Tomorrow begins the 31st week of this pregnancy. I can hardly believe there are only nine weeks (give or take a few) to go. I have to admit that February still feels like a long ways away, but in the context of being more than 3/4 of the way through I really start to see how close we are getting.
I have been extremely fortunate this time around to have a straightforward pregnancy. My morning sickness the first trimester was only ever as bad as a hangover, without the preceding fun night of memories. I never even puked. Although future first time pregnant women be warned, the gag reflex really picks up during pregnancy. The fatigue was brutal, but at least I was able to get the rest I needed. Next time around it probably won't be as easy to do that. I haven't had any crazy cravings, although I find it funny that in the dead of winter the most consistent craving has been for popsicles. The mood swings haven't been nearly as wild as I had anticipated, and our marriage has certainly benefited from that.
My major struggle during the second trimester was one that I hadn't anticipated because overall I felt really great. Second trimester was when I really started to show, and I struggled a lot more with body image than I realized I would. The bump has grown on me, pun intended, but it took a while to accept it. Surprisingly, it wasn't really the way it looked when I saw myself in the mirror, it was more the way I felt. It started with the weight gain. I knew I'd gain weight, but it was hard coming to the realization that baby was in control and I no longer was. Then my clothes started to be less comfortable. I noticed that t-shirts that fit the week before, were no longer appropriate the following week. Being someone who still wears jeans from high school, this was a new experience for me. I realized that waking up in the morning and not knowing for sure if the clothes I picked out were going to fit was terribly unsettling. While I am very grateful to not have to deal with the end stages of pregnancy and sweltering summer heat, it isn't all that exciting to dress in the necessary winter layers on days when I feel whale like.
About the time I began to accept my changing body, the comments began. My growing belly became the topic of conversation, and everywhere I turned I was reminded of it. Coming from the relative secrecy of the first trimester, where people would only know I was pregnant if I told them, it was strange to have such a personal experience become front and center. The emerging bump somehow makes complete strangers feel entitled to touch your stomach and ask questions about your life that in any other circumstance wouldn't necessarily be acceptable. To have my changing body be a conversation starter in and of itself, was a very odd experience for an introvert like me.
Now that I have come to accept the inevitable physical changes of pregnancy, I am starting to feel the effects of these changes on my body. I laid down last night and asked Nick if it was normal to feel like an elephant is sitting on my chest. I am finding that I need to stop more and more frequently to catch my breath as this little one encroaches on my diaphragm. Putting on socks and tying my shoes requires a game plan and strategy. My previously brisk walking pace, is slowly turning into a definite waddle. My empathy for my mom and grandpa grows everyday as I occasionally get restless legs now...thanks baby. Waking up with cramping calves has become a new form of an alarm clock, but at least it leaves me with the sore feeling of a good leg workout. It was also a little startling to come home after a seemingly harmless walk through the snow at the park and find myself forced to stay on the couch for the day guzzling water and trying to beat back regular 2-4 minute apart braxton hicks contractions.
I don't usually like to insert disclaimers in my writing, but feel a need to do so right now. Hopefully, this post doesn't come across as complaining. I have been extremely thankful for the relative ease of this pregnancy. I write these things more out of need to process the experience, than to complain about it. I really have found pregnancy to be incredibly miraculous and am so excited about the baby we will welcome into our family in February. The love and support I have had from my family and friends throughout the past eight months has been extremely amazing and I am so thankful that. I am a firm believer that it takes a village to raise a child, and our child is going to benefit greatly from our community of loved ones.
As we get closer to our due date, I am finally starting to kick into gear on the nursery. I started clearing out the office, and finally feel like I have a vision for the room. We were blessed with the gift of a crib from Nick's mom and crib sheets from his sister for Christmas and now that it is put together I want it to have a home. However, I would definitely venture to say that not knowing the gender of our child has limited the compulsion to shop for it. I find myself focusing more on the things that we'll need to care for our little one in those first few months, than on all the extras that businesses like to market to new parents.
As a side note, I would like to insert that throughout this pregnancy I have found myself feeling quite strongly that we are having a boy. However, over the past few days I have been feeling more girl vibes and am now left a little confused. Contrary to the conspiracy theory that we do know the gender and are simply choosing not to share it, we are left waiting as anxiously as everyone else. I chuckled to myself a few weeks ago when one of my co-workers told me that a mom always knows what they're having. I guess I am thankful that I'll have many years to prove my worth as a mom, and will hopefully not be judged based on a 50/50 chance. I for one was blessed with a fabulous mother who has proved her worth over and over again, and yet she was so convinced that I was a boy that she called me a "he" for the first few weeks of my life. I guess we'll see if history repeats itself...
It is still a little surreal to think that in a few short months our baby will take up permanent residence in our home. I get super excited when I think of the ways in which we anticipate this child to change our lives, but even more excited when I realize that we will be changed in ways we do not yet know. It is definitely unnerving to think about, as child rearing is no easy task and comes with many unforeseen challenges. However, Nick and I pride ourselves in our communication and have felt reassured to find that when we discuss some of the challenges we anticipate as parents, we are often on the same page. More important than our parenting values, has been our repeated commitment to support one another in our parenting decisions. It is nice to know that while we both realize we will disagree on things, we recognize that it is most important to be a united front.
As I have come to more fully accept the physical and emotional challenges of pregnancy, I am finding myself now eagerly anticipating and waiting for the birth of our child. I find myself focusing less on the here and now of pregnancy and instead focusing on the inevitable result of it. We had a delightful visit last weekend with Nick's cousins and their four month old son. I laughed as his cousin, a little mortified that her son had spit up on me, apologized for the mess. To me, it was just a taste of what is to come. I know I'll have times in the next several months where I will panic and ask myself what in the world am I going to do with this tiny being. I might even ask myself how it was that I ever thought I'd be prepared to be a parent. However, I wasn't weirded out by the mess, or annoyed by his tears. Instead I found myself saying, bring it on. I am ready for this...or at least I will be in nine weeks.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
Click
There is an Adam Sandler movie that is ringing a little too close to home today. The movie is called "Click." Adam Sandler plays a man who receives a special remote control that can fast forward his life. Naturally, he spends a lot of time fast forwarding the bad parts hoping that he can just jump to the fun stuff. He thinks that if he can just quickly get through the current hurdle and the hard work that he can enjoy the benefits and fabulous life he's expecting. I won't risk spoiling the movie, but I suppose it doesn't take too much intuition to figure out what kind of lesson he learns at the end of the movie.
I am having one of those "wishing I could fast forward" days. I am impatient and I just want answers. I want to know what my baby looks and acts like and what it feels like to be a parent. I want to know if I'll be able to handle sleep deprivation and balancing another member of the family. I want to know where my husband is going to get into residency, so I can start anticipating the next house project or the move. I want to get through my next three days of work and enjoy a few days off again. I want to know for a fact that all the many unknown pieces of our life puzzle will fall into place and everything will be fine. My list goes on and on. As a result I am moping. I am not getting a thing done. I am stuck in an impatient rut of wanting to move forward, but not able to because I won't be able to move time fast enough for myself to be satisfied today.
The irony of this funk is striking as we are now two weeks into the Advent season. Being born and raised Lutheran, the fact that Advent is the season of waiting is no secret to me. This is the time of preparation and patience as we anticipate Christmas. Consumerism certainly helps remind us with the preparation part of the holiday. We are constantly bombarded with commercials reminding us of our secular Christmas to do lists.
However, the waiting part is completely escaping me. At least it is escaping me today. Because today I don't want to wait anymore; I want to know for a fact that all will be well. I don't want to be patient. I don't want to find it all out in due time. I want to know it RIGHT NOW.
I guess it is a good think I don't have one of those magic remotes because I am pretty sure I'd go against my better judgment and use it today. I'd fast forward through today and find myself at work tomorrow. It still wouldn't give me the reassurance I am looking for today and I'd fast forward through work. Pretty soon, I'd find myself several years down the road unsure of the path I've taken. I would feel unsettled because I'd have missed out on the process and would be curious to know how my current state is going to work itself out. Soon the experience would be lost and I'd simply be an audience member of my own life.
There is after all a reason that I only have to tackle so many tasks a day. To complete a lifetime everyday would be very exhausting and probably not nearly as enjoyable. I suppose I could get moving, and stop sulking. I could accept that today may not solve all the unknowns I have right now. Instead I can take comfort in knowing that time will keep marching on and most likely, contrary to today, I'll be back to wishing it would all slow down.
I am having one of those "wishing I could fast forward" days. I am impatient and I just want answers. I want to know what my baby looks and acts like and what it feels like to be a parent. I want to know if I'll be able to handle sleep deprivation and balancing another member of the family. I want to know where my husband is going to get into residency, so I can start anticipating the next house project or the move. I want to get through my next three days of work and enjoy a few days off again. I want to know for a fact that all the many unknown pieces of our life puzzle will fall into place and everything will be fine. My list goes on and on. As a result I am moping. I am not getting a thing done. I am stuck in an impatient rut of wanting to move forward, but not able to because I won't be able to move time fast enough for myself to be satisfied today.
The irony of this funk is striking as we are now two weeks into the Advent season. Being born and raised Lutheran, the fact that Advent is the season of waiting is no secret to me. This is the time of preparation and patience as we anticipate Christmas. Consumerism certainly helps remind us with the preparation part of the holiday. We are constantly bombarded with commercials reminding us of our secular Christmas to do lists.
However, the waiting part is completely escaping me. At least it is escaping me today. Because today I don't want to wait anymore; I want to know for a fact that all will be well. I don't want to be patient. I don't want to find it all out in due time. I want to know it RIGHT NOW.
I guess it is a good think I don't have one of those magic remotes because I am pretty sure I'd go against my better judgment and use it today. I'd fast forward through today and find myself at work tomorrow. It still wouldn't give me the reassurance I am looking for today and I'd fast forward through work. Pretty soon, I'd find myself several years down the road unsure of the path I've taken. I would feel unsettled because I'd have missed out on the process and would be curious to know how my current state is going to work itself out. Soon the experience would be lost and I'd simply be an audience member of my own life.
There is after all a reason that I only have to tackle so many tasks a day. To complete a lifetime everyday would be very exhausting and probably not nearly as enjoyable. I suppose I could get moving, and stop sulking. I could accept that today may not solve all the unknowns I have right now. Instead I can take comfort in knowing that time will keep marching on and most likely, contrary to today, I'll be back to wishing it would all slow down.
Monday, November 22, 2010
A Trip Down Memory Lane
Today I tackled the basement boxes. It has been on my list of things to do for a while, but I've been avoiding it. They were mostly boxes that get moved from place to place, but never unpacked. They hold memories and snapshots of various times in my life. And while their contents have no value, they are priceless in defining the journey I've made to become me. These are boxes that for months now I've been telling myself I need to sort because I just don't want to have to move them again next summer should we find ourselves matching to an out of state residency program.
Generally, I do a good job of not hoarding too much stuff. However, I am a sentimental gal and over the years I've kept my fair share of memorabilia. For example, today I finally recycled four years worth of college papers that I'd written and saved. I also ceremoniously rid myself of that dreadful final letter from my drawing professor freshman year who told me "your attitude, attendance and work ethic are second to none but your skill is lacking and that certainly has factored into your grade." I came across a few sentimental letters I'd received from great friends over the years and some odd trinkets I'd never quite known what to do with but felt attached to and couldn't get myself to toss.
It was one of those mixed up days where I wasn't quite sure how to feel. On one hand, I only look at this stuff every few years at most. On the other hand, many items in those boxes represent me and who I am today. Some items encouraged me at important times in my life. Other items were the byproduct of the hard work and knowledge I'd gained throughout my courses in school. Some, like the letter from my all too honest art professor, represent the challenges I've had. It was simultaneously cathartic and painful to sort through those boxes today, and tonight I am admittedly a little wiped out. However, I am thankful to have another thing crossed off my to do list.
In honor of the sorting I thought I'd share with you a piece I wrote in my ninth grade health class (yes, the contents of the boxes went back more than ten years). The assignment we had was to create something that represented us. As my college art professor solidified for me many years later, art wasn't my thing and I chose to write something instead. I modeled my piece after a poem I had identified with that had been written by another missionary kid. It was interesting to read through this again and think about who I was then, who I am now and who I am still becoming. Without further ado here it is...
What most don't know...
What most don't know as they go walking by is that on the outside I look like everyone else, but inside there is so much more. I have my own ideas and feelings. I have highs and lows. I have likes and dislikes. I have good days and bad days. I have my own fears and dreams. I have my own goals to make and my own obstacles to overcome. I have a past behind me and a future ahead of me.
What most don't know is that I'm 15 years old, and I hate to drive. I went to a French school in kindergarten. I love gymnastics. I used to help my friends take care of their ring tailed lemurs. I hate snow, cold weather and seeing my breath. I love the sun, warm weather and Christmas on the beach.
What most don't know is that my favorite baby-sitter and I used to play the game SORRY in two different languages without understanding each other in either language. Most of my friends come from different places around the world. I am fluent in Norwegian. I had to teach myself to read in English. I am the oldest sister of two younger brothers.
What most don't know is that my favorite game when I was little was school, but I am the one who dreads going back to school the most. I don't want to give up being a little kid, but I can't wait to grow up. I am never wrong. I could crawl out of my crib, stroller and car seat by the age of one. I love to tease and hate being teased.
What most don't know is that I love tomatoes. I can not sleep on airplanes or in the car. The first language I learned to read and write in was French. I was the little kid who thought they served rice at McDonald's. I grew up in a country that had one brand of cereal. I went to a Norwegian School in fourth and fifth grade.
What most don't know is that when I was two I had to travel halfway around the world to see my grandparents for the very first time. I always want to be somewhere I'm not. The friends who understand me best I use a paper and pen or e-mail to talk to. I have no idea what to be when I grow up. I am a diver on the High School Swim Team. I love to sing. My favorite songs are still from Sunday school.
What most don't know as they go walking by is that I might look like everyone else, but I am not. No, I am myself. I can't be anyone else, and no one can be me.
Generally, I do a good job of not hoarding too much stuff. However, I am a sentimental gal and over the years I've kept my fair share of memorabilia. For example, today I finally recycled four years worth of college papers that I'd written and saved. I also ceremoniously rid myself of that dreadful final letter from my drawing professor freshman year who told me "your attitude, attendance and work ethic are second to none but your skill is lacking and that certainly has factored into your grade." I came across a few sentimental letters I'd received from great friends over the years and some odd trinkets I'd never quite known what to do with but felt attached to and couldn't get myself to toss.
It was one of those mixed up days where I wasn't quite sure how to feel. On one hand, I only look at this stuff every few years at most. On the other hand, many items in those boxes represent me and who I am today. Some items encouraged me at important times in my life. Other items were the byproduct of the hard work and knowledge I'd gained throughout my courses in school. Some, like the letter from my all too honest art professor, represent the challenges I've had. It was simultaneously cathartic and painful to sort through those boxes today, and tonight I am admittedly a little wiped out. However, I am thankful to have another thing crossed off my to do list.
In honor of the sorting I thought I'd share with you a piece I wrote in my ninth grade health class (yes, the contents of the boxes went back more than ten years). The assignment we had was to create something that represented us. As my college art professor solidified for me many years later, art wasn't my thing and I chose to write something instead. I modeled my piece after a poem I had identified with that had been written by another missionary kid. It was interesting to read through this again and think about who I was then, who I am now and who I am still becoming. Without further ado here it is...
What most don't know...
What most don't know as they go walking by is that on the outside I look like everyone else, but inside there is so much more. I have my own ideas and feelings. I have highs and lows. I have likes and dislikes. I have good days and bad days. I have my own fears and dreams. I have my own goals to make and my own obstacles to overcome. I have a past behind me and a future ahead of me.
What most don't know is that I'm 15 years old, and I hate to drive. I went to a French school in kindergarten. I love gymnastics. I used to help my friends take care of their ring tailed lemurs. I hate snow, cold weather and seeing my breath. I love the sun, warm weather and Christmas on the beach.
What most don't know is that my favorite baby-sitter and I used to play the game SORRY in two different languages without understanding each other in either language. Most of my friends come from different places around the world. I am fluent in Norwegian. I had to teach myself to read in English. I am the oldest sister of two younger brothers.
What most don't know is that my favorite game when I was little was school, but I am the one who dreads going back to school the most. I don't want to give up being a little kid, but I can't wait to grow up. I am never wrong. I could crawl out of my crib, stroller and car seat by the age of one. I love to tease and hate being teased.
What most don't know is that I love tomatoes. I can not sleep on airplanes or in the car. The first language I learned to read and write in was French. I was the little kid who thought they served rice at McDonald's. I grew up in a country that had one brand of cereal. I went to a Norwegian School in fourth and fifth grade.
What most don't know is that when I was two I had to travel halfway around the world to see my grandparents for the very first time. I always want to be somewhere I'm not. The friends who understand me best I use a paper and pen or e-mail to talk to. I have no idea what to be when I grow up. I am a diver on the High School Swim Team. I love to sing. My favorite songs are still from Sunday school.
What most don't know as they go walking by is that I might look like everyone else, but I am not. No, I am myself. I can't be anyone else, and no one can be me.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Today's Numbers
I see a lot of numbers when working in the ICU. My patients depend on me to interpret those numbers and respond to them appropriately. Therefore, it is probably fitting that today after going to another prenatal check-up, I am thankful for three numbers. These numbers are 27, 139 and 155.
The first number is 27. This is how far along I am. It's crazy to think that the third trimester has arrived and there are only 13 weeks left. With Thanksgiving and Christmas coming up, I think the rest of this pregnancy may end up flying by pretty fast! I also measured out perfectly, which is always a relief to know that baby is right on target for growth.
My second number is 139. This was the my blood sugar after my glucose challenge test; which is a test for gestational diabetes. It is that test that pregnant women complain about because they have to drink a sugary cocktail. I had gotten some good advice before the test to choose the lemon-lime flavor. It tasted like sweetened flat sprite. I had low expectations going in, so I was pleasantly surprised when it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. My numbers had to be under 140, so I barely made it. However, I passed and that's all that matters. If I had been above 140, then I would have had to have a three hour test to actually confirm the results. I am glad I don't have to do that. I am also glad I don't have to test my blood sugars everyday. In high school I almost fainted the day my anatomy class tested our blood types during a lab, so I wasn't so sure I had it in me to do that everyday. Plus, the spot on my finger that they took a sample from still hurts tonight. I have a lot more empathy for all the patients we have to stick on a regular basis.
Finally, I am thankful for the number 155. This was baby's heart rate today. Now that baby is growing, the movements it makes are even more noticeable which is always comforting to feel. However, it is a relief whenever I get the opportunity to hear that heartbeat and have added confirmation that all is well.
While my body feels very much like it has been taken over by this baby, I really have had very few complaints throughout this pregnancy. Fatigue, indigestion and restless legs have been my only major complaints. Being a slightly anxious person it has at times made me feel as though things are going too well, so tonight I am going to go to bed thankful for a day of many positive confirmations on this baby's health. I am also going to bed in eager anticipation of the last trimester, knowing now that the end is in sight. We will soon get to meet our little one, and I can hardly wait! Uff, I guess it better be a good night's sleep because I've been told those days are numbered!
The first number is 27. This is how far along I am. It's crazy to think that the third trimester has arrived and there are only 13 weeks left. With Thanksgiving and Christmas coming up, I think the rest of this pregnancy may end up flying by pretty fast! I also measured out perfectly, which is always a relief to know that baby is right on target for growth.
My second number is 139. This was the my blood sugar after my glucose challenge test; which is a test for gestational diabetes. It is that test that pregnant women complain about because they have to drink a sugary cocktail. I had gotten some good advice before the test to choose the lemon-lime flavor. It tasted like sweetened flat sprite. I had low expectations going in, so I was pleasantly surprised when it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. My numbers had to be under 140, so I barely made it. However, I passed and that's all that matters. If I had been above 140, then I would have had to have a three hour test to actually confirm the results. I am glad I don't have to do that. I am also glad I don't have to test my blood sugars everyday. In high school I almost fainted the day my anatomy class tested our blood types during a lab, so I wasn't so sure I had it in me to do that everyday. Plus, the spot on my finger that they took a sample from still hurts tonight. I have a lot more empathy for all the patients we have to stick on a regular basis.
Finally, I am thankful for the number 155. This was baby's heart rate today. Now that baby is growing, the movements it makes are even more noticeable which is always comforting to feel. However, it is a relief whenever I get the opportunity to hear that heartbeat and have added confirmation that all is well.
While my body feels very much like it has been taken over by this baby, I really have had very few complaints throughout this pregnancy. Fatigue, indigestion and restless legs have been my only major complaints. Being a slightly anxious person it has at times made me feel as though things are going too well, so tonight I am going to go to bed thankful for a day of many positive confirmations on this baby's health. I am also going to bed in eager anticipation of the last trimester, knowing now that the end is in sight. We will soon get to meet our little one, and I can hardly wait! Uff, I guess it better be a good night's sleep because I've been told those days are numbered!
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Puppy Love
At a year and a half our dog, Sadie, isn't so much a puppy anymore. However, she still looks like she could be and some days we wonder if she didn't just get stuck in puppy-hood somewhere along the way. For those of you who haven't met her, she is a rescue dog. We got her through an organization that takes in dogs from high kill shelters in the South, fosters them and then finds homes for them here in the Twin Cities. She and her litter were found without parents, so we really aren't sure what is in her mix. She has the colorings of a German Shepherd, but since she's stunted at 40 pounds there was some small dog mixed in there somewhere.
I would venture to say, while she has her meek moments, she is what they call a high-confidence dog. She is spunky and energetic. She hates cleaning and house projects. There is nothing worse than when the vacuum cleaner and broom make their appearance from the basement. Sadie is intelligent and loves a good training challenge. Hard work is her middle name. Walks and runs are much more fulfilling if there are a few sticks along the way that can be cleared out and moved along. Her best days are spent with plenty of time outside stalking squirrels, and chasing the deer from the yard. Her personal mission in life is to destroy all those annoying squeakers that are placed in those goofy dog toys and to rid them of their stuffing. Most of all, she absolutely adores Nick and I.
There probably isn't much more in this world that can raise your confidence quite like the loyalty of a dog. I am always reminded of how long it takes to walk to the end of the driveway to get the mail and return to the house when Sadie greets me at the door as cheerfully as if I'd been gone for the day. When I take her outside to play, and she waits with joyful anticipation for her toy to be launched in the air, the look she gives me makes me feel like I am performing the most important work of the day. Her satisfied sigh as she collapses on the floor after a good walk/run remind me of how satisfying a good workout can be. She watches me whenever I get dressed, and if I don't end up putting on scrubs for work, her tail wags so fast it looks like she is going to take off the ground. Finally, when she is called into the house from outside the determined look she has as she runs towards me just makes me smile.
Her cuddliest times of the day are in the morning right after she's woken up and after a good long run. During these times she wants to sit on the floor next to me. When I grab the blanket and sit down, she sidles up next to me and slides down to the floor, so there is absolutely no space between us. She lets out her best happy grunt and settles into a nice nap.
We were warned when we bought our house to not rush into the dog ownership trap, but we couldn't resist. I think we made it about a two weeks after we moved in before we started looking, and about two weeks more before Sadie was officially in our house to stay. Sure, we each have days where the responsibility of a dog feels a little burdensome, but she has worked her way so deeply into our "family" that we really would be quite lost without her.
Sadie reminds me everyday of the simple pleasures of life. She never complains about her meals, even if she gets the same thing everyday. To her food is nourishment and nourishment is life. Her excitement over a car ride, even when it may end up being a trip to the vet or groomers, reminds me that adventures are the spice of life. You never know when it could lead to an off-leash exploration of new territory. To her, a toy is a toy. She doesn't care how expensive it is, as money means nothing to her. A newfound stick in the yard usually provides better entertainment than the fancy squeaker toy that she destroys within minutes of receiving it. Materialism is not the name of her game. She also finds pride in her work. When she is asked to perform a task and she completes it, you can tell that she finds tremendous satisfaction in that.
Most notably she finds joy in loyalty and being together. Obviously, for dogs their survival depends on loyalty. If she doesn't pull her weight, follow commands or take direction from those that care for her she won't survive. She has to trust that we will make decisions that protect her, and when she does her needs are provided for. I am no different. I couldn't survive very effectively without the guidance and wisdom of my support network. Finally, nothing makes for a happier dog than when both Nick and I are home, at the same time. When this happens she prances around like she has won the lottery; a wonderful reminder of how special togetherness is.
Around this time of year, I sometimes get overwhelmed with the abundance of parties and gatherings that fill our calendar. I am an introvert and usually get a little anxious about being over-scheduled. However, with how busy our lives are it is a wonderful blessing to be able to have a time of year where we can focus on re-connecting with family and loved ones. I grew up abroad and I didn't get this opportunity every year. Nick has family all over the globe, and in the past I have too, and time together becomes extremely valuable. I think Sadie is absolutely right being together strengthens bonds and reaffirms us of the community we are a part of, that is definitely deserving of a good prance.
I would venture to say, while she has her meek moments, she is what they call a high-confidence dog. She is spunky and energetic. She hates cleaning and house projects. There is nothing worse than when the vacuum cleaner and broom make their appearance from the basement. Sadie is intelligent and loves a good training challenge. Hard work is her middle name. Walks and runs are much more fulfilling if there are a few sticks along the way that can be cleared out and moved along. Her best days are spent with plenty of time outside stalking squirrels, and chasing the deer from the yard. Her personal mission in life is to destroy all those annoying squeakers that are placed in those goofy dog toys and to rid them of their stuffing. Most of all, she absolutely adores Nick and I.
There probably isn't much more in this world that can raise your confidence quite like the loyalty of a dog. I am always reminded of how long it takes to walk to the end of the driveway to get the mail and return to the house when Sadie greets me at the door as cheerfully as if I'd been gone for the day. When I take her outside to play, and she waits with joyful anticipation for her toy to be launched in the air, the look she gives me makes me feel like I am performing the most important work of the day. Her satisfied sigh as she collapses on the floor after a good walk/run remind me of how satisfying a good workout can be. She watches me whenever I get dressed, and if I don't end up putting on scrubs for work, her tail wags so fast it looks like she is going to take off the ground. Finally, when she is called into the house from outside the determined look she has as she runs towards me just makes me smile.
Her cuddliest times of the day are in the morning right after she's woken up and after a good long run. During these times she wants to sit on the floor next to me. When I grab the blanket and sit down, she sidles up next to me and slides down to the floor, so there is absolutely no space between us. She lets out her best happy grunt and settles into a nice nap.
We were warned when we bought our house to not rush into the dog ownership trap, but we couldn't resist. I think we made it about a two weeks after we moved in before we started looking, and about two weeks more before Sadie was officially in our house to stay. Sure, we each have days where the responsibility of a dog feels a little burdensome, but she has worked her way so deeply into our "family" that we really would be quite lost without her.
Sadie reminds me everyday of the simple pleasures of life. She never complains about her meals, even if she gets the same thing everyday. To her food is nourishment and nourishment is life. Her excitement over a car ride, even when it may end up being a trip to the vet or groomers, reminds me that adventures are the spice of life. You never know when it could lead to an off-leash exploration of new territory. To her, a toy is a toy. She doesn't care how expensive it is, as money means nothing to her. A newfound stick in the yard usually provides better entertainment than the fancy squeaker toy that she destroys within minutes of receiving it. Materialism is not the name of her game. She also finds pride in her work. When she is asked to perform a task and she completes it, you can tell that she finds tremendous satisfaction in that.
Most notably she finds joy in loyalty and being together. Obviously, for dogs their survival depends on loyalty. If she doesn't pull her weight, follow commands or take direction from those that care for her she won't survive. She has to trust that we will make decisions that protect her, and when she does her needs are provided for. I am no different. I couldn't survive very effectively without the guidance and wisdom of my support network. Finally, nothing makes for a happier dog than when both Nick and I are home, at the same time. When this happens she prances around like she has won the lottery; a wonderful reminder of how special togetherness is.
Around this time of year, I sometimes get overwhelmed with the abundance of parties and gatherings that fill our calendar. I am an introvert and usually get a little anxious about being over-scheduled. However, with how busy our lives are it is a wonderful blessing to be able to have a time of year where we can focus on re-connecting with family and loved ones. I grew up abroad and I didn't get this opportunity every year. Nick has family all over the globe, and in the past I have too, and time together becomes extremely valuable. I think Sadie is absolutely right being together strengthens bonds and reaffirms us of the community we are a part of, that is definitely deserving of a good prance.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Snow Days
It has been quite the process to get me to appreciate days like today. I realize I am a Minnesota girl now, but I haven't always been. I grew up in a country where we spent our Christmas on the beach, wearing sandals and walking on the reefs. We always looked forward to it because the pineapples were sweet, the weather was warm and we had friends gathering that were so close we called them family. We were a long ways from family at the time, so it was special to be able to share the holidays with the next best thing.
Thanksgiving in Madagascar usually meant a day off of school because mom liked to try and honor the holiday. I remember one Thanksgiving in particular where we went out to eat at a local hotel and even got to go swimming in the outdoor pool. We shared in our typical thanksgiving tradition of going around the table and telling everyone what we were thankful for. Most important of all, the meal didn't include turkey, which was a food I didn't particularly enjoy as a youngster.
When we moved back to the United States in fifth grade, we returned home in March. The snow was gray, the weather bleary and we were faced with the reality we wouldn't be returning "home." It was a big adjustment and I think I took a lot of my distaste of the situation out on the weather. I hated winter, because it was cold, but also because it was so far removed from what I was used to. The onset of winter meant that I was no where close to the comforts of my childhood and where I grew up. I used to complain bitterly about the snow. Even in college my friends knew to avoid me during the first snowfall because it usually put me in a bad mood. I would keep my curtains closed and huff and puff about how stupid it was that anyone would live here.
I used to blame my parents and my ancestors for choosing so foolishly to live in a climate that freezes for more months in the year than it thaws. I would give myself permission to complain because at the time, I had no choice in the matter. My family lived here, so I had to live here by default. It wasn't my choice I would exclaim.
There was also the time I told my mom that we really should have a plan in this state that everyone evacuate during the cold weather. If hurricanes and floods could force people out of their homes then why couldn't 40 below zero do the same?
I don't know that I would say that I particularly enjoy the full five to seven months of winter that we endure every year. By January, which is the month I am usually most homesick for Madagascar, I am usually singing another tune. However, today I woke up and marveled at the snow. It looked so crisp and clean, I decided that if we have to live with the below freezing temps we might as well have something pretty to look at. It makes me want to get out there and cross country ski, although this year I am going to have to try my hand at snow shoeing instead. I now have fun memories associated with this weather and have obviously made a conscious adult decision to live here.
The arrival of winter leads to time spent with family at holiday gatherings. This is treasured time, as we have family spread out far and wide. The cooler weather means warm drinks, cozy fire places and snuggling under warm blankets. Christmas lights provide a much needed glow to the shorter, darker days. Snow on the ground calls for fun times skiing outside, wrapped in long underwear, mittens and scarves. Now, the changing of the seasons doesn't so much remind me of what I am missing out on, it indicates what I get to look forward to.
Thanksgiving in Madagascar usually meant a day off of school because mom liked to try and honor the holiday. I remember one Thanksgiving in particular where we went out to eat at a local hotel and even got to go swimming in the outdoor pool. We shared in our typical thanksgiving tradition of going around the table and telling everyone what we were thankful for. Most important of all, the meal didn't include turkey, which was a food I didn't particularly enjoy as a youngster.
When we moved back to the United States in fifth grade, we returned home in March. The snow was gray, the weather bleary and we were faced with the reality we wouldn't be returning "home." It was a big adjustment and I think I took a lot of my distaste of the situation out on the weather. I hated winter, because it was cold, but also because it was so far removed from what I was used to. The onset of winter meant that I was no where close to the comforts of my childhood and where I grew up. I used to complain bitterly about the snow. Even in college my friends knew to avoid me during the first snowfall because it usually put me in a bad mood. I would keep my curtains closed and huff and puff about how stupid it was that anyone would live here.
I used to blame my parents and my ancestors for choosing so foolishly to live in a climate that freezes for more months in the year than it thaws. I would give myself permission to complain because at the time, I had no choice in the matter. My family lived here, so I had to live here by default. It wasn't my choice I would exclaim.
There was also the time I told my mom that we really should have a plan in this state that everyone evacuate during the cold weather. If hurricanes and floods could force people out of their homes then why couldn't 40 below zero do the same?
I don't know that I would say that I particularly enjoy the full five to seven months of winter that we endure every year. By January, which is the month I am usually most homesick for Madagascar, I am usually singing another tune. However, today I woke up and marveled at the snow. It looked so crisp and clean, I decided that if we have to live with the below freezing temps we might as well have something pretty to look at. It makes me want to get out there and cross country ski, although this year I am going to have to try my hand at snow shoeing instead. I now have fun memories associated with this weather and have obviously made a conscious adult decision to live here.
The arrival of winter leads to time spent with family at holiday gatherings. This is treasured time, as we have family spread out far and wide. The cooler weather means warm drinks, cozy fire places and snuggling under warm blankets. Christmas lights provide a much needed glow to the shorter, darker days. Snow on the ground calls for fun times skiing outside, wrapped in long underwear, mittens and scarves. Now, the changing of the seasons doesn't so much remind me of what I am missing out on, it indicates what I get to look forward to.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Sleep
I really enjoy working night shifts, but I hate the lack of sleep part of it all. I never pulled all nighters in college and I didn't enjoy lock-ins in high school because I don't sleep well during the day. The thought of being in bed while the daylight hours are burning is beyond me. So here I sit with a lot of hours of work behind me and several more ahead of me trying to understand why my body thinks its okay to only have three and a half hours of sleep. Its beautiful outside, but judging the fact that last night I had to do jumping jacks in order to finish my charting, I don't think I should be too ambitious about getting much done.
Hence, today I am thankful for sleep. I am not thankful for it because I've had a lot of rest the past few days. I am thankful for it because I miss it, value it and can not wait to catch up on a little of it someday soon. After all, once this baby arrives all hope for sleep will be lost anyways, right?
I have always been a notoriously bad sleeper in any situation aside from laying in my own bed at night. My parents have many stories of trans-atlantic flights with a sleepless toddler. In fact, the first trip we made to the United States was when I was two. Our family here had never met me and anxiously awaited our arrival. Despite my parents valiant efforts I didn't sleep for the duration of the trip. However, upon reaching our destination and eager family, I promptly fell asleep and didn't wake until the next day.
I couldn't help but think of the many stories of sleepless nights that my parents still love to tell as I cared for a sleep deprived patient the other night. There were many statements and pearls of advice that I heard flowing from my mouth that night that sounded strangely similar to the advice my parents would patiently give me as I lay thrashing in beds in hotel rooms during family vacations.
The ICU environment is awful at promoting sleep. There is absolutely nothing restful about it. Unfortunately, people are admitted to the ICU because they require close and frequent monitoring. On our unit we work primarily with the brain. While some measurements can be taken while patients rest, much of our clinical information comes from a patient's orientation to their environment and how their body is moving and feeling. This requires us to frequently wake patients up to do our assessments. Therefore, optimizing their rest schedules as best as possible is often on the top of our priority list.
Every once in a while though we get those patients who, like me, are convinced they "just can't sleep and there's nothing that can be done about it." It was this type of patient that I cared for Sunday night. The kicker was that she was doing nothing to help herself. I walked into the room at ten at night to find her on the phone, lights on, tv blaring and her sister snoring on the couch. Knowing that this patient had not gotten adequate rest in several days, I began the process of slowly weaning her off her stimulation.
First, I had to calm her down over her frustrations with dietary. Then I explained the importance of sleep in such a stressful situation. Finally, I told her that the tv would not be allowed to be on throughout the night, unless she wanted to watch the station with peaceful nature scenes and classical music. I turned out the lights and left the room. I peeked in a few times, to find her resting. When I returned an hour later for my assessment she awoke and stated that she had had the best night's sleep ever. I informed her there were many hours left in the night.
She then proceeded to make several phone calls. I waited, and when there was a break informed her that it was time to turn the phone off for the night. She stated again, "I can't sleep. I am not tired and there is nothing in this room for me to do." Then it happened, my mom's voice shot through me as I said, "Well, you can't fall asleep if you're talking on the phone. Now I am going to turn out the lights and you need to get some sleep." At first, I was a little taken back and not quite prepared to sound like my mom just yet. However, it worked and the patient was snoring before I even left the room.
As I sat down to chart, I stared down at my growing belly, and told my unborn child that there is more where that came from. I feel quite convinced that there will be pay back for the ease of this pregnancy. My mom has always insinuated that she hopes that I get a little pay back for the troubles I caused growing up; and given the stubborn, opinionated genes that have been contributed to our child's genetic make up, I feel confidant that parenthood should be a wild ride. I guess in terms of sleepless nights and the "I can't believe I just said what my parents used to tell me" moments, I am ready. Now I just need to multiply everything like ten times...or so I hear.
Hence, today I am thankful for sleep. I am not thankful for it because I've had a lot of rest the past few days. I am thankful for it because I miss it, value it and can not wait to catch up on a little of it someday soon. After all, once this baby arrives all hope for sleep will be lost anyways, right?
I have always been a notoriously bad sleeper in any situation aside from laying in my own bed at night. My parents have many stories of trans-atlantic flights with a sleepless toddler. In fact, the first trip we made to the United States was when I was two. Our family here had never met me and anxiously awaited our arrival. Despite my parents valiant efforts I didn't sleep for the duration of the trip. However, upon reaching our destination and eager family, I promptly fell asleep and didn't wake until the next day.
I couldn't help but think of the many stories of sleepless nights that my parents still love to tell as I cared for a sleep deprived patient the other night. There were many statements and pearls of advice that I heard flowing from my mouth that night that sounded strangely similar to the advice my parents would patiently give me as I lay thrashing in beds in hotel rooms during family vacations.
The ICU environment is awful at promoting sleep. There is absolutely nothing restful about it. Unfortunately, people are admitted to the ICU because they require close and frequent monitoring. On our unit we work primarily with the brain. While some measurements can be taken while patients rest, much of our clinical information comes from a patient's orientation to their environment and how their body is moving and feeling. This requires us to frequently wake patients up to do our assessments. Therefore, optimizing their rest schedules as best as possible is often on the top of our priority list.
Every once in a while though we get those patients who, like me, are convinced they "just can't sleep and there's nothing that can be done about it." It was this type of patient that I cared for Sunday night. The kicker was that she was doing nothing to help herself. I walked into the room at ten at night to find her on the phone, lights on, tv blaring and her sister snoring on the couch. Knowing that this patient had not gotten adequate rest in several days, I began the process of slowly weaning her off her stimulation.
First, I had to calm her down over her frustrations with dietary. Then I explained the importance of sleep in such a stressful situation. Finally, I told her that the tv would not be allowed to be on throughout the night, unless she wanted to watch the station with peaceful nature scenes and classical music. I turned out the lights and left the room. I peeked in a few times, to find her resting. When I returned an hour later for my assessment she awoke and stated that she had had the best night's sleep ever. I informed her there were many hours left in the night.
She then proceeded to make several phone calls. I waited, and when there was a break informed her that it was time to turn the phone off for the night. She stated again, "I can't sleep. I am not tired and there is nothing in this room for me to do." Then it happened, my mom's voice shot through me as I said, "Well, you can't fall asleep if you're talking on the phone. Now I am going to turn out the lights and you need to get some sleep." At first, I was a little taken back and not quite prepared to sound like my mom just yet. However, it worked and the patient was snoring before I even left the room.
As I sat down to chart, I stared down at my growing belly, and told my unborn child that there is more where that came from. I feel quite convinced that there will be pay back for the ease of this pregnancy. My mom has always insinuated that she hopes that I get a little pay back for the troubles I caused growing up; and given the stubborn, opinionated genes that have been contributed to our child's genetic make up, I feel confidant that parenthood should be a wild ride. I guess in terms of sleepless nights and the "I can't believe I just said what my parents used to tell me" moments, I am ready. Now I just need to multiply everything like ten times...or so I hear.
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