Olivia Finley Stock: The birth story

The day I went into labor, I arrived at work and snatched nail polish off Ashley's desk, some instinctively told me to paint my toe nails. For the past week, I just wasn't feeling well. It probably didn't help that I cut up about 100 onions and peppers in 100 degree heat for a neighborhood event with work the week before or going to the car wash and vacuuming out my car with my gigantic belly. You could say that this burst of energy was me forcing my body to move around and get the baby out. Needless to say, I was also mentally preparing reluctantly telling my due date "September 14th, but I'm aiming for the end of August." Ha! If you want it badly enough and focus your energy hard enough, then what you want can happen.

So back to the labor story, I noticed the tightening of my belly was pretty regular, but my water broke during my first pregnancy, so I was unsure as to whether or not these were practice contractions or the real deal. Just to be sure, I made out a list of my job responsibilities and told my boss, "I may not be here tomorrow." His reply was a deer in headlights stair and then an "okay."

Later that evening, I decided to write down the times of the contractions. They were consistently 7 to 10 minutes apart. I really didn't want to be the girl that goes to the hospital and gets sent home. I also did not want to have the baby in the middle of the night and have no babysitter. We ate dinner, pizza, my dad came over, and then we were off to the hospital. Good thing I pre registered last Friday. 

At the hospital, the nurse hooked me up to the monitor and observed me for about an hour. They decided to keep me over night and the next day they started pitocin and Olivia entered into the world just before 2 o'clock.

My doctor is great. Just as Olivia's head was out I heard, "this baby is a moose." This from the same woman who diagnosed my swelling as "cankles." I suppose she was a bit of a moose. She was almost three weeks early and weighed 8lbs and 1oz. Funny, the guy cleaning her up said she was already rooting. Just like her mother, this girl likes to eat.

As I gazed at my daughter, the bonding falling in love moment was interrupted by, "there is a bit of a tear." AUGH! For the love of God, this was the fear that I had most going into this thing. I had a 4 degree tear with Boden, which took a long time to heal and had some further effects that I care not to describe. 

My head snapped off the team of the guy who was cleaning her up and my mom and Ashley who gathered around the baby. "What degree!?"

"It is another four degree." She said solemnly knowing that the news would be crushing to me.

"When can we set up some time to fix it? Do I get all of it done after six weeks?"

"I'm going to try to fix it now." 

The bonding moment that I had really didn't come until we were able to spend our first night together. In the quiet darkness, we bonded. How could you not bond with a baby who comes out smiling?

Matt 3/28/75 - 8/18/05

This is a picture of my brother Matt and I his very last Christmas with us. He is smiling. For Matt, that was a smile.

There are things in life that we just can never fully understand. My brother took his life four years ago. He suffered from depression. It would be easier to take I suppose if he were to have died from cancer or by a car accident, but to know that it was his decision to leave was selfish, sad, and confusing. I am writing about him not to justify his decision, but to provide some understand about what happened and to truly celebrate all that he was as a person.

I remember almost every detail of the day I found out that I lost my brother from what I was wearing to the rush of emotions. I remember the details of the next few days following his death up until his burial. These are emotions that still pop up randomly. It is not easy to pick up the scattered pieces of thoughts of how to understand, how to comfort my family, or how to heal. 

Never once have I thought that anyone who takes their own life goes to hell. I think that sometimes there are people who are not strong enough for this world and God sometimes is better at taking care of them. This thought came to me before the first viewing. I had spent that morning at my mother's house and had to go home to get ready to go to the funeral home.

I was emotionally drained. Having cried until exhaustion, I road in the truck emotionless like a zombie. I did not want to see Matt. I did not want to be an only child. How was I supposed to be the only one now to comfort our parents that he decided to leave? I sat there with these thoughts rolling through my head and just felt empty. Then I felt a warmth within me that I can only describe as God. It was the only thing that filled me and then the thought that came to me was the most comforting of all. It was this little thought that made so much sense. "I've got him and he is happy." Hokey, I know. The whole they are better off with God thing... extremely cliche. However, I cannot explain the physical filling before the thought ever popped into my consciousness. 

This gave me the energy to go to the viewing. Yes, Matt did not mess up his face and I think it was so his mother could see him. I remember being the first person to see my brother. Him in a casket and me broken by the sight. This body that laid there was not Matt. It was an empty shell who once housed my brother. My brother was a big boy. He was six feet tall and just this stocky broad shouldered guy. He sometimes seemed awkward with his body and laying there his shoulders almost touching each side of the casket he still looked uncomfortable.

Shortly after some time had passed an old friend walked through the door. A girl that had been my best friend in 5th grade. Another friend, a guy who experienced much tragedy in high school losing his sister and girlfriend in auto accidents showed up shortly after. As time went by, the room filled with friends of Matt's and mine most of which I had not seen since high school. It was hard to remain in my sorrow with so many people touching my heart with their love and support for Matt and my family. It was then that I realized how important it was to show up to these viewings. It was so comforting in a way that I could not describe. It made me so happy for Matt and sad all at one time. Happy that he was so loved and sad that it couldn't keep him here. I felt guilty about smiling his friends and I felt more so like I needed to comfort them than the other way around. Just the presence of all those people meant more to me than anything. I don't know how I found joy in such a heartbreaking moment, but again I think think this was God doing his work.

Matt always had the best sense of humor. We found a little bit of humor with all his friends and the ladies. Wow, my brother had more ex girlfriends than I cared to remember while he was living. It reminded my mother and I how much Matt could love... not just sexually. We found out all kinds of sweet things that he did for girls: singing to them, love letters, etc. A romanic, who knew he had it in him. 

Matt suffered from depression since he was about 15 years old and lived with severe suicidal thoughts for 15 years. From the onset of depression, he withdrew socially from his family. He was not the type of person you would assume would be consumed by these thoughts if you knew him as a friend, but he did not socialize with his family. It was painful to have a brother and not have a normal sibling type of relationship that I saw going to friend's houses. It was even more painful to watch my parents struggle. I believe he hid his feelings extremely well from his friends. In high school, he was on the rowing team and won many regattas. He surprisingly had a leading role in a school play. He even lip-synced a la Ferris Bueller's Danke Schoen during a pep rally. All of which shocked us, because we were used to him being extremely introverted.

I grew to understand his silence. He loved me, but always kept me at arms reach. Matter of fact, I think he allowed me to be the closest to him toward the end. It is my belief that if we grew close, he would tell me too much or it would make him too attached to do to himself what he wished to do. 

We would find out more and more stuff about Matt that really made us proud of him and sad that he never realized how much of a great guy he was and how much he had to offer life in general. Weeks after Matt's death I went and visited some work colleagues. One lady had a really serious look on her face, "I need to tell you something about your brother." Huh? How would she know Matt and how do I prevent myself from crying before she says what she needs to tell me. "I want to let you know that your brother saved my fathers life. My father was having dinner, he choked, and your brother was the only one who performed the Heimlich Maneuver on my father." Usually, someone would be excited to save a life or talk later about the dramatic event. Matt hid any act that could possibly be a positive, but he was also extremely humble about what he did for other people. He had once taken the time to pick up this blind guy and take him across the highway to where he was going. 

Goodbyes have always been hard for me. I still find it extremely difficult to visit his grave. One, because I know he is not there and two, because I knew his final wishes before we found a note with his final burial wishes and he would be so pissed that he was in a graveyard. All I can think of is bringing a bottle of Crown, with the bag, and pouring some for my homey... I'm sure he would laugh. I know I will see my brother again. I see him in the good humor of my son as well as random thoughts and memories, but I will see him when I go. So, Matt this is not the end for us, but I will see you later. I celebrate your mean brotherly ways and forgive you for beating me up, your kindheartedness that you tried to hide, your great sense of humor which I miss dearly, and I'm sure I get some more stories from your friends who are now not scared to talk to me, because you can't kick their asses. I love you and I'll see your stupid ass later.

Comments can kill

By nature I sometimes say things at the wrong time. I laugh at uncomfortable moments and sometimes this behavior ensures that I will laugh even harder. Life is too short to be so serious sometimes...

I feel I have had a good friendship with my boss. He appreciates a good sense of humor and has a good work ethic which involves working hard, but not being too serious. This is not because he isn't serious about his job, but tries to minimize his stress level. I can totally relate to this work philosophy.

It was several months ago during my neurotic state of pregnancy that my boss and I had to go to a meeting. On the way he stopped at a convenient store and asked if I needed anything using his good manners, which I didn't. He gets back into the truck with a Mellow Yellow and a pack of Goody's Powders. Okay, he has a headache, which I didn't pick up on before. 

Goody's, I'm sure works quickly, but I would rather swallow a whole pill than to have the taste of what I would assume battery acid and baking soda to be like.

Someone obviously decided that crushed up Aspirin would absorb into your system at a faster rate given that you have to get past the bitter chalk taste. Heaven forbid you put the powder in the wrong place on your tongue. There is a process to taking the Goody's. After you open the package of wax paper, one must place the powder at the back of the tongue and quickly drink something that will prevent tasting the rancid flavor.

He gets in the truck, rips open the package, places the powder in said appropriate section of the back of the mouth. I looked away and I say with a tone of disappointment, "I can't believe I have to watch you do drugs."

He throws his fist up to his mouth in a universal choking motion and jerks forward. Because I was adverting my eyes, I saw the first part in my periphery and then stared at the rest of the coughing and gasping in horror.

Oh crap. This is not a good. My jackass comment is causing the person who hired me to aspirate on a Goody's powder. 

After a couple of swigs of Mellow Yellow and several choking coughs, his color was almost back to normal.

Once I knew he was okay, I could finally laugh. I had no idea that he was going to begin to laugh and inhale the Goody's powder. I truly felt bad, but still couldn't help laughing during the latter of the choking. 

Constipation is God's way of preparing a woman for labor

There are lots of ways God prepares women for being a mother: sleep deprivation, shortness of temper, fatigue, loss of sanity. I rationalize getting up to pee several times a night is to condition the mother for getting up to change and feed the baby. I rationalize the total bodily discomfort and the inability to sleep in a comfortable position is also preparing the mother for exhaustion. After another side-effect of pregnancy that I experienced, I had a pre-labor lesson. 

It is funny how much one forgets of the previous pregnancy. All the symptoms that I had last time, with the exception of food aversions, are back. Most recently I have been uh stopped up. This too happen in the last months of my previous pregnancy. Everyone experiences a bit of constipation at one time or another, however throw in a large baby in your innards and it intensifies.

For those who know me and think that a poop blog is inappropriate, well everyone poops. If you think that women do not poop or fart or burp you are disillusioned. So here goes my modesty...

The other day I had to go. Miserably stopped up and desperate to go. I was sitting there on the pot and nothing. I think a few rabbit pellets came out. I gave up and went into my bedroom, but the feeling of having to go lingered. I go back to the bathroom and sit. I try to relax. I have been trying for at least a half hour at this point. The thought of pushing only makes me think if I push too hard my water would break and I would begin dangerous premature labor or worse... a hemi (hemorrhoid). I hear that sometimes they never go away even after birth, so I'm petrified. 

Okay, so I recalled going through constipation the last time. Fortunately, I had a process that I had forgotten. A trick to help you through the process. If you are lucky enough to have the water closet that is the small potty room or a confined toilet area, then you are in a good position... quite literally. I'm talkin' throw the feet up on the wall like you got 'em in stirrups. This birthing position for some reason helps. It helped me and now I bestow onto you to use when in need. Oh, definitely breath like they do on tv. If anything, you will think of how ridiculous the whole situation is and the laughter will help with the whole birthing process.

Now... where is that dignity.

Strawberry Shortcake is her name-O

I have decided with Brian the name of our baby. I have also decided and told Brian that I would like to keep the name to ourselves until after the baby is born. This is why...

Dinner with Brian, Boden, my mother-in-law, and me. We have just finished dinner and Boden was sitting in my lap facing me. Boden and I sometimes belly-bump and this particular evening we were enjoying some flesh to flesh boo yeah BELLY BUMP. I promise I don't hurt him with my massive gut. This was the conversation that followed. The name of the baby has been changed to her nick name, Strawberry Shortcake, which was suggested as a name by Eva, a three-year-old.

MIL: Boden be gentile you don't want to hurt sister.

Brian: Yeah, you don't want to hurt Strawberry Shortcake.

MIL snaps her head to Brian with wide eyes: WHAT?! Is that her name? Her first name?

Brian assuredly: Yup, that's her name.

Meanwhile the belly bumping has stopped and I sat watching in disbelief as he has broken the promise to keep the name to our inner family circle and my mother-in-law in questioning our decision. I had to excuse myself to get Boden in the tub and to check if there really was steam coming out of my ears. 

I decided that I would calm myself and then speak to my mother-in-law to at the very least remind her not to divulge the baby's name to other people.

Me: We decided that we weren't really going to tell anyone the baby's name until after she got here.

MIL: Well, is that what you are going to name her? What will you call her? Straw? Berry? Cake?

Me not getting a word in but thinking: (What do you mean what will be call her? Like we would name her something and call her something different? Why is it hard to pronounce all the syllables in her name?)

MIL still pitching the questions: Is that her first name? middle name? Do you have a middle name?

Me still in shock, because it was extremely obvious at this point that she HATED the name Strawberry Shortcake. Stay Bruce stay Bruce. Don't let the Hulk out. Searching for something diplomatic, so the name would not be definitive in her mind.: Well, we have some time. (smile)

MIL: Well, you really want to think about it and make sure. A name is for life. You may want to pick something that she'll like.

Me... turning to walk away. I'm sure she mispoke and meant to say "pick something that I like": That's why I didn't want to tell anyone.

Strawberry Shortcake was not brought up again, however she did mention that there was a little girl at the lake named Zoe and she thought that was cute.

This is not to complain about Brian's slip up or the overt dislike of Strawberry Shortcake by my mother-in-law. I have learned that whatever a family decides to name their child even if it is something crazy like Pilot Inspektor, it is best to not voice an opinion. Everyone has an opinion, but I promise the pregnant lady does not want hear the opinions. 

Even if you knew a Strawberry Shortcake growing up who was a crack whore, you do not have to tell me about it. All it will do is make my chest tighten. I seriously don't care about whether or not other people like the name, however I just don't want to hear the comments in the intensely uncomfortable and high hormonal months leading up to the birth. 

I also owe Ashley an apology. I'm sorry for saying Eva sounds like Evil when you told me your girl name when you were pregnant. I understand that it wasn't nice, but I do like her name very much.

Nesting, venomous temper, and other neurotic behavior

Things I want to have done before the baby gets here:

1. repaint crib and changing table

2. recover chair for nursery

3. repaint dining room table and chairs

4. repaint Boden's old chest, distress it, and move to foyer

5. call electrician to put in a switch for garbage disposal

6. call plumber to install disposal

7. install different closet rod in Boden's closet

8. switch closets from Boden's old room to new room

9. move Grandma Eva's highboy from Ashley's garage to baby's room paint it if I don't like the color

10. hang up all presorted sized baby clothes in closet

11. change out all of the faucets in the house

12. clean everything four or five times

13. clean out fridge 

14.  reorganize bookcase and pack up old books that I have already read, but for some reason won't get rid of because they are coveted like treasures.

15. Get septic tank pumped regardless of being full or not... just in case.

Ambitious for a woman who curses when she has to bend slightly to put on underwear. Really, this is just half the stuff that I want done and want it done now. There is no possible way for me to do half this crap by myself, because of me being extremely large and pregnant. 

I did not nest in my previous pregnancy and I believe it was because I moved in my seventh month and did not know the sex of the baby. There is this motivation to do everything and clean until I drop to my knees and sob. It has happened several times in the past week. I just want everything done and done now and if it doesn't happen I go ape shit.

I am so rattled with anxiety that I have asked my doctor to medicate me. I have become a beast. My husband, I'm pretty sure, is scared of me. He really tries to be kind to me and I have no idea where he is getting his patience... Oh wait it comes from a bottle of wine. Wine that I cannot drink. He has resorted to sleeping in another room and frankly I do not blame him. The other night he tried to turn on a small fan in order to create white noise. It immediately made my blood boil, because we have not had white noise in a year and why should I have to hear and see this ugly little fan in my bedroom collecting dust. No, I do not want THAT in here and we HAVE a ceiling fan. He dismissed himself after trying to sleep next to me who constantly flopping all over the bed attempting to find a comfortable position that would also allow me to breathe. I can't imagine why he would not be able to fall asleep.

My best friend said it best when she half heartedly told my mother, "punching her in the face wouldn't hurt that baby none." Yes, half heartedly she meant it and I laughed, because it is funny. What isn't funny is not being able to control the hormones that make me beastly. God save all of you who may endure my wrath and I am sorry I cannot control myself better. 

Only 9 more weeks.

Female Grooming

Do any of ya'll have this attitude or know someone who does? The part of the person I know will be named Jennifer in order to protect her identity. 

Jennifer: A rolling of the eyes and a big sigh, "tomorrow I have to paint my toe nails, shave my legs, AND my girlie parts."

Me with a look of shock and probably disgust: "What the hell is going on tomorrow? You got a date or something?"

Jennifer: "I have to go to my female doctor."

Me knowing that Jennifer goes to a male OBGYN: "Do you think that painting your toe nails will keep his focus off your other parts or are you trying to impress him? Maybe you should wear a toe ring and an anklet or something."

I am aware that most woman trim up for their girlie appointments and they should clean up. It just kind of like you should be doing this all along, so as to not have to make it a job to go to the dreaded appointment.