Pansyiana: February 2009 Archives

OK, so I haven't blogged since last Thursday. Been sort of busy with the new life caused by the New Life (even as I type, he's looking for me. Shhhhh.) I actually do have a lot to say about many of the current events, but I feel it's redundant: "OctoMom-nuts; Chimp Lady-nuts; Obama's economic policy-nuts." I almost wonder what's the point of restating the obvious?

So without much ado, here are my past week small successes.

1. I made a care package for my brother in Iraq and mailed it to him. Normally I would just pick up stuff, put it in the pantry and say "that's for the care package I will send Thomas...eventually." But I bought stuff. And I bought a box. And plastic bubble stiff to put in the box. And I even got out my postal scale and the plug and prepaid for a Click 'n' Ship label and taped it on the box. (You'd think that if I took the time out to buy and spend money on a cool postal scale, I would be clicking and shipping all the time. But I store it on the back pantry shelf. That would mean going to the back of the pantry and getting it.)

2. I have been getting as much as I can ready the night before. Loading the coffee pot, showering the night before...I haven't been laying my clothes out, that's next (speaking of which, I am back into non-maternity jeans-yay!). I have been up and dressed, breakfast and a load of laundry done by 8 (which has enabled me to get all the day's laundry done each day.I am a bit OCD about not having any dirty laundry. Just don't ask, go with it.) Let's see how long I can keep this up. Because it's making me tired.

3.Yesterday was a horrible, horrible day. I had about 5 meltdowns before I gave in and called my husband crying that I was losing it. You see I try not to call my husband when I am losing it because he just gets frustrated because he is at work, and I get annoyed with him for just getting frustrated. And I get annoyed with myself for not being able to handle it all on my own. So the fact that I didn't call my husband until late in the afternoon is a small success. And the fact that I still cooked supper instead of hitting the local bar scene and didn't leave them all to their own devices scrounging for food after my very bad day is a success as well.

Yesterday the kids totally took full advantage of the fact that new baby care left me not on top of them at all times. Each time I had to go to the bathroom, or nurse Septimus, the school books would be abandoned and the boys would be locked in their room...screaming. Why screaming? Why? Why? Why? I don't know. I just...don't...know! It's not as if they scream anything coherent and meaningful like "IN HOC SIGNO VINCES", just "aaaahhhhhhh". Then a random toddler would come out the room naked-well not totally, usually with one sock on. And I would say (stupid me) "Why are they naked" and the older kids would reply "I don't know". Or they took it upon themselves to raid the freezer for ice cream treats. Or spill cups of cran-apple juice. Or finish the chocolate cake I made the night before, with their hands. On the kitchen floor, or oh gosh, it just occurred to me, under their beds...

It was a bad day. I hope never to relive it again. Ever.

Fredegar: (age 4) Mommy, is that your baby?

Pansy:Yes

Fredegar:He's so cute! Mommy?

Pansy: What?

Fredegar: He's eating your boobie.

walks away

Gabriel Septimus Alejandro
b. February 10, 2009 6:55 AM
9 lb. 3 oz 20" (short and fat)

I was due to be induced at 7 AM Tuesday morning. It was my due date and since I have gestational diabetes, it is protocol to not let mothers go to far past due. Nevertheless, I was nervous. I didn't want Pitocin, I didn't want to deliver in a hospital...basically I wasn't thrilled with the idea of coping with labor pain.

Since we were able to plan a date, we dropped the four youngest children at my parents' on Monday night and my husband scheduled to take his vacation starting Tuesday.

I woke up a little before 4 AM, which is not unusual. I went to the bathroom, went back to bed, and a few minutes later realized I had a contraction. Again, nothing unusual, but this one felt rather strong. I figured I should keep track this time. 11 minutes later another one. I dozed off, but 8 minutes later...I was sooo warm and cozy and sleepy, I rather would have waited to get up. But by 10 of 5, I was looking at 5-6 minutes apart. So I woke my husband up and told him I was in labor. "Are you kidding me?"

I asked him to not rush, but get the last bit of my stuff together, and we should go. We told the two older kids we were going, so to make sure they didn't ignore their alarm clocks and get themselves off to school.

We got to the hospital at about 5.30 AM. We didn't call ahead. I figured we were due there in an hour and 1/2...The L & D nurse asked me what I "thought" was going on. I said at 4, I woke up with a few contractions that seemed different. She asked if I timed them, and I said not exactly, but they were a few minutes apart. I didn't want her or my husband to know the last couple were 2 minutes apart. More my husband, because on the 2 minutes drive over, he was doing that nervous "my wife is in labor" drive, and I didn't want to alarm him.She looked at me skeptically. I told her we were supposed to be in in an hour and a half. She said good because this was their last open room. It was teeney. No room for a water birth tub. Groan.

She told me to put on the fashionable hospital gown, get checked, and get hooked up to the monitors. I got changed and all the while wondering if I jumped the gun and if this was another false alarm. When I came back out, she wanted to check me, but I asked her to wait because another contraction was starting. Then my water broke. No false alarm I guess. I was 6 cm. This was going by pretty fast, which was good and bad. Good because it would be over soon. Bad because this was about to become unbearable. And it did.

First they insisted on putting in an IV. They blew 5 veins before they got it right the sixth time. All I can say is the contractions were so strong that concentrating on them poking the veins in the back of my hand was a comforting distraction from the contractions. After they got a line in I was at that point we women usually get at when we decide to go medication-free: "what the hell were we thinking?" So I asked "can I get a shot of something?" I knew the answer though. No, I was too close to delivery. But that was a comfort as well. Over soon.

I don't know where I was at that point or how much longer. But the contractions did that thing where they drifted into one large contraction, and they seemed to take forever to convert to the "pushing type". I know she checked me and said I was fully dilated and told me some nonsense not to push. I was locked into my own world and I didn't push at that point because I knew it wasn't the right time. She also told me the doctor is going to want me to move on my back. Again, I would have said something along the lines of "screw you" but I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, I was just in incredible pain.

The doctor came in at some point. I gave a push and he was half way out. I heard the nurse "Daniella! Daniella! Move to your back! " I couldn't move, but I managed to and one more push. Two pushes in all, and he was out. Relief.

It was quick, but it was a hard labor. I have had a few two hour labors and oddly, they are always more painful.

We're home now. The kids are fighting over him. All he likes to do is nurse. I am anxious to get back into the swing of things with our new family member.

"My cheeks are so fat, I rarely open my eyes!"

My grandmother has been on the tip of my nose as of late-yes a little more than usual, because, she my aunt and uncle have been in rare form lately. I always wonder if my family has a sense of etiquette and feel I am unworthy of that, or they just simply don't. They group family up into two categories, those they deem worthy and those they do not. I don't think the worthy group gets treated the same way...but I could be wrong.

Her latest is calling me up hysterical saying "Oh, I thought you had the baby and didn't tell me!"

"Why?"

"Why?!? Because it's close to your time! That's why!"

Then my aunt gets on the phone and starts quizzing me about names:

"Do you have a name yet?"

"No."

I won't go there. They hate every name I pick. When I named my daughter Adrianna Maria, they asked why didn't I pick a girl's name that people knew like "Mary Alice"? When I named my son Francisco Augustine, they went on and on how they never heard a name like that. They would ask family "you like that name Fernando Augustina she picked for the baby?" With another boy, I wanted Maximilian (my husband vetoed it) and they told me I couldn't name the baby that because kids will make fun of him and it's a "Jew name?" What? The things they say! I know we are going back a few generations with these people to another time, but...actually, I don't even know. When I named my daughter Felicity Rose, they said I must have picked Felicity after the girl in the picture (the TV show Felicity), and why didn't I name her Mary because she was born on Immaculate Conception? I said I did. I named her Felicity Rose-the Rose is after the Rosa Mystica. "The wha'? I don't know what you're sayin'."

A few months ago my grandmother said I should picks a saint's name. I told her I'll keep that in mind.

To continue the above conversation, "you need to name the baby after your uncle, he's good to you."

"I have to go now."

So, as harsh as it sounds, I think it takes a special level of incredible self-absorption to live in such a creepy, haunted house and never, ever notice the dang place is in the very least, a bit odd.

Update Story

I think I mentioned previously, in my grandmother's apartment, there is a back hallway that leads to the bathroom and the three bedrooms. In this hallway there is a "hotspot". You have to go through it if you want to go to the bedroom. I think I mentioned how one time out the crack of bedroom door, I thought my grandmother walked by, and when I opened the door all the way, she wasn't there.

A few months ago, we were visiting. My oldest was in the middle bedroom, lying on the bed, and doing nothing (as teenagers are quite good at). The bedroom door was open behind her. In front of her was a TV that was not on. She was looking in the TV.The rest of the family was congregating in the dining room. As she was looking in the off television, she saw a figure of a tall, older man walk down the hall past the door. She heard the footsteps go directly to the back room and heard part of a conversation with a man's voice. The only older gentleman that was in attendance that day was my Uncle Jimmy, who does not fit that description, but still she had to check. Uncle Jimmy was not of course in the back room, but was perched at his usual spot at the head of the dining room table where he has always sat during family get-togethers, at least in my lifetime.

She walked into the dining room, as white as she had seen a ghost-pun intended. She started stammering "I just heard...or saw...I never believed you...I just..."

"Tell me later."

Everyone who has stayed at this house cannot walk down that hallway. My husband who never had a single thought about things ghostly or paranormal will not stay there. He said he never believed in ghosts, not that he was a skeptic, but again, it was a topic not on his radar until going to my grandmother's. His description of going down that hallway is not only the same as everyone's but kind of funny: "You have to go to the bathroom, but you don't want to because you have to go down that hallway. You finally get the courage up to go, and you practically run because you feel someone is looking at you or right behind you...so you don't look up either because you don't want to see anything. You finally run into the bathroom and close the door. When you are doing your business, you spend the whole time staring at the door knob because you know whoever was there is going to start jiggling the door knob."

Recently my brother, the Marine, was home for break at Christmas to New Year's. He relayed a story of standing in that bedroom, this time not looking at the TV, but just through the door. A tall, older man walked by. He kept the story to himself because he thought there must be a more rational explanation, until Dree told hers.

I was amazed when they compared stories, the degree of details they had about the man-he was wearing a coat, outdated fashion, but not too old. Somewhere between the 40s and 60s period. He was older, but not as old as our uncle-in his 40s.

They would never allow Ghost Hunters to come investigate. I doubt they would find anything, because many of us have been there numerous times without such extreme sightings. Jason would tell us all that when we walk down that stretch of hallway, everyone in the world that goes there suffers from an over-active imagination-even if we do not anywhere else in the world.