How Much?!

So, it's been awhile. I'm not going to make excuses, mostly because all the excuses I have start with "The baby...", as in, "The baby needs a lot of feeding!" or "The baby kept me up all night/morning." No, I'm not going to make excuses because I don't believe anyone is actually reading this. I read somewhere (OK, I didn't read it, I just made it up) that you lose half your readership for every week that goes by without a blog post. Since only about 3 people read this blog when posts were made more frequently, I fully expect that the rest of you have dropped off. And I don't blame you. No, I do not.

And maybe it's a good thing you've stopped reading, because I'm going to talk about something serious now, and something that I've talked about before (no, not the baby this time): health care in America.

Recently, due to a lack of having their crap together and an excess of their own heads up their asses, the billing staff failed to acknowledge that our baby was added to my insurance plan when she was born. How this happened, I do not know. When I preregistered, then re-registered at the hospital, they took my information down and I thought things were OK. After I got home with the baby, I added her to my policy and was told the plan would cover her retroactively starting the day she was born. Stupidly, I thought this would actually work. It didn't.

Anyway, long story short, I received a bill in the mail yesterday that demanded I pay them a small fortune for her "care" in the hospital. And let me just clarify, yes, that is sarcasm. If anyone should be paid for the baby's care in the hospital, it should be me. I fed her. I changed her. I rocked her to sleep. They only came in to weigh her and comment about how much hair she had.

But I digress. The amount we were billed, because they believed the baby didn't have health insurance, could cover a good portion of a down payment on a small house. It could buy a used Japanese car. It could cover half a year at UMM when I was attending. And this bill included what I learned was the "uninsured patient discount", which is a seemingly random amount that is knocked off the price out of pity. It wasn't even half of the total price of the care.

My heart literally skipped a beat when I saw the bill. I called Chris in a panic. The next day, when I spoke to the billing representative, it became clear that a mistake had been made, and I came down off the ceiling and rejoined normal life. But for a few hours, I knew the panic that uninsured people must feel when they receive a bill like this.

Here's why it was silly of me to feel that way: I am employed, married to someone who is also employed, have more than enough money in savings to have paid the bill without any effect on my day to day life, and would have been able to replenish the savings within a month or two with a little effort. What if I wasn't employed, wasn't able to get a good job, wasn't married? What if I'd received the full bill for my care and the baby's care, which totaled almost $30,000? What if I had this new baby AND a mountain of medical bills?

At this moment, there are about 50 million people who could potentially receive necessary medical care, and then a bill like this. FIFTY MILLION. When they do get care and can't pay those bills, where does the money come from? The cost is divvied up and passed along to everyone. It's like shoplifting, except instead of stealing a sweater, the uninsured are getting lifesaving medical treatment that they would gladly pay for if they could. The price of the sweater is raised to cover the one that wasn't paid for. The same thing happens with medical care. This is why I was charged about $3000 for each night I spent in the hospital, and I couldn't even get anyone to answer my call light.

My little moment of panic deepened my belief that we need, need, NEED to make health care accessible to everyone. We need a public option--not a forced plan for everyone, but the option of having care provided by the government for those people who don't have a job that gives them health insurance. Health insurance can not continue to be run by companies that seek to make profits, and can not continue to be seen as a luxury item for the middle and upper classes, or those of us lucky enough to continue to be employed.

A friend of mine received an itemized bill for her recent hospital stay. In it, there was a $18 charge for a "mucus disposal system". She figured out this was actually just a fancy term for the box of Kleenex provided in her room. Eighteen dollar Kleenex! This is madness. Let's do something about it.

Hope you're well!
xo

Eat, Sleep, Eat, Repeat.

Writing more often isn't working. There, I said it. You know it, I know it, but I didn't want to dance around it. What am I doing that is more important than writing? To begin with, I'm keeping an infant alive. I'm also napping. To be fair, I'm napping because I'm keeping an infant alive for a few hours in the middle of every night.

So, I'd love to say that I've been doing things that are really funny to write about and interesting for you to read, but that would be a lie. And I'd never, ever lie to you. I may exaggerate for comedic effect, but I'd never flat-out lie. No, basically, my life for the past 4 weeks has been feed the baby, change the baby, feed the baby, wipe up something that has been forcibly ejected from the baby, kiss and cuddle the baby, feed the baby, sleep for about 2 hours, feed the baby, sleep for 2 hours, feed the baby, try to find time to eat and drink something that will turn into food for the baby. So... That's that.

Chris and I are celebrating our 2-year anniversary tomorrow! I can't believe it's been 2 years already. He's the best. He's probably the most laid-back man on the planet when it comes to this whole baby thing. I'll be frantic about something having to do with feeding the baby, or the way things have shifted physically, or a number of post-pregnancy issues and he'll just say, "You're doing a great job. Look how happy the baby is. I love you", or some other comforting thing. And then I really pay attention to how happy and chubby the baby is or how much he still likes me the way I am, and everything's OK until the next "crisis" I mentally create.

But again, I will just say that this baby is the best person in the world and I couldn't ever have imagined feeling this way about another human being. She has turned me into a marshmallow and a grizzly bear at the same time. I feel like I've known her forever, but she's brand new. She's the most beautiful and interesting thing on the planet, even at 3, 4 and 5AM. I'm smitten.

With that, I'm going to leave you. The baby's hungry!
xo

An Undertaking of Epic Proportions

Well, hi again. I'm hoping to return to a semi-normal pattern of writing now that things are relatively calm and the holidays are over.

I'm not one of those people who usually gets stressed out by the holiday season, but this year presented some challenges that made Christmas feel much less Christmas-y than in previous years. Having this baby has been absolutely amazing, if not entirely all-consuming. There have been days when I have not showered, not eaten, not even really stood up much, and have just fed and rocked and fed and fed some more. Those days feel long, and leave me feeling as though one of my days has been sucked into a black hole of time that I'll never get back. They are also sort of sleepy days, lazy and oddly cozy. I wish the weather would get really, really crappy so I could make some cocoa and really settle into them. But for now, those days are few and, thankfully, far between, and I have retained some level of new-mom sanity.

There have been enough of those days, though, that I felt completely unprepared for Christmas and Chris's birthday when they rolled around. I actually had to send poor Chris out to buy not only all my family's Christmas presents, but the ingredients to his own birthday cake, too. I'm hoping that the fact that I am three weeks post-operative and am keeping his daughter alive will help him to forget and forgive me for this holiday season.

So, today is my first day alone with the baby. Chris was home last week but had to work a regular week from home, so I had a little practice, but I'm still feeling a little concerned. What if I fall in the kitchen and don't have the strength to drag myself to my quietly-starving baby in the bedroom? What if...actually, I don't have a lot of concrete concerns. I'm sure it will be just fine. There's just something a little intimidating about being the only person responsible for this little baby all day.

Most of you reading this will have already met Sophie, but if you haven't, let me tell you, we lucked out. This kid is incredible. She is easy-going, doesn't get too upset about anything (other than being hungry), and sleeps like a champion. There is no guessing game when she's crying. We don't have to run down a list of potential irritants, eliminating reasons and trying out different solutions. The answer is always that she is hungry. She doesn't cry when she's tired or wet or for no reason, like some babies. She is either 100% content or 100% hungry. She runs on a simple, baby binary system. She doesn't mind if you take your time getting her little onesie over her head, or if you kind of struggle to get her arms into her tiny sleeves. She just sits there, looking around with her giant, blue eyes, waiting for you to get your parental crap together. Unless she's hungry as you're trying to do these things. Then, she cries. When you feed her, she returns to her natural, happy state for the briefest of moments, and then she falls asleep.

I'm sure I'll write more now, and I'm sure that for awhile, most of these posts will have something to do with motherhood. Bear with me. I'm not doing much more at the moment.

Hope you've had the merriest of Christmases!
xo

It Was The Best of Times

It has been a long time since my last post, but I have the best of excuses: Sophie arrived on the 7th!

I've read other people's blogs and some have had a tough time talking about their birth stories until a lot later, and I'm going to be one of those people now. Those of you who read this who are close to me probably already know the whole story, and those of you who are further away can probably wait for any details I'll ever be willing to give. I will sum up the experience for now by saying that it was not the birth I had envisioned, but the baby is healthy, and so am I, and the three of us are all bundled up at home.

Our baby is by far the best thing that has ever happened to me. She is beautiful, soft, sweet, easygoing, and incredibly lovable. The first time I met her, I could barely touch her let alone hold her, but that's all I wanted to do. And since she's been here, that's about all I've done.

She is happy and healthy and gaining weight steadily. She is a good eater, a good sleeper, has a great head of hair, and the most beautiful, big dark eyes that are slowly turning deep blue. She makes funny faces, she is cuddly, and she already makes us laugh. I can't imagine loving somebody more.

So please forgive my last entry, and rest assured when I say that all the discomfort from pregnancy and the birth are all distant memories, and I'd do it all again a hundred times over if that's what it took.

Hope all is well!
xo

Anwers to Your Questions

In the spirit of keeping up with this blog, despite really not having much to talk about other than The Baby, I'm going to answer some questions that have been asked of me over the course of the last few days.

Q: Are YOU still HERE? (This is usually asked of me every morning as I arrive at work.)
A: You can still see me, so...yes, I'm still here. I want every minute of my maternity leave to use after the baby is born. When I stop coming in to work, you'll know I'm not here. The biggest clue is that I WON'T BE HERE.

Q: Are you just super uncomfortable?
A: No, I am loving this extra weight attached to the front of me, along with the subsequent back and hip pain. Fat feet and swollen ankles feel amazing. It's better than chocolate. Yes, I'm kind of uncomfortable.

Q: Do you want to ________?
A: Unless you've just proposed that I lie on the couch and have people feed me things, probably not. No offense to you, but I've spent 40 weeks going to things and doing things. Now, I want to do nothing. You can come over and do nothing with me, if you want.

Q: Is there only one baby in there?!
A: Oh, shut up.

Q: How do you even stay upright with that belly?
A: I've got really, really strong legs. And shut up.

Q: Haven't you had that baby YET?
A: Actually, I did. This is just Thanksgiving dinner leftovers gone wrong. The baby is home with her French au pair. Of course I haven't!

Q: Are you still pregnant?
A: God, I hope so. Not being pregnant should neither look nor feel like this.

Again, I can't complain. This hasn't been all that bad. I'm just a little worn out and fairly sick of doing things. The next entry I write will either be in a week when I'm still pregnant and will be inappropriate for my younger readers because of the vulgarity, or will be an account of our baby Sophie's birth. I'm praying for the latter. You probably are too.

Hope you're well!
xo

Eviction Notice

Imagine that I'm writing something very witty and clever about politics, or Occupy Wall Street or something. Imagine that I've just blown your mind with my social commentary, my insights on relevant news stories, or some piece of new philosophy about something deeply philosophical. You must imagine these things because I am, as of this moment, 39 weeks and 4.8 days pregnant. There is no insight to be had, no philosophy to be philosophized, nothing. I am a very pregnant person, and that's about it. My brain is 75% water and 25% GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME.

I shouldn't complain. I read a story earlier today about a couple who struggled for years to get pregnant and eventually spent their life's savings on countless rounds of IVF before having their baby. Chris and I are very, very, very lucky. But just for a second, I want to acknowledge that being 5'2" and having what they tell me is a watermelon-sized baby tucked within my abdomen is beginning to get a little bit uncomfortable. And now that the moment of self-pity has passed, let me describe the silver lining(s) to you: I can still sleep. I am still going to work. My doctor says things are progressing nicely. The baby's head was re-measured and is in the 35th percentile--NOT the 91st, as they guesstimated previously. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.

The other day, Chris and I decided to get this thing going. We went for a spicy curry lunch and then walked the mall for a couple of hours. Since I am writing this instead of rocking my infant daughter, you can be assured that neither of these things had any positive effect. We stopped by a Brookstone-type store and I sat in one of those big massage chairs. As my hand drifted towards the 'on' button, one of the employees appeared at my side as if summoned by magic. "Since you've got a little something in there," he said, gesturing loosely at my massive belly, "you can't sit in any of the massaging chairs. It's a store policy. Apparently, it can put you into early labor."

This time, it was Chris who jumped to answer. "But she's 39 weeks. It's OK for her to go into labor." I nodded. "Yeah, a little labor induction would be a great thing!" I said. The employee handled our desperation like a retail wizard by informing us the massaging chairs were on sale and we could purchase one to use for that purpose if we'd like. Instead, we left the store to continue our walking.

And still, no baby. I'm drinking some kind of smelly raspberry leaf tea, walking, doing lunges, and everything the books say to help get this thing going. I think she's just going to have to come out on her own time.

But if December third comes and goes uneventfully, I will definitely be returning to the store to buy that chair.

xo

Sausage Feet and A Fertilized Egg

Yes, after a short hiatus from writing solely about The Baby, I'm going to write about her. This Saturday marked the beginning of what I'm calling "Any Day Now". Sophie is officially 37 weeks, which is what the medical community considers a full-term baby. My doctor said that after 36 weeks, they won't stop labor if it happens, but 37 weeks is the mark at which they also won't worry too much about the baby's breathing, and everything will probably be just fine without any medical dramatics.

So, we've passed that crucial point. I've been having some aches and pains that let me know that the baby might be here relatively soon. Chris is on high alert. He said that every time I text or call him during the day, he thinks I've gone into labor. Walking is somewhat painful a lot of the time, my pelvis feels like it's being slowly stretched apart, and my feet look like Barney Rubble's. Niiiiiice and puffy.

But those aren't the symptoms I'm paying the most attention to. No, the thing that I can't get off my mind is that I'm just ready to have this baby. Be it by c-section, by induction, by natural birth, I don't care. This pregnancy has gone past the point of cute or interesting, and is bordering on being a little disgusting. No belly skin should have to stretch this far. Twenty minutes of gentle yoga should not exhaust me. Sitting on the couch in a slightly awkward position should not warrant the application of Icy Hot to my lower back. It's been 37 weeks and 3 days. That's enough, I think.

I still love to feel her rolling around in there, still love the fact that she's coming, and still stand in her room, imagining her lying in the crib, or rocking her in the rocking chair, or reading little books to her, or putting her in all those adorable clothes we've been given. But now, the waiting has become irritating, like a sneeze that's been building up for 9 1/2 months but won't come out. People say, "Oh, are you so excited?" And I think, "Excited isn't the right word. I'm just ready." I've started trying to bribe her from the outside. I tell her things like, "Hey, if you come out now, I'll put you in this really cute elephant onesie and we'll listen to this Goldilocks and the 3 Bears record I bought you. It will be really fun..."

Part of this, I'm sure, is that I'm a little anxious about giving birth. From what I've heard, this is normal as I will be passing a small person out of my body and into the world. I think I have mentioned before how lucky I feel to be going through all of this in one of the most medically-advanced countries in the developed world, and I know that if I get too tired to go on during labor, or things aren't going well, there will be options to deliver the baby with little pain or danger to either of us. But it's the uncertainty. When is it going to happen? What will it feel like? Will she have my hair, or Chris's nose? And what if they give me a c-section and they end up cutting the baby, they way they cut fruit when they open a box with a box cutter? I'm just saying. These are the things running through my mind.

And so, in these last few weeks, if I seem distracted, please forgive me. I'm probably paying only half the attention I ought to be at any given moment...except when driving. I'm crazy-attentive while driving.
Hope you're well!
xo