Due Dates and Birthdays

Nearly 2 years ago, ten LONG days after my “due date” and12 hrs of Cervidil, 19 hrs of active labor, and 4 hours of pushing later I finally got to hold my little Buggy.  Buggy was due the day before Thanksgiving, and made her appearance on December 7th.  I never thought that she would be a December baby, but she was!  I guess she was just one of those babies who needed some extra time to cook.  Although I was miserable those last few weeks, I was blessed with a healthy baby and a speedy recovery.  When Buggy was just 2 weeks old we drove 6 hours to Atlanta for Christmas with my family!

Today (Aug 22) is my due date with Buggy’s brother… and I have nothing to show for it but a huge tummy, swollen feet, thicker hair and nails, and a piece of paper from my doctor telling me today is the day my baby is “due”.  People say second children usually come earlier and labor is shorter.  I guess I’ll find out…. I know that a due date is an estimation of when the baby may arrive and is used by doctors and midwifes to help determine when to give certain care to pregnant women.  However, knowing this doesn’t mean I didn’t wake up *hoping* today was the day I’d get to meet my little prince.  So far – nothing.  No contractions, no cramps, no water breaking dramatically while I played with Buggy at the park this morning….

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I know Buggy’s little brother will be born when he is ready, but I can’t help but hope for him to arrive sometime this weekend.  Especially considering what this coming week looks like.

Monday marks the start of another school year, and I really can’t imagine walking the halls and taking care of all my wonderful students all week while I wait for my induction (should it come to that again).  As a school counselor, I deal with many different and sometimes stressful situations, and often get called to classrooms to assist students who have outbursts and need a little timeout.  While I obviously can’t carry them out of class like I sometimes did last year, I also can’t bend down to talk to the little ones who miss their mommy or help them tie their shoes.  I can’t pick things up in the hallway, and I can’t respond quickly to situations in different parts of the building (my school is 3 separate buildings.  Once last year I wore a pedometer and walked over 5 miles in one day!)  As much as I truly do love my school and students, I am exhausted and just want to snuggle my baby!  It may be his due date, but I guess this little guy has other plans for his birthday!

Was your baby early, late, or right on time?  What were you doing when you went into labor?

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Adding Insult to Injury

Buggy had her first trip to Urgent Care this summer after she slammed her hand in a door.  I saw it happening, but I was too far away to pull her hand out of the way before a blood curdling scream filled my ears.  I quickly rushed to her and saw that her hand was already twice the size it should be.  We put ice on it and after about 10 minutes we decided to take her in, just in case it was broken (thankfully, it was just swollen and bruised pretty badly, but it looked terrible and being first time parents we wanted some peace of mind that everything was okay).  My husband said her fingers looked like little snickers bars, they were so fat!

My husband, Buggy, and I walked into the urgent care together and they sat down while I filled out the paperwork and we waited to see the doctor.  I sat across from them in the waiting room because there weren’t 3 seats next to each other.  A couple next to me started talking to me, asking when my baby was due.  First they said “I doubt you’ll make it to your due date, you’re so big already!” (thanks, that was a really helpful comment… NOT!) and then one of them asked if it was my first.  When I said no, Buggy is my first, and pointed to her and her daddy, the man gave me a really odd look of disbelief.

I guess in my mind since we walked in together and I had clearly been talking to my husband while filling out the paperwork it seemed obvious that we were together.  But to him it must have seemed like I was there on my own.   Maybe it was because this was Buggy’s first real injury and I was worried about her, but I felt very insulted by the whole interaction.  They couldn’t tell we were a family?  And do I really look that huge?  I’ve since chalked it all up to the fact that old people sometimes say things they don’t realize are offensive or unhelpful.

Why is she black?

I recently took Buggy to the park for “Dinosaurs in the Dirt”.  A naturalist comes and talks to kids 0-5 about dinosaurs and then the kids get to play with dinosaurs and dig up dino “bones” in the sand pit (which is actually the volleyball court) at the park.  Buggy had a great time playing in the sand and roaring like a dinosaur.  She even buried one and later said “good girl” when she found it again!  So cute!

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Anyway, while we were there I saw two of my former students (siblings).  They came to say hi and the little girl asked if Buggy was my daughter.  When I said yes, she asked “But why is she black?”  I tried to explain that Buggy’s dad is Black, but the girl didn’t get it.  She kept asking me why was Buggy’s dad Black, and I think that she didn’t really understand that people of different races can marry and reproduce together.

Her mom was quite embarrassed by all the questions, but when the kids went off to bury more dinosaurs and play in the sand I explained that I was used to this kind of questioning, and that it is normal for 5 year olds to wonder about skin color and talk about differences, especially obvious physical differences.  The mom was grateful for my patience, as her daughter just went on and on and wanted to know more about what my husband looked like and how Buggy could be so brown when I was so pale.

I actually didn’t mind one bit that the little girl was asking so many questions.  Like I’ve posted before, I’ve gotten many questions about Buggy’s appearance and I’ve become more and more aware that children in particular tend to ask questions that we, as adults, don’t ask because it isn’t socially acceptable.

I found it interesting to see other’s reactions to the little girl’s questions.  One random lady who overheard the conversation between the little girl and I came up to me later and said “My white friend married a Black man and their son is a lot paler then your daughter, but she’s still mixed” I actually didn’t really know how to respond since all mixed kids (actually ALL kids) look different from one another.  We all have our own skin tone, hair color, eye color, ect. and someone being lighter skinned then someone else really doesn’t matter.  I just said “Yeah” and then went over to Buggy and roared like a dinosaur!