and needs to be kissed. You think,<br />
"Awe, how awesome it is that I can kiss my own son's hurts away." Except, I'm not entirely convinced he would not ask a herpetic, street walker to kiss an injury with just as much enthusiasm. Sometimes you have hurts that you didn't know about that need to be kissed, and he performs his magic healing kisses. And you think, 'Wow, what a sweet, wonderful boy I have. I am so blessed.' Two minutes later he body slams your spleen and you think...'So blessed...where did I leave the Tylenol?'<br />
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He's generally a happy kid who is super into Mon-ser Truhs, Di-saurs, Vol-kay-NOs, Or-Nay-dos, Aush-o-nauts, Rocket-Ships, Trains, Caws, Heli-cotters, Soup-man, Batman, PiderMan, Hulk, and sometimes Elmo. He's still a very high efficiency model of a toddler that can go for up to 48 hours on 4 hours of sleep and a couple of cups of Instant Carnation Breakfast from what we can tell.<br />
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Peace, Love, and dreams of continence,<br />
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Mary Katherine<br />
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Matt Facts:<br />
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Height: Not very<br />
Weight: 29ish lbs<br />
Relationship Status: Single<br />
Employment: Unemployed, Not in school<br />
Fave Food: "Soup-man Jew" or Superman Juice for those who don't speak Matthewese. AKA Instant Carnation Breakfast Shake<br />
Fave Drink: "Soup-man Jew"<br />
Fave Animal: Di-soars, mo-kees, key-cats, Emma<br />
Fave Hobby: Dumping out boxes of things onto the floor, like hot wheels cars, blocks, legos, the more painful to step on and the the louder they are when you spill them out and the further they spill, the better.<br />
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Fave Show: Alien Monkey, Carl's Carwash, Super Wings & Cam and Leon... They're all medium bad.<br />
Fave Book: <i>The Pea That was Me</i> and <i>Tractor Book</i><br />
Fave Song: Baby Shark<br />
Fave Activity: Seat drops EXCEPT when at gymnastics class when it suddenly becomes a completely foreign concept even though it would be perfectly appropriate.<br />
Future Career: Well, "aush-o-naut" is looking like a viable option with the diaper situation :)...he did say something about being a "docker". He did get invited to an ACT prep course last year, so maybe I'll let him go to the MCAT prep course before he starts kindergarten just in case...<br />
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Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-34475814671247179072018-10-06T06:15:00.002-07:002018-10-06T06:15:55.578-07:00Summer 2018 Craziness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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We've had a wonderful summer, and for the first time in a long while, nobody is headed to school this fall!!! FREEDOM!!!!<br />
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Matt is 2.5 (+) years old!!!! We've been doing this whole parenting thing for 32 months with arguable and varying amounts of success...if success is growing, learning new things and not having any catastrophic injuries due to our negligence...<br />
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I was organizing my storage areas and came across my baby book. When I was Matt's age, I was fluent in English and potty-trained. Matt's not. Matt has plenty of words and uses them in sentences...when it pleases him. Most of the time he still rocks a Swedish Chef dialect "Bork, Bork, Bork" He's so expressive though...I wonder where he gets that from. His little arms stretch out wide to his side and throws his head back as he says "Oh, NO!!!" It's pretty funny... His biggest language breakthrough is prepositions. With, here, at, for...they are very useful words. <br />
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Occasionally he says something complete new and in English. Like the other night he said, "It is nighttime," clear as a bell, and my reaction is "Who even are you?" He randomly says complete sentences, but they are usually lies. He told me, "I can read". To this day, I've never seen him read more than a few letters...He's also mastered the art of manipulation. He'll Swedish chef through a few words and then you'll try to clarify a word you thought you heard that was English. For example, Matt might say "Berfen choo doma?" To which I will respond, "Did you say donut?" Matt will respond, "OK", as if it was my idea...<br />
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He has managed to regress on the potty training thing. He used to sit on his toddler sized potty for us, but now he refuses. He still flushes for us, sometimes. Occasionally he'll throw in some extra toilet paper for good measure. He has no desire, curiosity, concern, or interest in using a potty, and no compunction about going in his diapers. I let him try the naked weekend and made it 1.5 hours. After watching him pee in his booster seat and then sit in a puddle with no signs of distress, I thought, 'this is not the time.' His babysitter is sort of getting him in a routine, and he sits on the potty for a sticker for HER. He has even peed a few times in it for her - probably an accident... If I offer him a sticker he yells, "No, no NO!" like I'm about waterboard him. He fights like trying to put a cat in the tub if you hold him over his toddler potty or the potty with an adaptor. He does not want stickers or M&Ms. He does not want our blood money, apparently... Matt has decided that the potty is where toddlers go to die...<br />
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We definitely have 'why is my child crying' moments almost everyday. And of course, being the awesome parents we are, we just laugh. Like the other night he had a battery operated candle and was trying to get Emma, our golden retriever, to "blow" it out. He was very frustrated. He was also very frustrated when Emma wouldn't drink on command.<br />
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He's still so stinking cute, though. He can be cute and cuddly and loves to snuggle with us in bed in the evening while he winds down before going to bed in his room. The "I love Mommy"s and the "I Love Da-da"s are just blissful. He's still in his crib as he hasn't offered to climb out. We'll take the breaks where we can get 'em! He sleeps through 4 of 5 nights/week at this point, but if he could get out of his crib, I'm sure we'd be back to newborn level purgatory. Suffice it to say, I'm in no rush to put him in a toddler bed. <br />
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He randomonly eats a couple times a week whether he needs to or not. Amazingly, by his two year-old appointment that was a couple months late, he was 50%ile for height. It is a new family record. Neither BJ or I have ever seen that stat, and since his borrowed genetic material was also my height, I'm going to guess the record still holds. Like any toddler he's randomly picky. BJ and I strive not to make a big deal about it. We could make more of an effort, to keep him hungrier for food by taking away some of his meal replacement shakes, but when we've tried that he's starving at 2:00am, and I feel like we deserve to sleep and he's not being harmed. He'll eat when he's hungry, which is ultimately what we as humans should be doing anyway.<br />
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Now that I am working full-time again, and Matt will be 3 next fall, we wanted to officially institutionalize him full-time. We are basically applying to the prep school of preschools because I love it, one. Two, it actually has better hours than most daycares for not a significant difference in cost, and three, it is only a mile from my office. It is daunting applying for preschools, however. Matt had quite the application to fill out, and he did not seem very enthused about the process. He did not really offer to help me with any of it. I'm doubting his commitment. We have to do a campus visit, AND depending on how that goes, he will have to do an hour long interview by himself. On his application, he was asked, "What is his favorite book?". I asked him to go pick out a book because he does have a few go-tos, as any young child does. He brought me "Everyone Poops". While I appreciate his honesty, Matt does not seem to understand the importance of self-promotion. Obviously, for his "interview", I have concerns. <br />
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He still remains the biggest blessing in our life, and we are still so thankful for this little miracle. I am seriously super thankful for every diaper I get to change, every great emotional upset I have to attend, and, of course, all of the poop books I have to read to him. <br />
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Matt Facts:<br />
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Wt. 27lbs<br />
Clothing size - 24mos<br />
Fave Toy - Lightening McQueen aka Lyin' MaQuee<br />
Fave Food- "Peetza" at least that is the most requested.<br />
Fave Beverage - Soup-man Ju. Which is Instant Carnation Breakfast mixed up in a shaker with a Superman logo.<br />
Fave Animals - I-sores aka "Dinosaurs"<br />
Fave Show- Alien Monkey... Amazon Prime...look it up for yourself...it's Japanese...that's all I can say<br />
New Skills: Counts to 10, walks on a low beam, spider crawls across preschool uneven bars, back extension rolls on a wedge because that's how he does backward rolls (I'm a little proud).<br />
Fave Movie: J/K...as if he'd hold still to watch an entire movie!!!<br />
Fave Book: Goodnight, Gorilla (Thanks, Dolly!), Where the Wild Things Are, and...Everyone Poops...apparently *SIGH*<br />
Fave Song: Baby Shark...funny enough, I do not feel the same.<br />
Life skills: None...He remains incontinent, illiterate, mostly non-English speaking, single, unemployed and not attending school. Also he still lives with his parents. He did allow me to complete his application, like I'm some kind of helicopter parent...but with the everyone poops answer, he may be trying to sabotage this effort. It remains to be seen...<br />
Future Career: Ice Cream Scooper...so for as much as he refuses to eat ice cream, he sure talks about it a lot...<br />
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Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-59403709887477525242018-08-28T18:23:00.000-07:002019-05-11T19:20:56.132-07:00A Short Story about a Little TB<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>DISCLAIMER: This blog contains no medical advice, just an innocent nurse turned nurse pracitioner's experience and opinion. It is not to be used in lieu of seeing an <b>ACTUAL</b> provider if you believe you have symptoms of tuberculosis or have been diagnosed as having TB or latent TB...now on with the story...</i><br />
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<b>Once Upon A Time...</b></div>
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There was a young[ish], possibly pregnant RN, who over the course of one summer had multiple patients with so-called "latent TB" assigned to her. Apparently someone, patient or family member, perhaps was not as latent as they thought they were. Anywhoslebees that's really of little matter...although, infectious disease experts say that it takes 6 hours of contact within 6 feet to contract TB and said nurse has no memory of being that close to anyone for that long...I digress...</div>
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Anyway, 2 years later, this nurse had approximately 1.25 job offers as a new graduate NP, and was going through the new employee pomp and circumstance which includes that ever pesky TB skin test. Four hours after receiving the TB test, this nurse cannot even see where the bleb had been placed. She bee-bopped along, but noticed the morning of the day she was to have her test read that her arm had a quarter-sized hot pink weal on it..."Meh" she thought, "it's just my fair skin."</div>
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By the time she arrived at the clinic to have her test read by the nurse who administered it to her, she had a large indurated area that was larger than a quarter and red to purple and a little scaly like her skin was having a reaction to it. To put herself at ease, 'Maybe it's a skin allergy to the vehicle and not a positive test'... However, the visit was converted from lab only to a problem visit and three hours later plus a co-pay, she got to leave after having a chest x-ray and a Quantiferon TB test drawn. </div>
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And lo-after she has accepted a position as an APRN, she has indeed, been diagnosed as having latent TB. There was shock, despair, an extreme unclean feeling, being reported to the health department, a few crazy phone calls including one to her child's pediatrician thinking 'I've broken my child and he's going to die of TB any second', and a trip to the local health department to turn herself in - Typhoid Mary style. </div>
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Let's Pause and Go Back to Nursing school for a minute...</div>
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TB is a contagious and possibly fatal disease that can affect any part of the body, but usually lungs, kidneys, and brain. Healthcare workers are considered an at-risk population, and according to my nursing and nurse practitioner schooling, latent TB folks should get treated for TB by taking either a 9 or 4 month treatment regimen to prevent developing active disease. Literally that's about as deep as we went...so flash forward a couple of years...and her thoughts may or may not have included</div>
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'<i>I have TB'</i></div>
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<i>'Oh, God! I'm contaminated...my house is contaminated...my child is contaminated...MY DOG*!!! </i>(Her spouse was just going to have to deal with it, apparently)</div>
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<i>'I've been breastfeeding and probably have all but killed my child'</i></div>
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<i>'I'm not going to be able to work while I get treated'</i></div>
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<i>'Will I convert to active TB if I decide to have another child?'</i><br />
<i>'What if I am exposed again?'</i></div>
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<br />
*Yes, TB is a reverse zoonotic disease meaning you can give it to your dog. How and why someone someone would remember this when in distress would take a heap of psychoanalysis that, much like latent TB treatment, is just not worth pursuing at this time. *SPOILER ALERT*<br />
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So after talking to the super nice nurse with the CDC who...well let's back up again...</div>
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So she goes to the local health department where the local CDC office for Communicable Diseases shares a space with the STD clinic. After several minutes of convincing herself to use the door knob to enter said office she went to the receptionist window where she was asked if she was the patient that had called three times [<i>Maybe...</i>] and "gently" reminded that she did not have to say her name. She was handed a piece of paper assigning her the identity of "Patient 0". She responds, "I hardly think I'm patient zero"...Receptionist responds by kindly rolling her eyes and saying, "That's an O"..."Oh," she says... She then stands in a corner for several minutes, but then decides to sit in a chair because at this point pubic lice is the least fatal of her potential problems on this particular day.</div>
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After not responding to the gentle calling of "Oh...Oh...Oh...” the receptionist that was so warm and friendly used her finger to say "That's her!" 'Oh, me!' thought our young heroine of this story...she bravely stood up and walked in for her TB consult, at least I'm sure that's what the other 20 some people in the waiting room thought...[Actually it was more like...'<i>Please strike me dead, right here, I'm ready']</i></div>
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This visit turns out to be very informative...The young[ish] nurse practitioner learned things like only 10% of people with latent TB go on to develop active TB. If you get pregnant you only have 10% chance of developing active TB. If you sleep next to someone with active TB when you have latent TB...you have a...you guessed it...10% chance of converting to active TB, yourself. If you treat your latent TB your chances are reduced to 2.8% which is encouragingly rounded up to an 8% reduction, but by my math is closer to a 7% reduction in chance....and also, that's if you take your meds correctly for 4 months or 9 months. Also, having worked and continuing to work in healthcare, they encourage you to do the 4 month course of treatment because it covers "most" drug-resistant strains, however that particular drug binds to your hormone receptors, rendering your IUD, contraceptive pill, or HRT useless...which might be more or less important for someone with ovarian insufficiency, hypothetically-speaking of course...not to mention the other side effects like, oh, numbness and tingling a little liver damage, nausea...but don't worry, it's usually not a problem [Note: no numbers of side effect rates were offered by someone how touts 8% as game-changing...] </div>
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So being the brave, strong, used-to-identify-as-healthy heroine she is[<i>was?</i>] this particular young[ish] woman made up her mind to just continue her life with the option to revisit treatment if hormonal support became less crucial to her lifestyle. One important thing she did ask was, "How will I know if my TB becomes active?" To which the infectious disease nurse responded, "Oh, well, we don't do yearly x-rays anymore, if that's what you’re asking, because we don't want to give you cancer. We base the diagnosis off your symptoms. Those would be extreme fatigue, feeling unwell, night sweats, coughing up blood and fevers." To which our heroine replied, "So basically when anyone who has ever read a Charles Dicken's novel can diagnose me with TB, I'll know I have active TB." The infectious disease nurse laughed and said, "Exactly!"</div>
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So she has gone on to live her merry little life until she got her first chest cold. Her co-workers, a few friends, and even her mother may or may not have referred to her as "Typhoid Mary", attempted to order N-95 respirators for the office, and asked if she knew if this was "it". The funny thing is, she won't really know if this is it, until it is...<i>IT...</i> </div>
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There was no real point to this blog, other than to rant. Honestly, I had no idea what it was like to live with an infectious disease [and I still don't], but now, as a latent TB survivor...at least until I'm not...I can say that it's mostly irrelevant. Also, if we ever meet at the STI clinic, I promise I won't wave hello like the people I saw in the waiting room...</div>
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Peace, Love, and Consumption,</div>
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MK</div>
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Knox County Health Department TB Carrier #626</div>
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Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-62612222588499638632018-04-03T10:59:00.000-07:002018-04-03T11:04:23.590-07:00Matt is 2!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
Matt turned 2 officially in the middle of January, but I would say he turned two behaviorally at 15 mos. Honestly, though, I love his silly self at two, but I laugh a lot, so maybe that's wrong. He's just totally adorable, not that I am biased or anything.<br />
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I really am enjoying two. I understand, well, I empathize that most of the things he fusses about are because he can't communicate well enough yet. I don't like being told no, nor do I appreciate someone trying to cut my nails without my consent. So I can come from a place of understanding. I mean, there is still the occasional <i>I'm completely happy until mom showed me the wrong "caw" and now I am emotionally devastated </i>moment<i>. </i>That's when I just laugh...poor kid. I can't help myself...but it's hysterical.<br />
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He continues to learn 4-5 words a day it seems...but in Matthewese which is basically consonants are optional. Like dump truck is duh truh. Tow truh, however is tow truck. It's very subtle and you have to pay attention 😂. Basically listening to Matt say words is like playing Wheel of Fortune, which he would probably pronounce "whee ah toon". He says most all sounds...so I don't have a single concern about speech or hearing. He does spend a lot of time still jibber-jabbering stuff. He talks to himself and laughs at his own jokes, which is only slightly disturbing...I mean it's still kinda cute and none of the pets have been harmed...<br />
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Oh, he thinks he is hilarious. He called BJ Ho-Ho for a couple weeks. He started calling me Mi-Mi which is his grandmother...I didn't appreciate it...and he just throws his head back and belly laughs when he does it. *<i>SIGH* </i>So funny...<br />
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I still honestly cannot imagine my life without this little goober. He's been such a blessing. I honestly can't think of a single time in the last two years that I have been sad for more than a fleeting moment, and it's usually because I feel torn between spending time on work/school or him. He is simply a living symbol of joy to me. His belly laughs (which are my absolute favorite sound in the world), determination, and sweet nature...we got more than we ever deserved in this kid. If this is terrible, I love it! Did I mention he was adorable, too?<br />
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I officially graduated with my MSN, passed boards, and start my doctorate program next month while job hunting. It's a barrel of fun, but I'm looking forward to warmer weather (Ahem..., anytime now...) and some more time with Matt-Matt in the interim. BJ is happily (busily) working at UT and teaching college courses as an adjunct, and enjoying his new hobby of carpentry...or as I like to say...an excuse to buy new tools...<br />
<br />
Peace, Love, and Twoiest of Twos,<br />
<br />
Mary Katherine<br />
<br />
Matt facts at 25 mos...<br />
<br />
Height: 2 ft 10 in 48%ile (OMG!!! Thanks Carnation Instant Breakfast!)<br />
Weight: 25 lbs 1 oz 12%ile<br />
Cuteness factor: 11/10<br />
Fave Toy: Hot wheels caws,<br />
Addictions: "iPah"<br />
Favorite Activity: Jumping<br />
Favorite word: No<br />
Relationship Status: Single<br />
Toilet training: Completely incontinent<br />
Education: None<br />
Residence: Home with parents (We don't have a basement, so he occupies a bedroom).<br />
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Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-4848732588619375252018-01-23T21:37:00.001-08:002018-01-23T23:01:32.417-08:00Hell Hath No Fury<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Why Hell hath No Fury…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">If
you follow gymnastics (and even possibly if you don't at this point) you may
have heard of the atrocious case against Lawrence “Larry” Nassar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Under the guise of team physician he sexually
abused over 140 girls – gymnasts as well as other female athletes who sought
his care. It is horrifying and disgusting, but it is not shocking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">If
you are shocked, you are naïve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Child
abuse scandals from the Catholic church to the atrocities of Penn State
permeated our media, yet people like Larry Nassar still continue to prey on
victims for years before being discovered. Chances are that you know an adult
who was the victim of childhood sexual abuse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>According to <a href="https://www.rainn.org/statistics/children-and-teen">RAINN</a>,
1 in 9 girls and 1 in 53 boys have been the victims of childhood sexual abuse. Trust
me, you know someone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Don’t
fool yourself into thinking it’s just gymnastics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This doesn’t just go away when the media
coverage dies down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It happens multiple
times a day to multiple children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
more youth sports go the way of gymnastics, swimming, tae kwon do (just to name
a few) with demanding specialization at earlier ages, traveling for
competitions, and longer seasons, more sports make themselves attractive to
would-be sexual predators. I challenge you to Google search any youth sport and
sexual abuse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I daresay you will find
more than one actual account of a prosecuted case against a professional member
of that sport. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Did
you try it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you angry yet? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am currently a professional member of USA Gymnastics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hold a “Safety Certification” as well as a
“SafeSport” certification. From this I learned about not tampering with
equipment because it voids your warranty and your liability insurance will not
cover you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From Safesport, I know to
never be alone with a child athlete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>From the SafeSport pamphlet USAG gave me last spring, I learned that it
is a responsibility of the minor child to never be alone with a coach…because
minors have so much say in the affairs of the adults in their lives.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
want to share with you my experience NOT because I need validation and
definitely not for pity, but I need you to understand how pervasive it is in
our society.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What it looks like when it
isn’t happening to international elites at a remote camp in Texas. What it
looks like when it is your child because I easily could have been your child. I
need you to know my perspective so you can know why you should be so angry,
too. Because I am furious…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that this is still happening. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that this is not a unique case, not surprising, and not even shocking.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
was victimized by a professional member of USA Gymnastics who was also “safety
certified”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was prosecuted for
multiple counts of sexual battery by an authority figure and served time nearly
15 years ago. And I am furious.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that after hours and hours wasted, USA Gymnastics failed to even
respond to my parents multiple requests for information even for USAG to just
tell them they had none. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that to protect themselves then President Bob Colarossi had the
“Permanently Ineligible Member” list withheld from their professional
publication because the coaches who were supposed to be added (Don Peters and
Steven Elliott) had national notoriety. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It took the pressure of national news coverage from ABC’s 20/20
to get them to publish the list.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that so many good people I know, who are professionals and teach the
sport with so much love and passion, have had their good reputations tarnished
by the inactions of USA Gymnastics over so many years. How dare they!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that USA Gymnastics received concerns about coaches, enough to place
them on “probation”, but would not alert authorities or even other club owners.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They enabled more children to be put at
risk and abused. What good did this do?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that another precious child was victimized because I was too afraid
to speak up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that still today, children are afraid to speak up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">What has changed in 15 years?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Obviously, not enough!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that my grooming began when I was 11 years old.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was proselytized to, lectured and made to feel poorly for
the denomination my parents chose to raise me in. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was praised for saying I believed things, spiritually, that
aligned with my abuser’s belief systems even when my parents did not endorse
nor instill in me those beliefs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that I was made to be afraid for so long.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was told constantly how it would be my fault if my abuser
lost everything.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">- I was told repeatedly he would be saved, but my actions as a woman could not be forgiven. I did not even know what my actions were at the time. </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was reminded how hurt and shamed my father would be if he
found out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was told repeatedly that my parents would kick me out of my
house if they found out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was told repeatedly that all he had to do was get me
pregnant and I would be forced to live with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact I prayed I could not get
pregnant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So when over 10 years later I
desperately wanted a child and could not conceive, you cannot even begin to
know how many wounds were reopened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that he took advantage of my innocence and naivety.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that my coach bragged about using techniques he supposedly learned
from the Karolyi’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l5 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He pitted my teammates and I against each other and worse he
made us feel worthless by ignoring us for days and up to weeks at a time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l5 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am still at a loss by the time he strong armed me into the
corrugated side of the gym hard enough to knock trophies over and got away with
it in a gym full of people because he could. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br />
I am furious from the emotional abuse I endured at the hands of my coach that
enabled me to be groomed and preyed upon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l5 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was told I was going to Hell, repeatedly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l5 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was told that my soul was worthless, and I was doomed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l5 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My abuser said he was the only person in the world who could
care about me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious with how he ruined my confidence in my gymnastics and then myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l6 level1 lfo8; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I would learn a new skill and he would talk about how
dangerous it was and how he would never let his child do it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious at how he made everyone believe I was emotionally unstable as if
that was my desired state and not entirely his fault. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that while he was abusing me, he was grooming the parents of the
next generation. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am furious that my comfort was knowing that I would be coached for at least a couple of days after I was abused.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am furious at how
isolated he made me feel and in turn how isolated I became.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo4; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He pushed most of my same age peers out of the gym.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo4; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He repeatedly told me he was the only one who understood me,
and the only person that loved my condemned soul. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious for the wedge he drove between my mother and me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l5 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Always taking my side in arguments when I truly was being a
petulant adolescent <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l5 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Exaggerating things my mother said about my gymnastics or
worse, my life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l5 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Inserting himself as a “hero” figure. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that he victimized my parents by grooming and taking advantage or
their trust.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l7 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He employed my brother<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l7 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He gave my parents gifts and frequently sought their advice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that he had the audacity to buy land next door to my childhood home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am furious that
he rented a house just down the street from me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am furious that
he stalked me after I tried to quit gymnastics. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo5; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The one and only time I cut school early was to drive home
earlier than usual because I knew he would be waiting for me to drive by his
house.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am furious that I couldn't tell my mom why I wanted to quit. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am furious that
he came to my school and was permitted to leave a note. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo4; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was not safe anywhere. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that I was made to feel ashamed for the actions he took. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l5 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was told people would call me names and my reputation would be tarnished.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was told it would not have happened if I had not wanted it
to happen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that I was victim-shamed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was shamed for “not knowing better.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was made to feel small by the investigator who told me how
little 4 and 5 years olds had no problem giving statements.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As if a young child understands shame and
embarrassment or the incredible amount of energy I had spent making people
think everything was okay for so many years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was shamed by people who told me their daughters would
have punched their abuser in the face. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was shamed by a healthcare provider who said my shorts were
too short.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was shamed by the rumors that I was some kind of jail-bait,
whore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious because the points directly above proved my abuser right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was shamed and my parents were hurt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious for the constant self-doubt I am ever cursed with because of my
abuse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that people said I was ruined or damaged goods and worse when they
thought they were being sympathetic by saying so. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that my abuser made me question if my life was worth living. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious at how many years I spent being afraid of men.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that statutes of limitations worked against myself and the other
victim increasing our ages and lessening the seriousness of our case.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that my abuser was too big a coward to face either a trial or enter a
plea of guilty instead of no contest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious at the Courts and the Judges who do not take the time to read
investigative reports to even know what is going on with the case before
accepting a plea deal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: 21.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo6; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The judge in my case knew my father, yet had no idea why he
or my family were in his court that day in spite of the fact a lengthy
investigation and psychological testing had been done on my abuser which
indicated he was a risk to abuse again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that my abuser was allowed back into gyms and around little girls by
the courts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that I spent longer in counseling than my abuser spent in jail for
19 counts of sexual battery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that I have had to work at least three times harder for the
accomplishments I do have because of this experience. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious for the years of my life I was too affected by this to enjoy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am furious that people think that my situation was unique.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
is not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">They
groom, they isolate, they abuse, they repeat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">That
child who loses her luster for her sport…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
kid who doesn’t want to go to his practice anymore…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
kid who never fully recovers from seemingly minor injuries…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">…or
the kid who is injured all the time from mechanical compulsion rather than
focused effort.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
coach that is there constantly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
coach that interferes with your parenting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
coach that tells you your kid is “special”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
coach that is overly involved in your child’s life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As
the mother of a 2 year old, I’ve not yet experienced putting my child in a
competitive sport, but I hope that I will be vigilant enough to see the warning
signs, to listen to my gut that I suppressed for so long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope that my parenting is not fear-based
but rather experience-based.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope that
the grooming behaviors and a predator telling me my child is special, that if I
sign him up for privates, or send him to a special camp that I am discouraged
to attend raise hairs. I hope my pride does not get in the way of protecting my
child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
plan to teach my child what sexual abuse is. What he should do if anyone touches
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a conversation I am not sure
all of my peers are comfortable having with their children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But how can they know they are being abused
if they do not know what abuse is? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As
parents we need to demand a change of culture. Demand that children are
believed and in environments that are safe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We must promote a culture by raising children who are well-versed with
their bodies and who understand adults should not ask them to keep secrets that
make them feel ashamed. We want our children to feel empowered to disclose
things that make them feel uncomfortable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">No
child should have to experience abuse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No parent should have to pay for their child to be abused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No gym owner should have to question whether
they are getting all the information they need from the governing body of their
sport when making hiring decisions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
want other survivors to know there is absolutely nothing that can stop you from
living the life you pictured before your abuse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You are stronger and every single bit as worthy as you were before the
abuse/assault happened. There will even be a time in your life when months go
by that you don’t think about your abuse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You owe yourself every chance you would have given yourself before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So allow yourself to go on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Allow yourself to succeed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
want to sincerely thank my husband, best friend, and parents for their
unwavering support.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also want to
deeply thank those people, especially those with whom I’ve crossed paths in the
gymnastics community for being caring, supportive and giving me a peace with
the sport I fell in love with as a child. There are far too many of you to
name, but my Ursinus family and my Tennessee Gymnastics family are worth
noting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
I want predators to know that "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Mary
Katherine Roberts<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-128751761297284722018-01-02T15:37:00.000-08:002018-01-02T15:57:39.406-08:00Happy New Year!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Is anyone still there???<br />
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First off, to anyone who reads this blog occasionally, I'm sorry for the darkness...but if there is one disadvantage to doing a mostly online educational program, it is that the last thing you really want to do when you are done schooling for the day or charting for the day at work is get on a computer for recreation. </div>
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In brief... We are all alive and well and still sooooo very happy that we have a child to share our little adventure of a life. Happy New Year, and we hope your holidays were amazing!</div>
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Director's Cut:</div>
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I seriously didn't think it had been 6 months....oh where has the time gone?...Well, I'll tell you...</div>
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July was a bit of a whirlwind as I was only home for 1 week of it between vacation (cue sad violins) and what I like to call nurse practitioner camp, but what Frontier Nursing University [<i>Best read with uppity Haaaarvard voice</i>] would like for me to call Clinical Bound. It was scary, exciting and also the most fun camp-like experience where they threaten to kick you out of the program 3 of the first 5 days...I was very fortunate to have gotten to experience this with, well to steal from my study buddy, Dan, "My Team". </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Your future healthcare team.</td></tr>
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These four people are absolutely amazing, and somehow, we all worked it out to be able to go to our clinical bound at the same time...so they all came to my house since I live the closest to school by a little (They are from Jordan, Alaska, Texas, and Florida). We have been through thick and thin, illness and strife, and even prodromal labor pains together. We had SOOO much fun together from the moment Dan landed at the airport to dropping Holly off the next week. We all did really well on our assessments. I mean, I did lose a point because I didn't introduce myself to my patient, but that wasn't on the rubric...and as an introvert, basic social skills are not always innate to me. Thank goodness for BJ... For the record, I have never once forgotten to tell the patient who I am since starting clinicals, so at least I am very trainable...</div>
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Then I moved back in with my parents to do my first two rotations for grad school in my hometown. It has been great so far. I have a month left and then I will "move back in" with my husband in late January. Matt has been coming with me for most of the week and we split custody every other Wednesday which makes for all sorts of interesting story lines for people staring at us during our rendezvous at random fastfood parking lots. 'Look at her just hand her baby over like it's nothing!' 'They're still wearing their wedding bands.' 'OMG they kissed!' 'They're having an affair with their exes!' These are what I imagine people thinking as they stare at us...I also have a terrible Teen Mom habit...</div>
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BJ is basically working two full time jobs to makeup for my slackerhood/graduate student thing. He's been a total champ. I keep writing that I don't deserve him, and I truly mean that. I don't know what I did right, but BJ is all of those right things in one human. He is teaching classes at a couple of different colleges/universities on top of his full time job. He's such a good guy...well, he did make me watch the extended version of Lord of the Rings Trilogy back-to-back-to-back once, but he's pretty much an all-around good guy.</div>
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As for the star of our little 6 person and critter show, Matt is just the bee's knees. He started school, and he has learned many things like washing his hands, drama, art, groupthink (cry when someone else starts crying cuz their mom dropped them off) all sorts of noises, but Ga-ga also helps with that. He is in a Montessori class for 2 year-olds, and we think he has a great time. He's the youngest and one of the smallest in his class. I would love to be a fly on the wall, because I imagine it's like herding cats, but his teachers love him and we love his teachers. I did, however, find out that he will have to repeat the 2 year old class next year, so...basically...Matt flunked 2 year old Montessori school, which is supposed to be impossible...but then again, we weren't supposed to have kids, either...so there you go! </div>
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He is still jibber-jabbering with a few more words thrown in that may have some similarity to a Latin word here or there. I was always kinda annoyed by the parents that are like "my child talks so much as has so many words!" and the kid is like 'wah wah bwha, shis ba'. And they respond, "Why yes, Johnny, we can go to the art museum on this fine Sunday." And I'm like 'you just made that up.' But now, I am starting to see that I have learned some Matthewese... Like Oc-POH, is octopus, clearly. Shish is fish...wauer is water, who-zat is Who's that? And also, he seems to have a Boston accent which is pretty disturbing to my southern ear. Car is "Kaw" I think he's doing well for first born boy. There are words he refuses to say...Like most P words such as please and pumpkin...yet he says poopy, and pee pee...While not a P word, he also says stinky pretty clearly. So foul mouth and bathroom humor, here we come!</div>
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Which brings me to the topic of toilet training...BWAHAHAHAHAHA....he's gonna go to kindergarten in diapers...Honestly, he doesn't give a damn at this point. There are physical signs he's ready (dry naps and such), but mentally, honey badger don't care. He can sit on his potty for 2 seconds, and he can flush for you..., well, if you pee fast enough...It's quite frustrating to him that it takes us so long. My peers sing the praises of the naked weekend, and I have thought about doing the naked weekend. I just don't quite see how this magical naked weekend is so magical for a boy, as it doesn't run down his legs and he doesn't have to clean it up... So honestly, we will just keep introducing the idea of going to the potty and hope that something sticks, eventually...ideally on this side of kindergarten. </div>
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He's a mess. After watching him try to ride his ride-on down stairs, or off the Fisher Price trampoline Santa got him, I have concerns. If he's advanced in any one area, it's his gross motor skills. (I've seen his artwork, and fine motor is not really his thing.) He's been jumping off the ground for three months and can balance on one foot for a few seconds. He's been running since about 3 weeks after he started walking consistently. He hangs and does toes to the bar trying to turn upside down. He somersaults without hands...cuz who needs those...He loves to be upside down, and he loves to jump and "race". He also loves his iPad, so there's that. (It's a hand-me-down iPad2...as in the 2012 model...as in you aren't making me feel guilty for judging me, because I already feel guilty....His Grammy did it!) Anyway, so far I'm not too concerned with the amount of time, because it doesn't hold a charge very long (hehehe) and he goes back to doing the above things frequently. It's definitely a wonder at how quickly things like "screen time" become a thing...sheesh...I mean the kid still can't even speak English, yet...or go to the bathroom by himself...GAH!<br />
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The holidays were magical with our nearly two year old...He recognized all the "Ho-hos" in decorations...(that's Santa for the perverted among you) and also like "Froshy the No-man". (That's Frosty the Snowman, clearly...also clearly is that all no-mans are Froshy). Overall, he got way too much and he loved being with his people. This week will be a rough transition, but he usually adapts pretty quickly. I got lucky like that.<br />
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Matt Facts:</div>
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Height: 32.75"</div>
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Weight: 23.5 lbs" give or take a dump...</div>
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Teeth: 16</div>
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Skills: Jib-jabbing, running, jumping, blowing strawberries, flirting, driving his Thomas the train backwards, brushing his teeth, car noises, tractor noises, farm animal noises, and being adorable.</div>
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Object of affection: He sleeps with his V-tech flashlight ...kinda sensible...I'll give him that...</div>
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Bane of his existence: Rubber squeaky pig toy for dogs, Fisher Price Dragon, and getting dressed or undressed intermittently...also bananas occasionally, too</div>
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Favorite food: Instant Carnation Breakfast Drink and ketchup, but not together...well, not yet, anway. </div>
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Peace, Love, and Crickets,<br />
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Mary Katherine<br />
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Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-42308887333339229052017-08-06T16:58:00.003-07:002017-08-06T20:06:34.834-07:00Months 14-18 In Which Your Mother Finally Carves Some Time Out to Write
About You...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Let's call a spade a spade. I meant to write this blog 16 weeks ago between my previous quarters of graduate school, but quite honestly, I've just not wanted to be on my computer after spending so much time on it for school. I want to be with Matt!!!<br>
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The last 4 months have been wonderful, minus Mother's Day weekend. However, we did get to spend that weekend together, so it wasn't a total loss. He's growing a little bit, he's picking up some words, but mostly he just plays and is happy. We have the happiest little soul. And oh, that sinister sounding giggle. I'm already having a hard time not laughing at him when he makes a poor life decision, but when I tell him no, and he sounds like the jack-a-lope from America's Funniest People (just look it up, kids), I have to bite my lip. <br>
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He LOVES the pool. It's been so much fun playing with him in his water table or in the pool. He gets the biggest kick out of walking off the side of the pool. Our biggest issue is he's so small, we can't find a "level 2" flotation device that works well for him...Fortunately, he tolerates his infant life-jacket better than he did last year. But mostly we've just held him in the pool without anything. He enjoy's splash pads, playgrounds, and mostly just being outside. <br>
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I'm sure everyone has seen those meme's that say, "Mom's a nurse, so we don't go to the doctor unless we're dying." Well, yeah, I had that moment...<br>
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So my parents were driving into town, and we were going to take Matt to the zoo for the first time. Matt had started to really watch animals and point at ducks...so I was really looking forward to it, as it was going to be my only day off before 3 shifts in a row over Mother's Day weekend. So anyway, the day before, Matt seems to have a cold, but is playing and running and even eating, which he absolutely does not do when he is sick, so I just made sure to have Boogie Wipes on the ready. Anyway, he had a rough night. Ends up sleeping with us from the early dawn hours, but he does go back to sleep after I dosed him with some baby Tylenol. By the time Matt and I wake up, my parents have already left to meet us at Knoxville. I start to get him ready, and notice he's puny - which in my version of the nursing world, is a term we use professionally to mean you are doing the opposite of thriving, but you aren't really dying, either... So I count his respiration rate...and I'm like, 'Nope, it's not the 50s...let me do it again...OK 44...that's not 30, but it's not dying, either'...Maybe he needs to run around and loosen some congestion up...yeah, he'll be fine. Are you hot? No, you're not hot, hot...You're just puny. Here is some ibuprofen. OK, you're OK...I mean why have a cold at home, when you can have a cold at the zoo...we'll just skip the splash pad...' After a bath with a some cold remedy stuff mixed in, he eats a few bites of oatmeal to little objection, and I let BJ watch him while I go get ready.<br>
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BJ comes up and says, "Did you see how fast he was breathing? I don't think going to the zoo is a good idea."<br>
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I agreed, all the while feeling like the biggest asshole that ever Mom'ed before. I took Matt's 'going to the zoo' outfit off and then saw the retractions - when your baby is working too hard to breathe (SUCH AN ASSHOLE). I listened to his lungs with my handy-dandy doctor's stethoscope and heard some wheezing, but also some coarse crackles, too. So I called the pediatrician's office and left a message and then called my parents. The nurse got back to us, and gave us an appointment time for mid afternoon. Matt seemed okayish, miserable, but okayish. Mom and Dad came to our house, and Mom was not impressed with Matt's condition. I had set him up in front of a humidifier, but really he didn't look like he was improving much. I called the pediatrician again, described what I was seeing and hearing. She asked me if I could nebulize him at home, and I explained that I didn't have a nebulizer while thinking, 'how many people just have a nebulizer lying around?'...turns out, several do...Anyway, they moved our appointment up 2 hours and told us to take him to the ER if he got any worse. <br>
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So when we get there, the nurse looks at me and says "He's working awful hard, Mom." 'Are you shitting me? I asked you what to do, and I told you he was having retractions and what his respiration rate was!' His pulse ox is 87 (I'm a super-asshole...I get it) his respirations were still in the 40s, and wheezing was his game. After a chest x-ray and RSV test which were negative, they tried suctioning him, and he only ended up with a nosebleed. So then they gave him a nebulizer treatment...well, actually they gave my mother and I a nebulizer machine with a dose of albuterol and basically said, good luck and left. So we wrestled my "sick" child, until my mother managed to put him in some sort of cross-legged sleeperhold. I think we got as much, if not more, albuterol as Matt did, but his O2 saturation improved to 97ish so we were like, 'yeah', but not yeah, because this might mean he has asthma. And I was devastated for him...I mean, we did all the things...he wasn't in daycare, he still has never had RSV, we exposed him to all the allergens...sigh...So they were giving us a nebulizer to use at home, when the nurse was said, "He doesn't look any better, does he?" And honestly, he looked like he was working harder than he had earlier. So our pediatrician sent us on to our local children's hospital.<br>
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He did have bronchiolitis, just not from RSV. His third breathing treatment in a row which was racemic epinephrine did the trick, but he was still only saturating in the low 90s, so we got to stay overnight, and then another night because he was still retracting, and then another night because he caught norovirus somewhere among all of that...And the kid, he was smiling, saying "hai" and "bye" until norovirus overcame him the third day...but rallied later on the 4th, even smiling and waving at the nurses who started his IV the day before. His personality is just the best. We really scored in that department.<br>
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So let's see...He's managed to recover full cognitive function despite me depriving him of oxygen for 5 hours...He's turning into quite the jibber -jabberer. He chatters nonsense constantly, and it is totally adorable. He answers remotes, cell phones, basically anything that may modestly look like a phone with a hello now. He chatters a bit, and then says goodbye. <br>
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He is big into saying Emma's name, "EM-mah". Bless him, he loves our dog, who continues to tolerate him. He's also saying Mimi, Pah-pah, Grammy and Gaga purposefully about 50 percent of the time. Ma-mah, and Mahm are even said somewhat purposefully. "WOW!" that's a fun oldie he seems to have rediscovered....and then we think he's said a few phrases that even seem appropriate to what he was doing, but I don't know if it's just random or not. <br>
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Matthew is a ton of fun right now. He loves running around the gym I take him to a few times a month. He is enjoying "jumping" into the loose foam pit. He loves to run up and down ramps, wedges and any inclined surface. He insists on walking up and down steps like a "big boy" which is slowly becoming more successful than not, but it's kinda harrowing for your mother to watch you insist on navigating stairs by yourself. He looks like a solid bruise from the knees down with at least 3 or more everywhere else. He will hold your hand for a little bit, now, especially if it's to lead you. And he loves to push things around the house, so those play lawnmowers have been very successful.<br>
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I can't stress over how much I love this age. EVERYDAY is a new adventure. And if Matt is anything he is completely unreliable. I have no idea what his favorite food is from minute to minute except maybe cheese puffs. I'm not proud, but at 18 mos and 20 lbs and some change...he can have some cheese puffs. But I have no idea what he'll eat from day to day...if I'd written this last month I would have told you Mac-N-Cheese would be a reliable choice, but not anymore. I've promised myself I'm not gonna stress over my child's eating habits. He'll eat when he is hungry enough, and we'll try to keep offering him a variety. Lately, he's gorged himself on guacamole, started eating chicken and peas. He hated peas when he started solids, so like I said, he's unreliable.<br>
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He loved the beach last month. The water did not intimidate him one bit. He thoroughly did not care about the aquarium we took him to and modestly enjoyed the water park. He loved being the apple in Ga-ga's eye.<br>
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Tomorrow we start trying to institutionalize him. He starts going to Day School a couple of times a week. It's a 2 year old class, so he's the youngest and smallest. I hope he keeps up, but I'm sure he'll manipulate his way into the teacher's lap. He will start using an open cup (better there than at my house) and partake in art projects (I'm rolling in the floor as I type this). <br>
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Peace, Love, & Cute Toddlers,<br>
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Mary Katherine Roberts<br>
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Matt Facts:<br>
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Wt. 20.75 lbs<br>
Ht. 31 in<br>
Fave toy: Anything, and I mean, ANYthing he can push<br>
Fave comfort item: Mama<br>
Fave food: Hell, if I know.<br>
Fave word: Wow! and hi-yah or Eeh-yah!<br>
New Skills: Going up and down stairs upright. Walking off the edge of pools and pits. Dancing, Kissing with sound effects, hugging girls and other people's moms. Manipulating. <br>
Teeth: 10 - just this month, he was stuck at 8 for forever and the top two molars are making him miserable as I type this!<br>
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Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-15761714375194809852017-03-12T01:11:00.001-08:002017-03-12T04:42:04.624-07:0013 mos!!! Plus some...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Oops! I know, I'm a slacker mother....He's going to be 14 mos in less than a week and I'm just posting 13 mos...it's been a little hectic for me to say the least.<br>
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My toddler is the cutest toddler on the block. Both of us have spent most of the month congested, but we've managed to stay out of the doc's office. And mostly he's had a pretty good attitude about it. Occasionally he needs some extra snuggles at night, or maybe I think he needs extra snuggles at night, but we live by the motto he's only little once. <br>
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The amount of things he learns so quickly is just amazing. He pushes his V-tech cars along a track, he works buttons on things with purpose, he says more words appropriately, he identifies a couple of body parts on himself and other people. He puts my stethoscope in his ears, he is starting to call objects by name...It's amazing what his little baby brain can do. <br>
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He's running now. He still can barely walk in a straight line, but he didn't let not being able to stand still hold him back from walking so why let walking hold you back from running? The sound of pitter-pattering feet with an extra swish of diaper is truly one of my favorite things. I have a happy child. I have a full of life, wonder, curious, and happy little boy. He is the apple of my eye, for sure!<br>
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Emma Grace is starting to warm up to the idea. She now associates paying attention to Matt as something she deserves a reward for doing. She licked his hand the other day, and then immediately came over to me full of pride at the goodwill she exemplified and fully expected to be showered with the praise and treats she deserved. She's ridiculous, but we love her. She cleans up well after Matt eats, too. <br>
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The cats are trying to train him into the realization that he is a lesser being. He does not deserve the space he takes up in our house according to Gaius and Lucifer who can often be found on/in/on top of all of his things. Gaius also baits Matt into petting him just so he can scratch him by trying to look all cute and lying on his back. The boy has to learn...I did, sort of.<br>
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Matt has his grandparents wrapped around his fingers. They absolutely spoil the crap out of the kid on both sides. They are the best (or worst). I love it. He's such a goober, so far he doesn't know how good he has it, but if he ever gets in trouble, all he'll have to do is call <a dir="ltr" href="tel:1-800-GRANDPA" x-apple-data-detectors="true" x-apple-data-detectors-type="telephone" x-apple-data-detectors-result="0">1-800-GRANDPA</a> and someone will sweep into his rescue and convince us that we were entirely wrong. I love getting to share sweet Matt with his grandparents. For as much as we hurt throughout our battle with infertility, our parents had to hurt for us, and for the potential loss of becoming grandparents to our children we couldn't have. It's probably not something many people pay attention to, especially when dealing with their own infertility, but it does lead to some very real and valid feelings for the would-be grandparents. </div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzOUVxTvWldiGYGTP838Ep9ocA2m2Z64n4jEwfO9uuDcVN-C1xLbUGhuvPdhjaDrs-OlaF5ya1yo8-D8v4I-1QNUPzKNVc4FlW4SjBUmsruWT7zXG7Y0WBdh-1PWlvD6hi-NyQ5qPHOxM/s640/blogger-image-585823309.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzOUVxTvWldiGYGTP838Ep9ocA2m2Z64n4jEwfO9uuDcVN-C1xLbUGhuvPdhjaDrs-OlaF5ya1yo8-D8v4I-1QNUPzKNVc4FlW4SjBUmsruWT7zXG7Y0WBdh-1PWlvD6hi-NyQ5qPHOxM/s640/blogger-image-585823309.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Peace, Love, & Gagas<br>
Mary Katherine & Matt</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2gyBq2s1GM-7p7FoJk6dWk0VeLXnxXm345El-PiOjHd69vBLOyLi-GSfPVBqnIv4QiIubDObs9lGVHqzbO-9hzT57orKq7M80TW6TZgOmRNV52XWk4GMLZZTszrfJ402IZAQB8jpHtM/s640/blogger-image--1516744505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2gyBq2s1GM-7p7FoJk6dWk0VeLXnxXm345El-PiOjHd69vBLOyLi-GSfPVBqnIv4QiIubDObs9lGVHqzbO-9hzT57orKq7M80TW6TZgOmRNV52XWk4GMLZZTszrfJ402IZAQB8jpHtM/s640/blogger-image--1516744505.jpg"></a></div><br>
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Matt Facts!<br>
Height 30ish inches<br>
Weight 20ish lbs<br>
Teeth: 5...still, just 2 on top and 3 on the bottom...<br>
Clothing Size: 9-12 mos. But we're finally starting to out grow some of the 9 month stuff for length. Not so much the waist...<br>
Favorite comfort item: I'm actually gonna say it's me...He doesn't need me a lot, but when he's sick or crashed from running in/off of something.<br>
Favorite Food: Bananas! He'll eat anything you're eating, but he loves to cram 1/3 of a banana in his mouth...to the point he can't even chew it. Actually, he's in the chipmunk phase where he believes all the food needs to be in his cheeks or he might starve to death...at least for the 3 minutes he's interested in eating. <br>
Favorite Toy: His "My First Superman" Book. Not that it's really a toy, but he's very adamant about having it read to him. Who knew how painful cardboard books to the eyeball could be?<br>
Nemesis of the Month: Baby Gates - he hates them. He hangs on them like a San Quentin inmate hanging out in the yard. <br>
Skills: Running, hugging, stuffing huge chunks of food in his mouth, climbing, giggling, finding noses and belly buttons.<br>
Words: Baw for ball, Daw for dog, awf for off, ahn for on, Da-da-dee for Daddy. Mahma for Mama. In addition to his old faves like bye-bye.<br>
Favorite thing he does: Wraps arms around my neck...always and forever will be my favorite thing.<br>
Future Career: Competitive hot dog eater. </div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiluyCJiRqgAuHlAw1Fo4p9hOKDP22wYJJ_YxWPruefsXIUWSECqCR4UkWdm3En-XmstlUKDPwpyJGnGnSqnYU1IspKVJ9tETtIvn1DsMaYRU0jc6CORSI__0l5bSJimlhx9ahEDXSHu0Q/s640/blogger-image--811221976.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiluyCJiRqgAuHlAw1Fo4p9hOKDP22wYJJ_YxWPruefsXIUWSECqCR4UkWdm3En-XmstlUKDPwpyJGnGnSqnYU1IspKVJ9tETtIvn1DsMaYRU0jc6CORSI__0l5bSJimlhx9ahEDXSHu0Q/s640/blogger-image--811221976.jpg"></a></div><br></div>
Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-89709521065416448352017-01-31T20:50:00.001-08:002017-01-31T21:31:45.054-08:001 YEAR!!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So a couple of weeks ago, the miracle turned ONE!!!<br />
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A whole year has gone by already!!! I've not been sad, heartbroken, devastated, or loathing life for an entire year. (I may have loathed graduate school every once and a bit, but that shouldn't count.)<br />
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It has been an absolutely glorious year. It has been a tremendous year. It has been the year of all years for BJ and me. And this little dude...<br />
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How could anyone be sad when they get to have this in their life? I mean you can tell from this picture, he's enjoying life with us at least a little bit. Gosh, we love this kid!!!</div>
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I am just so thrilled to be the parent of a one year-old. Maybe it's because I'm hopeful we will unfreeze some more of his kind one day, but I'm just so excited watching him master each new skill and cross each milestone. He just soaks up so much stuff right now!!!</div>
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When he's not being totally adorkable, he's being totally sweet. He loves his people, and so far, everyone is his people. He's still not too worried about the whole stranger anxiety thing, and seems like a pretty content little boy. I'm totally biased, I realize, but he's rather charming for one. Ladies, look out, here comes Matt-man!</div>
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He's become a much more proficient walker and prefers walking to crawling at this point, but hasn't figured out how to stand up w/out something to pull up on. But once he does get up, he's off to the races. Just this week he's even trying to run a little bit...or maybe he's falling, it's hard to tell sometimes. He still has a pretty good inebriated penguin thing going on, but mostly because he's getting a little cocky. Looking around, holding stuff, clapping for himself...you know, more important things than looking where he's going or minding where his center of gravity actually is. </div>
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He loves to open and close cabinets, as well as turn a light on and off. These are incredibly fun games! He is trying to communicate with us more, but I have no clue what he's talking about most of the time, so I just guess. My mother swears he says all sorts of words, but I'm just hearing 'ah'. </div>
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For example...</div>
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Exhibit A.</div>
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Mom- "Look, he's saying 'dog'!". Matt- "ah". Mom-"That's right, dog! You're so smart!"</div>
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Exhibit B</div>
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Mom- "Can you say off, Matt?" Matt- "ah". Mom- "Yes! That's so smart! You're just so smart!"</div>
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Exhibit C</div>
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Mom- "Matt, say OK." Matt- "Ah-uh-ah". Mom- "That's it. That's so good! You're just the smartest grandbaby."</div>
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So, anyway. He's learning some words, but we're getting into a grunting and pointing phase. Perhaps it's because I fail to understand his chatter so he has to speak down to me and use caveman talk. And so it begins... </div>
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Peace, Love, and What a Journey It has Been!</div>
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Mary Katherine and Matt<br />
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Matt Facts</div>
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Height: 29"</div>
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Weight: 18 lbs 2 oz</div>
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Clothing size: 9 mos</div>
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Cuteness Factor: 11/10</div>
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Favorite Toy: Fascinated with his train as it is self-propelled. And he's figured out buttons, so anything with a button is very interesting for a few minutes, at least. </div>
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Favorite Food: Birthday cake!!! He does seem to have a sweet tooth, but overall, is not that into any one food. </div>
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Favorite Comfort Item: Himself...he's not got any one thing that soothes him.</div>
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Nemesis of the moment: Popcorn popper thing...I'm not sure what it did, but it has completely offended Matt, and makes him very angry...and I laugh, probably causing him to need years of therapy *sigh*</div>
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Skills: Oning-and-Offing a lamp, drunk walking, drinking milk out of a cup, throwing balls, laughing at himself, getting off of a bed w/out plunging head first or with assistance, hiding objects (like remotes) and re-enacting prohibition (you know...breaking liquor bottles).</div>
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Words: Not many new ones (in my opinion). He seems pretty satisfied grunting to communicate his needs. </div>
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Favorite thing he does: Walks to me smiling and wraps his arms around my neck. And my heart melts every.single.time. </div>
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Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-6796336455220223902017-01-10T08:13:00.000-08:002017-01-10T13:47:13.364-08:00Happy Christmas, Happy New Year, Happy 11 mos...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Yes, I'm so incredibly late with this post, but I don't regret it. I spent most of 2 weeks w/out using technology and it was glorious!!! <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matt sleeping on Uncle Chris.</td></tr>
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Matthew, my little man is shedding the last of his infanthood quickly. He turns 1 in a week!!!! But his 12th month has been full of fun. He's gone from shuffling with encouragement between two parents to walking 50% of the time. It's adorable. Well, he looks inebriated... He has his arms over his head half of the time and gets stuck on one foot until he can get his center of gravity under control...I'm loving every single second of it!!!<br />
<br />
He's still a totally cute little goober. His communication skills are just exploding. I have full conversations with him, I just don't know what language he's speaking to me in. He just babbles away, changes his inflection and tone, nods his head enthusiastically and looks at me like I'm an idiot if I don't respond. So much for boys not talking. He's up to about 6 words...Mama, Dada, Meow, Muh-muh, Pa-pa, and his all-time favorite- Uh-OH. Uh-oh means mischief is about to be made, by the way, not that a mistake happened. This is probably a good thing because at least he tells on himself, but I'm not sure I like where the smirk and gleam in his eye as he intentionally 'uh-uh-uh-ohs' is going. <br />
<br />
Our Christmas was great. We got to spend some time with both sides of the family. Matt was mostly underwhelmed, but was a good sport. I thought he'd be more into the tearing of paper, and boxes, but mostly he just wanted to play with his old toys. He'll get it one day...<br />
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He did get his first ear infection, but handled it like a champ, really. He's been sick every month and for every major holiday since September. He seems to handle it pretty well, but has a hard time at night. I will say he's an excellent sport at taking medicine.<br />
<br />
I honestly can't believe he's not a baby. I wanted a baby for sooo long! I had one, and now I don't! He's got some shimmers of two-ness coming through. He started having tantrums in which he lays down and beats his head on the floor. You know...that's my reaction when there is a wall where I want there to be a door, too. But really? Where do they even learn that? BJ and I are full of character flaws, but neither one of us lays down and beats our head on the floor when we are angry or frustrated...and honestly, it's so hard to not laugh...I'm the worst mother...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mommy's little monster!!</td></tr>
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<div>
11 month Matt Stats</div>
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<div>
Weight: 17 lbs 8oz</div>
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Height: 2 foot something</div>
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Teeth: 5!!! I'm not sure what pattern they are coming in, but we have some. We're also pretty sure we need to start saving for braces, immediately...</div>
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Favorite Toy: Sit to Stand Walker</div>
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Favorite Food: Macaroni & Cheese...the only thing I've seen him eat where he actually cared if it got in his mouth!</div>
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Favorite Comfort Item: Himself!</div>
<div>
Word of the Month: Uh-oh!</div>
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Favorite Activity: Growling...which I'm pretty sure he learned from my parent's golden doodle...Thanks, Marvin...</div>
<div>
Least Favorite Activity: Putting on clothes and having diaper changed. This is a huge waste of time according to Matt. Nobody needs that...</div>
<div>
New Tricks: Drunk walking, taking arms out of sleeves (which is no big deal in a t-shirt, but when you're in a onesie, it can be problematic), taking shoes and socks off, mimicking elevator dings and random electronic equipment chirps.</div>
<div>
Future Career: Sound-effects artist who lives in our basement well into his 40s. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Peace, Love & Grrrrr!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Mary Katherine & Matt</div>
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</div>
Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-2462655943961316892016-11-23T19:55:00.000-08:002016-11-24T11:55:29.575-08:0010 Months of Thanks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br>
For the first time in 5 years, it is so easy to give thanks. I've said it many times, but the holidays just grow weary as each year ticks away when you are dealing with infertility. It's a road that gets lonelier and lonelier the longer you stay on it because less of your friends can relate as they turn their focus on their 1, 2, 3... children. <br>
<br>
Holidays are about family, and I've always been blessed with wonderful in-laws and out-laws (my side). But even with wonderful families, it's just been that elephant in the room. A sulky, sad, and embittered elephant at that. And it's never been about not appreciating what I had, because I have always tried. But when the one thing you want, that comes so easily and naturally for the majority of people totally eludes you, it's hard to swallow the bitterness and focus on your blessings. The hole in your heart is just too raw. <br>
<br>
Last year, I was preoccupied with being pregnant, and it was blissful. I was so very blessed and fortunate to have such an easy pregnancy after the mighty struggle it took to get there. Now I'm just so incredibly thankful. <br>
<br>
It's easy to say I'm thankful for Matthew, but that is just the tip of the iceberg.<br>
<br>
I am thankful for the perspective that infertility gave me, both in life and as a parent. I'm thankful for the ability to let the small stuff go, and just enjoy the miracle of Matt. </div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I am thankful for my better half who fulfills me, completes me, cheers me and is just the best teammate to have as we tackle this parenting thing.</span><br>
<br>
I am thankful for my parents and in-laws who supported us in every way imaginable as BJ and I continued on despite what seemed impossible.<br>
<br>
I am thankful for my best friend and her ear as she has been with me through all of the thick and thin of my life and continues to be a constant source of knowledge and comfort.<br>
<br>
I am thankful for the Fertility Center and every single person at that clinic. When we were at our rock bottom, they were there with their hands out-stretched. <br>
<br>
I am thankful for the honor of being James Matthew's mother. It is such a privilege that I do not take lightly. I love you, Matt-moo, more than words can ever express. It is truly an honor to be the person you reach towards and say "Mama" (even if you call other women "mama" 😉). I hope after your teenage years, when you kinda start liking us again, that you'll be glad we got you, too. <br>
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In the midst of what has so far been a pretty awful week, it doesn't take much looking back to realize how truly blessed I am. <br>
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So tomorrow I look forward to Matt being the star of the show. I've waited a long time to have a baby shoving mashed potatoes in his face. Hopefully his stomach will be over whatever has it so upset today, and he'll get to gum all the tasty foods. <br>
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Peace, Love, and Happy Food Hangovers!<br>
<br>
Mary Katherine & Matt<br>
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Matt Facts:<br>
<br>
Weight: 17lbs 2oz<br>
Height: 2'4.5ish<br>
Teeth: 0, but I believe we'll have at least 1 at our next update...<br>
Favorite Comfort item: Dada or Mama...he's really not too attached to any one thing just yet. <br>
Favorite food: Dog kibble, sweet potatoes, carrot cake and whatever he can feed himself.<br>
Favorite toy: His V-tech Sit-to-Stand Walker...unfortunately ours seems to have a short that makes it go off every 15 seconds whether he's near it or not. Thank goodness for off-switches.<br>
New skills: Clapping, waving hi and bye, cruisin-for-a-bruisin, stair-climbing, sticking the entire end of electronic devices in his mouth, and catching every bug that comes his way (yeah for breastfed babies...oh, wait), standing and stepping unassisted but with rapid failures, and falling. <br>
Words: Mama, Dada, Bah-bah (Bye-bye with a drawal), Hi, Lala and nanana (you know...just conversation filler)<br>
Future Career: Mechanical engineer. He's all about wheels and gears and things that spin. <br>
<br>
<br></div>
Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-90073806644667639752016-10-25T09:12:00.003-07:002016-10-25T09:12:57.621-07:009 Months...OR When the Miracle Eats Dog Kibble<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<br />
Matthew...my little ball of energy is 9 months old!!! He's been outside as long as he was on the inside (literally, since he was 3 weeks early plus had a bonus week on the outside in a petri dish...). What a crazy 18 months it has been. <br />
<br />
Matt is just funny. His personality is really beginning to come out, and I think we scored in that department. He's pensive and introspective. He studies new things carefully. Yet he loves to have fun and enjoys being silly. He's not a pleaser. He does things on his own time after much thought and consideration. He seems to be a little introverted, which I totally get. He's also pretty chatty with us, but less so in public. In fact our babysitter asked me if he was talking yet, and I was floored, because he's not usually quiet for very long. I asked him to tell her "Bye-Bye" and he immediately said bye-bye. She was just as shocked as I was when she asked me if he was talking yet...*sigh* This does not bode well for school, I fear.<br />
<br />
He FINALLY clapped yesterday for the first time. We actually took a rare and ever elusive nap and he woke up before me because I found him lying on his back studying each of his hands. They were approximately a body width apart and had assumed an appropriate pre-"pat-a-cake" position. He carefully brought his hands together and pulled them apart, then tried a little faster and got a little sound. I'm so very proud. He refuses to clap for BJ, however...<br />
<br />
His other skills include finding toys hidden under a blanket. Chasing kitties and golden retrievers. French kissing golden doodles. Speed crawling, waving bye-bye and feeding himself are also much more precise than they were during his 8th month. Precise but not always accurate...<br />
<br />
I make most of Matt's baby food because it kinda skeeves me out to eat 3 year old bananas. So anyway, I'm happily buzzing around the kitchen steaming this and blending that into some concoction for my toothless miracle when I hear his palms happily slap across the kitchen in a speed crawl. He loves to splash in Emma's water bowl, so I make my way over there and try to distract him with a toy before returning to blending. I don't hear anything for a while, so I glance back to Emma's bowls to see my little miracle baby eating dog food while I'm making homemade, hippie-approved baby food because Gerber is poison...So anyway...Gerber's probably fine...<br />
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We've also enjoyed eliciting those baby belly laughs. Matt is not a free laugher....<br />
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It actually takes work. And things he found funny a couple of days may barely muster a smirk today. So when we do find something that evokes those throw his head back baby giggles, IT.IS.AMAZING! It's definitely one of those 'we could have missed this' moments.<br />
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The pain of infertility is erosive to your soul, yet having a child after going through infertility is truly inconceivable. After over 5 years, I had no idea I could not hurt this much, or be this happy, or have so much to look forward to in life. So when Matt giggles, the heavens open up and my heart fills with a joy I had no idea could exist. And then I become overwhelmed with the thought of 'Wow, we could have missed this.' It is entirely possible that all of this could have eluded us, and my heart fills again. <br />
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So when people say Matt was worth the wait, they honestly have no idea. He's not just worth it, he exceeds all of that pain with a sense of peace. A peace that soothes my soul, and helps me look back with a sense of understanding. He's an answer to so many prayers, hopes, desires. He's simply a miracle. I couldn't appreciate this as much as I do without having gone through such an arduous journey, and I would never want to have a child without that level of appreciation.<br />
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And that same miracle...well, he eats dog food sometimes, too. :)<br />
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Matt Facts:<br />
<br />
Height: 2' 3 1/4" for 13th percentile<br />
Weight: 16 lbs, 13 oz... 8th percentile<br />
Teeth: 0<br />
Fave Food: Cheerios are amazing...and Lucifer the kitty likes them, too!<br />
Fave Toy: Wheels...or anything that spins: squeaky frog toy<br />
Fave Word: Bah-Bah-Bah (Bye); dew-dew-dew (No translation), La-la (Yadda-yadda); din-din-din (no translation);<br />
Fave Activity: Playing in a water table, AKA Emma's elevated water bowl; readjusting the wine fridge settings; Petting the kitties; playing in his tunnel.<br />
Favorite Comfort Item: Mama & Dada...Wubba Nubs be out (Matt's choice...no parenting credits to us)<br />
Future Career: Wine connoisseur. </div>
Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-45705502119196605952016-10-13T20:24:00.004-07:002016-10-13T20:35:03.396-07:00I'm a $&^t Mom<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm a ****ty mother, and I'm perfectly okay with it. I own it, even. <br />
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My friend, who also struggled to conceive, and I were having a conversation about how we spent so much time and energy and studying on how to conceive, what should be happening to our bodies, what shouldn't....and then we finally became pregnant and we poured through every possible scenario, read every article, and second guessed everything we knew even as experienced women's health nurses...<br />
<br />
So when we finally gave birth to our children, and they lived through the squishy not doing much stage we were completely burned out. Well, I'm burned out...and over it. I've done everything in my power to get Matt here...at some point the whole thriving thing is going to have to be on him...cuz I just want to enjoy him.<br />
<br />
This, for me has translated into having no clue what my baby is supposed to be doing when. Hell if I know what milestones Matt is supposed to be achieving. I'm not even sure if what he's doing sometimes is considered a skill. Like is downward dog position a milestone? It's not that I don't care...but honestly, I don't really care that much. I have thought about purchasing <em>What to Expect the First Year, </em>but then I don't buy it because....meh.... Matt is healthy, thriving, doing new things occasionally, and HAPPY. So he doesn't clap yet, but he gets excited and bounces up down and smiles when we clap at him and thinks he's just great. That seems more important. <i>But dammit, why can't he clap?</i><br />
<br />
He really wants to eat, but he has no teeth, but he also hates thicker purees...but he screams at me when I eat and paws at the food within his reach, so he gets a little chunk. Allergies be damned. He even had she crab soup when we went to the beach a few weeks ago and he loved it...and he lived. So shellfish, dairy, and alcohol all in one shot...Mom of the year, right here!!!! Most of the food we give him ends up in Emma's stomach, so it's win-win-win. Matt scores "real people" food, Emma score's "real people food", and Mom and Dad score on the clean-up. #parentingtrifecta<br />
<br />
I'll think Matt is developing fine, even maybe a little ahead, but then I get a questionnaire from our pediatrician that asks things like "Does Matt follow commands?" Well, um, I don't know what kind of life other people lead, but I don't have very high expectations as far as my almost 9 month old performing tasks at my request. I just don't live that life. Matt is precious, but I'd hardly call him reliable, so I don't plan my day thinking "What could I have Matt do?" Along those lines, I've not asked him to do a lot. I mean he has about a 50% chance of coming when I call his name...But seriously, 9 month olds are supposed to follow commands? Really? <br />
<br />
Another of these "tasks" was "Will Matt play nursery games like Pat-a-cake or So-Big or Peek-a-boo at your prompting, but without you gesturing?" All I can picture is Matt staring at a blank wall playing peek-a-boo and thinking how creepy that would be. I mean I'd be worried about him if he did...isn't that how Poltergeist started? Also, have you ever gone up to another human or even a dog and said "High Five" w/out extending your hand. So why would Matt just spontaneously play Pat-a-cake? Apparently Matt is woefully behind in communication skills, and it's my fault. I've not asked him to fetch, clean his room, make dinner, plus I didn't even know So Big was a "nursery game", but then again, I am a shit mom...<br />
<br />
I am kinda getting worried about Matt not being able to clap. Or "pat-a-cake" as they call clapping in babyland. It's super frustrating. We're in intense clapping training, but the closest we've gotten is waving both hands in a parallel fashion, thus never making contact with each other. I'm not asking for perfection here, but honestly I'm starting to worry about his corpus callosum...<br />
<br />
I say I'm not asking for perfection, but I really want Matt to get a perfect score on this questionnaire...It's a direct measure of my parenting skills. And apparently anything less than perfection to me is basically shit, hence the clapping training camp. But as my best friend, Matt's godmother, kindly reminded me...does Matt really need to be able to clap to be a Wal-Mart greeter?<br />
<br />
No, no he does not...so I guess even if he doesn't make a perfect score...he'll at least still have opportunities thanks to Sam Walton. #Mericuh<br />
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Peace, Love and Wal-Mart Greetings from Matt,<br />
<br />
Mary Katherine<br />
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Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-7103544114428973222016-09-28T19:53:00.000-07:002016-09-28T19:53:30.488-07:00Belated Birthday Post<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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For 5 and a half years, this was my life. More than the hurtful comments, the unhelpful suggestions, the pregnancy announcements from people who either weren't trying or tried for 2 seconds, the pregnancy announcements from same-age peers for their 2nd and 3rd babies, nothing can touch the feeling of failing your husband.<br />
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Even when male factor infertility is the issue, you as the woman cannot carry that baby. You cannot bear your spouse's child. It leaves you feeling empty, sad, and worthless. You are barren. It feels as sad and lonely as that word sounds. It feels like failing, even when your husband doesn't see it that way. You feel like you are failing at being a woman. <br />
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I would pretend to not notice BJ playing with our friend's kids while at the same time taking in every moment. Letting it sear itself into my soul. I would tell myself this was why we needed to keep trying because he was just so wonderful with children. So patient, kind, appropriately fun at whatever age he was thrown and just plain good. He is the kind of guy you would meet for 5 minutes and not hesitate to leave your kid playing with him at the party while you went and fetched some food or something to drink. It's just so easy for him.<br />
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Unlike me, I just felt so awkward. I had no baby experience. When I held other people's babies I felt like I was being stared at, or worse, pitied.<br />
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Fast forward to this miracle:<br />
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I'll be honest, as amazing as BJ was with other people's children, I had no idea how it would translate into fatherhood. He by far has exceeded all expectations, and he's got it harder than a lot of working dad's. He works all day, and then comes home to be a single father when I work night shift. When I work day shift he has to single dad it again, and get Matt ready himself, drops him off, and pick the kid up to be single dad for a few more hours until I get home. <br />
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And that's just what he has to do... He continues to astonish me with just what a wonderful father he's become. His attention to Matt, his ability to soothe him leaves me jealous at times. I love listening to BJ read to Matt. I love the baby giggles BJ generates. He goes above and beyond for this kiddo. He doesn't just love Matthew, he cherishes him. And Matt's eyes light up when he comes home, and it melts my heart every.single.time.<br />
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BJ, Happy Birthday. This kid loves you to the moon and back, and so does your wife. I didn't think it would be possible to love you any more than I already did, but I do. You are an outstanding father and a better husband than I deserve. I hope your birthday was as happy as Matt is to see you.<br />
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Peace, Love, and Baby Daddies,<br />
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Mary Katherine. </div>
Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-11981749804585212802016-09-23T18:23:00.000-07:002016-09-23T19:26:55.928-07:008 Months & Killing It!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Matt-moo, the miracle man is 8 months old now. It is crazy how fast it has gone, and crazy how much more excitement there is to come! BJ and I are still enamored with everything his little self does. He seems to be turning into quite a playful little thing. He seems to think he's 8 months going on 18. He's pretty sure he should be doing whatever we are doing. Whether that's drinking wine, eating the remote control, operating an iPad, or studying with a laptop for an online pharmacology or community banking exam, he will attempt to duplicate your actions. I'm sad his parents are so boring, lol.<br />
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He's had another healthy month. No shots or exams or anything too exciting. Well, he did have a 2nd flu shot, and he handled it like a champ. He was more mad that he was being held down than anything. <br />
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His Grammy did say, that he's the worst diaper-change of all the babies she has ever cared for (which has been a few more than just Brother Matt and myself). It truly is a wrestling match. You put him on his back and he gets a message to turn over and crawl away, NOW. He doesn't care if his full of poo diaper is halfway hanging off, he must exit the situation immediately. We try laying toys, diapers, wipes, oversized coffee table books that weigh more than him (I'm kidding!) on his chest to distract him, and this has approximately a 17% success rate. Mostly, I change his diapers with him standing as if he's about to get frisked and moderate success. <br />
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He is cruising pretty successfully now. I hope he doesn't walk too soon, although, I don't really know what difference it will make as he's already into EVERYTHING. He has turbo crawl speed which I can hear him go into anywhere in our house. His little palms go slap-slap-slap against the hardwood. The cats are not very excited about his new-found speed. But it's also amazing because he'll be at your feet. You'll look at the TV b/c Brangelina divorce news and all the sudden he's in the kitchen with both hands in Emma's water bowl, which happens to be one of his favorite past times. Oh, and he's not picky...he'll happily stick his hands in your drinks, too. So basically he's a beverage ruining Ninja. As I'm typing this, he's figured out how to stand up and scoot his Sit to Stand walker thing...I don't think he's going to be like his Mama and not walk until he's 15 months old. You're welcome, Grampa. (My dad is still embarrassed for me because of how old I was when I started walking.)<br />
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Matt's other favorite activities include toe-sucking, chit-chatting, and yoga...Well downward dog position while making strawberry noises...<br />
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Matt Facts</div>
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Height: 2'3" give or take. He won't be measured again until his 9 month appointment</div>
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Weight: Just under 17 lbs according to our scale. So about 14th percentile.</div>
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Toofers: 0 and holding</div>
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Fave Food: Boob juice, Bananas, Arrowroot cookies, and She-Crab soup (I know...BAD MOM)</div>
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Fave Toy: The one in his hands. He's pretty sweet about it, actually. Ok so sometimes it's the one in your hands...even though he has another one...</div>
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Fave Comfort Item: Mama and Dada - Wubbanubs are kinda out at the moment.</div>
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Sounds: Mama, Dada, Bah-bah, la-la, nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh, ha, blub-blub, Ah, Deeb-ah-deeb. </div>
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Mad Baby Skills: Cruising, Speed Crawling, Climbing stairs, Pincher grasp, splashing, </div>
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Future Career: Yogi - Maybe a comedic one. </div>
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Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-90331838214494118432016-08-14T08:50:00.000-07:002016-08-31T06:37:24.975-07:007 Months of Gooberishness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Um, who stole my infant and replaced it with the cutest hob-goblin, ever? I have a legit crawling, cruising, thieving, jibber-jabbering, incontinent mini-adult. He's cute and he knows it.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5KPqPMRnf0X1AMCd-dWNBK5XMcdNxTZJtSsaDno81hijgDkKSXfcjkmuuV3kFj2W5i_nZLuaEllqrjWhI9IZmW7CSVVxAkbRdqDnUP3e_UjH1KPKZ8pt4Rq3qHN9lAWpGkhDP-p16PuU/s640/blogger-image--679944466.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5KPqPMRnf0X1AMCd-dWNBK5XMcdNxTZJtSsaDno81hijgDkKSXfcjkmuuV3kFj2W5i_nZLuaEllqrjWhI9IZmW7CSVVxAkbRdqDnUP3e_UjH1KPKZ8pt4Rq3qHN9lAWpGkhDP-p16PuU/s640/blogger-image--679944466.jpg"></a></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br></div>So baby-proofing is happening. We may end up looking like Nerf sponsored our house, but everyday, Matt seems to have a new scratch or bump on him. He mostly seems to tolerate it well. He seems to cry out in frustration more than pain. He will fall and get upset, or it will sound like he had a skull crushing bop on his head, enough to make me jump, and just be like "what's the big deal?" I'm so blessed in so many ways, so to have a pretty even keel babester is just beyond what I ever deserved.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">His favorite word of the moment is tongue clicking. I'm not sure where he learned Kiswahili, but he's very adept at it. He may be telling us very important things in tongue-clicking, strawberries, and La-la-la's. Although he kinda sounds like he's mocking us when he says it..."Hey, Matthew, how was your day?" "La-la-la click pffffffft." "Oh, really?" "Hee." So basically he's already pretty sure we're full of it.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2q4T4e6C9TuBwUJot0oslI5E2Pf9Ut3WlgxCLqU6zgzMerIlfg6hKlWSuyBY846Mo4JQ1Lcp0kgEcXlO2uYF2z6ka9X51ozAViofV59QB_TwyOmXd-Wq-lYwYLAO2yDwK0HRtx5rdce8/s640/blogger-image--763597275.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2q4T4e6C9TuBwUJot0oslI5E2Pf9Ut3WlgxCLqU6zgzMerIlfg6hKlWSuyBY846Mo4JQ1Lcp0kgEcXlO2uYF2z6ka9X51ozAViofV59QB_TwyOmXd-Wq-lYwYLAO2yDwK0HRtx5rdce8/s640/blogger-image--763597275.jpg"></a></div><i>I'm just unpacking this bowl for you, Mom, no big!</i></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I love this little mischief maker. I'm just so happy this little soul ended up in our care. I'm loving all my moments with him, and I can't wait to see what he does next. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Our animals are still petrified of this little tyrant. He wants to "love" them so bad, but they panic and run for the hills. Love to Matt is pulling your hair/fur, so I get where they are coming from, but it's still a little exaggerated. We are working on soft hands, but that grasp reflex is still so strong!!!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We are still primarily breastfeeding and eating purées, except when he steals food out of my hand. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-a6-6riSm55qv1f8Yr6Y6KFeHiyKkhteRp0SEoxCLKjT1WClUx40cEbpBeslmgW4UFSra417bwMiv3Jla7cim0C7pXLZbUQFLKTO1hZLyMqMc8RW_1LgtyqSSqY4d3QpRohRq2qPWSMQ/s640/blogger-image--1135455035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-a6-6riSm55qv1f8Yr6Y6KFeHiyKkhteRp0SEoxCLKjT1WClUx40cEbpBeslmgW4UFSra417bwMiv3Jla7cim0C7pXLZbUQFLKTO1hZLyMqMc8RW_1LgtyqSSqY4d3QpRohRq2qPWSMQ/s640/blogger-image--1135455035.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">He still spits out anything solid, and occasionally thicker purées, but ice cream is fine...OMG... I should probably be all upset about this, but as a "more mature parent" I'm like "meh". Plus just getting it away from him to take his shirt off ruptured the eardrums of everyone in a 10 foot radius...I'm gonna be such a bad, mom...*sigh*. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Whatever...I could be worse. He still hasn't been to prison...yet...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Peace, love, and hobgoblins,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Mary Katherine & Matt</div></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Height (Or lack of): 26" 10th percentile...He shrank...not really...but oops<br>
Weight: 16 lbs. 5 oz 19th percentile..shrimpin' up.<br>
Head: 16 7/8" 23rd-ish percentile...<br>
Fave food: Boob juice, mangos and BANANA!<br>
Fave Hobby: Crack cocaine. We aren't sure who is supplier is, but when I find them, I will kill them. Seriously...his favorite hobby is becoming wild man at 10:30 pm. He laughs, giggles, rolls all over the place until he crashes. I thought babies slept...<br>
Fave sport: Graeco-Roman diaper changing. I need at least 4 hands to change his diaper...and we never do it on a raised surface anymore. But he is super good at this sport. As soon as he hears the first Velcro tab, he's off!!! And he always wins points for riding time as he manages to spend more time above your hands. I've gotten pretty good at blind Velcro-ing diaper tabs. <br></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Fave Book: all the edible ones</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Fave Toy: rattles and things that go bang when you whack them!</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Fave comfort item: Mama or Dada</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Predicted career: demolition specialist</div>
Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-33146269306153403272016-08-01T21:19:00.000-07:002016-08-02T05:13:30.319-07:006 Months of Matt-moo<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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*sigh* This kid...aside from being in that adorable, chatty, toe-sucking Gerber stage, he is just amazing.<br>
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How did he become 6 months old? Six months was an eternity in fertility treatments and yet, it seems to be going so quickly now. I love it, cherish it and hope that my Matt continues to allow me to snuggle him for a little while longer. "They are only little once..." is pretty much the theme to my parenting.<br>
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He reaches for me now, and that my friends, has sealed the deal. Any doubts about how I was doing, who I was to him, and even genetics...GONE. *POOF*. The only thing that matters to Matt is that I reach back for his outstretched arms, and believe me, I do every.single.time. <br>
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Seriously, I didn't think I was having any issues with the egg donation situation, but now I understand how it simply doesn't matter. I get it, now. Those little hands pointed toward me make my world go around. He reaches out to me not caring about the number of genes we do or don't share. He just simply needs his Mama, and that person is Me.<br>
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I finally understand what my mother meant about not understanding how much she loved me until I had kids of my own. But, I also had no idea what it felt like to be loved back. The way his eyes light up in the morning, just because I'm there. The way he smiles those gummy little smiles. I am just smitten. Those things are the superglue that put my heart back together after so many disappointments.<br>
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Seriously, to think I could have missed out on this over my stupid ovaries, I cannot even imagine living out my life with never getting to experience this. It makes my heart hurt even more for my sisters in infertility. I hope they know how hard I pray for them, and that I don't take any of this for granted. <br>
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We enjoyed having him with us at the beach. He loved the sand and the water. I think I do have a little water bug, which is exciting to me, because I loved water as a child. He just kicks and bats his hands while smiling. Super cute! Maybe he'll be a swimmer?<br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI-Fj53N2rZODipDiLqTV8B4_CSY8OXlCoTlX0p9QY7LgERZKJGBAp8_Jlj5msAZqVJE578Wn2UHeW3ylCtuXPdFgUlgA5Ko9I6qPCYjCoDoJ4svUl5lwqXTe_ZAJtK8M-n6owUaMeVms/s1600/Mattinsand.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI-Fj53N2rZODipDiLqTV8B4_CSY8OXlCoTlX0p9QY7LgERZKJGBAp8_Jlj5msAZqVJE578Wn2UHeW3ylCtuXPdFgUlgA5Ko9I6qPCYjCoDoJ4svUl5lwqXTe_ZAJtK8M-n6owUaMeVms/s320/Mattinsand.JPG" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It is serious work shoveling sand up your bathing suit!</td></tr>
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The eating thing is going okay. We are still super into puree's and not much for the baby lead weaning thing. They need a lot more dexterity than Matt has at this point. I still hand him chunks of stuff to suck on or chew on, but he seems to choke when he manages to get it in his mouth...so I'm like "NOPE". So I continue to make his baby food purees and for the most part he seems to like it. Especially bananas! <br>
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We are seeing glimmers of his personality. For the most part, he's pretty chill about new things, places, people. He is, however, busy. Very busy. And he still makes up his schedule on the fly, and I don't understand. Sometimes he'll take 15 to 20 minute naps and crash all night, other times he'll take a 2 hour nap and party like it's 1999 from 3 am on. He's so much fun to play with now. He loves to do whatever you are doing. He finds new features on my phone everyday. He loves books, especially their taste. <br>
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He also loves his pets. Unfortunately, the feelings aren't quite mutual yet. Emma does like purees so when one goes splat, that is a help, but she doesn't really associate Matt with those yet. Matt loves to "pet" aka grab with baby vice grip the kitties and Emma. Emma just gets her feelings hurt and runs away looking at us like, "how dare you let it hurt me?" Lucifer is kinda like "oh, crap" but yet his curiosity keeps him coming back for more. Gaius is actually the most "warm" or lazy...however you want to interpret it. He just looks at me like "how dare you let this disgusting floor troll touch me. I will show both of you by standing my ground!" None of them have shown the slightest bit of aggression which is surprising because, you know, cats. But Matt is just infatuated with everything they do...and the cats are a bit fascinated with him. But until Matt can be trained to open a can, he's somewhat useless to them. Emma licks Matt because she gets positive attention for it. We know, Emma. You aren't fooling us...<br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I earned this vacation!" </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First time eating carrots.</td></tr>
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Matt Facts:<br>
Weight: 16lbs and some change on our scale<br>
Height: Itty (we couldn't get in to see his pediatrician until 8/8 for his 6 month appointment).<br>
Fave Toy: Sophie the Giraffe is taking a slight lead which is better than Tim the Lazy V-Tech Truck Driver who stops to make friends <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">while on the job...Don't worry, we tell Matt that isn't realistic.</span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Fave Comfort Item: Any of his WubbaNubs, and Mama<br>
Fave Food: Boob Juice and BANANA!!!<br>
Fave Book: The one in his mouth.<br>
Least fave food: Green Beans are Yuck!<br>
Teeth: No teeth...I saw them on a 32ish weeks ultrasound, so I'm pretty sure they are there...<br>
Future Occupation: We've gone from teeth to an interest in noses as well, so I'm thinking otolaryngologist. <br>
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Peace, Love, and Sand Monsters,<br>
<br>
Mary Katherine & Matt<br>
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Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-38863254499587662572016-06-29T19:47:00.003-07:002016-06-29T20:55:28.276-07:005 Months and Some (BIG) Change<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline">
There is a huge picture window at the end of the hall I work on. So every time I walked down the hall while I was pregnant and saw myself with an expansive belly I'd just smile like a goober. So now, with everything except my boobs back to normal, I am still overwhelmed at my reflection...there was a baby and now there IS a REAL baby! And now my baby boy totally flashes these uber goober smiles at me all the time. Nothing but gums, cheeks and squinty eyes. And I am so in love...<br>
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I can't believe Matthew (Matt-moo) has been with us for 5 months. It is still so completely surreal. I would never wish infertility on anyone, but I wish you could see Matt through my eyes. He's an absolute gift. I cherish him maybe a little bit differently. I don't take any moment with him for granted because he shouldn't be here. I am so blessed. There is just a level of appreciation and gratitude that I know I would never have had if I'd "just gotten pregnant". He is my miracle. He's amazing. He's MY son that I honestly never knew I would have. I think that's the first time I've said that...'My son'...I have a son, and he is just the best thing that's happened to me since BJ.<br>
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But I do think it is different. Like a second chance at life, only a deeper gratitude for the ability to parent. So when he's screaming bloody murder, I ALWAYS, ALWAYS whisper "I love you" into his ear. I hate that I can't fix his problems, but I'll always be there for him. And I feel so privileged to get to be the Mama that tries to soothe him. The level of adoration I have is intoxicating. I can't wait for that next snuggle, that next tuck of his head beneath my chin, and that moment he lets his body relax in my arms. I'm just love-drunk over this baby.<br>
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BJ had his first father's day with Matt, and it was awesome for me. I think I liked it better than Mother's Day. I don't have to feel like the reason BJ will never be a father anymore for one thing. And Matt's a pretty sweet baby. We went out to eat with BJ's parents and just enjoyed each others' company. It's nice to feel included in these parental unit celebration days!<br>
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Matt also stayed with his Mimi and Papaw for a weekend. They did great with him, especially my niece Makayla...who probably has better baby skills than I do. She is just devoted to His Royal Mattness, and I just love watching them. Seriously, if it weren't for child labor laws, she'd by my #1 choice for live-in Nanny.<br>
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So Matt at 5 months wants to stand ALL of the time. He's of course nowhere ready for that, and his feet still don't touch on the exer-saucer w/out pillows, but we do manage. Meanwhile, I'm seeing some more definition in my biceps. When he allows you to bend him at the waist, which seems less frequently than other babies of similar age, he can sit with minimal support. And he rolls all of the times. You put him down on his tummy, he's on his back, you put him down on his back and he's on his tummy. You put him on his side and he's confused for a few seconds before figuring out which way will be the way you least desire him. <br>
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He's also decided he is ready to eat. I dropped a cracker and he went to town on it. It was a saltine and it was the last thing I would have wanted him to have, but then I thought well, hell, baby-lead weaning and all that jazz. So he ended up slobber-dissolving a 1/3 of it. The goal had been 6 months of exclusive breast-feeding, but he had all of the physical milestones down if not super-ceded. He's a pretty neat eater for a baby. He doesn't spit stuff out, so I guess he was ready. As of now he's had avocado and sweet potato prepared by me. I wish cooking for adults was this easy. Peel, Steam, puree, DONE... I still think it's fun to spoon feed a baby. Matt wishes I'd let him have the spoon, but he just gags himself on it...So while I can, I'm just gonna stick w/the puree's. I'm sure we'll convert to more baby-lead weaning as his dexterity improves, but for now, I'm enjoying this...and I have nearly 70 servings of pureed baby foodsicles in my freezer...<br>
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So Matt Facts:<br>
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Height: Wee (Haven't measured him since 4 mos...)<br>
Weight: According my scale he's just over 16 lbs...<br>
Fave Food: Boob Juice w/sweet potato a close second<br>
Fave Toy: Sophie the Giraffe has taken over...much to the disapproval of dogs EVERYWHERE. "Why is that bald puppy chewing my toy?" They say with their eyes while simultaneously expressing betrayal and hurt. <br>
Fave Comfort Item: Mama and the Wubbanubs are on equal ground right about now...<br>
Teeth: None, but I'm hoping I didn't create an infant Tylenol addict over nothing. He's been fussy, drooly and finger chewing off and on for a week, but I can't feel anything....Isn't that teething?<br>
Future Career: Dentistry. He's currently giving free dental screenings to whoever allows him to stick his fingers in your mouth. *Please Note that this should not replace your biannual dental cleanings and exams at your preferred, licensed dentist. Matt hasn't been to preschool, yet, nor does he have a firm grasp on English at this point...He will have a firm grasp on you lips, so do be prepared...<br>
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Peace, Love, and Gummy Smiles,<br>
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Mary Katherine & Matt</div>
Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-37103449933879781772016-05-29T10:25:00.001-07:002016-05-29T11:43:27.590-07:00That Phone Call...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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A year ago, yesterday, I laid in bed quietly crying into BJ's shoulder awaiting "the call". The same</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">one I get every single time. The one every infertility patient dreads because you just know. You know 'it's not meant to be', 'it just isn't your time', 'maybe you should look at other options.' You sit there and let all the comments and "helpful advice" run through your head and you wait. You wait painfully, tearfully, all the while simultaneously begging for just a little bit more time being the most pregnant you've ever been.</span></div>
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You've changed your diet, your lifestyle, given up your savings account, stabbed yourself with gargantuan needles and bargained with God to just help you get through the cycle no matter the outcome because you've convinced yourself you've given up on your miracle. You tell your partner you just aren't ready to hear the bad news. You wonder how many people the phlebotomist told about the crazy girl that sobbed through her venipuncture because you were "not ready to hear bad news". </div>
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All this emotional, medicinal, financial and spiritual investment is pent up in this one phone call. As you bury your face into your partner's shoulder your phone begins to go off. You contemplate not answering it, because if you don't know just yet, you get a little more time with that precious embryo or two. Just a few minutes more loving that should be baby you've poured your soul into. Just a few minutes more pretending your miracle has come, and that you don't have to hurt like this anymore.</div>
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But you know. Deep down, you know, so you answer that phone call. "I'm so sorry, Mary Katherine..." That's what you always hear....I can't tell you how the rest of those phone calls go because all the air is sucked out of your lungs, and you don't know how your shattered heart continues to beat. You look at your partner, your face scrunches in pain, the air is stolen from your lungs, yet you muster a "thank you" to whoever has the burden of telling you what you already knew. Telling you your greatest fear has come to fruition. You feel the searing pain of your heart breaking. It feels like the air you manage to suck in is 1,000 degrees Celsius. You hang up and you don't know whether to scream, curse God, or just let yourself waste away since it feels like all the important parts of you died with that embryo. And that embryo was everything...</div>
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You know all of this pain is waiting for you as soon as you hit that green button on your phone. But you do it. You do it because you are brave. You do it because you have to start the healing process. And you do it because despite knowing the answer, there is a tiny, tiny voice in the back of your head that thinks 'just maybe'. The one little part of your spirit that evades the protective wall you've convinced yourself you've built. The thing we call hope...</div>
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That wonderful part of your spirit that just can't be broken no matter the beatings it takes. The hope that gives you the strength to endure another month of heartbreak. Another month of telling all the people who knew what you were going through that it did not work. Another month of convincing yourself it was worth it. Such a tiny, tiny voice, yet the one that gives you the drive to put yourself right back in the same position, waiting for the same phone call all over again. </div>
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Because sometimes...miracles happen.</div>
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"Mary Katherine, have you gotten your lab results?" </div>
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"No."</div>
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"Well, you're pregnant."</div>
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"No I'm not."</div>
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"Yes, you are pregnant..."</div>
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And your entire world changes with just 3 words...</div>
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James Matthew Roberts, thank you for being my miracle. Thank you for being my little embryo that could.</div>
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Peace, Love, and Miracles,<br />
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Mary Katherine & Matt<br />
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Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-7761692618888397312016-05-18T16:03:00.001-07:002016-05-19T07:22:33.175-07:004 Months!!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My little Goober is 4 months old!!!<br />
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He's such a sweet little guy, and I can't imagine life without him. He's cute as a button, darling, smiley and very curious about what is going on just outside of his bubble. <i>As in please move me so I can see what's going on over there, ok now back over there, ok I don't want to be here, either...</i>I'm really just Matt's minion, but it's the best job in the world. <br />
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He laughs...this deep, almost can't tell he's not grumbling laugh, and it cracks me up. His hair seems to be blonding up and he's still got these gorgeous blue peepers...<br />
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He drools like a champ. He smiles like a cherub...He's simply just the best. I look back and cannot imagine not having him. I am soooo lucky, so blessed, so thankful to be this baby's Mama! I just want to drink in every precious thing about him all day, everyday, but alas...that doesn't put much food on the table. <br />
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Matt is thriving on the boob juice. He's 14 lbs 7 oz at 4 mos and 2 days. He's 24.75", rolls from front to back in either direction, and rolls from back to side if there is a chance that my boob is available...like a magnet. If i'm not there, there is no desire to roll in that direction...I mean why do more tummy time when that is the actual worst thing in his life, right now? He can sit in his Bumbo seat, and LOVES to stand up. He was a total champ at the doc's today. Toe prick and he didn't even flinch, cried only a little bit when he got shots, and nursed right away. He's meeting all his milestones, and we are pretty impressed with him. He's loving the 25th percentile.<br />
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I'm trying to learn how to balance motherhood, wifedom, working, and being a grind when it comes to studying. I'm mostly flailing, but somehow (thanks mostly to BJ) things get fed, loved, we have clean clothes, and our house isn't in total shambles...at least my definition of shambles...which means we don't count Emma Grace tumbleweeds...<br />
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BJ and I are starting to get questioned about what our family building plans are which I guess is always a natural curiosity. We'd love to have more children, but we want to put our efforts into raising Matt at the moment, and maybe finish a graduate school program or 2...<i>or 3. </i>I want to love on just Matt for a bit. We will never get to relive his babyhood, or toddler-hood again, and I'm not sure I want to miss any of it because I am jumping back into the vortex of infertility. I can't imagine missing such important milestones because I'm crying myself to sleep over not giving him a sibling...which I'm pretty sure if I could explain the concept of sibling to Matt right now, he probably wouldn't be up for it, anyway...I'm not going to let infertility steal my time with the baby I do have right now. <br />
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Nothing is guaranteed for us, so we don't know that this will even work the next time. That's another reason I want to relish every single moment of Matt. Even if we go back for more children, doesn't necessarily mean we will get them. So BJ and I have been asked "Why would you put yourself through all of it again?" Well, we wouldn't be exactly. We've gotten over the hurdle that tripped us up the most. We have 14 snow babies waiting on us to decide what to do, in fact we just paid their tuition for Freezer U. Other people have commented on my/our age... Yes, I'm an older first-time mother, thanks for reminding me on the daily, but I'm not the oldest, and though I will most likely be over 35 the next time, I would technically not be an advanced maternal age patient because all our embryos are the same age as Matt. Anyway, I just love it when people ask me what our plans are then scoff at us. If you ask and don't like what you hear...just remember they aren't your plans, they are mine!<br />
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Matt Facts:<br />
Weight: 14 lbs 7 oz.<br />
Length: 24.75 inches<br />
Favorite food: Boob Juice!!!<br />
Favorite Toy: We've moved on from Eric the Horse to this little Atom model looking thing with lots of tubes that he can stick in his mouth (Thanks, Mamaw Theresa!)<br />
Favorite Comfort Item: Any of his 3 Wubbanubs.<br />
Favorite Activity: Standing - nothing he can do by himself, of course :)<br />
Favorite Pet: Lucifer...even if he tries to kill Matt, he's the most interested in his ongoings and occasionally snuggles with him, if even on accident. <br />
New Skills: Standing (w/support), laughing, putting things in his mouth, sitting up w/support, mastered head control, and finally mastered breastfeeding...it only took 4 months!!!<br />
Predicted Future Occupation: Journalist...must know everything that's going on around him when we are in public. <br />
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Peace, Love, and Savoring all the moments,<br />
Mary Katherine & Matt<br />
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Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3250495008899886844.post-75185412084484772182016-05-06T09:18:00.003-07:002016-05-06T09:20:09.444-07:00Dear You Don't Think You Count, Mama<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Dear You don't think you count, Mama,<br />
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First let me wish you a Happy Mother's Day. Because indeed, you do count. You are a mother.<br />
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You know what it is to sacrifice everything for your child that you do not even have yet. You know how to sacrifice financially, emotionally, and even spiritually. You've sacrificed your body with large bore needles and drugs that cause bizarre side effects. You've sacrificed your dignity with every other day transvaginal ultrasounds. You've sacrificed your sanity, because when everything is telling you it won't work, you have to try one.more.time. And you know grief like no other. You've grieved month after month for the child that will not be. You've grieved the 2nd pink line that faded too quickly. You've grieved the baby whose heart remained quiet. You've given birth to a sleeping angel. Or you've lost your baby way too soon. Yes, Mama, you've got grief covered better than most mothers.<br />
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You are nailing all the most difficult parts of motherhood, and yet have not received a single reward. No tiny hand has gripped your finger. No beady eyes have stared back at you. No tiny lips have curled into that oh, so sweet smile. No little bellies have quivered with baby giggles at your provoking. You are not even awarded for the amazing amount of fortitude you demonstrate when you get out of bed each morning. Yet you do and you keep going. And for that you deserve mother of the year!<br />
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I had a hard time accepting that I counted as a Mama before I had a living child. But I tell you, the 5.5 years it took to get here are way harder than anything I've faced being Matt's Mama. Even the witching hour when I cannot do anything to soothe Matthew is not nearly so hard as getting out of bed the day after you find out your last treatment cycle did not work. Yet people are eager to wish me a Happy Mother's Day now. With Matt, I know we'll live through the night and wake up to a smiling, cooing baby. With fertility treatments there is so much investment with no guarantee of anything.<br />
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And yet, no one dares wish you a Happy Mother's Day. Well, I do. I wish you a Happy Mother's Day and pray that your healthy little one finds its way to you very soon. I honor your journeys and think about you every single day, not just on Mother's Day.<br />
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So again, Happy Mother's Day to you, for you have given of yourself more than most parenting mothers. I send my love and strength as you continue on with the spirit cancer that is infertility. Battle on my friend.<br />
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Peace, Love, and Remembering ALL the Mothers, </div>
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Mary Katherine<br />
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Mary Katherine Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07824126863989183673noreply@blogger.com0