tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62392346297549988372024-02-21T03:36:38.813-08:00About a MooseAbout a Moose is blog written by a mother of a Moose and Wombat. Her plan: write about the every day things she encounters along with the craziness, money-saving ideas, and whatever else.
The kids, Moose and Wombat, continually change life for their mother even though Moose is an Angel Baby, or stillborn baby. Wombat, well, she's still figuring things out because she's a baby.About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-75114510141650759492012-01-09T12:02:00.000-08:002012-01-09T12:27:31.692-08:00SometimesThere are times when my heart breaks all over again. Then, there are times I know I'm strong. I can take it. I know my lone voice in this ocean of noise is heard. And I help someone.<br />
<br />
Since the first time I opened up about my loss on a non-stillbirth website, I've had women find me. Some are Angel Moms, some are friends of Angel Moms, and some just want to thank me for my honesty. <br />
<br />
It's crazy because I started selfishly. I wanted to meet Angel Moms who weren't constantly on sad websites where new Angel Moms would come in everyday. Don't get me wrong, there was a site that got me through in the beginning. It's just that, when I was ready to move on, they wouldn't let me. Every new Angel Mom broke my heart all over again. It'd take me back to a place I had to move from.<br />
<br />
And there were so many of us.<br />
<br />
So many broken hearts.<br />
<br />
I needed to know that I could move on. That there were women who'd moved on. Not forgotten, just gathered up their broken hearts and carried them as they tried to put together the pieces.<br />
<br />
I feel like I've done that. There's some pieces missing, but I've picked up my pieces and I've walked through Hell. In my eyes, it was the only thing I could do.<br />
<br />
So for the Angel Moms who've found me, here's what I did in the beginning to get me through. It's not fail-safe. I couldn't be around babies until I had Wombat, not even when I was pregnant, and it hurts to see the children from Moose's Bradley Class. Actually, it breaks my heart to see children I think are close to the age Moose would've been. And sometimes, my heart just breaks.<br />
<br />
So back to what I did to get through:<br />
<ul>
<li>My boyfriend (he wasn't my husband at that time) and I told each other all of our "what if..." Like "what if I'd not ran that time right after we found out I was pregnant." By saying them, we'd realize how outlandish some of them really were.</li>
<li>We did a bunch of things that we couldn't have done if we had a baby. For us, that meant staying out late, planning a trip (didn't happen since I got laid off shortly after returning to work), planning a wedding, and just enjoying each other.</li>
<li>Think about the happy things that happened with Moose. Moose loved listening to the band Rush. I remember going to a doctor's appointment, turning the music up loud because I love Rush, and feeling Moose move around. It was like Moose was playing air guitar, or I guess womb guitar, in there. Rush still makes me smile.</li>
</ul>
<u>The most important one:</u><br />
<ul>
<li>Recognize that there is no way that Moose would've wanted his/her legacy to be my pain. If I stayed in misery, Moose's mark on this world would be my pain and I could not allow that.</li>
</ul>
Since it's been two years, I've decided that part of Moose's legacy should be my voice. I'll give a voice to the Angel Moms who can't speak openly about their loss. I want people to know it happens even if a mom does everything right, but most importantly, I want Angel Moms to know that they can live through it.About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-24277221646179038312012-01-04T09:03:00.000-08:002012-01-04T09:04:30.159-08:00Wombat's Birth PlanSince a lot of women want to see someone else's birth plan, myself included, I figured I'd share ours. Our RN was amazing because she took the birth plan, read it in front of us, and followed it to a "t." Without her agreement, I would've never been able to have my dream birth. <br />
<br />
Also, we had our birth plan approved with our two doctors and two midwives prior to labor. I highly recommend doing this as they knew what we wanted. Plus, we had an RN when we were first admitted who wanted to immediately give me an epidural and was only talked out of it after we showed her our doctor approved birth plan.<br />
<br />
So here you go:<br />
<br />
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">McBride and McHusband's Wishes for the Birth of Wombat:<br /><br />Hi and thanks for being part of our Birth Team. We've taken a 12 week long Bradley Birth Course to prepare us for a natural labor and delivery. McHusband achieved his Coach's Card and will guide McBride through the labor and delivery. Below is our plan and wishes for what we hope the birth to be, some of the bullets are the choices we will make if asked. We wrote it so that, if there are any questions or concerns with the points, we can have an open conversation about them before we are in labor.<br /><br />Labor:</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">IV insert only, not hooked up</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Eat and drink what she wishes: water, ice chips, Gatorade, honey, Gu</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Able to walk around and change position</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Shower/Tub</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Vaginal exams to a minimum, no premature breaking of the membranes or scraping</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Monitoring:</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">External monitoring only</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">No continuous fetal monitoring unless required by Wombat's condition</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Please, only monitor 1-2 contractions and not for 20 mins/hr</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Augmentation/Induction</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">No premature rupture of the water or membranes</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We would like to exhaust all methods of natural labor stimulation prior to any drugs being administered (nipple stimulation, ankle, etc.)</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In the case of any drugs being suggested, we will ask for the packet insert for the drugs and would like to discuss the benefits vs risks.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Anesthesia - Pain Medication</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Please inform the staff not to offer us pain medication at any point during the labor, we will ask if we feel it is necessary</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Cesarean:</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We will ask for a second opinion in the event a Cesarean is recommended</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If a Cesarean is found to be necessary, we would like to request the following:</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Coach present at ALL times</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Participate in any discussions</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Wombat will be breastfed ASAP</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">No screen lowered (McBride reserves the right to change her mind)</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We will be trying for a VBAC in the future, please take all measures to make the site as strong as possible</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If Wombat is not in distress, then please give Wombat to McHusband to announce Wombat's gender</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If Wombat is placed in a nursery, McHusband will accompany Wombat at all times</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Episiotomy</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">No episiotomy unless for Wombat's safety</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Rather tear than cut</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Support the perineum during pushing/crowning and use a warm compress</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Please help us and give us directions to aide with pushing, allowing the perineum to stretch</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Delivery</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We would really like McHusband to catch</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Free to move while pushing</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Push when the urge to push comes and push to comfort</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">No pulling Wombat's head, please, no forceps</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I am undecided, but may many to touch Wombat's head as it crowns</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Post Delivery</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Wait until the cord turns white and stops pulsating to clamp</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">McBride will expel the placenta on her own, please no tugging or pulling</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Hold Wombat right after delivery to breastfeed and to aide in the delivery of the placenta</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Evaluation delayed until after the first feeding and hope it can be done with Wombat having skin-to-skin contact with McBride</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We would like to delay the eye medication for one hour to better bond with Wombat</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Please show us how to do the first bath</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In case the need arises to separate Wombat from McBride, McHusband will accompany Wombat at all times</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> We prefer skin-to-skin contact over lamps and nursery</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Post Partum</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Breastfeed exclusively, please no bottles, artificial nipples, sugar water, formula, etc.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If Wombat is a boy, no circumcision</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We would like to meet with a Lactation Consultant</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Auntie Pickles, McBride's sister, will be present for the delivery</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">No separation from Wombat</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 5.25pt 21pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo9; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Tahoma", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Interns and students may be present at the birth, but should remember this is a natural delivery</span></div>About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-2668798089909936992011-12-22T12:57:00.000-08:002011-12-22T12:57:07.629-08:00Handmade with Last Minute StressSince my husband and I start giving each other handmade presents for Christmas last year and we loved it, we're doing it again this year. What does that mean for the time right now? Stress. Stress because I'm just now starting his knitted hat which matches his scarf. On top of just starting it, it looks awful. I mean like it's knitted by a first grader who was given no instructions. Seriously.<br />
<br />
On top of just starting his present, we've got to make Wombat's too. And guess what? We haven't even started working on that one either. Not one bit, but we do know what we're making: a quiet book. I don't know what it'll be about, but I know that it'll be a quiet book. Maybe I should do some Googling.<br />
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Anyway, I'll totally show the final products when we're done. Oh, I forgot. I have Wombat's stocking and tutu to make too.<br />
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Holidays. Must start working on homemade projects sooner.About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-16525084516460375592011-12-06T06:48:00.001-08:002011-12-06T11:22:58.741-08:00Why Did I Look at the Calendar?Last year I stood out in the snow and cried. <br />
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The first snow happened the year before. Cold swept in. It felt just like my soul. Hubs, then boyfriend, and I held each other and wondered "why?" <br />
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It was the second worse day of my life; second only to the day before when the doctor said "sorry..." and my screamed filled the air.<br />
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I can close my eyes and see the room, feel the moments slowly tick by, feel Moose's body leave mine.<br />
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feet..head...arms...<br />
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Moose left me upside-down. Feet first, like he/she was trying to stop everything just like I was trying to stop everything.<br />
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Moose...my baby...my sweet baby...our sweet baby<br />
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I made a choice to not look at the calendar. I didn't want to know the date. I didn't want to have an anniversary of the day. I just wanted to miss my baby because having a date would mean every year there would be a day like this. Stupid hospital. Made me know the date.<br />
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Now, I sit here. Knowing the weather still reflects my pain. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM0ddsUX5l01E-J2p3tJ9LArJamKWNpgj-dHA4bMBu7C9XxkfoArsnMEPOI1AjhDedJ6ClCRe8UZLkm98bDh2tUo79dEpBsWtYPCOIz5eRfe6DAck5FqozJSptRNF8vnQNSJguD4rkbz4/s1600/rain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM0ddsUX5l01E-J2p3tJ9LArJamKWNpgj-dHA4bMBu7C9XxkfoArsnMEPOI1AjhDedJ6ClCRe8UZLkm98bDh2tUo79dEpBsWtYPCOIz5eRfe6DAck5FqozJSptRNF8vnQNSJguD4rkbz4/s400/rain.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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It's supposed to be snowing at home. I just want to go home and feel the snow. It feels like Moose letting me know that Wombat doesn't change anything. That Moose is hugging me with cold, snowy arms.About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-6032702709544590492011-12-05T11:38:00.001-08:002011-12-05T12:03:24.361-08:00Christmas from the BattersEveryone loves some cute little baby feet, so what better gift to give to grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts, uncles, and really good friends than a cute footprint ornament? Or at least that's my thought...<br />
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If it's yours too, here's how I made mine.<br />
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Supplies:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9BLM4SXAs9og_aknOevmiz10CCXXec1pDmPI-MzeR2HhfI7Yig6J_OXCzZnKv7KJPoB-65gZbZV5dh11nOHXBtkELGBwpvgRJ6YktvXD6ecfijWL7sZr81NaMd2TnlhSdCcBrlWqF6QY/s1600/Stuff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9BLM4SXAs9og_aknOevmiz10CCXXec1pDmPI-MzeR2HhfI7Yig6J_OXCzZnKv7KJPoB-65gZbZV5dh11nOHXBtkELGBwpvgRJ6YktvXD6ecfijWL7sZr81NaMd2TnlhSdCcBrlWqF6QY/s320/Stuff.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Paint<br />
Scissors<br />
Rolling Pin (mine is a metal tube from a home improvement store)<br />
Air dry clay (you can actually make this if you want)<br />
Sponge<br />
Wax Paper<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPT3o-ScdZRyPtp4FwpHxfvNyjBbRgpAAokkU-mr1kOFNUmlSfjdTeItmJAgBGhNY3kbpTwdxABvHLmT3gDqBdrwCd4i450Cg9tr9mPRnB6Hhh8i1xEmAdLTaBaNyX_Q40dJ8z06IM-rk/s1600/roll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPT3o-ScdZRyPtp4FwpHxfvNyjBbRgpAAokkU-mr1kOFNUmlSfjdTeItmJAgBGhNY3kbpTwdxABvHLmT3gDqBdrwCd4i450Cg9tr9mPRnB6Hhh8i1xEmAdLTaBaNyX_Q40dJ8z06IM-rk/s320/roll.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Step One<br />
Lay the air dry clay between the wax paper and roll it out. As you can see on my rolling pin, before I used the wax paper, it got all over the rolling pin and wasn't pretty at all.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheEUadmvAEFq8yOoGkGTTSpKwEod6KK_8jNf5cJCkudApPyNQZCreEYdXyNXbmsZF0GCVtMnUlUUsmS-ByXgvygSQfDCQcvrzqRAKbnkQbGcMQfm1Jtm2qnsFPUXGSY2S08BADCoWDTOk/s1600/Rolled+Out.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheEUadmvAEFq8yOoGkGTTSpKwEod6KK_8jNf5cJCkudApPyNQZCreEYdXyNXbmsZF0GCVtMnUlUUsmS-ByXgvygSQfDCQcvrzqRAKbnkQbGcMQfm1Jtm2qnsFPUXGSY2S08BADCoWDTOk/s320/Rolled+Out.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Step Two</div>
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Inspect your clay to see if it's the thickness you want. Mine is maybe 1/4" thick, but just use your own judgement on it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9z25f28B1r4gaYRt6YZCFZ_ZDsocKAVipvC3TNggdCd_1LMBo21dP9qOsqUqDdACxobUvtIanie8WIW_ICdvHsK3ziPJZb-LtfNSb_2kU-VKqIhUjhPfAjIKQfTBPAZ4iyxkayMI0rI/s1600/Paint.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9z25f28B1r4gaYRt6YZCFZ_ZDsocKAVipvC3TNggdCd_1LMBo21dP9qOsqUqDdACxobUvtIanie8WIW_ICdvHsK3ziPJZb-LtfNSb_2kU-VKqIhUjhPfAjIKQfTBPAZ4iyxkayMI0rI/s320/Paint.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Step Three<br />
Squirt out your paint and dab your sponge into it. Make sure it doesn't have a lot of paint on the sponge because too much paint means you won't see the little lines in the foot.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUF7nv4fAqXeFU8nLU9O6-UgecA_NvmijBF-cJWoMlkszgabsK6NPK8jdoBELQ_N3F7xUj7cZVNEqxOUJtKKA9SKxRFmDK0SXvqD0bvBfI-IrTpeRS7knqR_EFBWVESvtLQ0pA2P2psiE/s1600/red.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUF7nv4fAqXeFU8nLU9O6-UgecA_NvmijBF-cJWoMlkszgabsK6NPK8jdoBELQ_N3F7xUj7cZVNEqxOUJtKKA9SKxRFmDK0SXvqD0bvBfI-IrTpeRS7knqR_EFBWVESvtLQ0pA2P2psiE/s320/red.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I have no idea why this picture is uploading upside down. The fuzziness is trying to hold Wombat and take a picture of her foot.</div>
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Once you get the paint on, it should look like the above picture. Well, that's if it's not too blurry for you. Also, bright red is a Christmas color, but it kind of looks like a bloody baby foot, which is not cute.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK3SyPjVyQfJtudovF3ZbxQQ0LalBT0rFqjmtFHbSEfEqfNElgTZjhyphenhyphenPmPSxCmCN6RTVrqPyckTMosV6iL8b77UCY2l_5PTGRAjyhuDPIT9lU3pcxYo65Da40gZ4o-8Eq-ZY2K0rkGTI0/s1600/three+feet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK3SyPjVyQfJtudovF3ZbxQQ0LalBT0rFqjmtFHbSEfEqfNElgTZjhyphenhyphenPmPSxCmCN6RTVrqPyckTMosV6iL8b77UCY2l_5PTGRAjyhuDPIT9lU3pcxYo65Da40gZ4o-8Eq-ZY2K0rkGTI0/s320/three+feet.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Step Four</div>
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Stamp the foot. Try to have them not overlap like I did, but I salvaged two feet prints from the three. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilDSW71NkPJefdvL8_xxIRq_5w4Jwo3Okyqjug1m6mh1Y5Vsl_wjeEgPw4jsg-E9W3DYip6atm2Faf8mMSiwWinFWiABk-rtV6o3134jBl08Xd73I3hLqSnjztaTKSh4DI7lXcXSXgux8/s1600/almost+done.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilDSW71NkPJefdvL8_xxIRq_5w4Jwo3Okyqjug1m6mh1Y5Vsl_wjeEgPw4jsg-E9W3DYip6atm2Faf8mMSiwWinFWiABk-rtV6o3134jBl08Xd73I3hLqSnjztaTKSh4DI7lXcXSXgux8/s320/almost+done.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Step Five<br />
Cut out the cute little feet and add holes. <br />
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Step Six<br />
Put them somewhere safe so they can dry. I'm also going to sand the edges to make them a little nicer looking. Since the red feet look like bloody foot prints, I'm going to outline them in green and tie a green ribbon on the top.<br />
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Oh, and don't forget to add the date to them with the baby's name so you're not sitting around once they're grown wondering which kid belongs to the footprint.About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-81152014696769533872011-12-02T11:21:00.001-08:002011-12-02T12:38:54.545-08:00Changin MyselfBefore I gave birth to Wombat, Hubs and I wondered into our favorite bar while the 2011 Women's World Cup was playing. We found a little corner to sit, eat our buffalo burgers, and watch. It was absolutely the only non-cycling, non-Olympic sporting event I've ever enjoyed watching.<br />
<br />
Why?<br />
<br />
I sat there watching these women being so bad-as (I'm a mom and must watch my language now, so it's bad-as) that it truly inspired me. All I could think watching them: I NEED to be this bad-as if I have a daughter; I must show her every day that she can be bad-as.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkaoacqlsrO_WaSiHQwPaHUCNIQc1jIzhItJMezYc2BAtrLIZh8RfTBh1hMVxMQG-v8n8z2a2YSIx8U7FAoXeqwC0rVXsflGS5N53e6_2qCpkvu8gyFxw_npIEfqpfIx1b2_Y0saDZkE8/s1600/cup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" closure_uid_kavg9a="62" dda="true" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkaoacqlsrO_WaSiHQwPaHUCNIQc1jIzhItJMezYc2BAtrLIZh8RfTBh1hMVxMQG-v8n8z2a2YSIx8U7FAoXeqwC0rVXsflGS5N53e6_2qCpkvu8gyFxw_npIEfqpfIx1b2_Y0saDZkE8/s320/cup.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Pic from <a href="http://www.theasiasun.com/womens-world-cup-final-2011-the-entertaining-brand-of-football/922391/">here</a>.</div>
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It was so touching to me that I was in tears. Seriously. It wasn't the pregnancy hormones; it was that I've always been a wuss. I've always allowed myself to be a doormat. I let boyfriends cheat on me, get me to pay for everything, treat me like I was only good for one thing, and then I'd beg them to stay with me. Oh, and I'd bail on good friends to be with them. I've also let so-called friends get drunk every time I hung out with them so they could use me as their designated driver. I never stood up for myself and this game really hit home that I couldn't be that woman any more. I needed to be bad-as because my child needed a bad-as mom who sees the imposed boundaries of every day life and blows right through them. And if Wombat turned out to be a girl (we were Team Green after all), I wanted her to see me as a strong female role model. I wanted to be her <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hope_Solo">Hope Solo</a> (or any of the women of the American or Japanese teams*).</div>
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So what am I planning to do?</div>
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Well, here's my list:</div>
<ol>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Learn some new words to spruce up my conversation. Using "awesome" and "dude" is really cool, but what about "flabbergast" or "compadre?"</div>
</li>
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Teach myself to sew (not really bad-as in a traditional way, but I think it's bad-as mommery)</div>
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Constantly work to strengthen and improve my relationship with Hubs while being affectionate in a way that shows what a good relationship looks like (we have a great relationship, but great relationships are constantly working to stay that way)</div>
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Stop watching television so much</div>
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Get outside more, even in the winter</div>
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Stop being so shy</div>
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Start my own business</div>
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Ride 100 miles on my bicycle</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH9aWYyBIC4UIa-lrl1AJydlucNgxSxV4R4atnVDctuP-9-iscTa9dxkICmx2ISr6mar8q3rlaJxhyphenhyphenzQINj0nR5CsQlICJ-bzunRX0t-kygpddE6rue-twgua8I9y2ccpfBV-R4OOUpMo/s1600/bike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH9aWYyBIC4UIa-lrl1AJydlucNgxSxV4R4atnVDctuP-9-iscTa9dxkICmx2ISr6mar8q3rlaJxhyphenhyphenzQINj0nR5CsQlICJ-bzunRX0t-kygpddE6rue-twgua8I9y2ccpfBV-R4OOUpMo/s320/bike.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Pic found <a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2008/02/06/funny-pictures-a-day-on-da-bike-i-can-do-dat/">here</a>.</div>
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So there you go. I'm working on the first 3 (thank you <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/beinghuman/">Being Human</a> for ruining #4 and 5 for me). #6 and 7, they pretty much go hand in hand. #8 is hard when I'm commuting an hour one way, Hubs is spending really long hours on campus, and Wombat can't ride in the Moose Caboose quite yet. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgytqz4bxocbQ3Rl2qr2ItPPIPgXk4zdgK7yGfAVnyEAMmvb9E9-fVP_GrusA3vYFA6UW_v-AAGmX8OojH2a_a8IwGUqlVkh16QpENhrN8y3PQM-b-THVMWgWlIpNs-9dO95lsd8Mn69_U/s1600/trailer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgytqz4bxocbQ3Rl2qr2ItPPIPgXk4zdgK7yGfAVnyEAMmvb9E9-fVP_GrusA3vYFA6UW_v-AAGmX8OojH2a_a8IwGUqlVkh16QpENhrN8y3PQM-b-THVMWgWlIpNs-9dO95lsd8Mn69_U/s320/trailer.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Pic found <a href="http://www.plioz.com/category/transportations/">here</a>.</div>
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When I can get on my bike, I do, but I'm no where near 100 miles yet. </div>
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Anyway, I know my list isn't revolutionary, but it's a start. Maybe, once I accomplish these, I'll add something a little farther out there and a little more like the women of the World Cup.</div>
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*Thank you! Watching you play really made something click inside my head about how strong a woman can be.</div>About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-81109222460698657152011-11-28T09:16:00.001-08:002011-11-29T07:58:26.891-08:00Angel Baby Pictures on FacebookI'm quite tired of reading about people who are offended by Angel Moms posting their Angel Babies on Facebook. Yes, it's disturbing, but there's so little of our baby that we have. Plus, most Angel Babies don't look deformed; they look like sleeping babies. If it's really so bothersome, block the photographs. Let these parents do whatever helps them heal and shut your mouth because it's one of those situations you don't understand until you've been there.<br />
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One other thing, there's actually photographers who volunteer to come take very beautiful pictures of Angel Babies so these pictures are not just cell phone pictures. You can find more information about this at the Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep <a href="http://www.nowilaymedowntosleep.org/">website</a>.<br />
<br />
And just to keep this honest, we never saw Moose. We never even found out if Moose was a a boy or girl. We wanted to remember Moose as our guitar-playing, Rush (the band) loving baby who played the push back game with his/her Dad. We have pictures, feet prints, bracelets, and other things in a box in the closet, but we've never wanted to open them. It's what we wanted and what we felt comfortable with doing. It doesn't work for everyone.About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-24277574149599301912011-11-23T10:12:00.001-08:002011-11-23T11:09:23.674-08:00College: It's Never too EarlyEvery parent wonders how to pay for college because, let's face it, it's insanely expensive and keeps getting more so. To help with costs, a lot of parents start saving as soon as their kids are born, squirrelling away $5 here and $100 there. Well, that's great, but that's not really possible for us right now (husband out of work and I have major student loan debt). Instead, we're begging on the street...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3x17sXicdPVgVMT3FfN-h_4_8u7WFAz_y-oM-FqlXoY9VOOdSQfJ-xfaH_w9zuOQfYp_q6qd9yGEhztH5Su2GFNRvlVAl-ecAO5ct3XiSDK_XIzdbNKoJTDUFtNrS1lb6dv7TNkx_SHo/s1600/battle-beg-beggin-build-food-Favim_com-145260_thumb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3x17sXicdPVgVMT3FfN-h_4_8u7WFAz_y-oM-FqlXoY9VOOdSQfJ-xfaH_w9zuOQfYp_q6qd9yGEhztH5Su2GFNRvlVAl-ecAO5ct3XiSDK_XIzdbNKoJTDUFtNrS1lb6dv7TNkx_SHo/s1600/battle-beg-beggin-build-food-Favim_com-145260_thumb.jpg" /></a></div>
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Pic found <a href="http://weheartit.com/">here</a>.</div>
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No, actually we're asking Wombat's grandparents, great grandparents, aunts, uncles, and whoever else buys her presents to buy her a present or two and give the rest of the money they'd spend on her to her college fund.*<br />
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To do this, we're starting a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/529_plan">529</a> for her before Christmas where all the money she gets goes straight to that. After all, the majority of the presents she's going to get, she'll play with for a couple of months, maybe years, and give away (think Toy Story 3). <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjBZTWXHMcsbTXUwDcQhmQDxcNn0kbNU7eASV4mW0S9ni3cfDiA65yi_CgsF3DSxtuNLWINMORwbWCVNEQt2A2g5sCjF-g1wgtABsk5IPfIquvFrvn49Oy2xG3vlzCPAGqJ6ga2N8XBq0/s1600/220px-Toy_story3_poster3-1-.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjBZTWXHMcsbTXUwDcQhmQDxcNn0kbNU7eASV4mW0S9ni3cfDiA65yi_CgsF3DSxtuNLWINMORwbWCVNEQt2A2g5sCjF-g1wgtABsk5IPfIquvFrvn49Oy2xG3vlzCPAGqJ6ga2N8XBq0/s320/220px-Toy_story3_poster3-1-.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
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Pic from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toy_Story_3">here</a>.</div>
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Why not use the majority of the money for something that's going to last the rest of her life? Something no one can take away from her? And something that's a financial burden? <br />
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Plus, she's going to get a ton of presents with all the family she has anyway. One or two presents from each of them still means a whole lot of unwrapping. Seriously, I just counted and she'll get approximately 15 presents if people just buy her one present each. That's a ton of presents.<br />
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Honestly, I thought it'd be hard to convince everyone to do this, but it's been really easy. Everyone is really excited about it, wants to do it, and keeps asking us about it. Hopefully, they will keep their excitement when they're passing by the toy shop and see a cute this or that.<br />
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Have any ideas about saving for college? Please share them in the comments.**<br />
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*Before you think I'm a genius and give me a standing ovation, I totally stole this idea from an advice column. A woman wrote in telling about how this was done for her. While she hated it when she was growing up, she loved that she graduated from college with little student debt unlike her classmates.<br />
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**Anyone else having trouble with the comments?About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-70170826495302967042011-11-22T07:29:00.001-08:002011-11-22T09:50:56.962-08:00A Whole Lotta LoveOne thing I truly believe that every pregnant woman needs is a Pregnancy Buddy. What is a Pregnancy Buddy? Well, a woman who's pregnant and due around the same time.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmfAXEH8jyZN0ID4891CzThXU16k_a_0STN5PeGjZKl80-qZ0SqIT5FN-Cu8_nutLvyK0sDqHxjCEfaH9Y7NQnJaqmkcz8EI1rmTODWmzUvu96LTlOGQYs5z5jsdX8Q6-lcFhKvKt-w5U/s1600/sisters-bellies-21332879.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmfAXEH8jyZN0ID4891CzThXU16k_a_0STN5PeGjZKl80-qZ0SqIT5FN-Cu8_nutLvyK0sDqHxjCEfaH9Y7NQnJaqmkcz8EI1rmTODWmzUvu96LTlOGQYs5z5jsdX8Q6-lcFhKvKt-w5U/s320/sisters-bellies-21332879.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Found <a href="http://www.givingbirthnaturally.com/sisters-bellies.html">here</a> and, no, neither are me.</div>
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Having a Pregnancy Buddy gives you a person who knows exactly what you're going through because she's at the same time in her pregnancy. During the first trimester, she's sick with you. The second, she's trying to hide her pregnancy from work as long as she can. And the third, well, the third, the two of you try to drag each other to the end of pregnancy because it feels never ending.<br />
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Now I realize that any woman who's been pregnant understands what it's like to be pregnant, but there's something about having someone who's going through it at the same time as you. Besides, once a woman holds a baby in her arms, it's hard to remember what all the fuss was about. (Yes, I know. I didn't believe that either, but it's annoying because it's true.) Also, husbands or partners are great at being there, but they're not pregnant (well, unless your partner is also a woman and you're pregnant at the same time...)<br />
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With Moose, I didn't have a Pregnancy Buddy; I had someone who was done having kids after having two. She knew what being pregnant was like, never liked it, and was happy to never have to deal with pregnancy again. During Moose's pregnancy, she listened to me be miserable and opened my eyes to what it's like to be a mom, but it wasn't something that we really bonded over. We were really at two different points in our lives. She already was a mom of two and I was just starting a family. It's similar, but not the same.<br />
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With Wombat, I didn't even think of having a Pregnancy Buddy. It's something that just happened.<br />
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Our friendship began with a simple message "hey, you're due the same time as me. Cool." And then, we just kept messaging. Back and forth throughout the work day. Every day. It was so easy to become good friends because we knew what the other was going through. <br />
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Now, I've never made a friend over the internet before since I was, like, 17 and they were more like a "friend" than a friend, but having a PB got me through on days when being pregnant was just too much for me. Whether it was the normal "being pregnant blows" or my sorrow in dealing with pregnancy after Moose, she was there for me. Plus, we could share cute baby stuff with each other without getting tired of it. And of course, we didn't always talk pregnancy and babies. <br />
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But we did become good friends. <br />
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So giant hugs and love to my Pregnancy Buddy. You helped me more than you could ever know.<br />
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Now, go find one for yourself because, along with prenatals and doctor's appointment, it's what every pregnant woman needs.About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-23437607849520331172011-11-17T11:47:00.001-08:002011-11-17T13:26:44.294-08:00I Tried It: Lactation CookiesSo I read about these magic Lactation Cookies* on my local La Leche League Facebook page. My thoughts were as follows:<br />
<ol>
<li>I can eat cookies to make more milk?</li>
<li>I like cookies.</li>
<li>I wonder if they're some kind of gross, weird cookie with kookie things in them?</li>
<li>Let's ask Chef Google.</li>
<li>Hmm, they have chocolate chips in them.</li>
<li>I like chocolate chips.</li>
<li>I like chocolate chips and cookies.</li>
<li>I'm totally making these cookies</li>
<li>Hold on, what's brewer's yeast?</li>
<li>I think I need to go to the organic grocery store for this.</li>
</ol>
I braved a trip to the expensive, organic store, where they were actually really helpful; picked up old fashioned oats, brewer's yeast, and some flax (not the milled flax though, which I could've gotten at the regular grocery store). It didn't even cost that much either even with the Lactation Tea I picked up.<br />
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When I got home, I really wanted to make these cookies, but like every mother knows, things happen which means other things don't get done.<br />
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For over a week, other things happened and my cookies waited until the other night. It was cookie time. Truthfully, I mixed up the batter one night and cooked half of it the next day and am saving the rest.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFuSwpw8pUoRJPfJYKPuzZ7whcNt5shlGh7RGRnm5unYoJkzd5YC5GPeBqED-kWgUomQ4Jlb-faXrz_JZqSYUIv8DlRd162HqlTAuc23eZANC-uG9ZrFZJCqNZ_BjknaCiaRycyPuAEy8/s1600/Cookies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFuSwpw8pUoRJPfJYKPuzZ7whcNt5shlGh7RGRnm5unYoJkzd5YC5GPeBqED-kWgUomQ4Jlb-faXrz_JZqSYUIv8DlRd162HqlTAuc23eZANC-uG9ZrFZJCqNZ_BjknaCiaRycyPuAEy8/s320/Cookies.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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My cookies. See there's not any visible chocolate chips. That means they need more.</div>
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So here are some tips:<br />
<ol>
<li>Make sure your husband/partner doesn't turn off the timer.</li>
<li>Take the cookies out when they're still really soft. Mine are dried out because I thought they needed to get a little hard.</li>
<li>My husband wants to add molasses, so there's totally some fooling around you can do with the recipe. I read on the comments below the recipe that people had cut out a lot of the sugar.</li>
<li>I used peanut butter instead of almond butter and mine had a slight peanut butter taste.</li>
<li>I'm adding more chocolate chips next time.</li>
</ol>
As for the actual taste, both my husband and I like them. Plus, with all the good things in them, we can easily fool ourselves into believing that they're good for us. All in all, we'll make them again.<br />
<br />
If you want to make them, here's the <a href="http://www.drmomma.org/2010/08/lactation-cookies-recipe-increasing.html">recipe</a>.<br />
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*One important thing to know about these cookies, my husband and I call them "poopkies" because they cleaned us out. Maybe it's because I used regular flax instead of milled flax though. However, it's not like we ate <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cobject%20width=%22512%22%20height=%22288%22%3E%3Cparam%20name=%22movie%22%20value=%22http://www.hulu.com/embed/AWNZcPsTpumQJGz132SGow%22%3E%3C/param%3E%3Cparam%20name=%22allowFullScreen%22%20value=%22true%22%3E%3C/param%3E%3Cembed%20src=%22http://www.hulu.com/embed/AWNZcPsTpumQJGz132SGow%22%20type=%22application/x-shockwave-flash%22%20%20width=%22512%22%20height=%22288%22%20allowFullScreen=%22true%22%3E%3C/embed%3E%3C/object%3E">Colon Blow</a>.About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-44913518398958388472011-11-15T10:08:00.001-08:002011-11-15T10:44:55.487-08:00Now That We Have Wombat, What About a Moose?Now that we actually have Wombat in our arms, I think it's important to address something people may think: our loss is forgotten because we have a baby. In fact, after losing Moose, I was told to "just have another baby," to "get over it."<br />
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Did that happen?<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">NO</span><br />
<br />
Of course having a baby doesn't make up for our loss. A piece of my heart died. I can still feel that hole right where it's always been and will always be.<br />
<br />
In fact, I miss Moose every day, but now I know what I missed with Moose. Before, it was unknown. I didn't know what being a mother was like and how it'd make me feel. It was losing our child, which filled me with a rage I cannot even explain, but I didn't understand being a mom. Now that I do, it's, well, it's still beyond my words. <br />
<br />
I sometimes daydream of holding Moose. Wondering even more if Moose was a boy or girl. What Moose would've grown up to be. All those things moms wonder about their kids, I wonder about with Moose. I never did that before. I just wanted our baby.<br />
<br />
I know I'll never "get over" Moose. Moose isn't some ex-boyfriend; Moose is my child and will always be my child. All I can do is live, love Moose and Wombat, know that sometimes people say really stupid things, and be the best mother (to both my kids) I can possibly be.About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-893025016612191632011-11-07T11:41:00.000-08:002011-11-08T05:39:26.623-08:00Reusable What?I'm about to share something that makes most people think I'm insane. Honestly, I thought it was overboard when I first saw them on Etsy. Then, I read. It used things I already had in the house, so it'd be free. I mean, there'd be the initial time to make it, but, after that, free. How could I not try it?<br />
<br />
So I tried it...and I LOVE it.<br />
<br />
So I had my husband try it and he LOVES it.<br />
<br />
What is this magical discovery?...reusable wipes.<br />
<br />
Yes, we reuse wipes in my house. Now, I know what you're thinking: GROSS, you use those to clean pooey, baby butts!<br />
<br />
Yes, they clean pooey, baby butts, but seriously, they're awesome.<br />
<ol>
<li>The solution uses things most parents already have: baby wash, baby oil, water, and a spray bottle (you know, your best friend if you had a vaginal birth?)</li>
<li>The wipes are two pieces of 8" flannel sewn together or you can buy them</li>
<li>They clean even the biggest pooey messes with one wipe</li>
<li>Less or no chemicals depending on what you use</li>
<li>No running out of wipes</li>
<li>Cost savings</li>
<li>If you're already using cloth diapers, why not wash wipes? However, you could do wipes even using disposables. It's very easy.</li>
</ol>
Want to try them out? Well, there's different solution recipes <a href="http://www.zany-zebra.com/cloth-wipe-solution.shtml">here</a>. We use one tablespoon baby oil, one tablespoon soap, one drop tea tree oil, and one cup water. From making it, the best way to do it is oil, water, and soap last. Make sure to shake it up each time before you squirt it out just to mix up the oil.<br />
<br />
As for how to apply the solution to the wipe, there's different ways of doing that too. Some people put the solution and wipes in an old disposal wipe box or some other box and pull them out like regular wipes. We use the squirter and my husband and I squirt the wipe differently too. I go for a little all over; he squirts a lot in the middle with the edges for drying.<br />
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The wipes we use are old flannel sheets that didn't fit any beds. To make them, I folded the sheet in two, measured 8" from the edge and pinned at the 8" mark all across the sheet, and cut under the pins. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZcCOJE0KA0_uvQ00vdCAtna9ZoXQ1BHB4IY3EIFZQ8MW3DwmmjrIjGNPuffxDm89nip-AYOj5ywkyxk3cYSuK7UeEeR28nZqnqPDh9Urcmi6OnZqvDgbvk2XvedTU7NtNbeyVKslgWI/s1600/Wipes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZcCOJE0KA0_uvQ00vdCAtna9ZoXQ1BHB4IY3EIFZQ8MW3DwmmjrIjGNPuffxDm89nip-AYOj5ywkyxk3cYSuK7UeEeR28nZqnqPDh9Urcmi6OnZqvDgbvk2XvedTU7NtNbeyVKslgWI/s320/Wipes.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
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Imagine this is a decent picture of a sheet, folded in half, and the red marks are stick pins.</div>
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Once I had a really long 8" piece of flannel, I measured 8" from the side and pinned, again cutting after the pins. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEn7Uiap4lJiU6Hvq2Lxg1Wein58h9uCDOous3FcGT8clOOyBY2UUdgF-x_h2wA3Pe1drLK2OqoozzkiEGx70Tlen27VLRyDv8KLWG1Q_1wv7Pce3JqV7mc6tUV67-jj7STvyRti4gJxk/s1600/Wipes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="105" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEn7Uiap4lJiU6Hvq2Lxg1Wein58h9uCDOous3FcGT8clOOyBY2UUdgF-x_h2wA3Pe1drLK2OqoozzkiEGx70Tlen27VLRyDv8KLWG1Q_1wv7Pce3JqV7mc6tUV67-jj7STvyRti4gJxk/s320/Wipes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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You're going to end up with 8" squares of flannel that's double-sided. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOQOSMfow801P4Dl8F29V_cPjsIk0lPC1WEnegbY347jeo_Rv2oy2POSP9koMrmX4g8UMuUv1hcJ2cdrZcLUeF72lnRNLrcLRzohnWuwG-2mhFdH-UHjNpxTEfv-2417NZgtItkJySTvo/s1600/Wipes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOQOSMfow801P4Dl8F29V_cPjsIk0lPC1WEnegbY347jeo_Rv2oy2POSP9koMrmX4g8UMuUv1hcJ2cdrZcLUeF72lnRNLrcLRzohnWuwG-2mhFdH-UHjNpxTEfv-2417NZgtItkJySTvo/s200/Wipes.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>
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Now, you sew. I used this time to practice my sewing and use the different settings on my sewing machine. Remember, they don't have to be pretty; they're cleaning poo. Mine are dark blue, striped flannel with hot pink thread. I didn't flip the seem inside, so there was a lot of threads for a while when we did laundry. I made some more with the seem on the inside, but I don't like them as much. However, I like them more than disposable wipes.<br />
<br />
As for cleaning, they clean the messiest poos with one wipe. Since we started using them 2 months ago, I can count on one hand the times I've used two wipes. Really, I can only think of one time. It's so nice not fighting with the wipe box when I trying to get Wombat clean.<br />
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The other benefits pretty much speak for themselves: less or no chemicals, no running out of wipes, cost savings, and ease of washing them. You can read up about chemicals in wipes. Honestly, I didn't even think about it when deciding to do reusable wipes. I did it for the cost savings, which I read is about $440 a year. Washing them is so simple. They're never so dirty that we have to rinse them out. We just throw them into the wash and they come out perfectly clean.<br />
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Oh, and if you're wondering about how we pack them in the diaper bag, it's super easy. We have a diaper pad that has a pockets. I fold each wipe into fours so I can pull out one wipe at a time. Our diaper bag also has a bottle holder which I use to hold the squirt bottle. Simple.<br />
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If you have any questions, post them in the comments.About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-81842464423531699722011-11-04T08:41:00.000-07:002011-11-08T05:39:54.532-08:00First WordsWhen I was pregnant with Wombat, I often thought about what my first words to my new baby would be. I wanted them to be special, something written by one of those famous, dead poets. Shakespeare, Wordsworth, you know, those magical word smiths. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxpHQuiYmDOdLohHvEf0iM9T4sK10WOkybNJzVewzZ9JxH7zevNu8l9_Tr06Hkw25caZubOvMNy3ol7_Gfj3Gnm2eOvB277eGgjpQgYtcWnIMwpOHXF26s820hobB5DbEvmZIzN82F4zg/s1600/shakespeare.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxpHQuiYmDOdLohHvEf0iM9T4sK10WOkybNJzVewzZ9JxH7zevNu8l9_Tr06Hkw25caZubOvMNy3ol7_Gfj3Gnm2eOvB277eGgjpQgYtcWnIMwpOHXF26s820hobB5DbEvmZIzN82F4zg/s320/shakespeare.jpg" width="296" /></a></div>
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From <a href="http://www.elfwood.com/~cmccarty/Shakespeare.2635104.html">here</a></div>
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Those first words to my child would go on to stand the test of time so that Wombat could always think back to those words for strength. Yeah, it was that important to me. Maybe it was one of those times that the English Major in me really spoke out; maybe every mother does this; I don't know. What I do know is I spent a lot of time thinking about it. Think, think, <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWnWL9g1Gr0W2yxU5yd6-axwkNXxTudF7_lqzGbEuPi0YSNcSrSCA5RGhtrxcfTjQTvTanksqsMLBW6JUBO-hIENTxbeSYLJv6KODwMJfLTWZJl-zxiXtiCIfAtICGkxdC0PRQTAlH-Ns/s1600/think-periodically.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWnWL9g1Gr0W2yxU5yd6-axwkNXxTudF7_lqzGbEuPi0YSNcSrSCA5RGhtrxcfTjQTvTanksqsMLBW6JUBO-hIENTxbeSYLJv6KODwMJfLTWZJl-zxiXtiCIfAtICGkxdC0PRQTAlH-Ns/s320/think-periodically.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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From <a href="http://blogs.discovermagazine.com/loom/2008/03/20/think-periodically/">here</a></div>
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Well, one would think I would've learned my lesson from the wedding vows fiasco (I never wrote them and ended up improvising with "I promise to clean more. I promise to fold laundry even at bedtime.") Nope!</div>
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When Wombat was born, I never finalized anything. Granted, I don't think I would've remembered it anyway. So what came out? </div>
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"You will never doubt that I love you."</div>
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Better than my wedding vows. It's a truth that will stand the test of time. Words Wombat can use for strength. And most importantly, words that I think about every day because I must live up to them.</div>
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What were your first words to your child? Did you agonize over what you'd say?</div>About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-74523644349481568132011-11-01T11:50:00.000-07:002011-11-01T11:50:17.025-07:00Why the Break?I want to let you know why there's a long break in my blog posts, especially in that I started this to be open about my pregnancy. <br />
<br />
Well, for as it got closer to the time in Wombat's pregnancy when I lost Moose, I distanced myself from the fact I was pregnant. This doesn't mean that I was doing things that a pregnant woman shouldn't do; it just means that I didn't talk about it. I tried not to think about the baby I was carrying and I certainly couldn't write about it. My desire to meet this baby was so great that the only way for me to deal with pregnancy was to not recognize my need to have a living baby. Not to acknowledge how much my heart was hurting. Add on top of that the agony of a pregnancy for any pregnant woman (we all get emotional and cry pretty easy or is that just me?)<br />
<br />
Every week, I went in for my ultrasound and twice a week I went for a non-stress test or electronic fetal monitoring. Wombat consistently measured perfectly at every appointment, but it didn't help. I was scared.<br />
<br />
Then, something my husband and I didn't see coming happened. It was week 34 in Wombat's pregnancy. We had birth class that night, but I wasn't feeling well and neither was my husband, so I called in sick. When I got home, my husband was feeling even worse, so I cooked dinner. At first, I thought it was an allergic reaction to the prescription meds to help with his poison ivy because aspirin wasn't helping. When he said he wanted to go to the hospital, I thought he was overreacting, yet we went anyway.<br />
<br />
He checked in. Told the clerk he was having chest pains. We went back within 10 minutes of getting there. I was more concerned with getting my pregnant self food than him. <br />
<br />
Yes, you read that right. I wasn't worried about him simply because he's always healthy. He wasn't.<br />
<br />
Blood was drawn, blood pressure taken, the nines. The doctor came in, relaxed and calm. He said that there were five and a half things which he was worried about; the half being the least likely. If it wasn't one of those, we'd go home and meet with a cardiologist another day. They rolled in an EKG, then a giant machine, which we turned down because my husband thought it was overboard. It wasn't.<br />
<br />
Well, it was that half thing. The least likely thing. My thirty-something husband had a heart attack. Nitro pills, admission to the hospital, my husband getting pain meds, and "oh, this is the least likely thing to happen, but just in case..." Every time they said least likely, it's what happened. We were transferred to a larger hospital. <br />
<br />
My husband in an ambulance, me following behind. We didn't have a big goodbye when they put him in the ambulance. I thought I'd see him at the next hospital before they cathed his heart, but I didn't. My husband demanded I eat before I came to the hospital.<br />
<br />
I waited. I called his family. My dearest friend brought me food.<br />
<br />
I waited.<br />
<br />
waited<br />
<br />
waited...tried not to look at the clock.<br />
<br />
Told an hour, maybe two.<br />
<br />
It was two and half hours later. I began to think something was seriously wrong when a doctor came rushing in. He started explaining things. He drew me a picture that looked like a heart a five-year-old would draw. I don't know what he said really. There was a sound at the door.<br />
<br />
there was my husband.<br />
<br />
Thinking about it, I can't describe it. It's too much for words. Not even a year into our marriage, I almost lost my husband, the love of my life.<br />
<br />
We spent a couple days in the hospital. Him so grumpy that I laugh about it now. The nurses took care of us both, bringing me the most comfortable bed they could find and extra pillows.<br />
<br />
So there you go. I needed a break from everything. I needed to wait for our positive, which we got when our beautiful daughter was born at the end of July. With her birth, she brought us a happiness that we needed on so many levels.About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-81702008452815366352011-11-01T07:42:00.000-07:002011-11-01T07:44:45.209-07:00Eagle Ton<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
Yes, I know what you're thinking: what is an eagle ton? It's okay. I'm going to tell you, but first, some background. My sister, Pickles, recently moved to Vancouver; we're also super close sisters who talk about everything and just understand each other in that sister kind of way. Obviously, that means I miss her more passionately than just "I miss you, Pickles." I miss her so much that my missing her must be conveyed with emphasis, emphasis only conveyed with </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTLdRfuvaQoDeE4GQHkESE-O3c4Wxd0LCSpWpg1E9Q_gFtXQrIg1JO8RB_Uagoku7QdQDVgogEXG1vQpGw01ofpC-rkwVZHOS6ft43WePrPv5G8N7qYdzRw1Duq20xEUBmofFUWgtx_BE/s1600/face.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTLdRfuvaQoDeE4GQHkESE-O3c4Wxd0LCSpWpg1E9Q_gFtXQrIg1JO8RB_Uagoku7QdQDVgogEXG1vQpGw01ofpC-rkwVZHOS6ft43WePrPv5G8N7qYdzRw1Duq20xEUBmofFUWgtx_BE/s320/face.gif" width="200" /></a></div>
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Picture from <a href="http://www.legaljuice.com/2008/06/if_you_curse_in_saudi_arabia_y_1.html">here.</a></div>
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Yes, conveyed with adult language. </div>
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But I'm a mom now and I can't always use that language. Yes, it's going to slip out, but I need to watch my language in order to keep my daughter from running around saying "G-- D---- Mother F---er" like I may have done. Thanks Dad. </div>
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Anyway, back to my sister. In Skyping with her while holding Wombat, I can't just come out and say "I miss you a (insert adult word here) ton," so I've decided to just use the word "eagle" for all adult words. Therefor, I miss my sister an eagle ton. If I bang my toe, it's "mother eagle!" When I inevitably get milk in my tubes while pumping, it's "eagle it!" <br />
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<a href="http://www.ohnitsch.net/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/100502_eagle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="304" ida="true" src="http://www.ohnitsch.net/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/100502_eagle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Picture from <a href="http://www.ohnitsch.net/page/3/">here</a></div>
So there you go. My new favorite word, besides Wombat, is eagle. </div>About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-11746766245427655012011-10-31T10:47:00.000-07:002011-10-31T10:47:54.466-07:00HalloweenHalloween is my favorite holiday. I think that's important to know because I planned Moose's Halloween costume the summer before Moose was even due (Moose was due in January 2010 and it was summer 2009). Only after I figured out that did I think about my pregnant Halloween costume. I ended up being a kangaroo because I had a joey in my pocket. Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures of it, but I wore it with pride even though we went no where.<br />
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So after having Wombat, I wanted her to have the costume that Moose was to wear. The problem was that I needed to sew to make it. So I learned to sew.<br />
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That's right. YouTube videos and my sheer desire to make an amazing costume for my little Wombat taught me to kind of sorta sew. While not perfect, let me just tell you that I love this costume.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghUUKmIMPhxmOj4abOGTqB6U5v5GdsiuIUeiW6dF2062ETOvy9GhD5ykTX9-GSB3B8eeFOBQhAd5QhOCDRFJ7H8itHuApI8VLS0GX8sfqj7pdewdto72Ckaz3dzhTk4XPcAfNwfYCv4u0/s1600/Slimey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghUUKmIMPhxmOj4abOGTqB6U5v5GdsiuIUeiW6dF2062ETOvy9GhD5ykTX9-GSB3B8eeFOBQhAd5QhOCDRFJ7H8itHuApI8VLS0GX8sfqj7pdewdto72Ckaz3dzhTk4XPcAfNwfYCv4u0/s320/Slimey.jpg" /></a></div><br />
That's right. She's Slimey the Worm, Oscar the Grouch's pet worm and best friend. Slimey was my favorite Seasame Street character, so it only makes sense that I pay tribute to my love of this worm with an awesome Halloween costume. The hubs and I, of course, dressed up too. He's Oscar and I'm Grungetta. Yes, Grungetta is a Seasame Street character. She's Oscar's girlfriend, so there. Once I get a picture of the three of us, I'll share it. And yes, that picture is the only reason I spent hours working on her costume.About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-56625782692927359202011-10-31T10:34:00.000-07:002011-11-01T11:51:16.102-07:00Wombat's Birth StorySorry this took so long. I started writing it the week we got out of the hospital.<br />
<br />
It was a dark and stormy night…No, I lied. Actually, it was a beautiful Friday morning. At least that’s what I think. I woke up and starting having contractions right after breakfast, so I did as I’d been trained: lie down and relax, drink water, and walk around if they continued. They continued, but I didn’t want to walk. Instead, we brought out my phone because there’s an app for counting contractions. My husband timed while I dealt with the contractions, which really weren’t awful, just annoying at this point. Everything pointed to Wombat arriving some time Friday or early Saturday.<br />
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<br />
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Since it was Friday, I had to go in for a Non-Stress Test (NST) any way, so my sister and I went to the Birth Place with my husband staying behind so he could work around the house a little more (he nested more than I did). Once at the hospital, I showed the RN my contraction app, which she loved, while she hooked me up. They monitored me for about an hour, it’s only supposed to be 20 minutes, then let me go as my contractions weren’t timing out perfectly. When I was walking out the door, she told me to go home and enjoy my husband…wink wink.<br />
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Once home, the contractions really backed off, so we; my sister, husband, and I; finished cleaning the house then went to see Cowboys vs. Aliens because who doesn’t love cowboys fighting aliens AND seeing Daniel Craig? Yummy! Evidently, Wombat enjoys watching Daniel Craig too because I started having more regular contractions during the movie, so we went home and watched Casino Royale, the one with Daniel Craig. The contractions kept getting stronger and closer together. We all thought we were going to the hospital any minute. My husband took a nap; my sister and I stayed up to count the contractions in hopes that we’d go to the hospital soon. We shouldn’t have watched a cheese-tastic, bad romantic comedy because the contractions fell off. I called the night.<br />
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The next morning the contractions started again with the same possible false hope of getting stronger and closer together. I was not amused. I wanted to sleep and eat and relax because there’s no way that this was the real thing. I’d had Braxton-Hicks contractions for weeks, everything was false excitement, yet this time it was not a drill. Finally, at 7ish, we were off like a herd of turtles to the hospital.<br />
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Contractions and riding in a car do not go together. They, in fact, are mortal enemies.<br />
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After a brutal ride on back country roads and a non-bumpy interstate, we arrived at the hospital, changed into our Team Wombat bright green t-shirts, and walked into the hospital. They put us into a triage room, the one I frequented the most during my NSTs, to hook me up to the NST machine (also known as electronic fetal monitoring). It was all familiar to me. However, my husband seemed a little nervous when I think back on it.<br />
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Our RN came in to introduce herself, which pleased both my husband and sister as they weren’t happy with the first RN to come in as she immediately started talking about me getting an epidural. Anyway, our RN read our birth plan, took a copy with her, and followed it without question (I love her!)<br />
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After being in the triage room for three hours, I was admitted. My RN guided us to our room, which turned out to be the room I wanted. It overlooked a horse field. Once all our stuff was moved to our room, I quickly got in the Jacuzzi tub. Unfortunately, I would not allow anyone to turn on the jets. There, I stayed for a while and yelled at anyone who tried to splash me with water. Once I got out, my husband wanted me to try the birthing ball, but it pretty flat, so I just got into bed. During this whole time, my husband and sister were using an acupressure point on my lower back to ease the pain; my husband easily pushed really hard with one hand while my sister, using her entire body weight, really didn’t push hard enough and I may have yelled at her. Between the two of them pushing on my back, I actually got a bruise which stayed around for several weeks. They laughed about it silently behind my back just as they did when I yelled at one of them. It was their way of getting through this extremely long labor.<br />
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<br />
<br />
So there I laid in bed for several more hours with the contractions getting stronger until they just fell off. Our doctor said that he’d normally administer pitocin at this point, so my husband should use one of our natural stimulation methods, which thus far had done nothing to induce labor; however, it worked once I was in labor and I was back to having contractions shortly going into transition.<br />
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Transition is where things get tough and most women ask for meds; I was no different and started begging my husband for meds. He told me that I would have to ask for them myself while my sister would tell me every time I said I was done that I was “done with that contraction.” Honestly, they were really getting on my nerves and I may have yelled at them several (many) times during the next two hours. Oh, the meds they offered where either an epidural or nubane. Nubane was given to me when I delivered Moose; it does jack, so I don’t recommend it and recommend, instead, just staying the course of no meds.<br />
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Finally, I started pushing, but didn’t put a lot of effort into pushing because I didn’t realize that I was pushing Wombat. Yeah, that doesn’t make sense, but I’d been in labor for a really long time at this point. Anyway, I pushed for two hours according to my husband. At first, I barely pushed, then I screamed more than I pushed until my RN told me that I was wasting my energy, so I got angry and pushed with anger. Wombat really started moving then with our doctor actually commenting several times on how strong I was to my husband.<br />
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Since my husband was catching, our doctor got him down there and my RN stepped into his place holding my leg. Our doctor gave him this quick lesson on how to help me not tear, work the shoulder out, and some other stuff. During this time, I was only allowed little pushes, kind of hard to do when my body wanted Wombat out. Finally, I was told to push, so I did. Then I head the magic words “one more big push and the head will be out,” so I gave a big push…and Wombat’s head popped out along with the rest of Wombat.<br />
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Yeah, I pushed so hard I pushed out a whole baby.<br />
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My husband caught Wombat before Wombat fell off the bed, put Wombat on me to nurse just like he’d been trained, and I laid eyes on our Wombat. Our beautiful Wombat. We were covered with a blanket as I asked my husband “what did we have?” He forgot to look in the excitement, so he lifted the blankets and said “it’s a girl I think,” to which my sister replied “yes, that’s a girl.” While all this was happening, my sister said “the head doesn’t look funny at all,” because most babies have funny shaped heads, especially when the mom pushed for so long.<br />
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My husband came around to look at Wombat and I, so I asked him “honey, how did we do this? How did we do this?” His reply: “I think we learned about it in Sex Ed.”<br />
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So in conclusion, it was a great, but really long birth with a Coach and Assistant Coach who were amazing (our doctor, who is a man, said that “if I ever have to give birth, I want you two as my coaches.”), and Daniel Craig induces labor, but cheesy romantic comedies do not.<br />
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Edited to add: Forgot, my water never broke. Our doctor, when I stalled, actually broke my water. I'd been taught that this was a bad thing to do as it won't start labor, but I was already in labor, so it did help to restart everything along with my husband doing natural induction stimulation. Our doctor commented about my bag of waters being very tough because it'd gone through some thing or some thing like that.<br />
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And as a reward for reading all that, here's a picture of Miss Wombat herself:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnbvmWqeHUKaeEdt6otiF6LU8mwtG-4j4Fw_VIPf_YChBn8kGN8_4ZQUHxmipSOmbnYjY4yvmVQSodIUD5d1A1In82EO589WDSyI4GkZCsqlasrfxkNfLbp51Xw7GMQhihHKNE5ggkr_E/s1600/2011-08-01_16-00-26_257.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnbvmWqeHUKaeEdt6otiF6LU8mwtG-4j4Fw_VIPf_YChBn8kGN8_4ZQUHxmipSOmbnYjY4yvmVQSodIUD5d1A1In82EO589WDSyI4GkZCsqlasrfxkNfLbp51Xw7GMQhihHKNE5ggkr_E/s320/2011-08-01_16-00-26_257.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-76421460981266392062011-04-04T12:19:00.000-07:002011-11-09T09:16:20.139-08:00A Moose and WombatThe days are ticking by and it's getting closer to the time during our pregnancy when we said "goodbye" to Moose. We're at week 24, well, tomorrow if you're going to get technical about it. Ten more weeks and it's that week. The week where I thought I was going to the hospital to possibly deliver a baby, but instead heard those words. <br />
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This time, things feel different. Wombat moves often while Moose was a quiet baby. Wombat isn't making me into a really picky eater, Moose hated when I ate pretty much anything. Wombat lets me walk around and do things; Moose preferred me playing video games or watching a movie. Every pregnancy is different just like every child is different. Yet these are my babies.<br />
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At this point, they exist in the same realm, but what happens if/when Wombat because a living baby who survives outside my womb? Does that make Moose any less my baby? No. It's just like when they were in the womb. One child is one way, and the other child is another.<br />
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Wombat will always be a younger sibling. Moose will always be the oldest sibling. Just like any younger sibling, Wombat will get hand-me-downs. There's blankets; toys; a swing; and, of course, lots of clothes. <br />
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Wombat will come into a family scared with loss and Moose will share that family. Somehow, we'll all be one family with children in two different realms. Never forgetting. Always remembering. Forever loving.About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-72326523068399175102011-03-21T13:30:00.000-07:002011-03-21T13:30:41.066-07:00FreedomMy husband has decided that he's ready to skip to the end of this pregnancy. Well, I am too, but we have several weeks left as well as 12 weeks of Fridays down the drain at Bradley Classes (important, but we realized we have 5 more dance classes which are offered only on Fridays). Anyway, as much as he's done with me being pregnant, I'm, by far, more ready to pop this kid out than he is. Seriously, I'm having a hard time putting on my shoes. Not cool.<br />
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Okay, you may wonder because every pregnant woman reaches the point when they're done, what does this have to do with this post since I've already posted about how we're both done with me being pregnant? Well, I had a weird moment this morning: I forgot that I was pregnant. Yep, you read that right.<br />
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I was driving to work and started driving like non-pregnant me (read fast and having fun with the turns). It was so fun to drive like it was just me in the car, no Wombat sitting in my uterus making me drive the speed limit. Granted, it's not like I was driving 65 in a 35 because I just don't drive like that, but it was fun to feel like my body was my own again. No watching every step I take. No constantly driving the speed limit. No worrying about every little thing I do.<br />
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Then reality: I'm pregnant. I do have to watch my steps so as I don't trip. Speeding and having fun driving to work. I do have to worry about everything I eat, drink, wear, what I clean the bathroom with, make sure to walk every hour, back to watching everything because it effects Wombat.<br />
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Yes, I know this is part of pregnancy. It's just hard because I want my body back. I want my freedom.<br />
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Have you ever had a lapse where you forget something it seems like you just shouldn't be able to forget about?About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-54485548058316194182011-03-15T13:17:00.000-07:002011-03-15T13:17:30.955-07:00Week 21ish Check-UpWombat, my husband, and I all went to the regular doctor Friday. Wombat was scanned, photographed, and recorded on video. We never had a video of Moose, so it was really cool that we received a DVD after the ultrasound tech was done. It also marked the first time that Wombat didn't want to move into the perfect positions; I actually had to lay on my side at one point. <br />
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As far as the actual appointment, everything went well. Wombat's heart rate was 150 beats per minute, so that looks like a boy according to that Old Wives' Tale. However, the Chinese gender chart shows a girl, so who knows. I'm still unsure, but I did have a little dream while watching the Paris-Nice cycling race the other day. (Yes, my husband and I love cycling. No football in this house.)<br />
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In this dream, I heard Bob Roll talk about our son being in the Tour de France. It was so totally awesome. I mean, our kids don't have to actually be bike riders, but having a dream about our son being in the Tour was pretty freaking awesome. And hearing Bob Roll talk to Phil Liggett about our son was, well, awesome. <br />
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But I still have no idea what gender our baby is. My husband thinks we're having a girl, my sister thinks we're having a girl, his family thinks we're having a girl, and I'm completely unsure. Isn't the mother supposed to have some kind of feeling?<br />
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So to sum it up: everything looks good, but I still have no idea the gender of our baby unlike everyone else. I'm also getting weaker and wanting to find out Wombat's gender. Help me stay Team Green.About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-46846340133535958862011-03-15T13:05:00.000-07:002011-03-15T13:05:47.288-07:00That's a Good SignRecently I've noticed how many people tell me "_____ is a good sign."<br />
Here's an example:<br />
Me: Wombat keeps kicking me in the bladder.<br />
Person: Well, that's a good sign.<br />
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How is that a good sign? I mean babies move in the womb; they kick and punch things. It's obvious that a lot of babies will kick their mom in the bladder; however, I've never read anything which states that kicking the bladder is a good sign.<br />
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It goes with being sick during the first trimester too. That's a good sign too. Surprising because I was <i>very</i> sick with Moose. Every day. Multiple times a day. During the whole pregnancy. People told me that was a good sign too, but it wasn't. <br />
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Let's just face it. This saying should be thrown to the side along with all the other crazy things pregnant women hear. In case you need a list, here are a couple ideas at what not to say:<br />
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1. You look like you're about to pop. When are you due?<br />
2. Are you having twins? You're huge.<br />
3. ____ is a good sign.<br />
4. Aren't you worried about ______?<br />
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There's more, feel free to add them in the comments.<br />
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On a side note, I was informed by my lovely husband this morning that I'll have more gas since I'm in month 5. My response: "I'm so glad I have an office to myself." I'm already feeling like a giant, stinky, gas bubble and I don't know if I can take more.About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-29520920801680009652011-03-07T13:25:00.001-08:002011-03-07T13:25:34.801-08:00SorryJust want to say sorry I haven't posted much lately. I've been having a mini freak out about my pregnancy. No, I don't think it's over, but I'll try to write more about it.About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-5385332413512022462011-03-07T13:21:00.000-08:002011-11-01T11:52:06.524-07:00Mothers who Miscarry/Deliver a Stillborn Baby Get the Death PenatlyYeah, that's the law being proposed in Georgia. Reading about it made my heart beat, my blood boil, and brought me to tears. I'm sure there's lots out there to read, but honestly, I can't read anymore. The things I read were enough. If you'd like to read more, just type it into Google and find a site you find reputable.<br />
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As a mother who lost her baby for unknown reasons, I'm just astounded that anyone would dare to propose this, especially someone who is an elected official in America. The way the bill is written, it means that any woman who suffers a pregnancy loss must prove that she had nothing to do with her baby's death. <br />
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Yes, it's meant to overturn Roe v. Wade, but I'm not talking about abortion. I'm talking about mothers who wanted their being tried as criminals due to nature. No, it doesn't sound logical, but that doesn't matter. It matters that someone wants it enacted. Can you wrap your head around that? I mean, really put that in your head and process it.<br />
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Yeah, if this passes, it means that, in addition to the pain of never going home with her baby, a woman must somehow prove she did nothing to harm her baby. With all the "you can have this, but not that. Oh wait a minute, this week, you can have that, but not this," out there, it seems the chance of a pregnant woman accidentally doing something which may be seen as harmful very easy. Did she take a small swallow of coffee after she found out? Death! Did she not read the label close enough on that unpasteurized cheese? Death! Did she forget her prenatals that one day because she couldn't stop throwing up? Death!<br />
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Yeah, maybe I'm taking it a little far, but I'm hurt and protective. Don't attack my Angel Moms! We are bound together in a realm of sisterhood. Plus, how could I ever prove I did nothing to harm my baby when no cause was ever found? Does that automatically mean this man wants me tried for murder? Doesn't he know that I already have a life sentence? There's no worse punishment than that.About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-48157702655573110392011-02-18T08:26:00.000-08:002011-02-18T08:26:42.101-08:00Week 17Right now is halfway to when I lost Moose. I'm freaking out. Really freaking out, like all the time. Sitting here, I'm pratcially in tears because I'm so scared. How am I going to make it through all of this. I mean I'm month 4. It's Febraury. I'm due at the end of July. I have so long to go. <br />
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Wombat, could you just punch, kick, or whatever REALLY hard just to let me know you're fine? I just need to feel you. I need something that's unmistakably you, not just a swish. I need a Mike Tyson punch, please.<br />
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It's a good thing I go to the doctor on the 21st. I couldn't wait until the 8th. <br />
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I guess it doesn't help that I read about a healthy baby being born at week 33. That's always a kick to my heart. However, her doctor suspected something was up and was monitoring her closer than I was monitored with Moose, but still. It hurts. But I can't live in "what if..." Life isn't "what if..." Life is what's happened and there's no turning back and changing it. Life is living without Moose and hoping Wombat makes it all the way through. <br />
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Every pregnant woman freaks about her pregnancy. Every woman wonders if everything is progressing properly. It's harder though when that unknown is a reality. Something constantly watching and waiting, tourmenting.<br />
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Yes, I'm also being a hormonal, pregnant woman. I may have cried over prenatals last night. Anyway, pregnancy hormones and loss do not go well together.<br />
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For those of you who are pregnant, what are your fears? We all have them because I see them on the Bee all the time.About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239234629754998837.post-12709562879781763262011-02-11T13:54:00.000-08:002011-02-11T13:58:14.050-08:00I Want a Bradley BirthI'm pretty sure that I've said repeatedly that I want a Bradley Birth; it's important to us. Us as in my husband (Let's call him George because I love that name) and I. But many people don't know what that is or think that the birth process needs to be something they think about. I didn't realize this either until I cried thinking about an epidural and giving birth to a watermelon aka Moose. So I did what all good Enlgish Majors do: read (yeah, I'm a horrible speller and okay at grammar, but I do have a degree in English. It's my literary interpritation skillz which got me the degree.)<br />
<br />
I read <a href="http://www.thebusinessofbeingborn.com/">The Business of Being Born</a> about different births and then I read some more. After reading and talking with "George," we decided that the best choice for us was Bradley. It's not right for everyone and I firmly believe that everyone should do what is right for the mother and partner. I am not one of those "oh, you didn't have a natural birth so you're a horrible mother," people. <br />
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<b><i>Every situation is different and should be discussed with a doctor.<br />
</i></b><br />
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Anyway, back to me. Once we decided on Bradley, we immediately started classes. By this time, it was pretty late in my pregnancy, so we needed to get on the ball. We'd go every Saturday, bond with our other students and with each other, bicker over being late, and dread doing homework (nothing that bad, just reading and worksheets). Through all this, we learned what to expect. What my body would go through, how to handle it, and how "George" could help me get through it. We did this for several weeks until I started having what I thought were Braxton-Hicks contractions on Friday. They weren't.<br />
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Skipping ahead...<br />
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We went to our room at the maternity ward/birthing center and "George" coached me through each contraction. "You're going to have one soon. Okay, just 15 more seconds (until it ebbs), you're halfway through, now it's starting to ebb and it's done" He set up music; The Cure because they're awesome and meloncholy. <br />
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He coached me through each contraction because we knew what to expect. It wasn't unknown. It was "this is what we trained for," and "this is what we know." It was good to have something known because we were in the unknown. It was good to have him there at every step telling me what was going to happen, when it was happening, for how much longer.<br />
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My #1 tip for labor is go to the bathroom when you need to go. There is nothing worse than you're body trying to push everything out of you and you not listening. I mean, if you want to poop on the table before you deliver, don't go to the bathroom. Otherwise, just go to the bathroom. It makes everything so much easier. And if you want your partner to go with you, it's the least they could do. I totally made "George" come with me.<br />
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Anyway, I labored in the tub. Just laid in that tub with warm water. Contractions were easy there. I was warm. Still "George" counted and coached. <br />
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People may say I did the hard work, but "George" sat beside me, putting his pain to the side, and took care of me. I had a distraction; he just had me and I could do nothing. He was my advocate. He was my voice. He did everything. Just like he was trained. Just like he wanted to do.<br />
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As we were trained, about 20 minutes before I went into active labor, I wanted drugs. I was adament about drugs. I thought they'd give me something to send me to Jupiter for my mental anguish. They didn't. They gave me crap. It wasn't worth it at all. I still hurt and felt everything.<br />
<br />
Then I delivered a Moose. For the first time in 34 weeks, my body was all mine. No little Moose parasite. Just me. Yeah, the delivery went really quickly. (I did my Bradley exercises like I was told which helped me push that baby out in less than an hour)<br />
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Anyway, all that coaching from "George" made the difference. All his training with Bradley made it his second nature. It brought us closer. It made us a team like never before. I think our team would be just as strong if we had Moose, but we didn't. And since we didn't, it made it easier for us to talk about our pain. To tell the other everything. It's still that way. We tell each other everything. We're open to each other, even the crazy things that we'd never tell anyone else and never thought we'd tell anyone.<br />
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Taking Bradley Classes gave us the tools we needed to get through the labor and delivery. It made it possible to live through our loss. <br />
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Ironic thing about the day I delivered: our Bradley Class was taking the Miscarriage, Stillbirth, and SIDs class as I was delivering.<br />
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I've already signed up for Bradley Classes for Wombat's birth since we never finished the classes for Moose's. After Wombat's birth, I am really hoping to become a Bradley Instructor. They need some Angel Moms in that organization because they have no idea about Angel Moms. They, like so many, don't know, but need to know since they are teaching birthing.<br />
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Any other questions? Here's a <a href="http://www.bradleybirth.com/WhyBradley.aspx">link</a> to their FAQs or feel free to ask me.About a Moosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02578101704538367136noreply@blogger.com0