Pregnant Pauses #2: Manicure Tips

Infertility offers unique struggles to all who endure it. Pregnant Pauses is a series of posts to help parents-in-waiting find comfort and hope in knowing others understand and endure, too.

The pregnancy test was negative. Again.  So I wiped away the tears and forced myself to apply lipstick and mascara.  The tune to “I am Woman” played in my head as I decided to reward myself for simply being a girl—no matter what my inability to conceive might communicate.  And what could be more of a feminine affirmation than getting a pedicure?

After years of having my life scheduled and charted for doctors’ perusal, I felt like a diva strolling to a salon without an appointment.  I walked into the shop to see rows of people in massage chairs.  Beautiful women with sleek hair and Asian eyes lounged beneath hazy lights, waiting for customers.

A lady approached me with unfettered friendliness. “Hi, I’m Kayla.”  She looked down at the vibrant polish in my hand. “Oh, you pick good culah.”  She escorted me to a chair where my back was massaged and my feet rested in warm, swirling pools of comfort. 

Relaxation started to close my eyes, but Kayla jarred me into reality. “Where you from? I from Tennessee.”

I raised an eyebrow.  “Really?”

She nodded so enthusiastically I worried she might get whiplash. “My whooooole life.”

“Um, yeah, I could tell the accent wasn’t from around here.”          

She smiled. “I from Nabil.”

“Pardon?”

“Naaabville.” And she mimed playing a guitar.

“Oh! Nashville,” I said, relieved she liked charades.

I nestled into my chair. The massage, the pedicure, the cheer was not so bad. The indulgence distracted me from that aching, hollow sensation trying to take hold of my being.

Then Kayla abruptly changed to an inevitable subject. “You got kids?”      

“No.” I swallowed hard, the tune of “I am woman” still playing in my head. “Not yet.”

She paused in her work.  “Why not you got kids?”

My mind screamed, “Because I’m barren and not a real woman!” Instead, I said, “It just hasn’t happened yet.”

When she looked up, my stomach tightened as it does when I sense someone’s pity.  I tried to sit a little taller so that she wouldn’t sense my depression. I shrugged and attempted what I hoped was a Hey-what-can-you-do? sort of grin.

Kayla nodded. “I got baby 6 weeks old. His daddy not lub him.” She squished her face and bounced her head from side to side.  “He cry. I think ‘cause he know.” She placed a fingernail file to her forehead and nods. “He know his daddy don’t lub him.” She shrugged. “I not want him at first eeder. I want ‘bortion. But I lub him now. It okay.”

My horror must have shown because she quickly patted my hand.  “You get baby.”  Her eyes lit up. “You try tricks?  There lots of tricks.”

“We’ve tried more tricks than the Kama Sutra. We even added a few doctors and a lot of money just for kicks.”

Her eyes widened. “You try tricks then.  Maybe it happen when you not expect it.”

She gathered her things and pointed to the massage chair.  “You no worry. Stay long as you like. No one bodder you here.”

Outside the window, a little girl with baby doll curls and chubby cheeks wailed, impressing me with her volume until it became annoying.  Her mother, looking miserable, alternately placated and scolded the child.  Gazing through the window was as close as the mom was getting to pampering any time soon.
Sighing, I clicked my chair remote for another session of massage and settled in. 

Mother's Day is a difficult time for infertile couples. This weekend, celebrate the beautiful gift of motherhood. However, please do not put someone on the spot and ask when she will be a mom or have another child.  She may be wondering the same thing.

Friday Favorite: Celebrate Society Shirts

Everyone possesses talent.  How one uses it makes all the difference.

When Jennifer Laws was in the hospital with her newborn twins and planning their future parties, her mind wandered to other babies in the world who were not born into such happy circumstances. Recently, she decided to use her party skills to make a difference.

Thanks to Jennifer, children who are in a local emergency shelter on their birthday will get the regulation cake from the kitchen--and they will also get a "party in a bag."  It's a kit she created that helps each child, when surrounded by strangers on the anniversary of his or her birth, understand that someone knows their existence is worth celebrating.

I love this idea almost as much as I love Jennifer's heart.

Want to know how to help?

She's funding this endeavor by creating designs that you can buy at her etsy shop. 

 

Print and iron the design yourself or pay a little more for her to create the whole shirt.

What a simple way to celebrate your little ones and help celebrate another child as well!

Any day decals:

birthday party decals:

and check out these adorable Halloween decals--just perfect for a t-shirt or treat bag:

 
Last month I witnessed the giddiness that is Jennifer on the morning of her sons' birthday party. "I love party day," she said, practically bouncing with joy. "This must be what Lebron James feels like on game day!"

Pretty accurate comparison.

Friday Favorite: Memorial Day Welcome Home

Memorial Day weekend is here. People across America celebrate their three day weekend in many different ways. Hot dogs on the grill. Boating at the lake. Decorating graves of loved ones. Memorial Day's original purpose was to remember those who died in the service of our country.

This Friday Favorite is my thanksgiving that Major Paul Krattiger gets to spend Memorial Day with his wife and daughters. Like every other military family, each member of their family has sacrificed. Although they're human, I've never heard them complain.  They have something many people lack these days: honor.  Paul and Alison are some of the best human beings I know. (You know those friends who make you want to be a better person?) They love their life together--even when it's apart.

I swiped this pic from Alison's Facebook page. It was called "Let's finish this!"

I met Alison while we attended OU and have been blessed with our friendship ever since. Although we don't see each other often, she's one of those people to whom I've always felt connected. And Paul? They make the perfect pair. It wouldn't surprise me if everyone feels as Garrett and I do about them.

When we lived in NJ, Paul and Alison were at West Point and delivered their first born within a week of our arrival. They were the first non-hospital people to meet Max.We were so lucky to have such great friends nearby. We shared Easter dinner with them. We traveled to Philadelphia when I was pregnant with Max (and not much of a good traveler, but they didn't complain). They attended my surprise baby shower at Lady Mendl's tea room.  

We're pretty sure this moment is the reason Max prefers older women.

Max receives his "first" kiss

They've moved a couple of other places since West Point. They were blessed with another beautiful daughter.  Paul was deployed.  And now he is home.

This weekend, please remember all the men and women who died in service to our country.

For now, please join me in celebrating a homecoming.

The Krattiger family reunited

Doesn't this pic say it all?

May they live happily ever after!

The moments above were captured by Photography by Kim Paine. Click here to see even more. Caution: I fight tears each time I do. If you're in the Colorado Springs area, you should hire her!

Friday Favorite: Was blind but now I see

Lasik surgery was amazing. 

I just wish someone would have told me to wait until after I had children. Apparently hormones are mischievous with eyesight. After having my son I had to get glasses again.

So, six weeks after my daughter was born, I wasn't surprised to notice I wasn't seeing too well again.

It did alarm me I could wear my prescription sunglasses over my contacts and still not see as well as I'd like.

All day I worried about my eyesight.  Thankfully the sunglasses kept me from being a road hazard.

That night I went to remove my contacts and reached for their container. 

Contacts were still there. 

Now that was a quick recovery.

Baby Girl: Welcome to the World!

"Morbid" was the only word I could use to express to my husband how I felt.  The night before, I'd made him promise that if he had to choose between the baby and me, he would choose her.

We both figured it was hormones talking.


After all, I was scheduled for surgery in the morning and I really didn't want it. Nor did I feel I needed one because I'd had acupuncture and Baby Girl felt back in position.

Once settled in my snazzy delivery room with a tube in my hand and a few paper bracelets, I was asked if nursing students could witness the doctor try to turn the baby. Why not? So, I may have been the only person in the room who wasn't surprised when the ultrasound showed Baby Girl head down and ready to meet the world.  The nursing students looked disappointed, but one returned later and asked a lot of questions about acupuncture.

No c-section! Hurray!

8:00 am. Induction began.
8:30 am. Pitocin dripped.

Contractions were subtle. Until they weren't.

Garrett and my mother used acupressure points to help ease the pain until they convinced me I was cranky enough to get an epidural--a mere 6 hours after labor began.  With Max, I labored 15 hours before consenting to an epidural.  Then I went to sleep, woke up and had a baby six hours later.  I requested the same easy labor of Dr. Donnelly and the nursing staff. Nurse Candice smiled and said she'd do what she could.

Although contractions were stronger this second time around, my body didn't move too quickly. The epidural was at 2:15 pm and my temperament was the only obvious change. When Garrett and my mom returned, I was smiling and eating a cherry popsicle with no pain whatsoever. At 3:45 pm, things were progressing a little, but we figured my sweet doctor would miss the delivery and a different shift of nurses would be on duty by the time Alexandra made an appearance.  Considering Max's long delivery, I made a final comment on Facebook at 4:01 pm and rolled over to take a nap.

But then I remembered my nurse's parting words: If you feel any pressure, give me a call.

Good thing I didn't go to sleep.

4:13 pm Alexandra Celeste was born!

Thanks to the epidural I was in absolutely no pain. I mean, seriously, folks, my body responds to those drugs like a dream. I was alert and joking with them all as they hustled to prepare and after they moved Baby Girl across the room.

Alexandra had brown hair and looked dainty and delicate. She was purple. They assured me she was fine. The nurses were euphoric and a distinct atmosphere of happiness and awe filled the air.  "Did you know she came in to have a c-section?"  "...acupuncture..." "...it happened so fast..." "...the baby looks like her..."

But they still hadn't returned my baby to me.  The doctor calmly explained something about having difficulty with my placenta and that sometimes they attach to the uterus and cause some extra bleeding....

I watched my baby.   I watched Garrett watch our baby.

Chills crept across my body.

"I'm cold."

A nurse assured me. "It feels that way when you lose blood. You're okay."

The room felt like a freezer.

I tried watching the baby, but a couple of nurses and the doctor were in my way.  Every once in a while they moved so I could see a glimpse of her. She looked less purple. Why hadn't they given her to me?

My mom looked concerned as she approached. "Are you cold?"

"I thought so. But they told me I'm not." It must be the body's way of dealing with chidlbirth occuring so quickly.

Trying to control my shivers, I clenched my jaw. I wasn't going to let anyone categorize me as melodramatic. Women had babies every day. No big deal.

Why hadn't they given her to me yet? I thought of our son with his blond curls. Due to a complication with Max, I didn't get him for six hours. Hadn't I made myself clear that I wanted her as soon as possible? Hadn't they all agreed? How could we ever explain to him if something happened to his baby sister?

I tried to control the shaking, but it was unnecessary.  Nurses on each side of the bed attempted to hold me down.  Someone who wore cool glasses with circles all over them placed more tubes in my arm and told me what she was injecting.  Someone was having trouble getting blood pressure but kept trying and trying.  I assumed it was Alexandra's and hoped they'd figure it out soon.

Eventually, I met my husband's eyes. He held Alexandra. No nurses were near her. Why? I had to look away because that's when my prayer changed from "Please keep her safe" to "Please keep me safe."

On my left, my mother fiercely fought tears.  Beyond the doctor and nurses, Garrett stared down at our daughter, but I couldn't see her.

The atmosphere in the room had changed.  It was no longer euphoric.  It was efficient.

So much more crowded than before.

And cold. Very, very cold.

I mumbled something to the doctor about being grateful she had small hands because as she worked, it appeared she was rummaging around in me for her keys.

Although I'd tried speaking earlier to let everyone know I was okay, any desire to seem less dramatic faded as I realized I was in danger. "...hemorrhage kit..."  "What's her type?"  "...blood transfusion..." "...25-35% blood loss..." Complete sentences and coherent thoughts left me.

Blankets surrounded me.  Garrett lowered Alexandra to me. I kissed her cheek and her little nose. Each time he brought her near me, I shook a little less, warmed a little more.  Eventually, they placed her on the blankets beside me and I touched her.

Bliss.

And so, so worth it.

Toddler Tuesday: Yoga for Kids

 

Max and I attended a summer session of Yoga for Kids. What a fun experience!

Preschoolers are naturally cute, but when you see them doing downward facing dog and hear them barking, they're irresistible.  They hissed in snake position and meowed in "kittycat."

Libby Rogers , the instructor and owner of the studio, is great.  But who knew she was so creative? 

Each session offered positions and teachings of yoga.  What child doesn't love story time? We repeated the stories at night because they helped us remember essential life lessons. Like any great instructor, she adapted to the mood of her class.  Tree Pose was practiced in a fresh way by incorporating it into a game similar to Red Light, Green Light. "Big tree, little tree, grow!" Or something like that. One day the kids--okay, MAX--was antsy, so she introduced Butterfly Bowling.  The kiddos sat in butterfly position until "it" rolled the ball to him or her.  Then the position changed.

He had a "ball."

This morning he twisted himself into different positions--probably just to show me he could.

"Look, Mommy! Pretzel!"

"Mommymommymommymommy, butterfly!"

"Ruff-ruff, Mommy!"

I can't say enough good things about yoga.  I've taken private classes the last couple of months in preparation for baby Alexandra.  Hopefully, if I start my children early enough, they'll reap the benefits and find peace for life.

If you have the opportunity to practice yoga--for yourself or your little ones--do it!

If you want to practice at home, here's a link from Parents.com on some yoga poses for kiddos.

Toddler Tuesday: Sleepover!

Max's birthday buddies Jake and Jack stayed with us recently.  They brought along their parents and baby brother. We thoroughly enjoyed them. We love house guests.

Max, Jack, Jake

The older boys were born on the same day.  It's always interesting when they get together.  We learn something every time. For example, when they were about 8 months old, Garrett and I learned that yes, Max really could feed himself his own bottle. He watched them do it and took matters into his own little hands.

This time, we were so pleased to see someone give Max some of his own medicine.  Curious, Jack examined Max's behavior chart. Max marched over and told him not to play with it.

Does anyone else think it's ironic that one of the topics on his chart is sharing?

In response to Max's tyranny, Jack grabbed a magnet from it and tossed it across the room. Then, with a mischievous grin (much like his father's), he hid behind the couch to watch Max unhinge and retrieve the magnet.  This process repeated a couple of times.

They played well after that. Max realized he couldn't mess with him.

Jake, the gentlest of the boys, did not fare as well under Max's territorial assault. When he looked at Max's book on planets, he was willing enough to share with Max, but Max needed more than a little encouragement to understand that sharing doesn't mean he gets to play with everything and no one else gets to touch his stuff.

This parenting gig is hard work.

Still, when we set up the inflatable mattress for the twins in the playroom to spend the night, Max declared he wanted to sleep with them. The parental units were all a little nervous.  After almost three years of sleep deprivation, who can blame us?  But we gave it a chance.

I wish they were here every night because he slept in with no night time visits to our room!

Max and Baby Jameson

No matter how territorial Max can be with his toys, it doesn't seem to translate to babies.  He loves Baby Jameson.  In this picture, Max's fascination with Jameson's "tiny toes" is clear.  Max was so enamored with Baby J that while the baby was sitting in a Bumbo seat, Max pulled up a chair and sat right in front of him to study the infant's every move. Then he raced back and forth to his playroom finding new toys to offer the five-month-old.

Oh, I hope he's as sweet to Alexandra when she arrives!

Max was a little taken aback when Jameson spit up on me--because I was bouncing him after he ate. Head thunk.  I explained babies do that sometimes, and Alexandra might even spit up on him.  He declared that would NOT happen and began listing ways he planned to retaliate if his little sister considered such a thing.

But, according to him, it was okay that Jameson did it.

Toddler Tuesday: Tummy Photo and Little Boys

A little boy pointed at my tummy this weekend and said, "What's in there?

"My baby girl is growing until she's big enough to come out and play."

"How did she get in there?" he asked.

I hesitated and looked toward his mom.

His eyes widened.  "Did you eat her?"

Friday Favorite: Miss(ed) Oklahoma

Although she is queen of her domain, my friend Jennifer lives in a neighborhood of princesses and a home of four princes.  When a queen summons, I do her bidding.

She invited me to attend the Miss Oklahoma pageant in Tulsa to support her lovely neighbors. One was contestant Emily Ousley and the other was her "Oklahoma Star," a program in which little girls are mentored by contestants. They were both lovely.

Plus, I saw two OU Tri-Deltas were in the running, so I got all collegiate nostalgic. 

Although we almost missed the pageant.

On the way there, Jen said, "If anyone were with us, they'd kill us."

Yep.  But it was hilarious.

After spending an afternoon with me driving us to pedicures and tea at Dragonmoon Tea Company, Jennifer insisted on driving. She activated her On Star and said, "You have to get this."

Clearly, she didn't yet comprehend the magnitude of my geographical challenges. Like the Bermuda Triangle, my curse soon reached out and grabbed her.  We barreled down the interstate, following the instructions, and encountered a giant "CLOSED" sign plastered across our route.  I laughed at her surprise. This sort of thing always happened to me. She called and gathered new directions. We were to turn on 11th street. Guess what? We were at an intersection where both signs said 11th street. I kid you not. These things happen to me all the time. It's a gift.

The pageant began at 7:30. The rain began at 8:04.  We arrived in the parking lot at 8:08. As we raced toward the Mabee Center, a woman eyeballed us.   I called, "Did we miss the good part?" (Since I've never attended a pageant, I didn't know what that would be, but certainly there is one.)  She encouraged us to hurry because we'd missed the opening number and they were about to announce the top 15.

We never found our seats, but we caught a lot of the show.

In fact, I fear we were part of the show. A pregnant lady in heels.  A tired mom of three under three lugging a good-natured four-month-old. We found seats near her friends at one point, but because Baby J wasn't fond of classical music in the talent competition, we courteously sped out. Let me restate that...Jennifer was courteous. I'm pretty sure I bonked some poor guy on the head with both my purse and her diaper bag.

While watching the swimsuit competition from the aisle, an older gentleman must have been impressed with the soon-to-be crowned Betty Thompson.  He looked me up and down. "Those girls don't understand women don't look like that after thirty."  Hackles raised, I threw my shoulders back and pregnant belly forward.  "Speak for yourself.  After I had my first baby, I looked just like that." I patted my tummy. "You ought to see me next summer when I'm through with this one." 

He had the nerve to grimace like he didn't believe me.

To his credit, I checked myself out in the mirror before I left for the evening and thought remember when someone told you you looked hot, and you knew they weren't thinking you needed an air conditioner and glass of iced tea?

Still... Even queen mothers should be treated with respect or they can be be a royal pain.

Friday Favorite: Keen shoes

A few years ago, a student commented I'd never worn the same pair of shoes twice.  It was second semester. I was no Imelda Marcos, but she was right. Shoes were a weakness.

I lead a different life now.

Heels aren't practical while chasing a toddler or pregnant. Neither are they practical when my office parking lot is "paved" in gravel...but that's another blog.

During this pregnancy, it is not uncommon for me to change my shoes four times a day due to discomfort--and I used to happily teach on concrete floors while wearing high heels.

But I really need comfy shoes to get me through this hot summer pregnancy. 

In my experience, if someone says a brand of shoe is comfortable, it's the equivalent of getting set up on a blind date and having the matchmaker stress what a great personality your date has. In either case, you know the recipient of praise is not going to look good and you don't want it touching you.

A couple of years ago, our family friend Paul recommended Keen. Since the day my husband wore his first pair out of the store, he's rarely donned any other kind while not at work. It's a struggle to keep him from sporting the sandals with socks in the winter. (I told him if it embarrassed me, it will mortify his children, but I think that statement only served as incentive.)

Alas, pregnancy makes you do strange things. I made a list of all the comfy shoes people have praised over the years and sought them in stores.

Only Keen has lived up to the hype. 

In my pregnant discomfort, I acquiesced and bought a pair.  The store was out of aqua, so I purchased the bright yellow. I figured if I was going to wear those shoes, I should be bold and truly own the ugly.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I love them so much, I think I may buy another pair.

Have you tried Keen shoes? Do you have any other comfy shoe suggestions?

TV Tuesday: Pregnant in Heels

Oh my goodness. 

That's what you'll say when you watch it, too.


Pregnant in Heels is a show about "maternity concierge" Rosie Pope who caters to the "millionaire mamas" of the upper East side in Manhattan.

My pal Jennifer who is a party planner and super-mom introduced me to this show.

I confess it makes me chipper when I'm having a stressful day and feel less-than-prepared for my wee one on its way. 

One eye-popping moment is when Rosie tries to help a completely unprepared mom by introducing a real-life infant.  The millionaire mama holds the teeny-tiny at arms' length before thrusting him at her husband.  She says something like...."Oooh, it's too heavy. I need to go to the gym." The birth is about a week away.  Yeah. Good luck on those biceps, lady. Not to worry. She's planning to have a nanny. And within three days of baby's due date, some other hired hand is expected to set up the crib.

Oh my goodness.

Another couple calls their unborn a parasite.  They don't want a baby messing up their clean-lined, modern apartment. The mom-to-be's solution regarding toys?  She compromises by saying two blocks will be allowed so the space invader can click them together.

Oh my goodness.

Another couple, who is more impressed with themselves than probably anyone else, hires Rosie to help them "brand" their baby.  They need a name. They want his name to suggest to others just how important they think they are. After a panel of people--ranging from a linguist to a poet--suggest names, they have a focus group offer opinions. As if that isn't enough, Rosie throws a dinner party for the couple's closest friends so they can be discredited by the couple, too.  Guess what?  The couple chooses the name that NO ONE likes, except them.

Some people have more money than sense.

Needless to say, Rosie's services prevail. When she visits each couple after the baby is born, I don't feel the need to call child services.

How Rosie Pope manages to keep her cool is beyond my comprehension.  Not only are most of the mama moments over-the-top, but Rosie is enduring in-vitro fertilization. Wowzuh.  I'm hoping to see a major meltdown when her hormones strike back at some pregnant diva.

The show is highly entertaining and offers anyone the opportunity to feel smug.

Grab a martini--or mocktini--and check out the first episode on Hulu.

Cheers!