Chasing A Child

30w6d, and a face from the past

We made our first L&D run last night. Nope, I'm not in labor and nothing's wrong with the baby. See, the Mister and I have had this Damn Cough for the past, oh, month or six weeks or however long it's been. Forever, basically. Besides some congestion and the nasty stuff we cough up, there are really no other symptoms. Just a Damn Cough, but a particularly bad one -- deep and painful while it lasts. Wakes you up in the middle of the night (as if peeing every two hours and jumping out of bed multiple times a night to walk off leg/foot/shin cramps isn't enough!)

I've also had tenderness towards the lower back part of my left rib cage for the past few weeks. It was mildly annoying, but I figured it was just my ribs stretching out because the baby is growing. Last night, while we were driving to our last birthing class, I coughed once. And, as the Mister told me later, I sprang forward like someone hit me with a baseball bat. Apparently, the baby wasn't causing my tender ribs -- it was actually inflammation of the cartilage between the ribs, caused by the Damn Cough. And that one cough pushed my poor cartilage over the edge -- it tore. Who knew there were so many nerves in rib cartilage?!

I sat through our class in excruciating pain, then we drove home, with me whimpering and wincing over every bump and jounce. While the Mister paid the sitter and put Squeaker to bed, I called the OB advice nurse. Funny how once you mention you're 30 weeks pregnant, things move along speedily! They told me to come in. By this time Squeaker was asleep, so we loaded him, his blankets, and some snacks in the car and off we went.

The L&D nurses were very nice, got me set up on the monitor (painful, because they made me lie down), told me who the doctor on call was.

And then things got weird.

I looked at the Mister. "We know her." "Yeah, her name is familiar. Who is she?" "We dealt with her 3 years ago." "Ohhhh ... yeah ..." The nurse was listening to this with great interest. I didn't give her the details, but told her that the doctor would probably remember me and that it might be awkward.

Soon the nurse came back in. "Time for an honesty talk. She definitely remembers you! She said 'She doesn't like me.' and offered to send for another doctor. There's one in the hospital. She said she knew you were pregnant and would love to see your family, but will understand if you'd rather see the other doctor." The nurse was clearly intrigued by the drama.

I thought about it for a moment, but my back was hurting so badly that the thought of any delay while they hunted down the other doctor was too much to handle. "Nope, it's fine. Send her in. It was 3 years ago, and has nothing to do with tonight. It's fine." And pretty soon, the doc came in, wearing that same half-apologetic expression that drove me nuts when she was my OB. I could tell she didn't know what to do, so I reached out my hand and shook hers, told her it was nice to see her. She realized we were going to play the "let's be professionals about this" game, and I could almost see her heave a sigh of relief.

She asked us lots of questions about Squeaker (who was snoring on the Mister's lap) and then got down to business figuring out what was wrong with me and how we could treat it. We considered a chest x-ray to check for a cracked rib, but I decided not to go down that road unless things get worse. Once she said "torn cartilage", I thought yeah, that's exactly what it feels like. No need to expose Sister to radiation if we don't have to. So, other than pain management, the main thing that I need to do is avoid inflaming my battered ribs more than they already are. They gave me a narrow wrap to wear around my ribs (and above my belly) to help keep the area immobile, then ran some tests to make sure I didn't have a urinary tract infection and called down to the pharmacy for some meds, which took freaking forever.

In the meantime, Squeaker woke up and was more than a bit surprised and upset to find himself in a hospital. We explained that mommy had an owie and was waiting for the doctor to bring her some medicine. He was still upset, so we held him and fed him crackers until he calmed down. Finally, at 2am, they let us go.

I still don't like that doctor and I would never trust her with a pregnancy that wasn't completely normal and low-risk. But, bless her heart, she sent me home with a prescription for Vic*odin and cough syrup with codeine. By the time we got home, I was feeling no pain and ready for bed. This morning I'm tired and sore, and called in sick. The knife-like pain only comes when I cough. I'm going to try to avoid picking Squeaker up for a few days, but he has his surgery next week, so ... here's hoping I've healed a bit before then.

 

29w6d - standing on my head

At Tuesday's appointment, Doc gave me the ultrasound report. I must have been reading the screen wrong during the scan, because I got the measurements all wrong. Here's what the official results said -- I was at 28w3d at the time of the scan. The baby was measuring 26w6d, with her head at 26w3d, her abdomen at 27w0d and her length at 28w0d. Her estimated weight is in the 66th percentile, her length in the 42nd percentile, and her head size in the 5th percentile. Now I could freak out about that last number, but I'm not going to. Squeaker was born with a head in the 5th percentile, and he's perfectly normal. Plus, from what I can tell, it's pretty well-established that ultrasounds aren't that great at predicting baby size.

Doc, in her usual abundance of caution, decided to consult a perinatologist. The peri said he wasn't worried, but that I should have another growth scan in a few weeks. Okay, fine, more pictures. If that scan shows a steady growth curve, then they'll start doing weekly non-stress tests (non-stressful for the baby, that is), and keep doing them until the baby is born. If, on the other hand, the scan shows that the baby's growth has slowed or stopped, then they'll want to evict Sister asap.

Based on my new stretch marks (oh so lovely), increasing uncomfortableness and rib pain, I'm pretty sure the baby is growing just fine. I'm not stressed about her, but the medical establishment stress I could do without. And weekly appointments? Really? Sigh ...

The other interesting thing I learned from my ultrasound report is that I have an anterior placenta. I would have bet good money that this was the case, since it took forever for me to feel the baby move and even now I'm pretty sure that the movement I do feel is less intense than what other women feel (based on my completely unscientific survey of the internetz).

So, I've got an anterior placenta and a breech baby. Apparently, babies tend to face the placenta, so an anterior placenta means an increased chance that the baby will be born in the posterior position (sunny-side up), which is connected to the oh-so-lovely pain of back labor. I'm pretty sure the ultrasound tech said that the baby was in the anterior position. I'm hoping that's true and that she stays that way if and when she decides to point her head in the downward exit position. Anterior placentas also may increase the incidence of breech babies -- something about the placement of the placenta making it harder for the baby to turn around. And of course if the baby is still breech when I go into labor, Doc is going to want to do a c-section. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Of course, everything I just wrote in the last paragraph I learned on the internet, from this book, or from my birthing class (taught by a doula). Doc hasn't said a word about fetal positioning and its affect on the birth process. I know that she doesn't see her job as ensuring that I have the birth experience I want; her job is to get this baby out alive and keep me alive in the process, whatever it takes. I trust her abilities in that regard. If I want more than that, it's going to be up to me to make it happen.

Luckily, I have a wonderful yoga teacher (also a doula) who is very good at explaining which mama-body positions are most likely to help move baby-bodies into the right position for birth. And my doula has recommended a practioner (naturopath? accupuncturist? can't remember) who is apparently a wizard at turning difficult babies. So I'm going to start focusing on what I can do to help this little one turn while there's still room for her to do so. Even if we end up inducing labor, it will all go so much easier if she's pointed in the right direction. I feel like I owe it to the both of us to give it my best shot.

28w3d

Went for an ultrasound this afternoon. Baby was having another busy day, lots of twisting and kicking. She was so busy, in fact, that she got extra hungry and ordered a Pop-Tart at 11a.m. Strawberry, with frosting and sprinkles. Good thing for her that's what the vending machine at work happened to have.

So it wasn't a complete surprise this afternoon to see her waving her arms and legs around on the screen. And, since I've been pretty sure I've been getting kicked in the cervix for some time, I wasn't surprised to find out that the little bugger is currently in breech position. There is still plenty of time for her to turn around, and I'm really hoping she does, because Mama does not want a c-section if we can possibly avoid it. Her position and her overall aggravation with the ultrasound process made it a bit hard for the tech to see some things clearly, although we did get several lovely views of her backside. It was as if she was saying "Mom! No pictures, please! Fine, you want a picture? Here's my butt!"

The real reason we were there, of course, was not to see if she was still female (she is), but to check her growth. She's measuring small, but not small enough that I'm too worried. The ultrasound said she's weighing about 2 lbs, 7 oz, which is what Ye Olde Average Baby weighs at 27w2d. Her head's length was spot-on at 28w2d and width 27w3d, with the overall circumference being about 28w. She's got "nice long leg bones" (according to the ultrasound tech) and a slender little belly (26w5d or so). Her size was small enough that the radiologist had the tech measure the blood pressure or flow or whatever it is they check out by looking at the umbilical cord. I didn't hear any horrified gasps, so I'm assuming it was within a safe range. There was plenty of amniotic fluid, which was a relief to hear. So, until a medical professional advises me otherwise, our girl is petite, and that's fine with me, just so she keeps on cooking until her due date.

We watched her heart beat, looked at her stomach, saw her kidneys, and oh yes, she has some hair on her head! The tech said "oh, she's practicing her breathing!" but when she zoomed in for a better look, the baby stopped. I did see her open her mouth a few times, which was very cute. She's very flexible, as her feet were waving around up near her face. The tech was able to get one fuzzy side profile shot of her face, but even that shot has one of our little darling's hands waving across her cheek as if to say "Damn the paparazzi! I told you -- no pictures!"

Good news, bad news

So I passed the 1-hour glucose tolerance test with flying colors -- yay!

And, I'm anemic. Boo!

(But at least now I have another explanation for why I'm so freaking tired lately.)

27w4d

Went to visit Doc again today. I'm on a 2-week schedule instead of a monthly schedule, which is fine by both of us. A student nurse took my blood pressure, and I made her re-take it because the first number was out of my normal range. Fortunately, the second time I was right back on track. Phew. The last thing I need is Doc freaking out about preeclampsia. Or, well, I guess preeclampsia itself would suck too. Anyway...

My stomach is measuring 24 weeks, which is not optimal, but not a cause for major alarms either. It could be bad -- a problem with the baby's growth or the amount of amniotic fluid, or it could be no big deal. I'm actually much less worried about it this week than I was at my last appointment when she was measuring only a couple of weeks behind. I've been carrying low from the get-go, and I'm pretty sure this baby spends most of her time lying sideways across my belly and tucked down deep in my pelvis. Many of the kicks and jabs that I notice happen way down low and several times I swear she was bouncing up and down on my cervix. She's not super active on a regular basis, but she may just be a mellow kid. Sometimes days go by with just a flutter here and there. And then there are days like last Thursday, when I swear she spent the entire day tearing down walls and kicking organs around, remodeling her space to make room for the new growth. The Mister and I just shook our heads when Doc said "24", because both of us have been noticing the ridiculously expanding ball that is my belly region the past week or so. We have a growth-check scan scheduled for next Monday, so all will be known then. Until that time, I'm not going to stress.

The other highlight of today's visit to Doc was the GD test. Oooo yum yum, lime sugar drink. (Blech.) It was chilled, thank goodness, and tasted much like flat Sprite with a metallic aftertaste. I went back an hour later for the blood draw and the lab tech looked at me as if she'd never seen me before, gee thanks. Hoping that the results come back quickly, because I really don't want to have to take the 3-hour test. The chances of my having GD are really slim (kind of like my stomach hahahaha).

I don't have a lot more to report today, so I'll leave you with two stories of modern-day pregnancy wonder women.

One.

Two.

I can't decide whether to be impressed or dismayed. I mean, really -- it's all I can do to haul myself to prenatal yoga once a week ...

25w5d and small talk

There we are, the Mister and I, having our equivalent of a date night -- it's 9am on a Saturday and we're at a giant consignment sale. My mom is watching Squeaker, and this is the first time we've been out without him in months. We dash in after the other early risers, clutching our bags, ready to score some goods. After about an hour of gleefully child-free shopping (for kids' clothing, mind you! this tells you how desperate we are to get out), we meet up at the sorting tables, then make our way through the still-short lines to the cash registers. Then ensues this real conversation with the cashier --

Her: Oh, this outfit is so cute! (holding up something from my big stack of newborn girl clothing)

Me: Isn't it, though?

Her: Do you know someone who is having a baby?

Me: Yes -- I am!

Her: No you're not!

Me: Yes, I am.

Her: Get out! You're so small!

Me: So I hear.

Her: How far along are you?

Me: Six months.

Her: No you're not!

Me: Yes, I am.

Her: Wait, turn sideways! No. Way.

Me: Yup.

Her: Are you SURE you're pregnant?!

I'm getting this a lot lately. Enough so that it's becoming really annoying and even a wee bit worrisome. At my appointment yesterday, Doc said I was actually measuring about 2 weeks behind, but she's pretty sure it's just the way my body is shaped. I'm tall enough and wide in the hips, plus I'm carrying really low, so the baby can hide in my pelvis and has just been growing upwards (as opposed to outwards) until the last week or so. The baby seems fine -- she moves around some every day, her heartbeat is regular -- and there's nothing obviously wrong with the pregnancy -- my blood pressure is still nice and low, my fundal height is exactly where it should be, etc. We have a check-the-growth scan scheduled for 28 weeks, so I'll be able to get more reassurance then. In the meantime, I could kiss Doc for sharing this theory -- "It's just that you're not obese and people aren't used to seeing pregnant women who aren't obese!" Either that, or all that yoga I did over the years has given me abs o' steel. Heh.

Anyway, it makes for frequently awkward conversations.

"Oh, you're planning for another? Are you adopting again?"

"No, actually, I'm expecting."

"Wow! Congratulations! How far along are you?"

"Just over six months."

Dead silence. <gasp!> "But ... you're so ... small! You don't even look pregnant!"

Heavy sigh. "Yeah, so I hear."

22w5d (in which my darling son nearly kills himself and his sister)

Had a bit of a scare this weekend. On Sunday, we were at the beach, and not a very friendly beach, alas. It was one of those PNW beaches that is windy and cold, with big fast waves and a very steep dropoff just off shore, so that if one were to get out more than about knee deep in the water, one would be in grave danger of getting sucked into the undertow and becoming fish food. We were there with my brother's family, and he and I had just spent the last 15 minutes or so nervously yelling at the older kids to stay at the edge of the water. Of course, we were keeping a close eye on Squeaker ... until we weren't for a split second, and BAM! off he went, like a flash, running headlong into the sea.

And right then, I was sure we'd lost him.

The Mister and I sprinted after him. From what I understand, the Mister was able to grab his foot just as he hit the water. I say "from what I understand" because I tripped and fell -- HARD -- and didn't actually see anything except stars for a few seconds, while my backpack whammed up over my shoulders and smacked me in the head. I have a vague visual memory of Squeaker swinging through the air, as the Mister whisked him back towards the beach. The Mister says he thinks I fell on my belly, but only my knees and hands were sandy, and based on the pain between my shoulder blades, I took the brunt of it in pushup position (thank you, yoga class). My young nephews heard me swear like a sailor, and my brother and SIL whisked all the kids (including Squeaker) away to the bay side of the spit where there were no waves at all, just a long stretch of flat boring sand, perfect for building sand castles and kicking around a soccer ball. (And, later, when the tide came in, watching my nephew's expensive flip-flops float out into the bay, where they were eventually rescued by a friendly fisherman.) The Mister and I gathered our things and our breath. Oh, and I might have screamed at him for a few minutes, and he might have yelled back. It was, shall we say, an excruciatingly stressful experience, and the bad juju energy had to go somewhere ...

I definitely felt a tearing sensation in my belly when I fell, with pain that continued through my back and neck that night, but by the next day, the worst of it was gone. No, I didn't see a doctor -- I knew that the whole situation (terror at how close we came to losing Squeaker plus the physical trauma to my body) had thrown me into shock, but I didn't feel that "something is very bad" feeling that I've felt at times when I really hurt myself. Plus, we were actually vacationing with a doctor and her family, and I knew I could rely on her if things went bad in the middle of the night, which they didn't. By Monday afternoon, the baby was kicking and squirming, so I decided all was well.

I saw my Doc today for a regular visit. Baby's heartbeat is fine. (She was actually kicking up a storm in my senior management meeting this morning, which made it hard to keep a straight face for the Discussion of Very Serious Business.) My blood pressure, which Doc has been watching like a hawk, is still its usual incredibly low self, and I've gained just over 9 pounds so far.

I could see that Doc was relieved with my progress, so I brought up the issue of labor induction. She promptly printed up a bunch of the HMO's guidelines (written in doctorese) and their general induction brocure for patients (plain english), plus promised to send me the medical journal article that led her practice group to recommend induction at 39 weeks in women over 35. So that's some progress. She also uttered the magic words "Of course, we can't force you ..." which is basically what I needed to hear. Just let me make my own damn decision, based on the evidence you've given me -- that's all I ask.

I told her about my fall at the beach, and she didn't seem overly concerned. "You didn't land on your belly? Good. The baby is moving around? Okay." She actually had a lot more to say about Squeaker. "He's how old? Two and a half? Well, it sounds like he's doing great. This kind of behavior is exactly where he should be from a developmental stage." Um, yeah, thanks. I guess our job is to keep him -- and the rest of us -- alive until he develops some sense of self-preservation ...

22w0d

I've been holding my breath all day for Luna and her very unexpected yet very welcome baby girl. Please send strong healthy thoughts their way.

****

We interviewed a really great doula yesterday. We're scheduled to interview another one next week, but I'm thinking we may have found our match on the first try. The Mister and I both researched local doulas independently and both put her at the top of our lists -- she was recommended by my prenatal yoga teacher (who I think is sort of mystically all-knowing about pregnant women) and used to be a midwife, which gives her all sorts of insight that I think would be very helpful in my particular situation, especially considering the recent feedback I'm getting from Doc. More on that shortly ...

****

I'm feeling a bit exhausted, probably because I spent a 3-day weekend out of state hanging out with my girlfriends last weekend (so fun!) and then came back to a full week of work, which included receiving the first draft of the one contract that I dread all year (because it's about an inch thick and horribly complex) which has to be pushed through at double time this year for budgetary reasons, and then tomorrow we're off for another 3-day weekend. This weekend should be fun because we're sharing a beach house with two other interracial adoptive families and my brother's family may join us for a day, but still ... it's time away when I can't get any of my "omg I'm having a baby in 4 months or less" planning done. So my evenings have been crammed with laundry, bills, and other household chores that are usually done on weekends and my days are distracted by other personal business on top of ugly contracts. Plus, of course, Squeaker is his usual high-energy challenging self. The Mister has been picking up a lot of the extra childcare duties, thank god, but a kid still needs his mama -- and last night that was at 3:30am, after which I got my usual bout of insomnia/obsessing, and so it goes.

****

Nervous a bit today because I haven't felt Sister move very much in the past few days, after having several days in a row of lots of action. I know that everything is fine because I'm getting bigger every day and outgrowing clothes left and right, but still it makes me nervous. What I wouldn't give for a good kick in the ribs ...

****

At my last appointment, Doc started to express some anxiety and actually said she was nervous. This is not what I want to hear from my OB! Particularly since there was absolutely nothing new to make her feel that way. My tests have all been fine, the baby is growing normally, my blood pressure is lower than ever. It's just my age and the fact that she knows how hard we worked to get to this place. She doesn't want to be the one to screw things up. Which is fine and dandy, except that (a) she doesn't need to confess this to me, and (b) I can see already that it's starting to slant the way she's thinking about treating me. From the get-go, she's been talking about inducing at 39 weeks, which I was okay with at first. But at this last appointment, she started mumbling something like "or earlier" and told me that I should tell my job that I might have to take the month off before my due date. Why? Because, well, you never know what might happen.

This to me is now feeling like unnecessary pressure. I've been reading up on the technicalities of birthing, induction, etc. (and when I say "reading up" I mean books, medical studies, whatever I can find no matter how complicated it is), and am beginning to be convinced that induction may not be the best thing in my particular situation. Unfortunately, this is going to mean either getting into a battle with my OB or switching to one of the midwives at the hospital, who at least will be looking at things from the perspective of "everything is normal until something tells us we should be worried." Doc's current approach of "anything could go wrong at any minute and I'm going to manage this as if we know that to be a given" really doesn't work for me.

Of course, I'm a realist and want to have a healthy live baby, but I'm starting to feel like the pressure/stress from Doc and her urge to get the baby out of my body quick before my body can kill it (even though there is NO indication that my body has any intention of doing anything of the sort) will ultimately do more harm than good -- to both me and the baby. And that's not a happy place to be. So stay tuned.

18w4d

Another visit to the Doc today. As she bounced in the door, she shook her head in wonder -- "The weeks just fly by! 18 weeks! Can you believe it?" She's totally in love with this pregnancy.

It took her awhile to find the heartbeat. I knew she was looking in the wrong place. The wand was way down on my abdomen, and the past few days has been nothing but stretching and pain in the area around my belly button. The area above my belly button and below my breasts has been sore and sloping in an outwards direction, where before it was a bit concave. I've been explaining to the Mister that the little stowaway is clearly busy growing upwards and pushing my guts up into my upper rib cage, but he's not experiencing the physicality of what I'm talking about, and I could tell he was sweating bullets as the silent seconds ticked by.

Finally, Doc moved the wand up near my middle, and we heard the regular thump-thump-thump-thump. After listening for a minute or so, she started grinning. "Do you hear that sound right there?" I had thought it was my guts bubbling around or something, but Doc said no, it's the baby moving. And sure enough, when we listened carefully, we could hear the heartbeat plus the swishing sound of somersaults through liquid or shoulders brushing against uterine walls or something. The Mister was entranced. All I could think was, how come I can't feel this yet? Soon, I know. Patience.

This week's changes have been really obvious. Friends at work are finally noting that I'm popping out a bit. The stretching in my ribcage and belly button is making those areas really tender. And my darn chest has now outgrown some of my medium-sized maternity tops. Guess I'd better invest in some more in size L. I've never been a L in my life!

I filled out the pre-registration packet for the hospital. How weird is that?!

And this Sunday, we'll go in for the big scan to make sure all the baby's organs are as they should be. Hoping we can find out gender while we're at it.

Oh, forgot to mention that our second set of bloodwork for genetic screening came back perfectly fine, so no amnio or nuchal fold measuring for us! Of course, I did receive several confused calls from the genetic counselor, trying to clarify the whole donor embryo thing. Once she understood that I'm a 46-year-old woman having a baby from a 27-year-old egg, we were fine. But it completely confused their computer system, because I had another call from another counselor and apparently my file got referred to a perinatologist. That actually turned out to be a good thing -- Doc said the peri advised her to give me several extra scans as we go along, and if all is well by week 34, then proceed with AMA guidelines, which basically means they'll induce me at 39 weeks. At this point, 39 weeks seems like a thousand years, but I know the time will fly. 

*****

With sincere apologies to those who are uncomfortable with pregnant bellies ... On the left, 14 weeks. On the right, yesterday. Really looking forward to the scan this weekend, so that I can see there's actually a baby in there, as opposed to, oh, I dunno, a space alien or something. Y'know?

16w4d

Saw Doc today for a routine checkup. She was impressed by how tall my uterus has become. "Can you feel that? Wow, that's some good growth!"

Somehow, I was still nervous. It's been a rough week or so. The Mister was out of the country for 5 days, Squeaker has been particularly challenging (omg! the tantrums!), and I haven't felt pregnant (except for that whole thing about my clothes not fitting and my chest threatening to grow out of the enormous bra that was way too big for me a few weeks ago).

Doc whipped out the Doppler and immediately we heard the little drumbeat, a little slower this time, about 150 bpm. Phew! Made it another 2 weeks, yay stowaway! Doc is very proud of "our" accomplishment so far, and I'm proud that my blood pressure is staying at a nice low place. Doc is ready to step up her vigilance when I get to about 24 weeks, because that's when preeclampsia might kick in. My bp has always been borderline too low, though, so I'm hopeful that we'll get to skip that bit of excitement.

I'll feel so much less stressed when I can actually feel some movement from the baby. And when I get to see him/her again. It's been ages ... The big scan is scheduled for just after 19 weeks. Really looking forward to finding out whether this is my girl (hope hope wish wish!) or another sweet boy. Squeaker will get to come to the scan, and we're excited to see his reaction. He's always fascinated by medical stuff, so I think he'll really be into it.

My other fun symptom is insomnia, ugh! I'm having the worst time getting back to sleep once I wake up in the middle of the night. Last night I woke up at 3am to deal with Squeaker (sopping pajamas, had to change his bed, the whole works) and couldn't go back to sleep until just after 5am. And of course the damn cats started howling for breakfast right about then. Miserable! And of course I had stayed up late to spend some quality TV time with the Mister, so I think I managed about 5 hours sleep total. Really hoping this is a passing phase ... Coffee, how I miss you!

I've been going to prenatal yoga classes once a week and am going to try to increase to twice a week. Can I just tell y'all how bizarre it is to sit in a room full of pregnant women and actually be one of them? Then add in the fact that I'm inevitably the oldest woman in the room ... The teachers haven't said anything, but I see them peeking at me. Surreal only begins to describe it.

It's so awesome to be back in yoga, though. I can tell it's going to be really good for me. I desperately need to add something aerobic like walking or swimming, but time is just too limited. I was able to squeeze in a lunchtime walk along the river with some coworkers the other day, but most days I'm just not in the mood to leave the office, and then when I get home -- bang -- I dive right into terrible two-and-a-half tantrum management. Add in dinner and Squeaker's 2-hour bedtime process, and there goes the day. I figure I'm getting my weight-bearing exercise every time I pick him up (kicking and thrashing) and haul him to the time out spot or wrestle him (kicking and thrashing) into the car seat ... Not sure if fending off the hair pulling/hitting/scratching/slapping activity counts as cardio work, but it must, right? I actually broke one of our house rules and gave him a smack on his bare behind the other night when he was purposely trying to kick me in the stomach during a diaper change. He was shocked and burst out wailing, and of course I felt enormous guilt, but -- as my doctor mama friend told me the other day -- you've got to draw the line somewhere. I'm pretty sure that attempted sibling murder is where I'm gonna draw it for now.