Palmer's Birth Story

Palmer Lowell
October 5, 2012
7 pounds, 7 ounces & 21 inches

As you may have guessed by my absence, I had my baby and officially have NO time. The only reason I'm writing this is because I'm piecing together several different drafts that I haven't had time to finish, and I'm choosing to ignore the fact that Henry is standing with his hands on the TV in a poopy diaper. I'm really mad at my friends with multiple children who didn't tell me how hard this is. I am also wondering how these bishes with 8 kids have these fabulous blogs and etsy shops. I suspect crack. At the very least they are pilfering their children's Ritalin.

It's so funny to look back at my October 4 entry because little did I know, that the gender of my child would be revealed in less than 24 hours. Hahaha. Mr. Palmer Lowell was born October 5, 2012 at 10:24 p.m. He weighed in at 7.7 pounds and measured 21 inches in length. I believe he has tripled in size because he loves the booby.

Palmer's birth story is right out of a sitcom, so here goes:

As you may recall, I was a little worried about Ryan being in Orlando for *work*. I just had a bad feeling about him being gone. I literally looked at October 5 when I first got pregnant and guessed that's when I'd go into labor.

And October 5 was a very productive day. I picked up a gift for Ryan for putting up with my crazy ass for nine months (a massage!). I put my gym membership on hold. I went to the DMV and renewed my driver's license. I will now forever smile at my license even though Ryan claims I look like a slutty redneck in the picture. His description is pretty accurate, actually.

After a productive day, I went home to put Henry down for a nap and take one myself. When I woke up, I was starving and went to make a peanut butter sandwich. As I was walking back upstairs, I felt a pop and a stream of water down my leg. Oh shit. I dash to the bathroom and call Ryan. Remember, Ryan was still in Orlando *working*.

Ryan: "Hey! I'm just waiting to board the plane"
Me: "Well see if you can get on an earlier flight because my water just broke."
Ryan: "Are you sure!?!"
Me: "Um, there's a puddle in the kitchen. Yes."
Ryan: Click.

After checking with the airline, there were no other flights that were earlier, so Ryan had to wait it out. That was at 3. His flight didn't take off until 4 and was due to land around 6:30. Keep in mind my labor was 4 hours long with Henry, so we were worried, and I felt my worst nightmare was coming true.

Thank God my parents and Ryan's parents both live within 3 miles from us. My mom and MIL came over to keep Henry occupied and take care of me. Except I really didn't want to be taken care of. This is my MO during labor, I've come to discover. I was trying to keep my mind off the fact that this child was going to be born within the next 24 hours whether I liked it or not and not move a muscle to keep the contractions from starting. I kept myself distracted by watching episodes of Hoarders.

Side note: WTF is up with these people who just don't take the trash out? I mean, I totally get the people who have 3,453 empty peanut butter jars and 234 glass baby food jars because one type is for soup and one is for crafts. Perfect sense. It's the people who throw empty pizza boxes and used diabetes syringes around that I don't get. Lock it up, people.

I started having contractions around 5 and called the doctor around 6:45 when they were becoming regular and strong. Of course the only doctor I disliked from the practice was on call. (She had been trying to get me to induce and I was all, "Dude. This is a moot point. I will not be making it to 40 weeks. I will not be having a 10 pound baby". I don't care where you went to med school, my mother's instinct has been spot on... even when it came to the gender of my child despite my denial). So for some reason she starts saying I might need to look into using Pitocin. What? Why would you ever push Pitocin on a woman who has a history of having a four hour birth? Needless to say I panicked. And then Ryan walked into the room.

To be continued...

A Letter to My Husband on Why I Spent Another $100 at Buy Buy Baby

Picture this:

After three nights of being woken up no less than four times, you drag yourself out of bed to tackle a morning at home alone with a two and a half year old and a three month old. Tasks include: loading the dishes from the night before, taking out the overflowing trash, picking up 2yo's clothes from the bathroom and husband's underwear, getting dinner in the crockpot, pumping milk, loading the washing machine, getting 2yo more cereal-no pancakes-no-juice-no-water, getting 2 yo dressed with clean diaper, getting 3 mo dressed with clean diaper, and continuing your fruitless search for Wall-E's other wheel.

You finally get out the door, of course without a shower or even make up on, and head into buy buy baby to return a breast pump bandeau that didn't fit you, another twist of the knife of your plateaued baby weight loss. As soon as you walk in the store, your 3 mo, who has been crying incessantly in the car, now turns of the volume as if knowing he now has an audience. Meanwhile, your 2 yo has decided he wants everything. He wants it all. He wants it now. You somehow manage to return your breast bandeau and head to the humidifiers to find one to ward off an impending cold that your 2 yo is threatening you with. People are staring because the baby is still crying and now the 2 yo is screaming too because you won't dismantle the fire truck lamp off the display. You grab a humidifier that is not $140 because who the fuck needs a humidifier that is $140?

You head to the bottle section to buy a bottle that is supposed to be good for babies reluctant to drink out of a bottle, screaming children in tow. Thank God you spot it like Waldo in a sea of crap because now the 3 mo is threatening to shit himself he's crying so hard. You take him out of the car seat and give your 2 yo a box of cookie monster cookies. The children are quiet, but you can't quite maneuver the cart and knock a few things over in your attempt to find the other recommended bottle. You find the bottle and congratulate yourself on just buying the $17 nipple rather than the $19 bottle because you already own the bottles. WTF? The nipples are $17! Jesus Christ. Let's hope the $6 bottle works so you can take this faux nipple back.

You realize at this point that maybe having your hands free while you pump is a good idea so that you can multi-task. The bandeau's are $35 though. You grab the same bandeau you just returned only a size larger... too late. Your 2 yo has spotted a Yo Gabba Gabba toddler bed and will rest at nothing until he can play with it. The only problem? It's a display. On the ceiling. 

At this point you remember you are dangerously low on diapers for the 3 mo who has, incidentally, spit up on your shoulder. You maneuver your cart over to the diapers, taking out a display of fruit snacks along the way, grab the diapers and take the long way back out to avoid passing the toys. 

Your 2 yo is demanding water-no-juice-no Jake and the Neverland pirate, so you turn around, nearly hitting customers coming into the store. You finally make it to the counter and hand over the 5 coupons you have. Guess what? Only two of them work. Thankful that you at least saved $20, you pry pilfered toys out of your 2 yo's hand, put the 3 mo back into his carseat and head back to the car. Both children are unsatisfied at this point-- the 2 yo because he didn't get anything but cookie monster cookies and the 3 mo because he's back in his carseat. 

Realizing it is dangerously close to naptime and you just dont have it in you to make a lunch that your 2 yo will undoubtedly reject, you go to McDonald's because at least you can get a Diet Coke. Yes. You do want it super-sized. The woman has to ask you to repeat your order several times because your 3 mo is diabolical at this point since the car has stopped and the 2 yo is screaming too because the Finding Nemo DVD has stalled again. 

You drive out of the parking lot, trying to plan how you are going to get a shower when your husband calls. He wants to know why you just spent another $100 at Buy Buy Baby. You feebly explain the nipple vs. bottle trial and he prods you with questions about what the rest of the $80 was spent on. Your eldest is screaming for water-no-juice. Your youngest has gone catatonic. He will awaken to punish you for your sins and an anger will rise up out of him like a Phoenix out of the ashes, the likes of which you have never seen. 

And I ask you. Would you give a FUCK how much you had spent at Buy Buy Baby and why?

I am dedicating this music video to you husband, oh sweet fucktard that you are, for playing with fire today.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wmin5WkOuPw

Sincerely,

Your beautiful, patient, kind wife