Archive for the 'Drama' Category

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Top 10 List of Things I Don’t Want to Hear at 4am

“Momma, I barfed in my crib! Momma, I barfed in my crib!”

Yep, that ranks right up there. ;) In fact, it’s Number One on my List today…because, at 4am this morning, those were the forlorn and quite upset little cries that awakened me from my slumber.

What makes this funnier (is that even possible?) is that Claire has never barfed before. She’s seen the kitties do it a couple times, and I think she saw me do it once, but she’s never done it herself. So, for her to do it and then realize that’s what she’s done and then tell us about it is pretty amazing.

Yes, I know that we have a 27-month old that has never barfed, and we should thank our lucky stars that it’s taken this long. (Actually, if you must know, it’s taken 27 months, 13 days, and 14 hours, give or take some odd minutes…not that I’ve been counting.) ;)

We were really lucky with Claire as a baby. I can count on half of one hand how many times she spit up. For real. She just never did it. And, she’s never been sick, let alone barfed…until today. Over the last couple days, she’s developed a runny nose and a cough. It’s one of those coughs that sounds really wet, but only happens when she cries. She doesn’t cough to cough. I talked to the nurse at the pediatrician’s office to get a time-frame of when/if I should bring her in, and she said that there is a virus going around that will cause a cough like this. As long as she doesn’t have a fever (she doesn’t) or seem lethargic (she doesn’t), there isn’t anything they can do, and she’ll either get worse or she won’t. If she does, I’m to take her in right away. If she doesn’t, we’re fine, and it should run its course.

So, I think what happened was she swallowed too much snot, started coughing in her sleep and then barfed.

She was extremely upset by it. And, I wasn’t thrilled, but I successfully remained calm. I handled the Haz-Mat Clean Up in the room, because my hubby does not do well with vomit and the last thing I need is to clean up TWO piles of the stuff. ;) Even I gagged a couple of times, but it is what it is.

He got to try to console Claire, who was standing in the bathtub screaming. 1) She was alarmed that we put her in there with her PJs on. This was unacceptable, and she did not understand the logic. 2) She kept saying, “I barfed in the crib! I barfed in the crib!” and this was traumatizing to her. 3) When unacceptable and traumatizing things happen, you want your momma, and well, Momma is upside down in a pile of dirty sheets right now, trying to decipher who got barfed on and who didn’t. Paddington Bear, Kitty, Bunny, and Kitten were safe. Puppy was questionable, and since Stunt Puppy, the Stunt Double, was willing and waiting, Puppy got thrown in the washer with the lovely sheets and three blankets.

Oh, and the Princess Pillow almost escaped ghastly disaster, but not quite. Ugh. But I think I got it all scrubbed.

We got it all washed and dried, and she seems to be fine. Today may be an adventure, and only time will tell. By the end of the whole fiasco, Claire was saying, “I barfed in the crib. But, don’t worry ‘bout it.” (Which is pretty much a direct quote of what I’d been telling her.) And, she was much calmer, which is really all that matters.

So…that’s what tops my Top 10 List of Things I Don’t Want to Hear at 4am. It’s almost tied with the time she pooped in my hair at 3am. Almost. But, that’s a story for another day…or maybe I’ll just leave it at that. ;)

Friday Night Excitement

Well, we had some excitement on Friday night!

Claire and I were getting ready for dinner, and Daddy was on his way home from his week-long trip to London. According to the online status page, his flight had landed. If he had enough time after getting through Customs, he was going to call and check in with us. He wasn’t scheduled to arrive at our local International Airport until almost midnight, which would be much too late to wish Claire nighty-night, so he was planning on doing it before getting on the next flight. But, if he didn’t have time, we’d understand…

What follows is rather gross, so if you’d rather skip this blood and guts post, feel free. But, if you’ve ever been around toddlers for any length of time, I’m sure that the following is rather tame…

Either way, you’ve been warned. ;)

So, I’m getting things ready, and Claire is playing in the living room. All of a sudden, she falls. Now, she’s a toddler, and she falls all the time. Usually, this is no big deal and she bounces right up and continues playing as though nothing happened. But, because of what happened in July (June 30th, actually), every time she falls I catch my breath.

This time, she cries. Oh no! I hope there’s no blood! I look at her face, totally expecting to see blood spurting out of her head like before, but I don’t see anything. Whew! That’s all I need…another day like that, especially with my hubby gone.

But, she’s upset, and she says she’s hurt her finger. She’s holding her right hand, so I’m wondering if she jammed a finger on the floor when she fell.

“It’s okay, Claire,” I said calmly. “Let’s go into the kitchen and take a look,” I said as I led her into the kitchen where the light was better.

That’s when I saw the blood. Why does there have to be blood? So, I took a deep breath and willed myself not to panic.

The ring finger on her right hand is all bloody, and it’s dripping into her palm. At first glance I thought maybe she’d hurt her fingernail and that it was bleeding down her finger. I quickly grabbed a dry paper-towel and tried to clean it up. That’s when I realized that her fingernail was fine, but her finger was cut. I quickly applied pressure to it and held her little hand up, hoping that this wasn’t going to require stitches. Please don’t let there be stitches again. Please.

By this time, Claire had stopped crying and was doing a great job of being still.

“Okay, Momma needs to look at your finger. I’m just going to peek at it and see why it’s bleeding,” I said.

“I hit it on the step stool!” she said.

“What?” I said out loud. That doesn’t even make sense, I said in my head.

“I fell and I hit my finger on my step stool,” she said again. She was adamant. Still, this made no sense. It has rounded edges; it’s made of plastic and covered in non-skid rubber. Getting a goose-egg from hitting your head on it? Yes, that I could see. Bumping your head if you jump off of it? Yes, that I could see. Cutting your finger on it? Nope, sorry…I just don’t see how that’s possible.

“Okay, well, let’s not worry about that now,” I said calmly, trying to get the bleeding to stop and wondering what in the world she’d cut it on. Upon further investigation, I realized that her finger wasn’t sliced, but that the skin was actually gone. It had been completely sheered off, practically down the whole length of her finger!

I consciously took another deep breath. Please don’t panic. Not in front of Claire. She’s not crying. Don’t cry. Unclench. Breathe.

After keeping more pressure on it, the majority of the bleeding had stopped. We went into the bathroom and put neosporin and band-aids on it. Toddlers have such tiny fingers, and the cut was so long that it was difficult to get the band-aids just right. She insisted on the Barbie Band-Aids from her previous accident, and those are to tiny! We ended up getting her fixed right up, and then Puppy got a band-aid, too, with strict instructions not to mess with it. Claire did a good job of reminding him throughout the evening. ;)

So, after I get her all patched up, I decided to do some investigating in the living room. What in the world could she have fallen on that would slice her finger so badly? I’d seen where she tripped, and I’d seen where she landed, and there were only a couple of items that looked relatively dangerous enough to do such a thing. I looked at her little folding table, but the hinges weren’t sharp and were way too high. I looked at the rim of her little plastic princess tea pot, but that wasn’t quite right either.

Then, Claire tells me, again, “I fell on my step stool!”

“I know you keep saying that, but how did you hurt your finger?” I ask.

“The holes on the side, Momma. The holes for your fingers! I fell and bonked my finger on the hole!” she said.

Okay, this is the really gross part…

This particular step stool has two holes on either end that you can use to carry it. I looked, and sure enough, there was the skin from her finger, still in the hole on the side of it! Do you know how hard it would be to cut yourself on this hole? Never in a hundred years would I have guessed that the step stool was capable of such a thing. Somehow, when she tripped, she landed with her finger just right, and it went in the hole on the side, slicing the skin right off. Unbelievable.

What’s even worse was she’d told me right away what had happened, but I hadn’t believed her. You wouldn’t expect a 2-yr old to be so aware of what’s going on and actually tell you what had happened, but she had.

Of course, right after we get everyone bandaged up and the mystery solved, Daddy calls. He’s made it through Security and Customs! He’s found his gate! He expects to hear about a typical Friday but gets an exciting story of step stools and band-aids and bloody fingers instead. Claire was quite excited to tell him all the gory details.

She really doesn’t seem to be bothered by any pain, and it still looks gross, but she’s doing a good job of keeping the band-aids on it. I was able to change my game-plan in that department and figured out a way to get the band-aid to stay on by cutting a larger band-aid to fit correctly. Only, we didn’t use the Barbie Band-Aids, we used the “very special brown band-aids that Daddy uses,” and you’d think they were hot pink with flowers on them for how excited Claire was. Puppy has a special brown band-aid on, too, and Claire did a great job of reminding him not to pick at it all day…

So, that’s not the exciting Friday night I had planned, but it was exciting nonetheless. Honestly, I prefer my excitement with a little less blood, thankyouverymuch. ;)

Evidence of a Struggle (or a Photo Update to “Priceless”)

Back in December, I posted a little something about Claire and her disdain for finger-painting. You can check out the original post here.

I had wanted to leisurely make handprints with her to use in some holiday projects for our relatives. Well, as what sometimes happens with a toddler, things did not go as planned, and certainly didn’t look like the good ol’ time they were having on the outside of the finger-paint packaging.

False advertisers! Tricksters! Filthy no-good liars! If I still had the packaging, I’d show you their smug little smiling faces as they sit at the table not getting paint in anyone’s hair or on anyone’s faces or all over anyone’s clothes in an attempt to escape from the kitchen table. No one is screaming in their pretty little marketing pictures.

Maybe I’m being a bit too harsh. I’m sure there are parents out there who wish their child wasn’t into finger-painting. I’m sure there are toddlers who like to get their hands slimy while painting with their fingers. My princess daughter is just not one of them.

So, here is the result of our struggle:

Evidence of a Struggle

Click on the photo to enlarge. Clicking a second time will show more detail.

I’ve added the above arrow and note you see on the photo using Gimp. (“Bring out the gimp…”) And, just between you and me? There is evidence of a struggle all over that paper. NONE of the marks on that page were made voluntarily and without a lot of screaming. Ugh.

After nearly crying over my failed project, I decided to suck it up and figure out a way to make it work. I did not get paint in my hair for nothing! That’s when I totally altered and rearranged the plan in my head (that’s the good thing about plans in your head…you can do that pretty easily…and it’s much easier than moving furniture), and figured out how to cut around her handprint so that the sixth finger was no longer visible.

I didn’t want her growing up thinking she was born with six fingers on one hand and that she’d had it removed in a surgical procedure before she was old enough to remember. (Not that there’s anything wrong with having six fingers on one hand, mind you. Well, unless you’re an acquaintance of Inigo Montoya…then I’d watch my back if I were you!) ;)

Here is the finished project:

Finished Project

See? No evidence whatsoever of the six fingered toddler or the struggle required to get her handprint. And, I had her color a picture, especially for PaPa, to go along with her handprint.

Needless to say, my hopes of going into business by creating cute little handprinted projects for people (let alone making any more holiday projects) had been dashed. I wonder what Claire would have to say about helping me with some Papier-mâché? ;)

The restaurant wasn’t on fire, and the evening actually went well after that…

So, last night we decided to go out to eat. We knew it was Friday night, but our favorite Vietnamese restaurant I had suggested doesn’t have a long wait.

As we’re getting ready to leave, my hubby says, “You know, I’m not sure I want to drive that far. I’m actually in the mood for something a little closer.”

“Oh, that’s cool. What about that Mexican place just over there? It was really good and not very busy.”

“Well, that’s an Italian restaurant now. And, I’m actually kinda in the mood for Italian. We could go check that out, or we could finally use up some of the gift cards we’ve been forgetting to use.”

I’m always in the mood for Italian, but he isn’t, so I asked him if he was feeling well. He assured me that he didn’t have a fever, so I pulled out the gift cards in my wallet. “Well, we have just over $6 left on this one, and we have $5 on this one,” I told him.

We decided on the closer of the two and off we went.

The parking lot around this particular restaurant is always jammed, mainly because it’s poorly designed, so we never park in there. We always park in the parking lot across the way. The restaurant is next to a mall, and there’s a “street” running through the mall parking lot. It’s not technically a street per se, but it’s busier than a normal driveway.

We park and get Claire bundled up. Daddy picks her up and we all hurry to the restaurant. I’m running ahead of them, so that I can get in to check out the wait. I can hear Claire and Daddy having some sort of conversation, but I couldn’t hear what was being said.

They wait in the foyer as I go into the over-full waiting room. I realize that the wait may be too long, which is no big deal. If it’s too long, we’ll bail and go somewhere else.

The wait is going to be at least AN HOUR. If it were just the hubby and me, an hour is a doable wait. With a toddler, that’s not going to happen.

So, Daddy scoops up Claire and we head back out into the cold.

“Look! Someone lost a shoe!” I say, as I see a cute little black shoe on the street dividing the parking lot and the restaurant. No sooner were the words out of my mouth and my stomach sank. “Is that CLAIRE’S shoe!?” I yelled as I picked it up.

“My shoe! My shoe!” Claire said.

“You know, she was saying something when we were coming to the building, but I was so focused on getting her in the building that I wasn’t really paying attention,” Daddy explained.

“No way! I’m so glad we decided not to stay at the restaurant! Who knows what would have happened to the shoe had we not found it right away!” I said, hoping we would have noticed that it was missing and then looked for it…knowing that it may have been lost forever.

As we get to the car, I realize that my remote keyless entry won’t work. My hubby’s copy of it never works for him, and I always make fun of him. Mine has always worked…until tonight. After trying a few clicks, I run around the car and open the driver’s door the old-fashioned way and get the other doors unlocked.

Meanwhile, Claire is still yelling about her shoe. We’re cold. We’re frazzled. This isn’t the relaxing Friday evening out we’d planned.

We decide to abandon the “let’s use up the rest of our gift cards” idea and go to that new Italian restaurant close to our house.

Just then, we look up and see two fire trucks, the Fire Chief Suburban, two police cars and an ambulance go by. They’re headed the same direction we are.

My hubby turns to look at me and says, “If the restaurant is on fire, we’re going home and ordering take-out.”

“Deal,” I said, wondering what else could possibly go wrong. :)

One Day Left

Well, if it was going to happen in 2007, it only has less than 24-hours to materialize. :) Yes, we made it to the end of 2007!

Looking back, 2007 was a very exciting year. Claire turned one at the end of 2006, so 2007 was full of new experiences. This year also marked the year I started a blog. I became one of those people, and I’m so glad I have an easy way to chronicle Claire’s childhood! (Feel free to poke around in the Archives or check out the different Categories on the sidebar.)

I continued working from home and tried to get back into my groove of working the equivalent of a full-time job from home while chasing a toddler. Just like the changes I made when doing my job with a newborn, I adapted. I tweaked my processes. Progress was made. I’m counting the year as a success. :)

My hubby not only worked his full-time job outside the home, he still had enough energy left over to do most of the cooking, cleaning and shopping. What would we do without him? By the time 2007 rolled around, it’s like he was already a pro at being a Daddy. Surviving another year in that role is quite an accomplishment for him, and one he made look easy.

We also tackled some major home improvement projects! Completing those was a huge relief. Maybe 2008 will be the year we take a break from those? A girl can dream, can’t she? (I say that, but it never fails that once the dust settles, we forget the pain and suffering and jump into another project.) Time will tell, I guess. :)

Amidst all the fun and chaos, we found time to travel to see friends and family. I’m sure 2008 will prove to be just as exciting!

Overall, we spent time doing the things we love with the people we care about, and 2007 was a good year.

Who knows what 2008 has in store for us? I can’t wait to see what adventures await!

So, enjoy the last day of 2007, and I’ll see you next year! ;)

Tapping into the Unexpected

Snowy morning

(Click photo to enlarge. If you click on the photo a second time, you’ll see even more detail.)

It’s snowing again today!

This picture doesn’t do it justice. I took this picture this morning, just before the sun has really come up, and the snow is giving a wonderful blueness to the world. (No, I did not alter this photo in PhotoShop. I don’t even have a true photo-editing program on my computer!) If you look, you can see I’ve taken this picture from the opposite vantage point as I did the header. You’ll see the juniper and the apple tree in the distance, and where we stood up the hill by the fence to capture our shadows in the snow.

I love the snow. I can say this today, because I don’t have to drive anywhere in it, and all my obligations are homebound.

I used to not mind driving in the snow. I used to log numerous hours of blizzard-driving in my car. I was calm on the roads. The Driver’s Ed course I took was during the Semester in which we had real live winter conditions to practice. Our teacher took us to a completely ice covered street so that we could feel what it felt like when the car spun a complete 360-degrees. She did that to take the shock and confusion out of it. From that point on, I learned the proper way to fishtail and maintain control of my car.

I’ve foolishly driven in conditions that were not fit for man, woman nor beast. I’ve always made it safely to my destination, but I had a Winter Emergency Pack in my car, just in case. I once drove six-hours straight through a blizzard, only to get stuck in my driveway. I remember grumbling with disgust as I got the shovel out of my trunk and started digging. That was when three teenage boys stopped to not only dig out, but push my car to freedom. Ah, those were the days.

Even after we moved away from the typical blizzards of the flatlands, I adapted. I will never forget driving in the mountains, and fishtailing around a corner. I knew I was in control, but one of my friends riding with me didn’t stop screaming until we’d made it back to the lodge.

But, something has happened to me. Ever since I had Claire, the thought of driving when it’s slick or crazy out unnerves me. My husband calls me a wussy and says it’s for the best that I don’t drive during rush hour anymore. I agree with him, and I’m glad I work from home.

Last year, on our way home from the Midwest for the holidays, we were arriving just as Blizzard Number Two was beginning for our area. (We’d snuck out right as Blizzard Number One was ending. Who knew we’d get sandwiched between the two!) Of course, it was my turn to drive. The tears slid down my cheeks as I slid through an intersection. Defensive driving skills or not, when your car is sliding on a sheet of ice, there isn’t much you can do about the drivers around you.

All I could think about was Claire. My hubby was yelling at me to stop crying and to focus!

“How can you see when you’re crying!?” he shouted, definitely not helping the situation.

“I’m not really crying, yet. They’re just tears, and they have to go somewhere! If you keep yelling, you’ll see what crying is! I don’t think I can do this! What if someone hits us!?” I screamed, much louder in my head than what came out of my tightly clenched jaw. I was mad at myself for not being able to stop the tears or the car from sliding.

“She’s safer than we are. She’s surrounded in a cocoon of Styrofoam and plastic, and she’s strapped in with a five-point harness. She’ll be fine. Plus, everyone is going 10-miles an hour or less. You do the physics on that.”

I remember calculating it in my head. Yes, I’m a dork, but I find calmness in the details, and my hubby knows that. Unfortunately, there weren’t enough details in the whole world to make the tears or the ice go away.

I felt like such a big baby, but I tried my hardest to keep it all together. I slid through three more intersections before we made it home. I kept my cool and navigated up our slick, steep street. After pulling in the garage, my hubby got Claire out of her protective shell of a car seat and they went in the house. I sat in the car and sobbed for a good minute before facing Claire…letting it all out. At that point, she’d never really seen me cry, and I didn’t want her to get all concerned about something that was all over now anyway. We’d made it home in one piece, and I pulled myself together before going into the house.

Wow. I did not expect the pictures I took this morning to tap into something so unexpected. I guess that’s the good thing about this blog. You never know what you’re gonna get! Obviously, these things are still bothering me, and now that they are out in the open, I can move on…as long as I don’t have to drive in it. ;)

My Old Journal: My Injuries

NaBloPoMo – Day Twenty-one

MY INJURIES: THE FINGER by me (Jan. 2, 1993 Sat.)
Santa gave us a really special gift: a gerbil! We named him Gus. He is so cute!

When we first met him, there was too much confusion and holding him incorrectly (I wasn’t though) and he bit me!

I was just the next person in line and he attached himself to my finger! Dad had to get him off.

Here is a diagram (you can tell I really like those!)

[see picture below showing the drawing of the palm of my left hand– things I’ve written by the diagram: This is where my finger bends. It was very swollen and painful, but I didn’t get any infection. They say gerbil slobber is cleaner than our own! :) You can tell he has crooked teeth!]

my old journal page 213

You can click on the picture a couple of times to see bigger and bigger versions…

Okay, the funniest part about the above entry, as found on page 213 of my old journal is the fact that I had to specify which injury I was talking about. As you may remember, I fell down the stairs in September. This was not my first brush with gravity and/or drama, but it’s the first one I’ve had since starting this blog. Never fear; I’m sure there will be more.

The unfortunate part about Gus taking his frustration and fear out on me was that I was holding him properly, but I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was so agitated by the noise, manhandling, and camera flashes, and had I realized just how agitated he was, I would have waited before holding him. He was SO cute, but wow, could he bite! :) I still have those scars, but they are very faint.

The above journal entry was written during my freshman year in college, while I was on Winter Break. About 10 days prior to that, I have another journal entry that explains how I accidentally got my head slammed in one of the outside doors to my dorm, cutting my ear. No, it didn’t break my glasses (whew!!) and it didn’t require stitches, but looking back, I should have probably had some. I’ve spared you the details (journal entry complete with hand-drawn diagram!) of that incident, but in a nutshell, it involved having a snowball fight late at night while taking a break from studying. In trying to run to safety, one of the guys I was with thought I’d cleared the doorway before he pulled the door shut, but I had not.

Needless to say, the door was heavy and had an automatic closer, and the door cracked me on the side of the head. It all happened so fast; I wasn’t quite sure what had happened. I really didn’t hold my friend responsible, because it happened so quickly. I knew he hadn’t done it on purpose. He apologized profusely, and he did have a fun quote from the night, “It’s all fun and games until somebody loses an ear!” :)

During my freshman year, I lived in a co-ed dorm. The guys had one wing, and the girls had another. The RA on the guys’ side and the hall director were the ones “on duty,” and they were quite alarmed to see so much blood, but they were both very calm in getting me patched up. The college nurse ended up putting a butterfly strip on it the next morning, and it healed relatively nicely. I still have that scar, too, but you don’t see it unless you know to look.

So, anyway, that’s why it’s funny that I had to distinguish which of my injuries the above journal entry involved. My family was ruthless with the comments, and it took me a while to live that down. In fact, in our main bathroom, we had a MagnaDoodle hanging by the magazine rack. Everyone would take turns drawing parts of a picture and adding to the drawing. One of the funniest ones was a stick figure of me with my ear stuck in a doorway. It wasn’t quite a realistic rendition of events, but I still laugh when I think about that picture. :)

In fact…look what I found in my old photo album!!

Here is a picture of Gus (right before he bit me…he thinks he’s being accosted by my dad and my brother, so he acts out toward the next unlucky victim…me) and a picture of my fateful encounter with a door, as drawn by one of my sisters:

Gus and my ear

Fun times. Fun times.
:)

Special Note: Speaking of photos, guess what else I found!? I found some pictures from my car accident!! I’ve posted them over on that post…so, go check ‘em out! They were exactly where I thought they should be. Why I didn’t see them before, I’ll never know. Oh well, had I found them a month ago, I would have never found my old journal! I love it when things work out the way they’re supposed to. ;)

11 years ago today

Edited to add, check out the bottom of the post!  I found the pictures!

Yes, today is Halloween, but I always think of something else on this day. It always pops into my head before anything else.

On Thursday, October 31st, 1996, I was involved in a pretty serious car accident.

Eleven years ago today, I was living in an apartment in a Midwestern “big city.” I was working at my first “real job” after graduating from college. It wasn’t my career choice or long term goal, but it was enough to pay the bills. Plus, it was super-close to my apartment. I had just purchased a brand new Chevy Cavalier, and I hadn’t even made a payment on it yet.

I was a Collections Associate, which is a fancy way of saying I was a bill collector for a major retail credit card company. I worked in a ‘pod’ and I was attached to a ‘dialer.’ It wasn’t glamorous, but I made the best of it. It was good to be gainfully employed.

This company is very strict about dress code. The length of our skirts, sleeves, and types of appropriate footwear were all dictated from the top. No customers ever saw us, but it didn’t matter. Images needed to be maintained.

A few weeks before Halloween rolled around, some of us got together and approached management about the possibility of allowing us to dress up for Halloween. Some of us voiced an interest in wearing contraband attire, such as fishnet hose, or a shirt that exposed a shoulder, or a hat. Our supervisor actually wrote a memo to the big wigs pleading our case, and they relented! On this one day, we could be totally unprofessional. Apparently, they realized that if your job consists of being called every name in the book for eight hours a day, a little costume fun could do wonders for morale.

So, I knew what I was going to wear. That morning I got all decked out in my fishnets, tall boots, and short black dress. It was always chilly in the office, so I wore one of my cute black jackets. The pointy black hat made the outfit complete.

Even after getting ready, I was going to be early for my shift. Another strict policy was you couldn’t clock in more than two minutes before your shift, and you only had one minute to get clocked in. I worked the second shift (11:30am to 9:00pm), because there was a shift differential and I was used to staying up late at night. At that time, old college habits died hard, and I’d just graduated five months prior. Getting paid extra to work such a great shift seemed perfect for me!

I glanced at the clock on my dashboard of my brand new car, and it said 11:23. Sweet! It only takes me three minutes to drive there, another minute to park and walk in. I was two minutes away from the parking lot. You could tell the day was going to be a bit overcast, but nice. It was the perfect late October day. Because I worked every other Saturday, I got to have this Friday off. This is going to be such a good early-start to the weekend!

The sound at the instant of impact is one I will never forget. It was a cross between a loud bang and a huge popping noise.

It took a split second for me to realize that I’d been hit. I remember feeling my car careen out of control toward a sign, and my defensive driving training took over. I swerved to avoid the sign and ended up in the median, not realizing that one side of my car was already destroyed, so hitting the sign really wouldn’t have mattered.

My driver’s side door was smashed, and I couldn’t get out. I remember starting to panic, as I forced the door open with all my might. Within seconds, five cars had stopped. People were calling on their cell phones. (Keep in mind this was 1996, so phones weren’t so commonplace!) People were asking if I was okay.

In the middle of the intersection was the bumper of the little red Sunbird that had t-boned my car. A tall woman in a long skirt was pacing back and forth, obviously agitated. As long as I live, I will never forget the sing-songy words that came out of her mouth. “Dammit. I’m gonna be late for my luncheon!”

“Excuse me?” I gasped. “Your luncheon?? Have you seen what you did to my car??” I’m not even sure if what I said was audible. I was still in shock.

Oh, I don’t know…maybe stopping at stop signs and looking both ways would have actually saved you time!? Of course, I said that in my head.

About this time, the police and ambulance arrive. I’m standing on the street shaking, partly from the cold and partly because looking at my car made me wonder how I was able to stand at all.

The police officer comes up to me and says, “Miss, maybe you’d better wait in my car.” At first I thought he was being nice, but then I noticed a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Then I remembered my outfit! “Oh my gosh! I don’t always dress this way! We got permission at work! It’s Halloween! My pointy hat is in the car!” To this day, I’m still not sure he believed me, and I’m very leery of wearing black lipstick in public.

To make what’s turning into a rather long story shorter, when asked if I was “okay” I said “no.” I could hear all of my lawyer friends’ voices in my head. “Admit to nothing at the scene! You’re not okay until a doctor says you’re okay!” But, in reality, my neck and back really were screaming in pain, and my knees were bloody from slamming into the center console by the gearshift. I was young and naive, and refused to ride in the ambulance, because I wanted to get to work (looking back, how silly!). They told me where my car was being towed, which hospital to go to, and offered me a ride to work.

Showing up to work in a police car made my hooker witch costume complete.

I explained to my supervisor what had happened, and she let me call my mom. (Since we were on a dialer system, it was impossible to make personal outbound calls. She had a phone in her office that she let me use.) That’s when I lost it and started crying. My mom, of course, dropped everything and came to get me. This was a huge deal, because she does not live close to the city, and I can only imagine how stressful this whole thing was for her.

She took me to the hospital, and the coolest part about the visit was having the doctor look at my injuries and have him tell me exactly what had happened. (I hadn’t told him the details of the crash.) “Let me guess,” he said calmly. “You were driving, and a car slammed into your driver’s side door. The force of the impact snapped your neck this way and then back, and your knees slammed into something…probably the center console. You’re lucky the airbags didn’t deploy, and how your face didn’t get cut by any flying glass is beyond me.” Hearing a third party describe it made it even more real. It wasn’t a horrible nightmare; it had really happened.

After the hospital, we went to see what was left of my car and take pictures. (Pictures, by the way, that are in such a good, safe place that even I can’t find them. I’ve looked everywhere. They aren’t in my file, so I’ve put them somewhere super-secret and special. If I ever find them, I’ll figure out a way to post them. They’re impressive. ***Edited to add: I found my pictures!! See below!) Miraculously, my driver’s side window stayed intact, which was how I’d avoided facial cuts. The scariest thing was seeing the glass from the other car’s headlights and turn signals inside my car. The Sunbird ran that stop sign at a pretty fast clip to have hit my car with such force.

I was so lucky. Granted, not lucky enough to avoid being the target of an insanely impatient driver in the first place, but lucky nonetheless.

Years later, the city added a stoplight at that intersection. Of course, I’d already moved on to bigger and better things. That route was, unfortunately, the only way to get to work, and I never quite got over driving through that intersection.

I spent months in physical therapy for my back, and months battling the insurance company, both of which were excruciating but all worked out in the end. Luckily, I had awesome insurance, and the accident had been deemed 100% Crazy Sunbird Lady’s fault. I finally got everything worked out, got another new car, and tried to get on with my life.

So, yes, today is Halloween, but it’s also the 11th anniversary of a different kind of frightful experience for me. Scary, indeed.

***Edited to add: Here they are! The pictures were where they were supposed to be, so I’m not sure why I didn’t see them when I looked the first time. Here are a couple of them, anyway. As always, you can click on the picture a couple of times to see bigger and bigger versions:

car accident 1996, a couple of photos

Claire’s Birth Story

Barely a day old…

People have been asking me about my birth story, and Claire was born before this blog existed, so I haven’t had a chance to share. Part of me wanted to wait until November to post this, but the other part of me thinks there’s no time like the present!

So, here it is. If you’re not into birth stories, feel free to skip this post. If you are, here it is!

Claire was due Friday, December 2nd, 2005. On Tuesday, November 29th, at 1am, my labor started. The contractions were pretty strong and varied between 10 minutes, 7 minutes and 5 minutes apart and back. I timed them all night and tried to get as much rest between them as I could.

I wasn’t really shocked that I was going into labor, since toward the end of my pregnancy Claire had started measuring “big.” In fact, at my most recent appointment, the doctor said that I could go into labor at any time. My doctor had been saying this for two weeks, so it was about time! ;)

At 8am, I told my hubby that I was pretty sure I was in labor. I didn’t tell him sooner, because I didn’t want him to freak out and not be able to sleep. We decided that he shouldn’t go in to work. I didn’t know if I’d really have her or how long this would be, but he worked from home, just to be safe.

At 9am, I called the doula to tell her what was going on. A doula is a labor coach that we’d hired. (She’d worked with me throughout my pregnancy on relaxation techniques and she also did personalized one-on-one classes in breastfeeding, etc. We also took the hospital classes, but that was more for my hubby’s benefit than mine, since I’d practically done enough research to get a degree in Birthin’ Babies…) ;) I wanted to do my labor and delivery completely drug-free, and I didn’t want my hubby to have the responsibility of being my only labor coach. I wanted him there, but I knew that he would be concerned about me, and I wanted a professional there. (A doula doesn’t replace the father.) The OB nurses are great, but they change with the shifts, and they aren’t with you constantly. I wanted constant attention, especially if I was going to do this without drugs. Anyway, I told the doula what was happening, and she said I was definitely on my way. She told me to continue using the birth ball and try to get as much rest as possible, and to call her if anything changed.

I also called my doctor’s office to tell them I was in labor. They said that she actually had the day off and another doctor was on-call that day. The receptionist jokingly said I could wait until tomorrow if I really wanted to. Uh, no thanks! Little did I know… ;)

I labored all day and at 3pm, the contractions became really strong. I was able to focus through them, and the birthing ball really helped. They were consistently 5 minutes apart, so I called to update the doula. (Our hospital doesn’t even want to see you until the contractions are 3 minutes apart…)

At 5pm, the contractions suddenly jumped to 3 minutes apart and I panicked. Panicking made me lose focus and the contractions seemed a lot worse (I’m sure they were the same; it was my focus that had changed). I called the doula and she got me back on track. While on the phone with her, they went back to 5 minutes apart. Still, she decided to come over, and she got to our house at 5:45. (She lived a few minutes away, but she had to get her little girl situated, etc…)

At 7pm, the contractions were consistently 3 minutes apart, so we decided to go to the hospital. I remember being really annoyed that I had to put clothes on. :) My hubby wanted me to wear a coat, but I was boiling. I refused to wear a coat and I remember walking up to the hospital wondering how it could be so hot. (It wasn’t. It was actually close to freezing outside.) They checked me into triage, and I was 4cm dilated, 100% effaced and I had a bulging bag of waters.

We got settled into the birthing room (you give birth and recover in the same room, and the hospital is newly remodeled and very nice). My doula suggested we go to the spa room and I got to use the huge birthing tub for over an hour. That felt so good!

They didn’t require continuous monitoring there (which I didn’t want anyway), but they did require that I lay on the bed for so many minutes every hour or so to be monitored that way. That was excruciating. (We’d tried using the monitors while I was on the birthing ball, but they kept slipping, and the nurse on duty was getting snippy with me. Luckily, we found a compromise that made her happy and let me labor – for the most part – how I wanted to.) How women labor in beds is beyond me!! I could totally handle the contractions while on the birthing ball with the doula rubbing my back. Lying in the bed was pretty unbearable.

Close to midnight, they checked and I was 6cm and the doctor could feel Claire’s head through my bag of waters. I gave them permission to break my water, and they said she’d be born within a few hours.

2:30am November 30th – I’d reached 10 cm! Without drugs! There was a slight lip on my cervix, so the doctor wouldn’t let me push yet. For some reason, not only did it not go away, but because Claire kept turning her head and the contractions were so violent, my cervix had started swelling! So, I went from 10 cm to 9 and back to 8!!

At 4:30am, the doctor came to tell us that we should consider an epidural. We wanted to wait a bit longer to see if the swelling would go down. It didn’t. The doctor said that if I didn’t get an epidural to slow things down, I’d need a c-section. I remember the doctor being very calm, and she had a copy of my Birth Plan in her hand. She was so respectful of our wishes, but very concerned about what needed to happen. Part of me was really proud of myself for making it to 10cm without drugs, but another part of me was devastated. But, we trusted the medical professionals. We reluctantly agreed to an epidural, so that was administered at 5:30am.

I got instant relief, and Claire and I tolerated it well. I was able to rest, and sure enough, just like the doctor said, the labor slowed down and my cervix was allowed to stop swelling.

During this time, the shift change happened in the hospital staff, and my own doctor was the one on-call. I joked with her that it was her fault this had happened, because Claire was so intent on meeting her. :) I also asked one of the nurses if “Kim” was on duty. She was the little labor and delivery nurse that had taught our hospital birthing class. Sure enough, she was on duty, and she signed on to be our nurse! She was excited, because she rarely gets to see her students in action. Gee…no pressure! ;)

At 11am, I’d gone through transition again and was close to 10cm. They gave me pitocin and at 12:15, I had the overwhelming urge to start pushing. Even through the epidural, I could feel the contractions, but didn’t feel the pain. (After having gotten to 10cm without any meds, I was fine with that this time!!) But, even with the epidural, that ‘ring of fire’ when the baby is crowning is the most intense pain I think I’ve ever felt. How women can say they’ve forgotten that pain is beyond me! It’s been almost two years, and I’m still waiting to forget!

At 1:49pm, on Wednesday, November 30, 2005, after having pushed for an hour and a half, out came Claire! She came out SIDEWAYS!! What we all (including the doctor) thought was her nose, was actually her ear! No wonder this had taken forever! My doctor later told me that first time moms in this situation usually push for THREE HOURS. I couldn’t believe it! I can’t imagine pushing more than I did!

Anyway, she was perfect, and we were so happy. I actually got to cut the cord! I’d put that in my Birth Plan, since my hubby really wasn’t sure if he wanted to, and I really wanted to, the doctor agreed! That was really cool. My hubby was a trooper throughout the whole thing. He was by my side the whole time and handled all the blood really well. I’m really glad he was able to relax and not panic, and that was all possible because of the doula.

I only had a second degree tear, which was unfortunate, but better than it could have been. I was up on my feet that day and recovered really quickly. Claire breastfed right away, and we were able to leave the hospital on her original due date, December 2nd.

Claire was 8 lbs. 6 oz., 20 3/4 inches long with a head at 13 3/4!! After 37 hours of labor, we finally met our baby girl! (Well, it was 36 hours and 49 minutes…but who’s counting?) ;)

Attack of the Side Effects

So, I went to the doctor yesterday. He insisted I get x-rays just so that we know what we’re dealing with, and we can get a better feel for how things are going to heal. He said the results of the x-rays won’t change the course of treatment, but it’s good to know what’s going on.

Then, he suggested a pain medication. I told him that I’ve never had good success with pain medications, and all the good stuff makes me vomit. I don’t like vomiting while in pain. It tends to make me feel worse. Go figure.

He assures me that I should try Tramadol. He said he’s had good luck with it. It does have side effects, just like every medication known to man, but he thinks this will help with the pain.

I’m supposed to take one pill twice a day, as needed. I took one last night before going to bed, and by the time bedtime rolled around, my back had actually started to feel a little better. It was definitely taking the edge off of the pain! My tummy felt a bit upset, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the pill or what I’d had for dinner or just because I’d been in pain for so long. I took some Tums, and that seemed to help.

I slept all night! That hadn’t happened since before I fell on Monday! But, I had a piercing headache. That’s odd. Isn’t it weird that a pain medication would give you a headache? Isn’t that a bit counterproductive? I looked at the paperwork. Yep, that’s one of the side effects. I also felt a tad dizzy. I knew that was one of the side effects without even looking. And then I threw up. Let the fun begin.

My hubby had already gone to work, and Claire was in her highchair. I won’t go into gross details, but let’s just suffice it to say that not only has Claire seen Momma cry, she’s also seen her toss her cookies. Luckily, all she saw me toss was the water I’d had to swallow my pill, and odds are, the pill too.

This isn’t good. I still felt sick. I was told that I didn’t have to eat anything before taking this pill, because it’s not like the other pain medications. Still, I decided to eat breakfast right away. Luckily, I had Claire moved to her play area in my office before emptying the contents of my stomach that time. I was able to get a “Momma has to go to the bathroom. I’ll be back!” out before running to the bathroom next door.

Okay, the pill is probably definitely gone now, which is fine with me! I don’t want it in my system if it’s going to make me so sick. Of course, the pain in my back has started to rear its ugly head.

Now, I’m sick, hurting, AND angry. I had SAID I didn’t want any pain medication because I couldn’t handle being in pain AND being sick to my stomach. I’m pretty good at focusing through pain, but not pain AND nausea. All this, and my head is still screaming in pain. I did discover that the absolute WORSE position for my back is kneeling in front of the toilet. :(

So, I call my hubby in tears. I hate doing that to him, because he’s an “I gotta fix things right away” kinda guy, and he can’t fix it from work. But, I thought he needed to know that this was happening. He told me to call the doctor’s office and tell them I’m stopping the Tramadol and see if they’ll give me a prescription for those mondo Ibuprofen pills, and to see what they suggest I take for my head. (Like I’d be able to keep it down!!) I told him Claire was napping and I was going to, too.

The doctor’s office hasn’t called me back yet, which is fine, because they would have interrupted my nap. And, it was wonderful! My headache has subsided and I haven’t thrown up in a couple hours. I think the only ailment I have now is the pain in my back. Aren’t we back were we started?? I would have preferred to get to this point without all the vomiting and splitting headaches, thankyouverymuch.

Actually, as I was typing this, my doctor’s nurse called. My doctor is out of the office today, which I knew from our conversation yesterday about how the x-ray results would be in today, but he wouldn’t be able to see them until tomorrow. Anyway, his nurse has already sent a new prescription to our pharmacy for the mondo Ibuprofen. She said that should help my headache AND my back pain. What a concept!

My hubby will pick up the pills on his way home from work. (He decided to come home early and will be here soon.) It’s a good thing he knows the Heimlich, because with my luck, I may choke on them. ;)