tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33720676764455401102024-03-13T10:59:17.236+08:00The Perpetual Student's WifeAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.comBlogger519125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-9415178212218826172014-11-28T20:00:00.000+08:002014-11-28T20:00:08.715+08:00Graphic Print Critter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I wasn't joking when I said I was wearing a ton of stuff from the Men's department- WHY would I pass up this sweatshirt?! I'd be a crazy person if my new utilitarian-slouchy dressing didn't include a little bit of pizzaz. Can a varmint on a sweatshirt really be considered pizzaz? Whatever, I'mma roll with it. </div>
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What a nice week it's been so far! The calm before the storm of tomorrow's Thanksgiving celebration with our buddies has been a series of puttering to the store for small forgotten food items, hunting for more forks (because nobody wants to eat turkey with chopsticks), and extra tummy time to encourage scooting. Anytime I try to put Violet's little knees tucked under her hips, she stiffens into a plank and I end up wheel-barrow lifting her legs. It cracks me up everytime! I know she'll figure out the physics in her own time, but the fun of doing my best to help her out only to have it hilariously backfire is filling my days with a lot of laughs. </div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-17262995180496554092014-11-26T20:00:00.000+08:002014-11-26T20:00:12.542+08:00Oversized: Then and NowThe <a href="http://theperpetualstudentswife.blogspot.com/2014/04/white-jeans-and-little-things.html">last time I wore this camel sweater</a>, I was getting near the end of baking this kid. I must say, there was a certain charm about the way it fit over that little bump, but there's something equally sweet about pairing it with chewy beads for this teething slobber machine and a messy side pony to keep twirling fingers out of my hair while we're nursing.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-68116508789004908212014-11-24T20:00:00.000+08:002014-11-24T20:00:01.564+08:00In AnticipationOh, good, a Canadian Tuxedo.<br />
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Friends, I can't wait for Saturday. Over here in Suzhou, Thanksgiving is just a Thursday, BUT, many of our friends here have spent time in the USA and were really looking forward to celebrating. Rob and I are going to try to cook a turkey in our puny oven and everyone is gathering at our place to spend time playing card games and eating a gluttonous amount of food. I just hope my dog isn't a butthole, squelches his beagle-y urges to devour anything not intended for him, and just lets us enjoy the day, rather than holding onto his collar in hopes of controlling his rotten behavior.<br />
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Who am I kidding- everyone will be on guard, he'll still manage to steal something, and then the cat will tag-team with him to swipe more goodies, pluck something delicious out of a bowl and knock it to the ground to share. My pets are jerks. Adorably naughty jerks.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-44255686795401788072014-11-19T19:30:00.000+08:002014-11-19T19:30:03.664+08:00Duuude.I've been really out of my own blogging loop for a while. I've been sort of keeping up with some reading, mostly keeping in touch through Instagram, but what I've gathered is that <a href="http://www.un-fancy.com/capsule-wardrobe-101/how-to-build-a-capsule-wardrobe/">Capsule Wardrobes are "in"</a> and they're filled with neutrals and stripes.<br />
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Well, I guess I've been accidentally capsule wardrobing for a really long time, then.<br />
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I'm taking the capsule-chic one step closer to lazy and have been doing two things with what I've been wearing lately. 1. Replace a lot of dead and dying clothes (China water is really mineral-y and makes clothes crunchy and gross much more quickly. Goodbye, old worn out favorites) with pieces that are a little oversized, since my intention is to be pregnant on repeat and knock out the whole "let's have lots of kids" thing bing bang boom style. And slouchy/ comfortable works in pregnancy, post-partum, and toddler chasing. 2. I'm buying the bulk of my new favorites in the men's section. Been doin' that since my belly got big, like <a href="http://theperpetualstudentswife.blogspot.com/2014/04/baseball.html">here</a>, <a href="http://theperpetualstudentswife.blogspot.com/2014/04/meeting-mommies.html">here</a>, <a href="http://theperpetualstudentswife.blogspot.com/2014/04/babymoon-ish.html">here</a>.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-4861312843286648752014-11-18T20:20:00.003+08:002014-11-18T20:20:39.380+08:00A Weekend Non-AdventureOver last weekend, we had the opportunity to join several Expat teachers affiliated with the university (all from other departments- what fun to meet new people!) to go visit a "new style" modern village made up of agricultural zones, manufacturing, and new style homes.<br />
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Shoulda been interesting to see the new model of modern China.<br />
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Nope.<br />
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Our time in this village (and more power to them, I really hope they continue to receive encouragement and support from the government and society- some sort of sustainability measures should be encouraged) was not spent actually experiencing or understanding what's really "new" and "now," but rather we spent 3 hours walking through building after building of displays of what agriculture and day to day life was like 40 years ago (It looked the same as one might imagine farming in China in 1874 to look like). With creepy wax mannequins. And taxidermied animals everywhere. Not tremendously informative or interesting, but it was nice to spend a little time with new friends. Silver linings and all that junk.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-42421190539452829232014-11-09T19:00:00.000+08:002014-11-09T19:00:01.489+08:00Seasonally InappropriateI have a pair of great new black skinnies (P.S.- why is shopping for jeans such a nightmare lately? Must everything be loose on my tush and sausage-casing tight on my calves?!) that have, admittedly, been on heavy rotation already. But, I just can't seem to let go of my white jeans yet. It's appropriate to wear them until the week of Thanksgiving, right? Can I then call them "winter whites" and carry on?<br />
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P.P.S. Teething is a big, nasty B-word. Slobber on everything and baby harumphs.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-148517794536309902014-11-06T20:19:00.000+08:002014-11-06T20:19:07.906+08:00Casual Fall and Life LatelyIt's the peeeerfect weather in Suzhou right now. We're in the midst of sunshine days with a nip in the air- perfect for jeans and something with long sleeves during the lunch hour. And, for the most part, we can still get away with no socks and lighter layers on little Violet if I wear her since we're sweaty torso to sweaty torso, but I fear those days are going away soon. Now, if only I could find socks that fit her.<br />
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Sorry for the long absence, friends! We've been traveling some, but mostly I have been enjoying the bejesus out of wasting my days staring into Violet's eyes, spending hours making fart noises at one another, taking long shuffling walks with the dog. Life is wonderfully slow lately and I'm so grateful for this little moment in time where I can finally enjoy my kid after all of the undeveloped digestive tract yelling, the thrush and nursing nightmares now behind us and in a good groove. It's days filled with lots of really great little moments of fingers tangled in my hair, raspberry spit-bubbles being smeared all over my cheek, that one crazy dimple that shows up on her upper right cheek when she smiles her crooked whole-faced grin, especially when she's super proud of herself for sitting on her own for a few seconds. I'm really loving it.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-71732737355744787122014-09-26T19:00:00.000+08:002014-09-26T19:00:05.067+08:00Making BuddiesThis kid is <i>so</i> her dad's clone. Blonde, blue eyes, and really loves going out. I'm a homebody, no question, but Violet is so nosy and happy to spend her days walking around Suzhou making friends. It really cracks me up- the 35-65 year old women are more likely to be judgey and unpleasant about how she's so small, or she must be cold, or why isn't she wearing a hat or socks. However, men of all ages, from college boys to retirees, are the absolute cutest about making a silly face for her and waving, which usually illicits a grin or concentrated eyebrow twitch and there's kind of nothing more adorable than a man who is melted into a pile of giggles and mush by a baby making eye contact.<br />
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<span id="goog_733965729"></span><span id="goog_733965730"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-57936426189529601712014-09-24T19:00:00.000+08:002014-09-24T19:00:09.372+08:00ObnoxiousI made a big mistake wearing these amazingly absurd gold shoes. I've spent 97% of the summer season in either my Chacos or barefoot. Because I don't leave the house often enough and I have no shame walking the dog in my finest loungewear.<br />
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Anyway, I wore this a few weeks ago to lunch out with a very pregnant girlfriend (who has since had a tiny little boy!) and it was a lovely 1.5 km walk to the nearby restaurant street through the lakeside park near our place. However, I forgot that while the squishy foot bed is heaven, the shoe is enclosed. Like, a for-real shoe. Which made dime-sized blisters on both heels. Ouchy and Oops.<br />
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Also, how adorable is Violet in this obnoxious citron romper? I got so lucky that a shopaholic friend is having a boy for baby 2 and I got all of her daughter's hand-me-down goodness.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-5268881835978536812014-09-22T19:00:00.000+08:002014-09-22T19:00:12.830+08:00Basic and Loving It<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The summer weather is starting to wind down over here, and it's really been nice to toss on a pair of jeans and a short sleeved top and pop out for the day. Violet is a little heater in the sling, so we keep it simple and lightweight- one layer for me and only a onesie or romper for her, even if there's a little morning nip in the air. We snuggle in and keep one another perfectly comfortable. True, we've gotten a few rotten stares from Chinese grandmothers who think she's going to die a thousand deaths because she has no socks on, but she kicks them off every time we give them a whirl. Not worth it. </div>
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PS, I know there's some ladies out there who can't stand their maternity wardrobe post-partum, but I'm still wearing mine and loving it. These maternity jeans fit crazy good, even if they have a full panel folded down</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-81193496830384912692014-09-10T19:00:00.000+08:002014-09-10T19:00:10.375+08:00Long, Lean, and GreenSpeaking of post-partum wearing of maternity dresses: kindly refer to Exhibit C. My husband's Bromance sent a package before Violet was born, including a teething bead bracelet, hilarious pacifiers (reading "Pull to Sound Alarm" and "Mute Button"), a sketch book for me, a pillowcase with his own face on it because he knew we were going into withdrawl, and this magical, magical dress. Ladies, this thoughtful man is single. How? I'm still not sure.<br />
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Anyway, I've been wearing this nonstop all summer long. It skims the lumpy post-C-section bits, has a perfect amount of stretch for boob access, cinches nicely in at the natural waist, avoiding the maternity mumu empire waist and the too-low that-would-never-fit-a-pregnant-belly waist line. Magic.<br />
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Grab a scarf of your choice for nursing cover duty and rock and roll.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nice spit-up stain on the thigh, Violet. </td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-7307395932464741662014-09-06T13:26:00.001+08:002014-09-06T13:26:45.416+08:00Swing Dress and the Swing of ThingsShocker. Another no-bra, dress, and scarf combination.<br />
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I can't tell you all how much more of a joy life has been the last few weeks. We ironed out a system of overnight pumping (Violet has been sleeping from 9:30 - 7:00 pretty reliably and Holy Engorgement, Batman) so the one or two bottles she does seem to want during the day are solely pumped milk, or maybe only 1/3 formula. Her little belly is full and happy, she sleeps like a champ, we're figuring out naptimes, her grins and alert time is spent exploring and observing with almost no crying anymore. We had a non-colicky, but really shitty and uncomfortable first few months. And it was so frustrating that I knew this sweet kid was hidden by a gassy, hungry but not getting what she needs scream-machine. All of a sudden, at about 15 weeks, Real Violet showed back up and we started to really get into the swing of things.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-63334473648576665652014-08-27T19:00:00.000+08:002014-08-27T19:00:02.478+08:00Baby BlueMy grand return to blogging what I've been wearing and this lame little number is what I open with?<br />
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Yes. Big, fat yes.<br />
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Because my version of "style blogging" is all about accountability for what I wear and, truthfully, it's a lot of dresses with no bra lately. Pardon me, <i>maternity dresses</i> with no bra. Which I purchased post-partum. So, here's to hoping the next pregnancy aligns seasonally with being able to wear a sleeveless dress with very forgiving belly ruching.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-89254902512103531342014-08-23T19:00:00.000+08:002014-08-23T19:00:03.262+08:00Life Lately<div style="text-align: justify;">
Wow. Lots has happened. Nothing much has happened. Anyway, a quick synopsis:</div>
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1. China doesn't have reliable formula and I'm not paying double for imports. So, we breastfeed because it was always my intention to do so and because, practically, I don't have another option. And I have had way more than my fair share of clogged ducts and persistent low grade mastitis. Like, it took me three and a half hours and over 50 warm compresses to manhandle and bruise the bejesus out of myself to unclog over 15 ducts the first time. And I've had 7 more bouts (Every 10 days. Reliably.) since then. It's connected to a nasty case of thrush for both me and Violet. Email if anyone wants to talk boobs. I'm sure this will be the legacy of my time nursing. It's been pretty time consuming and a really big energy suck. Like, aside from smiles and playing, pretty all-consuming, neglect the house, eat meals we ordered in because I don't have time to cook time and energy suck.</div>
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2. My mom spent a total of 83 days with us. I could not be more grateful for her help managing the house and the dog. More than that, what a <i>gift</i> it was to spend so much amazing time together. The companionship and encouragement working through clogs and baby blues and shouting across the apartment to enjoy Violet's first legitimate smiles together was so special. My dad joined us for a week before they headed back to the States and seeing my parents loving on my daughter was pretty amazing.</div>
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3. In a whirlwind of good timing and lucky breaks, we found a new apartment on our first day of searching. We wanted to move out of the Higher Education District (Students! Everywhere!) which is really far from everything we wanted to be near, like friends and any sort of decent restaurants and groceries. The place we found is enormous, right in the location we were targeting, and has a tremendous view of Jinji Lake. The dog loves pacing through all the rooms, the cat is still finding creative hiding spots because there's actually square footage to explore, and we're enjoying the first dishwasher that we've ever had (unheard of over here!). </div>
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4. My kid finally fits into her cloth diapers and, as of four short weeks ago, is out of newborn clothes and into the 0-3 month stuff (she's 3.5 months now). I'm really glad we're using cloth- she's a master at peeing into the fresh diaper before it's even on. And disposables means a lot of waste and cloth means simply adding a wasted diaper to the wash. Getting out of newborn sizes means her adorable rompers fit properly. As do many of the frickin' adorable clothes I purchased second hand from a friend who is having a little boy for #2. </div>
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5. I'm making friends!! Of my very own! It almost always happens that I meet people through Rob and find my place in the group dynamic that way. It's weird and wonderful to make friends without a connection to whatever Rob is doing. </div>
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6. Violet hates being on her belly, so her arms aren't pushing up at tummy time, but good gravy, her little legs and neck are very strong! Play time is so much fun since she loves to give soggy open mouth kisses every time you lean her in for a little smooch. We prop her tiny feet in our laps and let her straighten out and then lean her in again and again for sloppy kisses. She grins like a goon. And it's my favorite.</div>
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I miss blogging enormously, but it's just not practical lately. Slow and unreliable laptop (which WILL be replaced before 2014 ends, dangit), full hands, squirmy kid, and managing my shitty milk flow are all factors, but mostly, its just that I can't do diddly on this slow internet. And Instagram doesn't require my VPN, so keep up with us over there (<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><span id="goog_953673420"></span>@katebmcclure<span id="goog_953673421"></span></a>)! Oh, yeah, and I'm in non-clothes/ no-clothes 80% of my time. So, no blog material to speak of. Shall we try for once a week? Ha! Such lofty goals.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-23566656601763963502014-07-24T18:30:00.000+08:002014-07-24T18:30:03.273+08:00Bonding<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I mentioned in my last post that bonding ended up being a little tricky for me and Violet, and I wanted to share a little bit more about what the journey was like. I've wanted only to be a mother since I was little. I have the work ethic and drive to accomplish interesting things professionally if I want to, but I always knew that I really wanted to spend my time raising little ones. I'm a nurturer and encourager, what better way to use the skills than to take care of a family?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Imagine my surprise when, rather than giving birth naturally, I wound up with a C-section, which was completely beyond my control. Due to the circumstances surrounding Violet's birth, I never went through the hormonal changes or bodily cues of labor and delivery, so I think the two of us really missed out on that shared traumatic experience. Which is a weird thing to say, really, that I wanted and needed trauma. But, it's true. The female body is so perfectly designed to handle childbirth, and my body, coming from seemingly excellent child bearing stock, wasn't allowed to make use of reserves and resources to bring our little girl into the world in the way nature intended. So, without any of the bodily cues of labor, our daughter all of a sudden showed up. And I think that's the reason our first few days suffered.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">One of the worst parts of all of this was that I wasn't able to hold her for so long after she was born. That dumb IV line inside my arm really made it difficult to cradle her, hold her, nurse her- and I ended up feeling weirdly incapable and kind of ineffective as her mother for the first few days. Which, for someone who craved having a baby and has decent maternal instincts, is incredibly frustrating. I felt like I didn't even get to know my kid as I watched everyone else fall in love with her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Once we got home, my breaking point kind of hit about two weeks after Violet's arrival. It was strange, since I seemingly was so comfortable handling this new little baby. Picking her up, adjusting her head position, lifting her, wrangling her little limbs into clothes, walking around with her in my arms- it all felt natural and easy and not scary. I knew what to do with a fragile little person. But, some deeper connection was missing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I remember one morning feeling especially sad, and confided in Rob that I felt like it was my cosmic punishment to not feel a connection with my little girl because of the C-section and because I wanted her so badly. And I know that's a silly thing to think, but it really felt like my truth. I didn't know this little girl, and I didn't have the wave of recognition or instant bond with her. I would love to say that I could blame simply my expectations of labor and delivery versus what actually happened with the elongated and pretty awful hospital stay and C-section delivery (though the surgery was expertly handled and a pretty easy recovery, all things considered). My hormones were telling my brain a different story though. The baby blues are no joke, and I know that a whole bunch of factors were to blame for my feelings of disappointment, disconnection, and slight depression. I felt like I had been cheated out of the opportunity to go through the shared experience with Violet of childbirth. I felt like I had been cheated out of what I should have been able to handle physically. Again, I know this is silly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Also, around week three, Violet started getting really fussy out of the blue. Evenings where she would scream her head off, and we couldn't figure out how to console her. It wasn't every day, so we didn't know for sure if it was colic, or if something else was wrong. The feeling of being overwhelmed at the prospect of facing not only feelings of disconnection with my daughter, but also facing the possibility of managing a colicky baby hit me hard. (We're pretty confident now that her little gut wasn't, and still isn't, fully matured and girlfriend has gas problems)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Naturally, this is all made worse by the fact that my mom and Rob both found ways to rock or bounce Violet and she would calm herself relatively quickly. I felt like I was doing a lousy job of feeding her, I was not able to get out as many good burps from her, I couldn't settle her with a magical rocking pattern, and my walking and dancing with her was lame since my back was so weak post C-section; nothing I was doing seemed to soothe her the way that Rob or mom could. I felt like I was failing, and I think failing in the little things felt worse than failing at being able to "actually giving birth to her"- again, I know it was dumb to be thinking in those terms since I had to manage the stress of 5 days of kidney stone before her arrival and I do know how big of a deal it was to make smart choices for her health, as well as mine, during that time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I definitely found that admitting, not only to myself, but out loud and to my family that I was feeling helpless and ineffective was enough to take the bigness out of my feelings of disconnection and failure. I spent a few days clinging quietly to the façade of being the natural mommy, while shoving my feelings of inadequacy into the back of my own head. Which felt lonelier and worse. The minute I admitted how I was feeling, a lot of the negativity lifted. Getting a first glimmer of recognition by eye contact and the beginnings of a smile didn't hurt the cause either. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">There was no secret way to fix my difficulties bonding, there was no abracadabra way of stopping myself from feeling frustrated or sad or isolated. And I really have no words of wisdom to give other moms who might be coming up on their own journeys with a tough time of bonding, but I hope that maybe this encourages someone else to keep going for just one more week, just a few more days, just share a little bit of what you're feeling. Because that may be enough action and enough extra time to chase away the negative and allow you to embrace all of the wonderful goodness of snuggling soft babies and sniffing newborn hair and enjoying the crap out of your new little person. I really can't remember the moment it turned around for us, but I did start seeing this tiny person as <i>my </i>tiny person. <i>My </i>little girl who is, so far, her dad's look-alike with blonde hair, blue eyes, and the same high peaked lips. I finally got excited to find out if her seriously comedic facial contortions would become her trademark, got to daydreaming about putting band aids on skinned knees and wondering if she'd be an adventurer and nature girl, or maybe a creative bookworm, or maybe an empathetic socialite like her dad. I finally fell in love with her, even though I was always comfortable taking care of her and knew she was awesome. I just never figured it would take me over 6 weeks to get there.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-61111858822874280942014-06-30T19:00:00.000+08:002014-06-30T19:00:03.460+08:00The First 60<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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Sweet little Violet is at the two month mark. I can't believe how quickly the time has gone, and I am loving mommyhood as much as I imagined I would. It's definitely not been all sunshine and bubbles and rainbows, but I've been dying to be a mother for as long as I can remember and it is absolutely the most fulfilling thing I've ever been able to do.</div>
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So, what have we been doing with the last two months? My mom is still here in China with me, helping out around the house, spending time with my poor neglected dog, and cooking up a storm for us since I really hate trying to figure out food when I'm feeling a little bit busy or overwhelmed. Not only has she been an incredible help while Rob has been back in America for a conference, but the time we are getting to spend together is so special and I'm incredibly grateful that she has the opportunity to get to know her granddaughter so well while she's still so little. We spend most days binge watching movies or TV shows while snuggling the littlest McClure, sometimes we don't watch anything at all, and just go to "the Violet show". We bounce her, rock her, get all up in her face with kisses, and our favorite thing, push her nose upward and watch her crinkle her little forehead in protest. It's so cute we can't even stand it.</div>
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I would say the two major roadblocks so far have been a weirdly difficult time bonding (which I'll share more about in its own post because I don't think anyone talks enough about how hard this can be sometimes), and TWO bouts with clogged ducts. There were about 20 clogged ducts that popped up all of a sudden that I had to work out over the course of three hours one late night with at least 50 hot compresses. I've never manhandled myself quite so aggressively in my life, it was thoroughly unpleasant.</div>
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We've had a few really lovely encounters with Chinese grandmothers and the toddlers they're taking care of, and also been given plenty of nasty glances by locals who think we ought to stay inside, at home in bed for it the requisite 100 days. Not a chance, mama's got to get out and see the world and the sunshine is good for Violet. </div>
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And my favorite way to pass the time so far, other then creepy-smelling my daughter's neck? I was able to buy, secondhand, <i>so</i> many cute girl clothes from a friend over here and we spend the day dressing her up to match whatever I'm wearing. <a href="http://www.anneinresidence.com/">Anne</a> is on to something with her mini me posts. It's dang cute.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-5539146686268265072014-06-13T18:30:00.000+08:002014-06-14T13:17:43.576+08:00Violet's Birth Story: The Next Few Days<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://theperpetualstudentswife.blogspot.com/2014/06/violets-birth-story-before-delivery.html">Part 1</a> and <a href="http://theperpetualstudentswife.blogspot.com/2014/06/violets-birth-story-delivery-day.html">Part 2</a>- in case you want more of the saga.</div>
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We made it back to our room and, somehow, Rob convinced the
nursing staff to unwrap her from
her absurdly thick bundle of blankets to get a little daddy-daughter skin to
skin snuggle time. And none of the hospital staff liked it. Won’t she be too
cold? No, aside from my hormonal wife, I’m the most warm thing in the room.
Don’t you want to lay her down to look at her? No, I’d rather try to bond and
get comfortable with my kid by touching <i>and</i>
looking at her.</div>
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Meanwhile, I was still relegated to numb slug status, not
allowed to move or lift my head for 6 hours. I was just being pumped full
of IV fluids, medication, and some
sort of pain management drug
(hallelujah!). But, about an hour had passed and I was being poked and prodded
by nurses, some squishing my abdomen to shrink my uterus back down, some
literally mashing my boobs and yanking on my nipples to see if colostrum had
started. Nope- again- no labor or hormonal cues to start the flow. I need my
kid to latch and nurse for that. But, as a slug on my back and an IV in the
crook of my elbow, I couldn’t try to nurse. Nor could I hold my little girl.
And by the 5 hour post-delivery mark, I started sobbing because yet another
nurse was poking at me and I started crying because I hadn’t yet touched my own
baby. Nurses got to. Rob got to. And he even started getting good at swaddling
her and diapering her after getting meconium pooped-on. </div>
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But, over 5 hours after she was out in the world, and
without the shared experience of labor and delivery, my daughter was still a
perfect stranger. No chance to bond. No getting to snuggle and smell each other
and get acquainted to try to set ourselves up for successful breastfeeding. I
needed to have nutrients in my own system to have energy to produce. Except I
hadn’t done much eating for four days because my kidney stone made me feel so sick
and I wasn’t allowed to ingest anything for 12 hours post-delivery, and then,
only glorified broth. After I passed gas on my no-food empty-bowels (makes
sense), I would be allowed to eat watery congee. Protein? Vegetables? Fruit
juice for an energy burst? Nope, not yet.</div>
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Anyway, I hadn’t touched my kid. And I finally lost it. Yet
another nurse waltzed in, unannounced, and pulled on my nipple for, seemingly,
the fun of it. No asking permission, no warning. Just an abrupt flip of my
comforter, and BAM! And I couldn’t stop myself, I just let my brave face go and
sobbed. Through snot and whimpering, I babbled into a tragic circle about how,
let’s drive the point home, 5 effing hours had passed and I hadn’t been allowed
to hold my own child. Panicked and shocked nurse’s response? Bring her massive
swaddle bundled face and touch it to my cheek. Thank Baby Jesus, our amazing
friend Annie realized what was happening and started barking orders to unroll
my burrito of a child and PUT HER ON THE BED IN HER MOTHER’S ARM. <i>NOW. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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A little later, I was finally allowed to raise the bed into
a more seated position and snuggle more with our girl. With an IV in the crook
of my right elbw, I was still a little stunted in how much I could do with our
girl. She had a quick latch, but wasn’t doing too much nursing- arriving 3 ½
weeks early doesn’t set tiny people up for rockstar sucking skills. And I
couldn’t hold her in my right arm well, so we were a little handicapped while
we were waiting for the 7-ish IV fluid bags to be over with. But, the evening
came and went and we got word that my mom (whose original flight was booked for
May 13) was en route, since my sister is a travel-booking goddess and found a
way to get her on a plane that arrived the afternoon of Violet’s second day.
Which, more than anything, meant that Rob, who was so unbelievably strong for
both of us and was working on sleep deprivation of his very own coutesy of the
miniscule loveseat he’d been sleeping on for days on end, was going to get to
recharge at home. We just had to make it through Violet’s first night and a few
daytime hours. </div>
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This is when shit hits the fan. </div>
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I was running on nothing but three hours of scattered sleep
since I was vigilantly monitoring my need for the next IV fluid and doing my
best to try to change diapers/ get in Rob’s way while he actually changed
diapers and awkward nursing with one arm and a kid with a lazy, sleepy latch.
At 4:45 am, my mommy-sense and adrenaline kicked in and I opened my eyes and
peered into Violet’s hospital bassinet in the early morning light. Just in time
to watch my kid’s face TURN PURPLE. I screamed at Rob, who was so out of sorts
and confused and asleep, to pick her up and try to pat her back if she was
choking. I couldn’t reach Violet to pick her up myself, I couldn’t reach the
call button. Thank goodness he just ran out of the room with her and woke the
poor night nurse at the desk out of a dead sleep, and the three of them
sprinted to NICU. Leaving me tethered to the IV, sobbing, and freaked out. All
alone. Rob called me from outside the NICU, where the nurse and the
Pediatrician on call whisked our girl inside and no information or
explaination, since her English wasn’t strong. But, bless her, she was fast,
efficient, and handled shit like a warrior. (We found out a few days later that
she cried for hours afterwards, poor girl.)</div>
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They all finally came back to our room, and I was able to
spend a little time (who are we kidding- it was hours on end) snuggling Violet
and sobbing and snotting into her swaddle blanket. Google Translate finally
revealed that, shocker of all shockers, her blood sugar was super low. They fed
her a small bottle of formula, her first real meal and she perked back up and
squawked her brains out and was deemed well enough to return to our room. We
gave her a few small bottles over the day, but were conscious about not feeding
her too much in hopes she would be up for nursing a little more heartily and
getting my colostrums moving.</div>
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The day settled down and we moved into a nice rhythm of cat
naps, watching Rob tend to his daughter and the look of shock on his face while
she let loose another meconium poop while she had her tiny butt out in the open
in the midst of a diaper change. An acquaintence of mine, a LaLeche League
leader, planned to come by after she was done with work to talk breastfeeding
strategy and how to get my flow going. Early evening rolled around and she
arrived. As did some random pediatrician, who stated that the hospital should
take Violet to stay in the nursery to be more closely monitored. Not because
she had an emergeny that morning. But, because she was born before 37 weeks!
She’d been in my care for <b>36 hours</b>,
without the hospital’s harrumphing or any indication that this policy might be
something we’d have to come up against. I calmly asked why it was all of a
sudden a problem that she stay with us in the room. I declined to let them take
her, as they kept saying that it’s policy that they recommend she go to be
monitored. And I cried (again, of course) but held fast, politely declining
through sobs and building frustration that everything is fine until it’s a big
bleeping deal and not fine. Back and forth, yo-yo’ing information, highs and
lows, over and over again. Something’s good until it gets turned on its head.
My friend, militant advocate for breastfeeding and German hippy-natural-momma,
finally lost her shit on my behalf and yelled that the kid would not be leaving
the recovery room, and a pediatrician was welcome to come check on her more
often if the department insisted, but she would not be yanked away from the
opportunity to bond more with her mother. So, I sat there in a puddle of my own
snot as the pediatrician obliged, left a waiver to sign, and left.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And not more than 15 minutes after, my mom arrived by cab.
Can we just take a moment to acknowledge that my husband really step up to the
plate in ways he never should have needed to and took care of me and our girl
in our most vulnerable moments. He kicked ass advocating for us, kept me calm,
encouraged me through many more tough choices than we should have needed to
make. And, even considering as much as I hurt for days before Violet’s birth, I
did my best to remain calm and on an even keel to make sure he didn’t feel
overwhelmed by the seriously insane circumstances of our hospital stay. But, my
mom’s arrival was absolute permission to break. To sob big, ugly, confused,
overwhelmed tears. To shut down. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSd7eY_VkDuXRc6MB6RWkLtBxtxbhAWdCPdVSd5LaXVsGOW99xqjiaPQjVujTm2V8LmiuIw29c3MNRbgrMqwW8flecRTk656ha-QnmGnFQajPibC-uvgDaGcXyDOjguCH5gRGq8eyuH43q/s1600/2014-05-01+17.06.07.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSd7eY_VkDuXRc6MB6RWkLtBxtxbhAWdCPdVSd5LaXVsGOW99xqjiaPQjVujTm2V8LmiuIw29c3MNRbgrMqwW8flecRTk656ha-QnmGnFQajPibC-uvgDaGcXyDOjguCH5gRGq8eyuH43q/s1600/2014-05-01+17.06.07.jpeg" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Low res, but this wa seconds after my mom arrived. I'm so happy I have this photo from my friend. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3yE39oeTXMAG6QPIdrR44SpSrpwdFbggbukhD4RjnB1LxM-MXWiXkuFHCrPSWl-OlMT1SgZV4_j-auy5_NHZuY13S7meC5BWZ3V-lHCOm91066PnZLayk9SNBKTC4rtGSC-w9srBtpVkK/s1600/IMG_7798.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3yE39oeTXMAG6QPIdrR44SpSrpwdFbggbukhD4RjnB1LxM-MXWiXkuFHCrPSWl-OlMT1SgZV4_j-auy5_NHZuY13S7meC5BWZ3V-lHCOm91066PnZLayk9SNBKTC4rtGSC-w9srBtpVkK/s1600/IMG_7798.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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Rob went home and got a well deserved night of good rest.
And we all puttered through four more days of hospital stay with little
incident. In fact, we had two mornings with adorable bathtimes. The sweet nurse
who was traumatized by Violet’s blue-face sugar crash NICU visit was the one
who gave her the baths. We had so many wonderful visitors, including colleagues
from both the School of Music faculty and my office girls. We were gifted
homemade soups as I was allowed to eat more. And, finally, check out day came!
Before we were released, Violet was even treated to a little swimming session.
With an audience. Which was hysterical for both the floaty around her tiny neck
and little butt cheeks floating lazily in the tiny pool, as well as the massive
audience of Chinese people plastered to the observation window.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl3fRPXwU_VSTzftCCia3u6r1yP4hS_rWhcfSQrYPu-wEGl7vfbJlJOGqaYxJ32D22AdEHvOphFHOFgfoZuwJWD_yhQqLVjepDyWbG-C3tsMborJYurdFbPCcM-4eXFS6WXpU3i3dNT1u3/s1600/IMG_7824.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl3fRPXwU_VSTzftCCia3u6r1yP4hS_rWhcfSQrYPu-wEGl7vfbJlJOGqaYxJ32D22AdEHvOphFHOFgfoZuwJWD_yhQqLVjepDyWbG-C3tsMborJYurdFbPCcM-4eXFS6WXpU3i3dNT1u3/s1600/IMG_7824.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYhJUxhpwIhAryN7kRFmcv9cuqlcRjFioK6jidCeYkzIzD3tBsulTOG5wgMr5wH-Wa0TNN__LK_MAuZSEQInJ6Z3SriUUHFTU0zmsE2PRv6kjEduE9Lp3BUHZSNvDtIsX5HFnpUoXgz6-Q/s1600/IMG_7804.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYhJUxhpwIhAryN7kRFmcv9cuqlcRjFioK6jidCeYkzIzD3tBsulTOG5wgMr5wH-Wa0TNN__LK_MAuZSEQInJ6Z3SriUUHFTU0zmsE2PRv6kjEduE9Lp3BUHZSNvDtIsX5HFnpUoXgz6-Q/s1600/IMG_7804.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This sweet nurse is my own personal angel</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZjpfQETXJIugIXA6PH7oHpISiKedtM88m11aS9yhQdsnz3Tx8mspQC2pCkk8Lgti3MGVYhcQgDmhkO33zRqaGKX4bSDdAjjk2XOoSbAiEh-2cNu1U3yeCpxiARt-lsr0hvAJid7leFAQu/s1600/IMG_8088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZjpfQETXJIugIXA6PH7oHpISiKedtM88m11aS9yhQdsnz3Tx8mspQC2pCkk8Lgti3MGVYhcQgDmhkO33zRqaGKX4bSDdAjjk2XOoSbAiEh-2cNu1U3yeCpxiARt-lsr0hvAJid7leFAQu/s1600/IMG_8088.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<!--EndFragment--><br />
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Eventually, we got the boot and happily went home. And, of
course, it’s not been sunshine and rainbows, but we’re all so glad to have the
seriously unnecessary hospital absurd chain of events behind us. I can’t
believe I’m saying this, but the 6 days of kidney stone was totally worth it.
Do I wish I had the benefit of Western pain management rather than the “hang
tight, take nothing, and wait it out” Chinese mentality? For sure. But, 6 weeks
in, mommyhood is pretty awesome. I’m so happy to have this darling girl in my
life!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-73602914393567823212014-06-12T18:30:00.000+08:002014-06-14T13:16:31.280+08:00Violet's Birth Story: Delivery Day<div style="text-align: justify;">
4 am on Wednesday, April 30 rolled around and I impatiently
waited and stretched and arched my back to work out the 6 ½ day kidney stone
pain with no success before the nursing staff came to prep me at 7:30. Did you
know that kidney stones in pregnancy, while pretty darn common, should only
last 48-60 hours. Mine lasted 156. That’s nice, I guess.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskVIIpG98m0hc_LTgGnAPmKBr7piO4nnKpGergCl01X5ZyKrwFOEWx3vh8aSXdjmNULUqPl7v6pZ18H0D3DhgUNc6c2rtTpNcIo0e4SPdnIMw2qpP4JoiEqT8ftfS792VH10Vvrgfq-yb/s1600/IMG_8091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskVIIpG98m0hc_LTgGnAPmKBr7piO4nnKpGergCl01X5ZyKrwFOEWx3vh8aSXdjmNULUqPl7v6pZ18H0D3DhgUNc6c2rtTpNcIo0e4SPdnIMw2qpP4JoiEqT8ftfS792VH10Vvrgfq-yb/s1600/IMG_8091.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My best friend and her boys- Wahoo! Baby Time</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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Aaanyway, Rob wasn’t allowed to join me in the OR, but I had
the head nurse, who was warm and kind and spoke English, with me, and our dear
friend Annie, who was an incredible advocate for us during our long stay and
many medical confusions and misinformation yo-yo’ing and the IV and fetal heart
monitoring fiascos, was with Rob, anxiously waiting outside in the hall. I was
wheeled in, got ANOTHER IV line in the inside crook of my right elbow, and then
received my visit from the anesthesiologist. A quiet, nimble angel of a man who
was calm, efficient and made the needle insertion last a grand total of 45
seconds and felt like two mini spinal massages and two placements of a dot
marker with a ballpoint pen. I didn’t think he’d finished yet since it didn’t
hurt at all, but then my legs felt warm and ta-da! It’s go time!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Unlike American OR visits for a C-section, I didn’t have a
nice screen and open space on my chest for snuggling my little one once they
arrived. I had a wad of hospital-grade comforter crammed over my abdomen and
blocking my view of the man-handling down near my nether regions. It didn’t
hurt, I wasn’t panicked, but I was distinctly aware of the jostling and yanking
at the incision site. My whole body rocked side to side as they suctioned goodness knows what
and they had to pull my kid’s tiny butt out first, then man-handle some more to
get her little head out from its snuggly position of being wedged between the
uterine wall and placenta. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Then, finally, a big scream for such a little person and I
knew I was a parent. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Boy or girl? Boy or girl? I asked at least four times before
anyone else in the room stopped gawking at my mysterious little one long enough
to realize I was asking a question. I thought, all the way through my
pregnancy, that it was going to be a little boy. We didn’t want to find out,
and I had a sense of “little boy energy”. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Nope. She’s a girl!</div>
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<br /></div>
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I asked to see her and they had her literally bundled up to
her eyeballs, but they brought her up to my face and touched her soft little
forehead to mine. Beautiful round
eyes, crinkly forehead all twisted up in concern over the
no-labor-and-hormonal-cues-abrubt-removal she’d just endured. And blond
freaking hair. Oh, geez- she’s going to look just like her dad and I’m going to
seemingly have had nothing to do with her genetics.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKMdyDcyDmUDJkUFl29itKOTi-5ndLyaT0RiB5_xSOqYcF3NsFE4rKQZ0opLDWxFUSzkN6P3vIOiBYbvzJOPPgIEQemnMnsam6foCzU1h2VBOa7QIvuwoeP5yDe7PuodVMFbyDwyU5pTTs/s1600/IMG_7981.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKMdyDcyDmUDJkUFl29itKOTi-5ndLyaT0RiB5_xSOqYcF3NsFE4rKQZ0opLDWxFUSzkN6P3vIOiBYbvzJOPPgIEQemnMnsam6foCzU1h2VBOa7QIvuwoeP5yDe7PuodVMFbyDwyU5pTTs/s1600/IMG_7981.JPG" height="640" width="360" /></a></div>
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I was wheeled out into an OR annex while they popped out
into the hallway with her to show Rob. He’d guessed girl the whole time, and
the nurse happily exclaimed that he was right! They wheeled me out and our
entourage made its way back up to our room where I was plopped back onto my
recovery bed and promptly ignored, unless it was to poke at me or arrange
something with my IV line.</div>
<div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXjTXX2RH9_kkfT2NqYurlnNtI7KcPycnuQDV3Rqd3U-J-EbyyFyN_1wGBQy8I69DQfLe8zlR6ocqglrCR5LnHGCpn5lJZKBO5V-6ptmIDfT6v8dgzoS7SSB-gTFwP3uiVDAFp0whrz8WX/s1600/IMG_7782.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXjTXX2RH9_kkfT2NqYurlnNtI7KcPycnuQDV3Rqd3U-J-EbyyFyN_1wGBQy8I69DQfLe8zlR6ocqglrCR5LnHGCpn5lJZKBO5V-6ptmIDfT6v8dgzoS7SSB-gTFwP3uiVDAFp0whrz8WX/s1600/IMG_7782.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Violet August, April 30 at 8:38 am, 2700 grams, 48 cm</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Wo5ZOHl3xxQBSdKahGZ-ii6brx1oWGwmh1L8l5_DRnqHaocqJdZopgbeM2P_9CkcEkgoipFtPDOEpfyyRAK1ULKhWhwL8cSZBzCKb1SgYBA8fYd0bFcegq8I-HEa027qrTPoZQ0Ow1qF/s1600/P1370523.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Wo5ZOHl3xxQBSdKahGZ-ii6brx1oWGwmh1L8l5_DRnqHaocqJdZopgbeM2P_9CkcEkgoipFtPDOEpfyyRAK1ULKhWhwL8cSZBzCKb1SgYBA8fYd0bFcegq8I-HEa027qrTPoZQ0Ow1qF/s1600/P1370523.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8jaSdMU9wmCfQvz1BDfqUHsyELX1_n_eqBQ3fgg7xJUETFSACCaaIFRhsVOp0V12hh1S35wsfBF3AQm2Y9eoD4ojr1ZKaVVSvsueZcrH9sH1pgSBWO1EXRf7-f8l4xWtLSHbydtZd34yA/s1600/IMG_7781.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8jaSdMU9wmCfQvz1BDfqUHsyELX1_n_eqBQ3fgg7xJUETFSACCaaIFRhsVOp0V12hh1S35wsfBF3AQm2Y9eoD4ojr1ZKaVVSvsueZcrH9sH1pgSBWO1EXRf7-f8l4xWtLSHbydtZd34yA/s1600/IMG_7781.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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But, our baby girl was out in the big bad world! We were
officially a family of three!</div>
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<br /></div>
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If you need to catch up- <a href="http://theperpetualstudentswife.blogspot.com/2014/06/violets-birth-story-before-delivery.html">Part 1</a> and <a href="http://theperpetualstudentswife.blogspot.com/2014/06/violets-birth-story-next-few-days.html">Part 3</a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-15585961638774100022014-06-11T18:30:00.000+08:002014-06-14T13:15:27.002+08:00Violet's Birth Story: Before Delivery<div style="text-align: justify;">
I think I'm finally ready to tell Violet's birth story. Her
delivery itself was fairly anti-climatic. As expected, we had no real choice but
to give birth to her via C-section since she never budged from breech position
and the surgical team was efficient, calm, and capable. But, the rest of her story is
really unusual.</div>
<br />
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It actually all started on April 24, a Thursday, when I did a lot of
walking after my Bumps and Babes group, a weekly gathering of international
moms at a coffee shop in downtown Suzhou. I got a little thirsty and probably dehydrated, but my muscles felt
pretty good doing about 5 km of walking through the morning and afternoon.
Thursday night however, I started feeling a sharp pain in my lower back on the
left side. It went away on Friday, but came back with a vengeance on Friday
night. By Saturday morning, I knew I needed to skip my second chiropractic
visit in Shanghai and go to the hospital to see what was wrong.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJVKeI-fIjBi_rKYcQ5HCu8EKUw89ADETaP8KYVWJlckSUerc0uj9UNQGMXl8GnLU3KQdZPlZtVOwxoeAY-XN7Okqb-xcAMLnws3dzBUl8ishi8KVj-si7BR5seCx-XDjnG9Bhyphenhyphen7gnorNX/s1600/IMG_7672.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJVKeI-fIjBi_rKYcQ5HCu8EKUw89ADETaP8KYVWJlckSUerc0uj9UNQGMXl8GnLU3KQdZPlZtVOwxoeAY-XN7Okqb-xcAMLnws3dzBUl8ishi8KVj-si7BR5seCx-XDjnG9Bhyphenhyphen7gnorNX/s1600/IMG_7672.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joint baby shower the Wednesday before I started feeling crappy </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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The Kowloon VIP clinic (with English speaking nurses) only
had hours on Saturday from 8 AM through noon. I also knew that there was no OB
in the clinic on Saturdays, so I was hopeful the nurses would do their best to
help me, and we arrived at 7:50 with no appointment and crossed our fingers
they wouldn’t be too busy. They let me see the general practitioner first, who
then recommended I go to get an ultrasound on both my kidneys and the baby. I
was crossing my fingers that it was simply a urinary tract infection (*snort,
like a UTI is sunshine and rainbows and not at all a very uncomfortable medical
problem) and they would give me some sort of medicine and let me go home. Not
the case at all. The ultrasound showed the baby was fine, but didn't show
anything in my kidneys and then nurse decided to take me to the urologist to
find out more. True to Chinese medicine, and their views of what can be done
during pregnancy, the urologist recommended <i>nothing</i> be done, that a kidney stone, if it was that, should
pass on its own in a few short days and is quite common during late pregnancy.
We also didn't have any real idea of whether or not anything was happening as
far as my cervix was concerned or if perhaps this was an early sign of labor.
They recommended since no OB was at the VIP clinic that day, that I should
admit myself to the hospital to see an OB in the L&D department. I agreed,
but unfortunately the A Squad wasn't in during weekends, nor was my regular
doctor. So, I got placed into a double occupancy room and was told that since
my kid was still presenting breech and the head was likely lodged up next to
the placenta, preventing her from turning (new news to me, thanks top-notch
communication!) they wouldn't likely send me home. Because if (BIG IF) I went
into labor at home and it required a 25 minute cab ride late at night to get in
for emergency, and if the cord dropped out, we'd all be in a lot of trouble
really quickly. And, as a foreigner, they didn't want to take any chances of
putting me and my little nugget in harm's way. </div>
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So, there I was, being told by nervous weekend doctors that
my mystery medical condition around my kidney would likely necessitate getting
my baby out ASAP. Because Braxton Hicks contractions and a softening cervix
(finally got an OB exam!) but no dilation means labor must be imminent. No. You
may not remove my baby the same day I'm admitted for kidney pain (not contractions!
kidney pain!) because you're all freaked about a white lady who is hurting on
your watch. I know what I signed up for in having a baby and a pre-emptive
C-section by the B Squad is not it.</div>
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Saturday night we held off the medical community in our
double occupancy room and Rob slept on the hardest, most 1950's metal fold-out
conversion chair known to man. I can't thank my lucky stars enough that during
our trip to Beijing we connected with a really wonderful dog boarding facility
that does pick-ups and many walks and snuggle time. So, my main concern of how
to manage Miles’ care for a week was totally handled. He is my first baby,
after all. By Sunday at lunchtime, a single room had opened up and you'd better
believe we jumped at the chance to upgrade. Thank goodness we did, because we'd
be there a loooong time. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Want to guess how many refills of that water tank we went through trying to flush out my kidney stone? </td></tr>
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My kidney stone kept me up most of Thursday night, almost
all of Friday night, and, with the exception of a combined 2 1/4 hours of
sleep, Saturday night was a bust. I spent the night on hands and knees, arching
my back to try to relieve and stretch out some of the pressure, hopeful that
the stone would flush itself out with the movement and the massive amounts of
water I was drinking. Also, the kidney pain was enormous if I laid on my back
or side, and I was so nauseated, I couldn't stand to eat anything. By Sunday
afternoon, I was really weak, exhausted, and a weird mix of feeling defeated
and resigned to the possibility of having our regular doctor deliver our tiny
one by C-section first thing Monday, and hopeful that we could hold off longer.
</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling shittier by the day. With bruises all over my arms from failed IV attempts.</td></tr>
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The two factors to make the decision were: is the baby's
estimated birth weight and lung function good? And what's the possibility of
this stone passing and giving me some relief? Because three days of no sleep to
speak of and a light meal once a day wasn't serving my body well, which meant
kiddo wasn't getting the in-utero benefit either. But, I was miserable and, as
someone with a really high pain tolerance, I was pissed about feeling defeated
but resigned, and even a little bit at peace, to have the C-section first thing
Monday. My constipated, nauseated, exhausted body needed a reprieve. Real bad.</div>
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We finally got some answers first thing Monday morning- a
sweet young OB and my regular doctor finally slowed down and combed through my
charts and ultrasounds and recalculated my possible conception date.</div>
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Oh, that's another quick story- I'd been on the NuvaRing for
years and years (starting using it when it first came out and they were selling
it for $5 a pop.) and with my tiny body, was using it on a 5 week cycle rather
than 4 weeks since the hormone, even at it's low dose, was better suited to
allowing me to stretch out my periods. TMI? Don't care. Anyway, we had one
cycle after I stopped using it last summer where we didn't get pregnant and,
instead of my last-10-years’ 35 day normal hormone-induced cycle, it stretched
out to 42 days. So, what is my own personal norm? 35 on hormones? 42? 48? I
don't know, and so my due date ranged from May 15-May 30... meaning I was
hanging out in the hospital at what was anywhere from week 35.5 (which was too
early for comfort for giving birth) to week 37 (and the baby would have been
pretty much fine by anyone's standards). Okay, onward.</div>
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So, we all finally concluded that we were now at the
beginning of 36 weeks, not into 37 weeks. But, the estimated birthweight would
likely be okay per the ultrasound notes (estimated around 2650 grams the week
before) and her lungs were noted to be developed enough. Not that I'd ever know
that, my ultrasound notes were all in Chinese and not translated. Oh, well. We
decided that scheduling the C-section didn't make sense right away and I should
try to see how long I could hold out with the pain. 10 days (IN THE HOSPITAL-
NO GOING HOME!) of waiting and letting the little one bake was the goal. </div>
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I quickly started to realize that we weren't going to make it 10
days. I was given 4 attempted IV lines to administer some sort of pain
medication (why I had to wait until mid-afternoon on Monday to try some sort of
pain management rather than pregnant-lady toughing it out, I don't know), one
of which was inserted way wrong on the side of my wrist, which nicked a nerve
and bloated my forearm with "the stronger, 'spicy' version of the IV drug."
Super. My kidney hurt, but that effing IV ordeal was absolutely traumatizing. I
don’t hate needles, but I sobbed into my friend’s shoulder for over 20 minutes
while I tried to calm down and process what just happened to the nerves in my
right hand. It literally felt like I had blades shooting out from my knuckles,
Wolverine style, when the wrist nerves got hit with the needle. And it didn't
even provide any relief. Neither did the two shots of something else
administered in my rump, so that was a bust. Add on two more nights of
sleeplessness and insane kidney pain (made a thousand times worse by being
asked to lay very still on my very sore kidney for 30-40 minutes 6 or more
times a day to do fetal heart monitoring on a breech and wiggling baby, usually
at night when it was the most unbearable and when the bitchiest nurses were
around. Or rather not around enough to pay any attention to the fact that the
baby wiggled out of position and, surprise, surprise, the monitors weren't
appropriately placed. It's 2 am, what else do you have going on? It sure would
have been nice to not have 25 minute monitoring sessions/torture double in
length because the night teams couldn't be troubled to stay and keep the
monitors in proper position. Also super traumatizing.). By Tuesday afternoon, I was feeling pretty mentally, emotionally, and physically borken (it takes a LOT to wear me down) and Rob and I decided my body had enough and this baby wasn't being kept any
healthier inside since I wasn't able to eat. We agreed to the 8 am slot on
Wednesday, April 30 to meet our little one.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Final Bump photo. With 12 day old polish, spider veins, Chinese-y flannel hospital pajamas, and my 4th IV line. It was the "size of needle they use for kids." And was the only one that didn't hurt like a sonofableep.</td></tr>
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I know this sounds like the world's most tragic birth story, and it was probably more absurd than what would have gone down than if we'd been in the States, but we just did our best to hang tough and keep positive attitudes until our kiddo arrived. I really am okay and SO happy to have my little peanut out in the big bad world with us to smooch on and snuggle. I've been craving kids for my entire adult life and she's a gift, but darnit if I didn't get a little more than I bargained for by giving birth in China.</div>
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Check out <a href="http://theperpetualstudentswife.blogspot.com/2014/06/violets-birth-story-delivery-day.html">Part 2</a> and <a href="http://theperpetualstudentswife.blogspot.com/2014/06/violets-birth-story-next-few-days.html">Part 3</a>!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-79792397748681036752014-05-16T19:00:00.000+08:002014-05-16T19:00:08.988+08:00Flashback: Maternity Buttondown<div style="text-align: justify;">
And one last maternity look. My drafts folder is cleared out after this! It's kind of fun looking back on my bump and fondly remembering what it felt like to have Violet in there, squirming and hiccuping in my belly. </div>
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So long 'til next time, baby bump. It sure was fun getting to dress you up and get creative with regular clothes to avoid hideous Chinese maternity fashions. But, being totally truthful, I'm so much happier having my baby girl in my arms rather than lodged up under my ribcage.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-49919389178423102832014-05-15T19:00:00.000+08:002014-05-15T19:00:02.629+08:00Flashback: Scarf and ChucksIf you're thinking my foot and neck gear <a href="http://theperpetualstudentswife.blogspot.com/2014/05/flashback-maternity-dress.html">looks familiar,</a> you're right on. Lazy dressing and accessories at its worst. Recycled scarf and Converse pairing, because the casual grey is oh so good. And slouchy maternity jeans and white long sleeved tee. So simple, so easy. I love no fuss looks like this, especially when I was pregnant. Because, really, who was I trying to impress?<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-83760753466403629792014-05-14T19:00:00.000+08:002014-05-14T19:00:05.620+08:00Flashback: Too-Small Tops<div style="text-align: justify;">
Oh, Kate, you shoulda stopped trying to wear your shorty shirts. You wore this when you still had 5 weeks until your due date. There was a decided lack of shirt stretch happening. Good try, lady. Next time, stick with rotating your small handful of maternity shirts and stop trying to sausage-encase yourself in your XS collection. It's not a good look.</div>
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Hope I learned my lesson- don't wear stuff optimistically, I just look like the Stay-puffed marshmallow man if it's too tight. Hehehe, it was a cute concept, but the fit didn't work in my favor. At all. </div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-18737860390561582392014-05-13T22:37:00.000+08:002014-05-13T22:37:31.799+08:00Flashback: Maternity Dress<div style="text-align: justify;">
Before we get too far along, I have a few maternity styles to share with you guys that I never got the chance to post. Not many, but a few fun looks that we're nice nods to springtime. </div>
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This dress was a maternity MVP. So comfortable, so stretchy, and so cheap. Thanks, H&M, for being abundant in China and for having good stretchy dress options. One size up, this one was perfect. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-14053177768894747172014-05-12T23:01:00.001+08:002014-05-13T22:39:14.783+08:00Mother's Day, First Edition<div>
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I was bursting with love this Mother's Day. It was my very first as a new mom to this sweet little girl, my own mom has been able to drop everything and come take care of my little family and experience the sweetness and peace of loving on a brand new baby. There was a soft rain on Sunday and being holed up at home for most of the day, sipping tea and working our way through childhood Disney live action favorites, three generations all together and snuggled on the couch, was pretty special. </div>
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All you mommas out there, I hope you had a peaceful and love-filled day celebrating the joy of family and motherhood!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372067676445540110.post-48399981621720907922014-05-05T17:09:00.001+08:002014-05-05T17:12:06.903+08:00Welcome, Baby McClure!What an exhausting couple of weeks. Mostly emotionally, despite my best tries to keep an even keel. BUT! There's someone I'd like you all to meet. <div><br></div><div>Welcome to the center of my universe, baby girl (sorry, Rob)!</div><div><br></div><div>Introducing Violet August McClure. Born April 30, 2014 at 8:38 am at a scrawny but healthy 2700 g and 48 cm. She's earlier than anticipated, but oh so perfect for our little family. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJLBEs1LUEVQbt6HiEvZ5_FgicfqybaES7Mm0Q3HE8gNQuzyRuBGk6pq4Rf3qpOgzXMpTFJBMCcooFUc4__mBefgstofHF0xUGkRh7y-ap8KZEEsCQ1oey0Z_vzbUYMdcQNi8dV6s3HKUF/s640/blogger-image--1750294722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJLBEs1LUEVQbt6HiEvZ5_FgicfqybaES7Mm0Q3HE8gNQuzyRuBGk6pq4Rf3qpOgzXMpTFJBMCcooFUc4__mBefgstofHF0xUGkRh7y-ap8KZEEsCQ1oey0Z_vzbUYMdcQNi8dV6s3HKUF/s640/blogger-image--1750294722.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP2ddnxI5rzAC9PnZW83EKF3TXcHyF9qmeLwlHoYyYE51S4Zd4iob61kIfmcU8eRXlENhn4LIPar-4UOD8VgA9BxpCxZ5j3RrQ-1LUBf-tzSJiNo3Lu_xw4SHZTdF8rDtknJz5KjuxoHT0/s640/blogger-image--117359502.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP2ddnxI5rzAC9PnZW83EKF3TXcHyF9qmeLwlHoYyYE51S4Zd4iob61kIfmcU8eRXlENhn4LIPar-4UOD8VgA9BxpCxZ5j3RrQ-1LUBf-tzSJiNo3Lu_xw4SHZTdF8rDtknJz5KjuxoHT0/s640/blogger-image--117359502.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ZCJgcgZjPTR_xjdTw8MXMvh6hTpC5ivgPKJH9fEaoe1fkVjuxGL9N0nKYHA4Vu_5rAzkEY-Va5niWRbGjjVFsKpjq8AleIo0nbnP_npvIFNO31WrWW8XvdpvAZLzkyUAZIeJnB9hY50e/s640/blogger-image-1638432492.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ZCJgcgZjPTR_xjdTw8MXMvh6hTpC5ivgPKJH9fEaoe1fkVjuxGL9N0nKYHA4Vu_5rAzkEY-Va5niWRbGjjVFsKpjq8AleIo0nbnP_npvIFNO31WrWW8XvdpvAZLzkyUAZIeJnB9hY50e/s640/blogger-image-1638432492.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div>Don't be fooled by her close up glamour shot- she's a peanut!</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02238108918483120291noreply@blogger.com0