What I Decided to Do with My Placenta...and Why

So....Placentas. With Wilson, I didn't look at it or even really give it a second thought. But, as my due date approached for Waylon's birth, I had heard a lot about Placental Encapsulation and given that I KNEW what the first few months with a newborn were going to be like (i.e. awfully terrible), I decided to look into it. I have to be honest: from the beginning, it grossed me out - even thinking about it as an organ made me want to heave. But, I first considered it for its stated impact on Postpartum Depression. I had PPD with my first son; the transition to motherhood coupled with a difficult tempered baby was not an easy one. It was only moderate PPD which resolved with support and counseling, but having had it before and now having 2 boys under the age of 2, made me rethink some of my options. 

So I first checked out the research. There are not a lot of good empirical studies, but there are some. They indicate that consuming the placenta postpartum increases lactation production, pain relief, speeds up recovery, increases bonding, boosts energy, stimulates the immune system and replenishes iron. Um, great! Those would be all the things that make the "fourth trimester" awful - you are fatigued, feeling like you should be more bonded with your baby, stressed out, struggling with breastfeeding, feeling crappy and probably anemic. Although the studies are few in quantity, it is important to remember that clinical trials can cost millions of dollars; and what company (particularly pharmaceutical companies who usually fund trials) would be interested in funding a study like this - where patients make their own medicine and you can't profit from it? 

So, the lack of research is not surprising; but the preliminary studies are promising. So I decided to take a case study approach: I then asked other women who had done it if they would do it again. It was a resounding YES. Some swore by it and some stated that maybe it was a placebo effect, but either way, they said it was a lifesaver AND that it did all the things that the research said it would. 

I looked at the history of placental encapsulation and found that it had its roots in Chinese medicine, with its utility first published in 1578: not exactly what you would call a fad as I initially thought it was. It was used sporadically in Europe during the 1700s and then brought back into use in the 1980s by an American midwife. 

So, some good research, good word of mouth and a history. Even so, I kept thinking....but ew. EW. I know most animals always consume their placenta after birth, but I don't feel the need to copy my dogs in their efforts of licking their butts or eating some rather disgusting things. So the ick factor really still pervaded despite it being a natural phenomenon.

As it got closer to Waylon's D-Day, I realized that even though I was hoping for a positive, perfect outcome, what if? What if it wasn't? What if many, numerous crappy things happened as they did when I had Wilson? I remember being anxious, depressed, wanting to kill my partner, questioning my decision to have children, hating the universe and crying ALOT. It was not what I had pictured in any way, shape or form.

So, I researched some companies, but finally went with Birth Partners, who I have used for my doulas (both first and second births); and they are pretty much the best out there for lots of reasons. You sign a contract, get a form from your doctor maintaining that you do not have any diseases and await the birth. When we had Waylon, my midwife set aside his placenta and cord and Mike took it home to our fridge. More ick factor. I looked at it once. It was huge, gross and even though I loved it for keeping my baby alive, I couldn't imagine ingesting it. Dawn from Birth Partners came on day 3 postpartum and prepared the placenta, dehydrated it for 8 hours, then came back the next day to grind it and put it in capsules. When she first got there, she asked me if I wanted some raw placenta for shakes. I made her repeat that several times before I said, "Oh God, No!" with an audible retching sound. Before that, she gave me the "umbilical keepsake" and a placental print. Now, I'm pretty granola, but I promptly threw out the keepsake (dried bow of umbilical cord) with another retch and although a placental print (pressing the placenta onto a piece of paper so you can see the outline) sounds equally gross, it was kind of pretty - they look like a tree, which is a great metaphor for creating life. By the way, that's not my placenta in the picture, but that is what they look like. I have no desire to share pictures of my own beefy appendage.

So, I got 250 capsules out of my placenta and was instructed to 1) take 1 or 2 a day as needed, and 2) do not take it when you have an active infection (it increases immune system dramatically and can make your fever higher than needed, apparently). So on day 5, I took my first dose.

So here is what I noticed immediately.

• My mood was excellent - at all times. When I felt a little down or anxious, I took a second one and felt better within hours. Within the first week, I experienced breastfeeding problems, a shredded (not exaggerating) nipple and in a few weeks, an antibiotic-resistant strain of mastitis that took 3 weeks to resolve. I never felt depressed, nor hopeless. My doctors even commented on it, given the situation it would have been normal for me to feel down. But, my mood was incredibly stable.
• I did not have to take any pain pills once I was home despite having a second degree tear. The healing was MUCH faster and I barely did any intervention. Even when I had the shredded nipple (actually it looked like I took a cheese grater to it - breastfeeding is awesome), I only took a small amount of ibuprofen a few times a day. Once I had the mastitis and could not take the capsules, I saw a big difference with my pain tolerance. Even after the mastitis resolved, I still had pain, but when I took the capsules in the morning, I never needed any pain meds.
• My skin was great - people commented on how quickly I was recovering.
• I lost all of the baby weight in 1 week, then another 20 pounds in the first 2 months. To be clear, I lost all of my baby weight quickly with Wilson too, so that may not be an effect, but I continue to lose weight this time, so I'm not complaining.
• I was not as fatigued with Wilson's newborn period, nor even when I was pregnant. I was taking care of Waylon through the night by myself (Mike was on Wilson duty) and I felt fine even after getting very interrupted sleep throughout the day.
• I could definitely feel the bonding influence - I would find myself feeling such love and wanting to just baby-gaze after taking one. The hormones were definitely palpable and helpful in all ways. I did not argue with Mike (an hourly occurrence with Wilson's birth) and was able to be present for Wilson, my impatient and fiery toddler as well.
• My lactation production was, ahem, boosted. With Wilson, after pumping 2 hours around the clock for a week, I finally got up to about 25 ounces a day. This time, out of the gate (as soon as my milk came in), I was pumping 60 ounces in ADDITION to Waylon breastfeeding. My mastitis was not a result of the over-production, but we did end up lowering it a little to make things easier (with Sudafed). I now make 50 ounces a day, which provides all of the milk for Waylon and my toddler, plus I have over 1200 ounces in the freezer. 

 So is my experience a good case study? I could see a difference from the days I took them and did not. However, one could argue that given this was my second birth, I could have had an easier time anyway. And that could be. However, I would argue that having a newborn with a difficult toddler would make it WORSE than the postpartum period with my first child. Either way, my experience is just one to add to the numerous others that have experienced positive effects.

I wanted to share this because I wanted my story to be out there for moms considering it themselves. I am incredibly grateful for the input for the moms who convinced me to do it. And, I continue to still (at 3 months postpartum) use at least one a day to continue feeling great. I have not had any symptoms of depression or any other difficulty (besides the breast issues caused by the unfortunate antibiotic-resistant mastitis - which I would even argue should have ended me up in the hospital, but I was able to fight it off). My verdict: Yes, it's gross, Yes, it seems strange, Yes, it was undoubtedly worth it.

Waylon's Birth Story

It's been almost two months, but it's really taken me that long to process this experience; my birth experience with Wilson was almost the complete opposite than Waylon's - I can honestly say the experiences were so different that I wasn't at all prepared for the labor and birth of my second son.

After a month of prodromal labor, where some days I had early labor contractions every 15 minutes, with my pelvis feeling like it was splitting in two, with my hip and lower back going out every time I moved, heartburn, reactive high blood pressure, generally just feeling fatigued and was carrying a giant parasite inside of me, I was pretty much ready for labor to start any minute.

On May 28th, my day started with Mike and I stressed out; he was sick, Wilson was miserable and cranky and I couldn't move much. I put my hospital bag and a list of the things that still needed to go into my hospital bag on the counter for Mike...just in case. I went to the chiropractor so that I could walk straight again; then I went to my midwife's appointment. Elise sat down and said, "So, how are you doing?"  I looked at her and, literally, burst into tears. She immediately came over and gave me a huge hug. I was so exhausted from contractions and the general exhaustion of the third trimester; the day before, Waylon wasn't moving much, causing me great anxiety on top of being already so tired. We talked about our options and she told me that she would send me to Yale to check on baby movement, fluid and my blood pressure, which was really high again. I walked out to my car (well, waddled) and called Mike, telling him that it was likely I would be induced today given the high blood pressure. I then called my doula, Hannah, and cried on the phone as I told her the news.

I got to Yale for all the testing, got settled in and attempted to accept the likelihood that I would be most likely induced that day, something I really did not want to happen. And then my blood pressure was fine, fluid check was good and they thought that I would not be induced. My midwife said, "let me check your BP one more time." And it was 170/90. Oops. So induction it is. I called Mike, told him to get our hospital bag, let the sitters and our friends know and get prepared to be a daddy to two sons.

My doula, Hannah, and Mike met me at the hospital. The nurse made sure my IV was comfortably placed and that I had everything I needed. I was still in early labor around 6 p.m. when they started the Pitocin (oh, Pitocin, how I hate you). For the next seven hours, I stayed in early labor as the contractions became more intense. Even with the higher Pitocin intensity, I was able to stay calm, focus on my shaman ability to visualize and detach from the pain and was doing great (despite the contractions being about 1 to 2 minutes apart). I asked to be checked again because I felt I wasn't making much progress (and because being in early labor for a month is a little tiring). I asked for the Benadryl medication that helps you sleep/ kills the pain if I hadn't progressed. And after checking me at 1 a.m., big shocker, I had gone from 3 cm to 4 cm. My midwife asked if it was ok to break my water and I, hoping that this would move things along, said yes.

Well, it certainly did move things along. The medication did not make me sleep nor did it touch the pain. I went from having intense early labor contractions to 1) ACTIVE labor, 2) TRANSITIONAL labor, and 3) PUSHING contractions ALL at the same time. The contractions were on top of each other, with almost no break in between. It was like being hit by a freight train. The nurse told me to try not to push through the contractions and I just looked at her like she was stupid. NOT push? I had no choice!!!! But they gave my some breathing exercises I should do and it seemed to work at least a little bit.

To be clear, I went from a spiritual guru calmly handling each surge to a crazed lunatic screaming like a banshee for a freaking epidural. After about 40 minutes, I was adamant for an epidural. I had been growling like a beast through the contractions, squeezing the crap out of everything/everyone that was near me, crying/hyperventilating (doula was helpful here, reminding me to stay calm and breathe) and collapsing when I had about 30 seconds to breathe in between. I wanted to run screaming from the room, the hospital, my body, my life. Tear the kid out, I didn't care - it was the most intense pain I had ever felt in my life and felt nothing like my 50-hour labor with Wilson (which, if you were wondering, was pretty bad). My midwife asked to check me again and she found that I had gone from 4 cm to 7 cm in less than 45 minutes. She looked at me empathically and said, "That's so much progress, Misty! Does this change how you feel about the epidural?" And I looked at her and said, "NOPE!" Please to stab me in the back with a giant needle full of crazy drugs that kill my bottom half. I'm dying.

She turned to the computer to order the epidural and I asked Mike to help me to the bathroom. He helped me into the room where I kept saying that I felt I needed to poop. Yep, poop. I sat on the toilet for a few minutes trying not to push and then I stood up. Only to sit back down because it felt like I still had to go to the bathroom. Then, suddenly remembering a random episode of 16 and Pregnant (yes I watch and love this show as it makes me always feel completely prepared as a parent in comparison), I realized that this sensation wasn't about going to the bathroom, it was the baby!!! I screamed out, "THE BABY IS COMING NOW!!!!!" My midwife came running in and slid under me like she was sliding into home base. She reassured me that she was there and yelled for the nurse. I grabbed on to Mike who was kneeling down trying to help me up. I remember him saying, "baby, what, what?" I suddenly realized that I was digging my nails into his arms and biting his shirt. I remember thinking, "Oh, well, he'll live," and with two pushes, I pushed Waylon out into the arms of our midwife.

Let's review: 50 hours of active labor for Wilson -- 55 minutes for Waylon. And believe it or not, the 50 hours was easier than those intense nutzo 55 minutes. But in the end, I had my little nugget: a healthy 7 pounds 9 ounces, 20.5 inches-long, perfect little boy. But, boy would I love to have an uneventful birth story. Oh well, I guess I'll always have material for the blog.

Photo by Laura Elyse Photography

Prodromal Drama

So for the last four weeks or so, I have been experiencing "prodromal labor". Also known as early labor or false labor, it is essentially, early labor contractions that are, I can attest to, quite real, but go nowhere. Meaning that they vary from uncomfortable to intense; and although they can aid in labor progress (dilation and thinning of the cervix), it's not real labor and ends up stopping, only to come back again the next day or even within a few hours. Needless to say, weeks of on and off contractions can really make it difficult to do work, care for a toddler, clean the house, oh... do anything.

As I googled prodromal labor for the 50th time trying to find an answer to why I am experiencing this in a feeble attempt at feeling slightly informed or in control, I learned a few things. These contractions can be useful in getting a baby in position; one theory is that the contractions serve to push the baby into the correct position. And indeed, they did lessen when Waylon appeared to change positions. Another theory is that they are linked to second-time and later mothers as the uterus is more sensitive to oxytocin and "knows" what to do. But the most compelling theory I read was in a OB's blog, who noted that anecdotally, he saw this kind of labor in mothers whose babies appeared ready to be born, but whose mothers were not psychologically or emotionally ready. 

Understatement of the year, that theory. Although my common sense and my extensive college education would make it very clear how babies are born, I was not thinking that I would get pregnant right away. It took me 3 years to get pregnant with Wilson; it was literally hard work and we totally lost sight of the fact that that it only takes one sexual encounter to lead to pregnancy: we became those teenagers on 16 and pregnant believing stupid things (minus the ridiculously active fertility). Our lesson with Wilson was getting pregnant was difficult - a serious undertaking. When we decided to start trying again, my mother warned me that "it happens easier the second time around", so even though we were trying the first month, we skipped my ovulation time. Hey, practice makes perfect; and we were both a little gun-shy after having a difficult infant and toddler. But, this baby was ready to be conceived - my ovulation moved up a full week and a half and I got pregnant right out of the gate. This meant that instead of my beautiful calculations of having a 3 year old in preschool and an infant, I would now have two children under the age of 2. Awesome sauce.

So, I started off, not being too ready. Then, when the contractions started, one of the first thoughts that came into my mind was how much work I had left to do. This was literally my To Do List when prodromal labor started about a month ago:

• Buy and Install Stairway Gate
• Buy 2 white noise makers
• Secure Nursery Furniture with Dresser Straps
• Do spring cleaning
• Finish Waylon’s Nursery
• Birth Plan
• Buy Deck Gate
• Bring baby stuff down from attic
• Pack Hospital Bag
• Organize house
• Finish paying doula
• Send Postpartum Placenta Paperwork
• Call insurance – re: doula & pre-certification for Yale hospital/ send in Yale paperwork
• Newborn photos contract
• Reschedule Thursdays to Wednesdays for Appointments
• Take Mike’s Car In for Brakes
• Take My Car In for Service
• Return Carter’s
• Get Diaper Changer from Basement
• Clean & Organize Office
• Copy Course Content to Psychopharm Class for August
• Organize Portfolio Paperwork into one area
• GSA Schedule for 2014-2015
• Submit Teaching Book Proposal
• GSA Student Mentors & Orientation
• Get in all Paperwork for Licensure
• Multicultural Study
•             IRB
•             Create Online Survey
• CES Journal Reviewing
• Graduate Institute Course for Fall
• DSM-5 Presentation for UCONN in August
• Finish Multicultural Article
• Gender Role Study
•             IRB
•             Create Online Survey
•             Submit RA Paperwork
• CT-ALGBTIC
• CCA Multicultural Committee
  CACES Resources and Goal Setting
• Set Diversity Committee Events for Next Year
• Change Baby Signs Business Name & Do Taxes
• LGBQ & Religion Study
•             Finish Interviews
•             Do Thematic Analyses
• Finish all Technology Committee Tasks
• Finish Report for President’s Commission
• CACREP Mid Cycle Report
• CACREP Evaluation Report & Other Compliance Tasks
• LGBTQ+ Book Proposal
• Finish Grading for ALL Classes
• Religion & Counselor Ed Article
• Finish Mutt-i-grees Publication

Please note that one item on this list could be an immense task - like writing a 50 page report for the President's Commission or grading multiple papers and finals for 4 graduate level courses. Also, note that shit is crossed out. I actually DID everything on my list for home and work. 

However, that was not my only worry or anxiety when I started having contractions. My next thought was, "Oh God, Oh God, we are all hot messes, how can we add another one???" Let me explain.

My husband is normally detail oriented, anal, organized and perfectionistic. Fatherhood and parenting a difficult-tempered child took some of that out of him, but knowing that another baby was coming has made him a serious hot mess. He now was forgetful, distracted, half-listened to our conversations, broke things and lost things (like our toddler's shoes down the highway when he placed them on the car and then forgot to actually put them on when he got him in the carseat). Every morning he grated his ignition forgetting that he had already started the carstarter when he put the key in; and every night he desperately tried to get some gaming time in (while dodging flying objects from our toddler lodging random complaints of this activity which did not include him), full well knowing that any personal time he currently has is coming to an screeching halt as soon as Waylon appears. If you know Mike, you know that distraction and mistakes are NOT like him at all. Let's just say, I'm not used to being the stable one. He is anxious and anal; he usually, annoyingly, remembers everything that needs to be done and does it perfectly. But not, now; he's a hot, hot mess.

My son is a hotter mess. He is needy, demanding, high-maintenance - oh, and a toddler. He grabs at everything, eats a huge amount, still gets up at night, has emotional regulation issues up the wazoo, has NOT quite mastered being gentle and needs our 100%  full attention when he is awake. Wilson is stubborn and does things at his own pace. For example, he decided that he would like to use the potty. That was great and for 3 weeks, he had few mistakes and used the potty a lot. Then he decided, "eh, that was over-rated." And now, he hasn't used the potty in 2 weeks. Getting him to sit on it against his will would so not be worth it, as we have learned you don't force a difficult tempered child to do anything if you value your sanity. Wilson has a cold right now, so he's miserable, wiping his nose and face on everything in sight: me, Mike's pants as he's about to go to work, the dogs, the couch and the floor. He whines constantly and has no fear of repetition of his favorite things: every day we have to play Beyonce's Who Runs the World (Girls) and Katy Perry's Darkhorse repeatedly. Seriously. Back to Back, over and over. He asks for it in this pathetic whiny voice "Grrrrrllllsss...." and then "Keeeeeettttty". Although his tantrums have gotten better, he still throws himself on the floor dramatically, as I said in a previous blog, akin to a Spanish soap opera. We've done everything we can think of in preparing him for a little brother, but how my little hot mess will actually do with a new brother is a little scary to think about.

And then there's me. I may seem that I have my ducks in a row - mostly because somehow I do maintain productivity at work, but really I'm a bigger hot mess. I'm HORRIBLE with money and finances; and while I maintain focus at work, I leave laundry piles in the bedroom, dishes in the sink, trash 2 feet from the actual trash in the kitchen as I'm horribly distracted at home. With Wilson, I found a way to mostly balance work and home - something I was very proud of - but couldn't figure how to balance anything else - like a social life, eating healthy, spiritual needs or working out. I consider myself a very resilient person, but weird shit happens to me all the time. Like a 50-hour labor with Wilson. Random illnesses that no other person has heard of. I got the swine flu when it was on the decline. I have vaccine reactions. I have a genetic condition called hypermobile joints, meaning I'm mostly double-jointed and injure myself when I sleep and especially when I'm pregnant and have the hormone Relaxin, which further relaxes my ligaments and joints (i.e., I literally throw a hip out every night when I sleep). I have prodromal labor. I also think a lot about how I had Postpartum Depression after I had Wilson. How am I going to survive a toddler AND a newborn with my sanity intact? Being in the third trimester, I'm the biggest hot mess of all: I sometimes can barely move (which my toddler takes full advantage of), have indigestion, insomnia, random hip-out, issues rolling over, distractability, forgetfulness, crave bucketloads of sweets, drink gallons of water a day and feel like something in between a teapot and a cooked turkey. 

So, are we ready? No. But, without the definitive illusion that you have when you believe you are "ready" for your first child, no one could ever be really ready for a second child. You know what it will be like at first - the lack of sleep, the loss of identity, the things you weren't expecting, the difficulties you face healing from childbirth, all the things you cannot control... But, as I sit here tonight, I also reflect on all the things we can accomplish as a family and individually. Mike's sanity will return, he really is an epic father and his love for Wilson will soon be his love for Waylon as well. Wilson will be an excellent big brother - he wants to help, he loves babies and he really is the sweetest boy I've ever known. And I'll figure it out - just like I found a way to balance things with Wilson, I'll figure out my life again with 2 children. And together, we love each other and are capable of great things - I mean, look at that list - we did all that in 3 weeks, as hot messes with me having contractions. And we do have help - our close friends Jess and Joe, some awesome childcare help and family members who are willing to come to help us transition (thanks, Mom!). 

So, I'm making it official. Universe, Waylon, body: I'M READY. That's right, bring it on. Labor, birth, fourth trimester, mother of multiple children. LET'S DO IT. Aaaaaannnnnd here comes a contraction.

Parenting a Difficult-Tempered Toddler...

So, as many of you already know, my son has difficult temperament. I've talked multiple times about what this is like when he was an infant. But, as crazy as it seems, he's not a baby anymore; he's a few months shy of being 2 years old and is full force into toddler mode. 

Parenting a toddler, under the best circumstances, is not for the faint of heart. It's exhausting and simply put, brutal. They move too fast, have limited emotional and social skills and are all about testing boundaries. And that's when they have easy temperaments...

So I've had people tell me before that they hate the phrase "difficult temperament" because it seems to cast a negative cloud on the child. I've also had people tell me that they didn't quite understand what difficult temperament was and how it couldn't easily be modified. And I do get how it's not easy to picture or to understand when you have never had a difficult tempered child before. I am a developmental psychologist and I did not fully understand before having Wilson. So I always say the same thing, "Come over for a day and you'll get it." 

Because this is what a day looks like: Wilson wakes up at 6 a.m., smiling and talking. Mike gets him up and attempts to get him changed and dressed in between him lunging at the lotion/butt paste, frantically pushing buttons on the stereo when you are throwing out his diaper, running towards and attempting to open the closet, throwing his pillow, dancing and giggling. He comes downstairs, drinks his juice and gets some breakfast - well at least a little before throwing the rest to the dogs or racing towards the trash (as we scream NO!) to throw it haphazardly in the general direction of the trash, causing us to clean up a mess. While our backs are turned, he is opening the snack drawer (neatly and easily opening the child lock) to get more food with which to eat/ throw to the dogs/ throw out. The next few hours or so he races around, as we remind him to be nice to the dogs, not to injure himself, not to grab things he can't have, stop opening the dishwasher to stand on the door and push the buttons on the toaster oven, don't throw that, be gentle, get out of the silverware drawer, stop trying to open the door, where did you get that fork?, get off the table, don't kick the dog, stop throwing your food, get out of the dishwasher again, where's your juice cup?, stop hanging on the baby gate, don't climb the banister, don't stand on that, get out of the fridge... it goes on. And it's endless. ALL DAY LONG. This in a house which is so well gated and child-proofed it could function as a maximum security toddler prison. Our chairs are bungeed together because he was taking them out and pushing them through the house in order to reach outlets, light switches, ipads and computers an anything else he shouldn't have. Gates protect the television area with over a 2 foot clearance from the gate because he uses tools to jab at the buttons on the television, cable box and receiver. The dog food and water is behind our office gate (which has a similar clearance) and which he lodges his daily complaints by throwing things at us when we sit there without him for 5 seconds. There are baby locks everywhere and every door knob has a baby proof covering. If a door or a lock is insecure for 5 seconds, he shows up immediately, like he has a telepathic connection to it, and raids it. He breaks something literally everyday: a toy, one of our possessions, part of the house... Sometimes all of the "no!'s", boundary setting and mommy/daddy blocking get to him and he collapses into a heap on the floor, lip-quiver and all. He whines pretty much all day long, crying frequently even over things like "my toy won't do what I want it to", where he yells at his toy, cries, throws it and falls in a dramatic spanish-soap-opera-esque heap on the floor. The mental and physical effort that it takes to keep this kid alive, be responsive, be empathic, teach him patiently and peacefully is more than I have expended getting a doctoral degree and tenure as an Associate Professor combined.

When it is time for his nap, I seriously rejoice. Seriously. It's one of my favorite parts of the day. After the initial whining, getting his bottle ready (as he attempts to grab everything in the fridge), walk up the stairs where he stops to try to pull things out of the trash, get at the recycling, fall off the stairs, then suddenly run into the bathroom and attempt to lock me out, test every gate upstairs, run away giggling as I try to corral him into his bedroom, whining as I change his diaper, pushing the buttons frantically on his white noise machine until I pick him up and sit in the rocking chair, where pure bliss occurs. He snuggles in quietly with me and his blanket, drinks his bottle and goes to sleep. I lay him in his crib and he sleeps for 2 to 3 hours. I shower, go to the bathroom, sometimes sleep, do work and sometimes just sit in a chair comatose. Oh and by the way, that was just the first part of the day, which was just 3 hours. We then have the afternoon to contend with. He requires constant attention (just to survive), is a complete drama queen, is only capable of playing alone for a maximum of 10 minutes (and that's if you are lucky), has no emotional regulation skills and a seemingly endless supply of energy and motivation.

So yes, I think difficult is a great term for that temperament. Or maybe 'freaking horrific', 'horrendously exhausting' or 'perfect-birth-control-because-you-will-never-want-to-procreate-again' (yes, we did have a moment of insanity and now we will be adding another to our brood - God help us). Any of those would work. And in terms of changing his behavior? Believe it or not, we have made HUGE strides. We went through a biting phase, a pinching phase, an extreme tantrum phase - as challenging as he is, he improves almost every day. We are working now on throwing and hitting, which is slowly but surely improving. We are consistent with him, always responsive, we calmly say no, we also have yelled when we feel appropriate, we keep boundaries and always intervene. What we've learned by parenting a difficult toddler is less about what we need to do (because we know what we are supposed to do), but more about how to support each other to stay positive and sane and to remember the absolutely amazing thing about difficult children and Wilson, in particular.

See, the reason 'difficult' children are difficult is because they are very sensitive. He, like all difficult-tempered children, need routine. He has to maintain a very rigid schedule at home because if we deviate in any way, he won't nap, he is cranky and cannot regulate for the rest of the day. Wilson is detail-oriented and sensitive, physically and emotionally. He is affectionate and loving, hugging his stuffed animals, coming to lay his head on my leg when he is having a rough time coping, and gently lays his head on the dogs when he pets them. Wilson is very bright - beyond his chronological age. He is contemplative, has an impeccable memory, focuses intently on things and figures things out that are far beyond on his year and a half-life. He is persistent; he knows what he wants and he is insistent about achieving that goal. He is incredibly social; he loves other children and is incredibly astute in that he realizes he needs to be reserved around people that do not know him well (he acts like an angel with most other people for a few weeks at least). He has a strong personality and is completely authentic with his emotions, expressing them to the fullest. He loves music, which helps him be in the moment, stay calm and feel joy. He has his favorite things, of which he never tires and easily communicates that he is happy to experience them OVER AND OVER. Despite being potentially the crappiest infant sleeper ever, he is now a good sleeper, still getting up once a night a few times a week; but he sleeps from 6:30 p.m. to 6 a.m. and puts himself to sleep after his bottle and a snuggle. He is starting to communicate better and he desperately wants to do what adults do, meaning he loves to help with throwing things out, cleaning the house, vacuuming, washing dishes, putting things back where they belong and re-locking the safety latches he has outsmarted.

Bottom line: the same things that make these children annoying toddlers will make them successful and amazing adults. And that's the challenge: you don't want to crush their spirit or make them feel shame for being who they are - even when it is annoying, frustrating and exhausting. You want them to be who they are and follow social boundaries and learn emotional skills to further develop their resiliency and strength. But it's freaking hard. And that is why I am writing this blog tonight; after a long day where he broke a kitchen drawer, almost stabbed me with a fork, tried to kick the dogs multiple times, threw food at dinner (causing him to have to leave the table), hit me for taking away things he wanted but could not have, spilled water all over the floor, and that is in addition to the normal high maintenance needs throughout the day, I want all those parents who parent this rare (less than 5% of children) child who befuddles others and makes you question your own patience, sanity and parenting ability. You are not alone. And I do hear that it gets better.

I have read consistent accounts in the research that difficult-tempered children turn a huge corner around age 3, making the consistent, supportive approach worth all of that time and energy. And to that, my husband and I, after putting him to bed, hug each other, hanging onto each other for physical and emotional support, sigh and say, "Is he almost 3 yet?" It's a very good thing that he is cute.

So...That Sucked.

So, I have been pregnant before. Gone through the third trimester before too. I've also had the stomach flu. Not this norovirus knock-you-on-your-ass-and-make-you-weep strain, but I've had the stomach flu. But what I've never had, before this last week, was having the stomach flu WHILE being in the third trimester of a pregnancy. Let me count the ways in which this experience might be the single worst experience of my adult life.

First, in your third trimester, you are ginormous. It hurts to move. Seriously, when you want to roll over in bed, you need to hold your belly, take a deep breath and heft yourself over to the other side. Your back hurts because your pelvis is spreading preparing for the "miracle" of birth - namely a baby head being pushed through that small opening in your pelvic bone. The sides of your stomach hurt as the round ligaments are stretching beyond what is comfortable. Now add onto all of this - the aches and pains of the flu. A fever, muscle soreness, stomach cramps and an overwhelming need to get to the bathroom ASAP multiple times a day does not correspond well with the third trimester belly-heft and slow-waddle.

Second, throwing up is never fun. Morning sickness was crappy with both of my pregnancies. But throwing up violently with a giant belly and an inside baby kicking the crap out of my stomach was kind of horrible. And then guess what? When you throw up in the third trimester, you get labor contractions as your reward! Yep! Labor contractions. And if you aren't careful, you go into full-blown labor, leading me to the next point.

Third, you don't want to eat or drink when you have the flu. That's not a possibility when you are pregnant. You HAVE to drink even if you are throwing it up right away OR you need to go to the hospital to get an IV because it can obviously harm the baby and/or cause early labor. Fun! So if you are not waddling to the bathroom, hefting yourself on the floor in front of the toilet, fighting labor contractions, fighting a fever and muscle pains along with your achin' pelvis, you are shoving water down yourself while praying that you don't throw up again (which you know you are going to...). 

Fourth, there are some medications that you can take that do make the flu somewhat bearable. But, not while your preggo. No pink stuff, no ibuprofen, no Imodium, no Tamiflu, no NOTHING. LAME.

Finally, your body does this other really cool thing when you are pregnant - it increases the hormone Relaxin so that (as the name indicates) all of your ligaments relax and loosen preparing it for that beautiful, horrific miracle of birth. Cool fact: throwing up violently is as jarring to your body as participating in intense sports! And, particularly with the addition of Relaxin, can cause similar injuries! So as I was throwing up for the 8th time one night, I sprained the tiny muscles in between my ribs, making it hard to breathe without stabbing pains, engage any of my stomach and chest muscles, pick up my toddler or just plain live. 

So thanks Norovirus. You have now made me less fearful of going into labor for the second time because labor (not even my first 50-hour labor) could not be as bad as these last 5 days with the stomach virus while being 35 weeks pregnant. 

And Universe, please don't take that last statement as a challenge.

Happy Valentine's Day, My Loves!

To my big Valentine, Mike: When I met you about 10 years ago, I knew there was something special about you. And I had no idea how much my life was going to change! We had 8 years of pretty much pure bliss. Then we had kids. While I believe that our bliss will someday return (maybe after retirement?), watching you step up as a father and a husband has made me so proud of you and more in love with you each year. You always try so hard to be the best and most thoughtful father and husband; when you struggle or stumble, you are always the first to apologize, try even harder and let me know how much you love us. We don't have much family support here in town, but because we have each other, I know that we can get through anything.

To my little Valentine, Wilson: I see how sweet you are, even when you are feeling upset or sick. I love your kisses and hugs; I love how you want to be big and try to help out with everything that I do. Even when you are feeling pretty cranky and you see mommy or daddy take a few deep breaths, we always love you. Life is about to change pretty significantly for you, which will be difficult for all of us; but we want you to know that we believe you came to us for a reason and that our hearts are big enough for you and your little brother.

To my smallest Valentine: You are still in mommy's belly, but I hope that in a few months when you enter the world, you know that you will always be surrounded with love. Fair warning: we are a pretty crazy family and we are not perfect (or even close), but we will always love, respect and cherish you.

Second Verse, Not the Same As The First...

I had heard that every pregnancy was different; and that the second pregnancy was very different than the first, but I really was not sure how until I experienced it. So here I am, in my 6 month of pregnancy; and I have to say, it is a lot different.

1. Time is moving quicker. I'm in no hurry for numero dos to be born. Although I am sure I will feel differently near the end of the third trimester, right now I'd be happy if he stayed there until Wilson was 18 years old. But, time feels like it is flying. It feels like I just found out I was pregnant and now I am 1 week away from being in my third trimester. With Wilson, time moved so slow because I was conscious of every minute and so looking forward to the birth; which brings me to number 2.
2. I'm so not looking forward to the birth. It's not the labor I fear; rather it's the devastating change in life that is now lovingly coined the fourth trimester. Where sleep is gone; your identity is gone; you look at your partner with resentment and disgust; your life changes entirely and it takes a good year for you to get your bearings. Which brings me to number 3.
3. I have no disillusionment this time around. With my first pregnancy, I couldn't wait. I couldn't wait until I was out of the first trimester. I couldn't wait until I felt the baby. I couldn't wait until the baby reached viability. I couldn't wait until my first contraction started. I couldn't wait until I met my son. This pregnancy, I absolutely can wait. Because with every milestone you reach comes a new challenge, a new ordeal and a new obstacle. I am happy to stay pregnant now, even though being pregnant sucks too. When I was pregnant with Wilson, I remember thinking how happy I would be when this baby came out and I got my body back. What I didn't realize, is that you don't really get your body back; along with that loss comes your sleep, time, energy, leisure and toilet time (I remember the days of peeing alone). And even though I'm not afraid of it, I'm not eager for labor. 
4. The first time around, I was PETRIFIED of labor. I wanted to believe that it would not be painful and that I could have an easy labor. After 50 hours of induced active labor in the hospital and 5 hours of pushing, I have no illusions about labor. But, I also know I can survive it - even when it is long and arduous. My midwives swear to me that this baby will, in comparison, just fall out, which would be fabulous. But, if not, I'm prepared. Not eager for it; but prepared. 
5. My first pregnancy, I slept. ALOT. The first trimester was a blur of sleeping on the couch, throwing up and going back to sleep. I napped frequently and was still exhausted. In my second pregnancy, rest and relaxation is a bit more difficult to attain with a toddler. "I love you, Wilson, but mommy can't move or she'll throw up." Wilson looks at me with disapproval, whines, then runs and smacks the refrigerator. "Oh, I guess I do have to feed you." Of course, that happens every half an hour, as he either wants to eat snacks, meals, a bottle, or his sippy cup. And that doesn't include the time that he wants to be held, snuggle, play, lead me around by the hand to ask for things he can't have or just to feel connected to me, which believe me I want to...just not while I'm having morning (er...all-day sickness). On Friday, I laid on the couch and said, "Wilson, mommy is getting sick. Can you take it easy on mommy today?" He looked at me, patted my head, laughed and then climbed up on me and sat on my head. Yep. 
6. I have an inside baby and an outside baby. And they don't communicate. Sometimes Wilson will push on my belly and Wayland will kick him back. But because of his age, Wilson is oblivious to the presence of Wayland. And besides for potentially recognizing Wilson's whines, screams and giggles, I think it's safe to assume that Wayland is not that sure of who makes all those cute and yet annoying noises. Meaning that I can't explain to Wayland why I forgot to eat lunch yesterday (because Wilson didn't feel well and due to being busy and fatigue, I simply forgot). And I can't explain to Wilson why mommy's belly keeps getting huge, she's tired all the time and why for the first 5 months, throwing up became a normal pastime in the Ginicola house. I know that he is wondering though...I gave him a little flashlight yesterday and the first thing he did was turn it on, pull up my shirt and push it against my belly. I told him that he couldn't see Wayland that way, but he kept trying anyway. 
7. You get bigger....faster. I already look like I'm about 8 months pregnant and I'm only 6 months. When I was 2 months pregnant, I looked like I was 4 months. It's not pretty and I hope it slows down soon or I'll just be one giant belly and two huge boobs by full term.

Well, at least there's hope! I'm saving out hope that this theme continues and Wayland, unlike Wilson, will be easy-tempered, sleepy and chill. Please, Universe. Give me chill.