Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Experiments in Child Labor

Owen is about fifteen months old.  This is a wonderful age because he wants to imitate everything we do.  He likes to pretend almost anything (banana, book, toy, shoe) is a cell phone and holds conversations in baby babble.  This innate desire to copy you should be exploited as child labor.

And here is how.

Complete household chores in front of the toddler with a gigantic smile on your face.  Sound effects are bonus.  Encourage your toddler to try.  Purchase child sized items for toddler to complete chores more effectively once interest is locked in. 

The most successful household chore Owen helps with is the laundry.  Between my mother and I, we have taught Owen to empty the lint trap (his job specifically), put dirty clothes down the laundry chute, put dirty laundry into the washer, put wet clothes into the dryer, and push the laundry basket from the laundry room to the living room where I fold the laundry while he watches television.

We're working on the sweeping.  He has a child sized broom, but I can't seem to target his sweeping.  My goal is for him to sweep up the food on the floor he dropped.  The other day, I caught him sweeping things under our rug.  No kidding, he picked up the corner of the rug, turned it over, swept some dust to that area, and then turned the corner back.  And I could have sworn he wasn't there the couple of times I did this.

He'd probably vacuum since he knows how to unwind the cord, plug it in, turn it on, and generally how to push it.  The problem is that it is much larger than him, and I imagine the worst if I were give him a hand held.  The toddler curiosity plus suction power seems like too dangerous of a combination.

And when we're all done "playing" at household chores, he opens the freezer to fill our cups with ice while I pour the juice.

Lessons learned:
1. The earlier, the better.
2. Even if you don't think he's watching, don't sweep things under the rug.
3. If I had better habits of picking up after myself, he'd probably know how to put away his own toys.
4. Enjoy the cleaning is playing stage and exploit the child labor while you can.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Why did I think it was a good idea to...

Hindsight is 20/20.  Often times, I, my husband, or both of us, do things that we later come to regret, even if momentarily.  I literally begin several thoughts a day with the phrase "Why did I think it was a good idea to..."  Below are some of the more memorable moments I've voiced this thought:

1. Have two children in two years.  Especially in the middle of the night as both children are crying.  Or during the morning when both children are crying.  Or during the afternoon when both children are crying.  See the theme?

2. Work on my master's while still maintaining a full time job on shore duty.  Nothing like coming home on a Wednesday just long enough to nurse Anduin and then give Owen a teaser before running out again.  My half hour between work and class manages to set them both off.  Which then leads us to Situation 1.

3. To leave only two and a half days to write a 20 page paper for a class for the above master's.  Sad but true.  You'd think after the first paper I'd learn not to procrasinate.  Unfortunately, I've repeated the rushed scenario of flinging my children on the good graces of my husband, mother, and mother-in-law while I frantically research and write a paper numerous times.

4. Feed Owen chocolate twenty minutes before his bed time.  I don't think this requires any explanation.  And yet, Niles and I do this often.  Or if not chocolate, maybe cupcakes or gummy worms or something else we probably shouldn't be feeding a baby, and definitely not feeding him so closely to his bedtime.

5. Feed Owen cheese curls immediately after changing him into a clean white shirt.  That cheese powder gets everywhere.  Yet, his excited face when he sees and eats cheese curls almost makes it worth it.

6. To purchase white shirts for Owen.  And speaking of which, own a white couch.  For a parent who feeds their toddler cheese curls in the living room, you'd think I would at least have child friendly furniture.  My version of child friendly furniture is a white couch that has removable covers and a wonderful mother-in-law who takes the time to remove them and wash them for me.

7. To leave the cutting board with the extra large chef's knife within reach of the high chair.  This actually happened.  Turned around and saw a scene out of a horror movie: toddler in high chair holding a large carving knife.  Fortunately, it didn't actually turn into any more of a horror movie.  Knife was secured and toddler thought it was a game.

8. To not baby-proof anything.  Sad confession: Niles and I have not babyproofed a single item in our house.  Our children have managed to survive on sheer parental vigilance alone.  We don't have baby gates, cabinet locks, oven locks, corner paddings...  The one time I tried to install cabinet locks, Owen ripped through them.  We do occasionally find Owen playing with the container of bleach or our entire set of pots and pans on the floor.  Owen also has taken his share of tumbles down the stairs, but it just toughens him up.

9. To teach Owen how to use the step stool so he could wash his hands.  It was cute to see him wash his own hands in the bathroom sink: turn on the water, dispense some soap, rinse them off under the water...  But what I completely failed to take into account was the fact that Owen loves water.  He could wash his hands for hours, completely drenching the sink.  I also didn't account for him to quickly figure out he could move the step stool and now reach just about everything everywhere.  This leads to repeats of Situation 7.

10. To let Owen lick anything he wanted to at the play area at the mall.  Since Owen doesn't go to daycare, I had to figure out a way to strengthen his immune system by exposing it to all sorts of germs.  So far nothing's killed him, but we have had to deal with a lot of colds this winter and spring.  At some point in the foreseeable future, we'll reap the benefits of a strengthened immune system.  Until then, I've stocked up on tissues.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Prayer to SWO Gods

SWO Gods,

I used to think you so sadistic as I learned to sleep standing up, sleep on the floor of my stateroom, sleep during thirty degree rolls outrunning a typhoon, or sleep across my desk, earning keyboard marks on my cheeks.  I discovered that long blinks could somehow turn into fifteen minute catnaps without notice.  I used to find myself overly consumed by sleep, or more specifically a lack thereof.  I used to see this all as a sort of torture.

And then, I became a mom.

And now I thank you for all the training and initiation into a world without consistent sleep.  You taught me well how to be appreciative of a ten minute catnap.  The ability to fall asleep on a moment's notice was perfect during impromptu offers by my mother and mother in law to watch the children.  At least now when I am woken from a perfectly sound sleep in the middle of the night, I am not expected to be alert, coherent, and vigilant.  I just have to be able to feed a baby, not drive a ship.

Very Respectfully,
Alyssa

Saturday, April 7, 2012

How to Fit Back Into My Uniform 10 Days After Giving Birth

I consider myself fairly lucky in the post-baby body continuum.  Don't get me wrong or anything, I'm not Beyonce and ready to share post-baby bikini wearing photos to the world.  (Note to self: Need to make sure tankini still fits for this summer).  But I was able to fit back into my uniforms, for the most part, ten days after giving birth to Anduin.  How do I know this?  Because I was called in from my maternity leave to take official photos as part of an award package submission.

And how did I do this and continue to lose weight to the point that I am back at my pre-pre-pregnancy weight (that's weight before Owen) less than three months after the birth of my second child?  Let me tell you my secret.  It's called the Having Two Children in Two Years Diet and Exercise Plan.  It works something like this:

1. You can eat whatever you'd like, as long as you can eat it with one hand AND/OR in five minute spurts over the course of two and a half hours.
  • This limits a lot of the food you're willing to eat.  Ribs for example?  People tend to frown on infants covered in BBQ fingerprints.  Burgers?  Off the plate. (Yes, pun is intended.)  Pasta carbonara?  Gets less than appetizing when it's been sitting there, getting cold and solidifying, for the past couple of hours.  And no more leisurely snacking for you!  Oh, and those expensive restaurant trips where you could eat course after course of delicious and potentially fattening foods...  You now have a 30 minute limit before the restaurant staff makes you and your squirming toddler feel very uncomfortable.
2. No more alcoholic beverages of any sort. 
  • After all, you're either pregnant or breast feeding.  But don't worry, think of all those calories you've saved.
3. Even caffeinated beverages are severely limited to one serving a day.
  •  And when they say one serving, they mean like a "small", excuse me "tall" order from Starbucks.  Not like a grande.  So think of all those calories you save by not getting a grande iced frappe anymore.
4. Be willing only to drink water from the water dispenser from your fridge, which you cannot manage to use with only hand.
  • Worried about bloating?  Not so much if you can barely get enough water to keep yourself alive, let alone give your body something to bloat.
5. Breastfeed... constantly... as in every 2-3 hours... everywhere.
  • Breastfeeding burns something like 600-1000 calories a day.  It takes a lot of energy to feed that little bundle of joy.  And if yours happens to be like Anduin, who goes on binge breastfeeding sessions, not only will she manage to take in the upper end of that caloric estimate, but she also manages to take away any chance for me to eat and/or drink anything.  No exaggeration: From the hours of 5 to 10, she eats literally every hour.  I spend more time with her attached to me than not.  If I didn't have a caring husband and a supportive mother/mother-in-law bringing me food and drinks, I probably would have been checked into the hospital by now due to malnutrition and dehydration.
6. Soothe your young children by carrying them around the house, attempting to see how many household tasks you can complete with only the partial use of one arm.
  • As a toddler, Owen now weighs in at over twenty pounds.  Imagine carrying a twenty pound weight in your non-dominant arm as you attempt to vacuum, put away groceries, eat, or even use the bathroom with one arm.  It's amazing how quickly you can build up muscle, which will just burn extra calories.  And if I'm extra lucky, I get to carry both of them at once!  So that's a total of thirty pounds I can carry up and down the stairs of my house.
7. Get really bad cabin fever so that you want to take your children out often.  Even if it's just to the mall to drool over clothes you will not fit into ever the same way again.
  • Even traveling "light" with children is an ordeal.  There's the mandatory diapers, wipes, bottles, snacks, and blankets I bring.  And Anduin in a carseat (even the among the lightest I could find) still weighs twenty pounds.  And the behemoth of my double stroller weighs 40 pounds alone.  Lift that into and out of your car several times over a three hour long trip outside of the house.  Wrestle a toddler into the seat.  Attach your now 20 pound infant into the carseat attachment.  And don't forget the rest of the baby stuff you are now lugging.
Follow these simple rules and you too can shed those pounds easily!

The Long Thursday of a Devoted Mom

March 29th was the first Thursday I had been back at work after taking a 2 month long maternity leave.  It was also the day of a major awards ceremony at my shore command.  Previously that week, I had tried to persuade my coworkers that the ambiguous phrasing at my joint command of the required uniform for the award ceremony could be interpreted as something OTHER than service dress blues.  Unfortunately, no one believed me.  So like a dutiful officer, I woke up Thursday and dressed in my service dress blues.

Let me put this in perspective.  The last time I had worn my service dress blues was in 2009... on deployment... in France... long before I had two children.  As it was, I was not one of those people who feel overly excited to wear their service dress uniform at the slightest provocation.  My jacket is actually the same jacket I was issued when I was 17 at my ROTC (reserve officer training corps) unit.  I'm sure I've mentioned this, but I'm sort of cheap about Navy uniforms. 

Back to last Thursday.  I've dutifully donned my service dress blue, carefully not stretching to reach for anything since my buttons will likely fly off and take out someone's eye, when I realize that Owen is eating yogurt for breakfast.  And of course, he wants to give me a nice big hug and sloppy face nuzzle before I leave for work.  I maneuver in to give him a quick kiss while simultaneously telling him, "Don't touch me!  This is dry clean only!"

The workday flies by quickly.  Coincidentally, I am in meetings nonstop until 1240, twenty minutes before the awards ceremony.  I stop by my boss's office to ask her whether I really need to attend the ceremony because of two important facts: 1) I had not had a chance to eat lunch and 2) I had not had a chance to pump milk.  Now if you were really unlucky, I could launch a button at you and spray you in the face with breast milk.  She told me to go ahead and skip actually attending the awards ceremony and just watch it as it was being broadcast.

So I ran down to eat lunch, watching on the televisions on the cafeteria as other members in my office receive an award, before dashing off to the nurse's station to pump milk.  About twenty minutes later and significantly more comfortable, I return to my cubicle.  Just as I am about to log in to watch the awards ceremony -- did I mention this was a big enough deal they broadcast it not only on every television in the complex but also live over the internet and had flown in nominees and winners from all over the globe-- one of my coworkers yells at me, "Where were you?"

Now I go on high alert and demand back, "What do you mean?"

She explains -- as does everyone else who now realizes I'm on the floor -- "They called your name!  You were supposed to go on the stage to be recognized.  You were nominated for an award."

 "What?  I thought they said at the beginning they weren't going to name the nominees since they were in the program.  I was down in the nurse's office pumping milk since I hadn't had a chance all day."

"At least none of the other nominees could say that.  They were all men.  And by the way, you were the only Naval officer nominated."

So to end my story, I continued the tradition of proudly representing the Navy by blowing off the Director of my agency, a 3 star General, and everyone else in my chain of command by not attending the awards ceremony after they had nominated me.  But at least you know I'm a devoted mom since I chose feeding Anduin over the 3 star general.  Now if only she would actually drink the milk I take the time to pump...

Lessons learned:
1. If you bother to actually wear the dress uniform, you should make sure to actually show up at said event.
2. Telling people you were pumping milk automatically gives you a pass for missing major events.  Either it makes them super uncomfortable, or thanks to an aggressive breastfeeding campaign, makes them nod approvingly.
3. No one can tell if your skirt is nearly under your rib cage because that's how high you have to wear it in order to zip it up as long as you always wear your jacket or sweater.

That is Not My Baby... Or the Wonders of the Epidural

Unlike some women, I was not one of those eternally happy, glowing pregnant women.  Near the end of my second pregnancy especially, I began to have daily fantasies of seeing my toes again, wearing clothes that had actual waistbands, ditching the maternity uniform, being able to button my wool bridge coat that I had to wear with my uniform as I made the 15 minute trek across my work parking lot, or being able to actually submerge my stomach in the jacuzzi tub.  What did not help was that Owen had arrived three and a half weeks early so I was not really mentally prepared to be pregnant beyond the 37 week mark.  Unfortunately, Anduin proved the doctors right -- having one baby early does not mean the second one will arrive early.  Snug in her watery haven, she'd occasionally cause me to lose feeling in my leg or struggle to walk up a flight of stairs, just in case I could somehow still forget I was still pregnant.

As I approached the dreaded 40 week mark, my attempts to schedule an induction became more desperate.  Eventually, the doctors gave in and scheduled one for me.  It might have something to do with the fact that not only was I now heavily pregnant but -- wait for it -- I was on crutches.  One night while trying to lower my less than gazelle like body onto the couch, I twisted my knee.

Everyone had assumed Anduin would arrive early: my boss who had planned a surprise baby shower for me at work a solid month and a half prior, my husband who had packed hospital bags by the New Year, and my friend M* whose due date was the day after mine.

Just as I was resigned that I would be induced on my due date (Jan 30th), I received a text message from M* who had also scheduled an induction.  Her text on Jan 26th told me she was at the hospital in labor and that I needed to tell Anduin to hurry.  After all, we were going to deliver at the same hospital.  I didn't realize until I read that text that it was actually possible to be VERY envious of another woman experiencing massive amounts of pain and discomfort because at the very least, her baby would escape.

I started to experience contractions later that night, but Anduin, darling prankster that she was, had already sent me to the hospital for bouts of false labor.  I figured that this time, if the contractions were strong enough to wake me up from a sound sleep, I'd actually make the trip to the hospital. 

At 3 am, January 27th, they were.  This time, however, we were much better prepared.  I had downloaded a contractions counter app to my Kindle Fire.  Our bags were packed.  My husband ignored any urges to suddenly clean the house.  We had received permission from Tricare to deliver at a civilian hospital five minutes from our house.  (Funny what happens when you tell them you had a baby in the bathroom...  Suddenly, a referral to a civilian doctor was so much easier!)  We basically moseyed down to the hospital with me being in significantly more discomfort than I had been during my first delivery.

I was checked into a hospital room right away -- having felt me dilate to 5 cm -- and prepared for the long night ahead of us.

And then it happened...  The anesthesiologist came to give me my epidural.  It was now almost 6 in the morning.  The anesthesiologist was exactly the type of doctor you hope to receive: just enough white hair to exude experience and wisdom but spry enough to make you not wonder whether his hands would shake while inserting a wickedly long needle into your spinal cord.  By this point, I wasn't exactly Bridezilla mean.  Niles would tell you that I wasn't exactly pleasant either.  We had a student nurse whose excitement/wonder at my impending delivery more than made up for my lack of enthusiasm, but I couldn't manage more than monosyllabic answers to her questions.  After I had the epidural, it literally felt as if the clouds had opened and angels sang down from the heavens.  I probably said to Niles no less than twenty times as he tried to find a remotely comfortable position on a chair to take a quick nap, "I don't know why everyone doesn't get an epidural.  They're wonderful!"

Yes, I did manage to sneak in a little nap while I waited for my doctor to finish up someone else's C-section.  When I woke up, my nurse checked my dilation and told me that I was 9 cm dilated and could expect to start pushing soon.  She called the doctor to come down and prepare for delivery.

Now my doctor was one of the many at the civilian practice I had received all of my prenatal care.  She was one of two that I had hoped to not be at my delivery, not because she wasn't competent but more because she had the bedside manner of a houseplant.  Then again, I generally warm up to houseplants more...  After checking me, she declared that I was only 7 cm dilated. 

I was ready to throttle her.  My nurse had been on the labor/delivery floor significantly longer than the doctor had.  I doubted that I could have shrunk two centimeters.  And by this point, I was starting to feel pretty uncomfortable.  Just as I pondered letting the doctor know what I thought of her measurement, the nurse told me those magic words, "You know, if you are feeling uncomfortable, you can just push the button to increase the amount of medicine in your epidural."

Oh yeah...  Drugs on demand!  What more could I have asked for?

With more drugs flowing through my system, I did feel a lot better.  There was still a lot of pressure so another hour or so later, I demanded my doctor to come down and check me again.  She told me that I was now at 8 cm, but I wouldn't be allowed to start pushing until I was at least 9 cm.

Another hour later, closer to 9 am, I demanded my doctor to check me again.  She told me I was still at 8 cm and then rushed off to take care of some "paperwork".  I had a nagging suspicion she was probably in the doctor's lounge playing Angry Birds.

By about 10:40, I had reached my breaking point.  The pressure I felt made me feel like I needed to start pushing or risk exploding.  This time, I told the nurse, "I'm going to start pushing whether the doctor's here or not."

The nurse, bless her calm and experience, excused herself politely to the hallway to call the doctor.  I had already started pushing.  I figured that in the worst case, I was already at the hospital surrounded by fully trained staff.  Heck, my labor and delivery nurse could probably have delivered my baby herself.  I'm pretty sure the nurse made it amply clear to the doctor that she needed to get there. Immediately.  The doctor made it there in time for Anduin's head to crown and to tell me to stop pushing since the umblical cord was wrapped around her neck.  I paused only momentarily to free the cord.  And then I continued pushing so hard and so quickly that it only took about five pushes before Anduin was free at 10:53 am.

The staff cleaned her off marginally and laid her across my stomach.  I glanced down at her and only had the time to think, "That's not my baby.  She's gigantic!" before they risked her off to take measurements and check her Apgar score.

She still hadn't cried yet.  I probably would have been more concerned except that I had to still deliver the placenta... and then the doctor took that very moment to dig into my flesh and cut away a suspicious looking mole.  As if my body hadn't gone through enough.

Anduin cried momentarily and was declared healthy.  When they finally gave her back to me, I looked down at her, wrapped in her baby burrito blanket (aka swaddled) and thought,

"Wow, she's not very cute.  In fact, she's a pretty ugly baby.  And she's huge."

That's right.  Those were my thoughts.  I'd like to blame the epidural still, but let's face it, newborns are not attractive creatures.  Thanks to an aggressive PR campaign, the fact that most women have just endured one of the most traumatic experiences ever, and the surging amounts of oxytocin in their bodies, most women manage to overlook their newborn's looks and declare them to be the most beautiful thing they've ever seen.  Anduin, like most newborns, looked more alien than Gerber baby.  It probably didn't help that the bruising on her face and her pointy head came from me pushing her rather hard through a tiny tunnel.  Owen, my first, managed to avoid both of these features by being tiny at 6 lbs.  Anduin, on the other hand, was a very healthy 8 lbs 1 oz and an inch and a half longer than her brother.

It was the student nurse, not me, who gushed, "She's beautiful!"

Then again, it was also the student nurse who later said while checking my uterus as it shrunk in size, "You have a beautiful uterus!"  So I should probably take those compliments with a grain of salt.

But here's the happy ending: Fortunately babies generally get significantly cuter with time.  Oh, and that oxytocin really builds up in your system so that even if yours doesn't, your hormones have bonded you to your baby anyway.  And M* and I recovered in the same ward so our hours old babies had playdates.


Lessons learned:
1. Your pregnancies -- and the resulting deliveries -- can be incredibly different.
2. Newborns are not attractive creatures.  Strongly suggest making it clear to your spouse or support person that even if you and they have this thought, they need to lie to you and tell you that that tiny human being you just spent 10 months carrying and hours laboring to deliver is the most beautiful thing they've ever seen.
3. Epidurals are wonderful.  Your husband/support person will likely appreciate the personality change they evoke.
4. Drugs on command are wonderful.  Sorry to repeat, but this is incredibly important.
5. Don't be afraid to tell your doctor to put down the Angry Birds and get back to what's really important: ending your misery by delivering your baby.  

Friday, April 6, 2012

Introducing... Owen the New Year's Day Toilet Baby

There's a lot you don't know as a first time mom and nothing showed how unprepared I was than Owen's actual arrival.  Because the story's so outrageous, it needs to be told in its entirety.  So please sit back and prepare to think, "No way, she didn't actually do that."

New Year's Eve (December 31, 2010)
Niles and I drove down to Gaithersburg, Maryland to meet up with some good friends of ours for New Year's Eve dinner.  Along the way, I stopped at my mom's house where I accidentally mixed up my phone for her phone since we had exactly the same free phone offered by AT&T.  I ate an entire appetizer, entree, and dessert from Macaroni Grill that night.  In retrospect, this should have been a clue of impending labor/delivery since before this, I struggled to finish half an entree since Owen took up so much room in my stomach.  Niles had become accustomed to only ordering an appetizer since he knew he would have to finish my dinner.  Later that night, I realized I had swapped phones with my mom.  I shot her an email assuring that I'd drive back down later that week to pick it up.  Then Niles and I went off to see the fireworks over Annapolis.

Approximately 4:30 am New Year's Day (January 1, 2011)
I wander out of bed to use the bathroom.  I've become accustomed to needing to pee at least three times a night.  Just as I enter our bathroom, I feel a gush of water exit.  I look down at the floor and think, "Hmm...  Either I really lost control of my bladder or... my water just broke." 

Me to Niles: Wake up!  My water just broke.
Niles (still in bed): Haha.  Your water just broke. 
(He then proceeds to roll over and go back to sleep.)
Me: No, I mean it!  My water just broke!!!
Niles: What?  You're not due for another month!  Our hospital bags aren't even packed!  The house is a mess!  People are going to come over to see the baby.

Niles was too freaked out to talk to the labor and delivery people so I got to tell them calmly that my water broke but had no contractions.  I knew I had to deliver within the next 24 hours.

I went to call my mom to tell her... until I remembered I had her phone.  It took calling my sister to get the name of my mom's friend who lived in her neighborhood, calling said friend who turned out to be North Carolina visiting her daughter, and finally waking up another of my mom's friends to convince to drive over to my mom's house to wake her up and let her know I was in labor.

Niles called his parents to tell them I was in labor.  His father, no kidding, did EXACTLY the same thing Niles did: laugh and try to fall back asleep before saying sleepily "Talk to your mother."  My mother-in-law's sleepy response to Niles (no kidding) was, "What do you mean Alyssa's in labor?  We're in Delaware!  If we had known she was going to be in labor, we would never have gone to Delaware!"

Approximately 6:30 am at our house
Me to Niles: Sweetheart, it's been about two hours.  We've showered, you started the laundry, picked up the living room, packed our bags...  It's probably time for us to get to the hospital.  It's at least a half hour drive to the hospital.
Niles: I want to get a load of dishes in the dishwasher first.

Approximately 7:00 am at the hospital (finally)
Intake staff member: You're the woman who called us at 4:30 this morning?  When we said to take your time, we meant to not speed on the way here.  We didn't mean come in here two and a half hours later.
Me: My husband had a last minute nesting phase.

Approximately 7:15 am in the triage room
Triage doctor: On a scale of 1 to 10, what's your pain level?
Me: Oh, I don't know... a 2 maybe.  I'm a bit uncomfortable.
(Triage doctor proceeds to check how far I'm dilated.)
Triage doctor: Well, you're 5 centimeters.  I can see the baby's hair.  You need to get into a room.

Approximately 8:30 am in my delivery room
Me to my mom: I want an epidural now!
Nurse: He's with another patient.  He'll be along shortly.

Approximately 9:00 am in my delivery room
Me to the nurse: I really need to use the bathroom.
Nurse: I don't know...  You really shouldn't.
Me (still without an epidural): I REALLY NEED TO USE THE BATHROOM!!!
Nurse: Okay.  Just let us know if you need help.

Approximately 9:15 am in the attached bathroom to my delivery room
Nurse (from outside): How are you doing?
Me: I'm fine.

Approximately 9:30 am still in the attached bathroom to my delivery room
Nurse (from outside): How are you doing?
Me: Still fine.

Approximately 9:35 am in my delivery room

Anesthesiologist (to Niles):  Where is the patient?  I'm here for the epidural.
Niles: She's in the bathroom. 
Anesthesiologist: No problem.  I'll be back in five minutes.
  
Approximately 9:40 am still in the attached bathroom to my delivery room
Me (thinking): Either that is a huge poop... or that's the baby's head.  That burning sensation was exactly like what the book said it would feel like when the baby's head...
Niles (from outside): Are you okay?
Me: Not okay this time.
(Niles bursts in to see me standing above the toilet with a baby's head fully clear out of me. )  He then shouts something unintelligible involving the words "Baby" and "toilet." The nurse runs in, pulls the emergency chord they keep in bathrooms for exactly reasons like this, and when I look up next, there's an entire medical team (like 8 or 9 people) in there with me.  Luckily, it's a large bathroom.

Random doctor/nurse: Is there time to get her to the bed?
Doctor/nurse in charge: No!  Set up a sterile area in here!

(I take two steps and Owen literally falls out of me.  Like a good baby, he cries right away.)

My mother-in-law (outside in the room): Is that a baby crying?  That can't be coming from in here.

I made it to the bed to deliver the afterbirth.  Owen was born 3.5 weeks early, healthy, 6 lbs 1 oz and 19 inches long at 9:43 am.  He was not the first baby for the New Year, but he was the only one to be delivered
perilously close to the toilet. 

Lessons learned:
1. The whole due date thing?  Really more of a guidance.  I should have packed those hospital bags earlier.
2. If you want an epidural, you need to make sure you're actually in the room to receive it.
3. If you can suddenly eat three times as much food as previously, you should consider that a potential sign of impending delivery.
4. Don't allow husband to suddenly demonstrate nesting instincts after your water breaks if you want to make it to the hospital in a reasonable amount of time.
5. Most important of all...  That feeling of needing to poop is an actual symptom of delivery.  That's baby's way of letting you know he wants out.  You should not actually go to the bathroom unless you want your baby to be known as the "Toilet Baby" during your entire stay at the hospital.
 

Make Sure to Eat Your Vegetables (and other shipboard pregnancy vignettes)

So I spent the first five months of my first pregnancy on board a destroyer.  At the time, only a handful of people knew I was pregnant: the CO, the XO, the Chief Engineer (my direct boss), and my roommate at the time.  Thinking back on the time, the following true events still make me laugh...

1. My CO walking into the Wardroom where I was eating lunch on Burger Day and telling me, "Make sure you eat your vegetables.  You're eating for two now."  He trusted me to monitor the bridge during potentially dangerous operations but I needed to be reminded about my nutrition?

2. Lying on the floor of my stateroom overcome with morning sickness while my roommate made comforting sounds around me.  She did hand me a pillow to make me more comfortable.

3. My CO and XO watching me like a hawk during a particularly hot awards ceremony on the steel flight deck, absolutely convinced I was going to a) Pass out from heat exhaustion and b) Cook my unborn baby.  They watched me drink several glasses of water afterwards to make sure I was being rehydrated.  And then they promptly scolded me for even thinking about standing outside in the hot sun in uniform for several hours.

Lesson learned: fellow officers can turn into mother hens with little warning.

A Rant on Naval Maternity Uniforms

I was one of the lucky ones...  I didn't actually need to wear the Naval maternity uniform until I was five months pregnant and on shore duty.  Thankfully, while I was still on sea duty, I wore loose fitting coveralls (that became less loose fitting) and the Naval Working Uniform (blue camis) that have an elastic waistband.  I tried to get away wearing the NWU's on shore duty until I was informed by the one other Naval officer I worked with that I was required to wear the khaki uniform while in the National Capitol Region (NCR).

As any female officer knows, your khakis don't provide you with a lot of extra room.  Bloating or a five pound weight gain after the holidays could make them not fit.  Suffice to say, my khakis didn't have enough room for my 5 month pregnant tummy without threatening serious suffocation to baby.  So instead, I got to purchase the maternity uniform.  Here's a picture of it below.
Oh, and by the way, that's not me.  That's some random pic I pulled off Google.  I hated the maternity uniform so much that I've managed through two pregnancies to not have a single picture of me in it.

My major complaints about it:
1. You only look "good" in it when you're at least 8 months pregnant.  Otherwise, you look like you're wearing an ill-fitting tent.
2. The only pockets in the entire uniform are the breast pockets.  Where am I supposed to put a pen?  How about car keys?  And what if I don't want people to be staring at the weird lumps on my breasts if I actually try to use the pockets?
3. Why must the "full tummy panel" be so large?  Even when I was 9 months pregnant, it reached my rib cage.
4. And unless you shell out extra money for the associated maternity sweater, any item you try to wear with it to keep warm (for example, you're the most heavily pregnant during winter like I was) looks like you're trying some teenaged fad of "shrunken jacket" that only manages to keep my ribs warm.

Oh, and I was cheap.  Any occasion that called for me to wear something other than the khaki uniform, I conveniently worked from home that day.

A Really Awkward Conversation with Your CO

Determined to combine my career as an active duty SWO (surface warfare officer) and family took the same amount of planning for an actual military operation.  To do so, I had to consider the following:

1. The Navy only allows you to be up to 5 months pregnant on sea duty.
2. Rotating early from sea duty could harm my chances for my next duty station.
3. My next duty station (aka "shore duty") had been cut short from 3 years to 2.5 years.
4. I wanted to have two children on my shore duty.
5. My planned rotation date from my ship was August 2010.

I had a good relationship with my CO at the time so I didn't want to surprise him with a "Guess what?  I'm pregnant!"  Instead I decided to surprise him with a "Guess what?  I'm trying to get pregnant!" after briefing him and the XO (Executive Officer) on the status of our classified materials inventory. 

The only conversation more awkward?  When I told him and the XO less than a month later that I actually was pregnant.