List of Potential Baby Names
Dana
Dante
Holden
Sebastian
Spencer
Simon
Gianvincent
Rocco
Theodore
Jude
Silas
Dillon
Gabriel
Harrison
Sawyer
Jasper
Greg
Oscar
And there we are.
Showing posts with label Pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pregnancy. Show all posts
5/30/12
5/23/12
My Cup(s) Runneth Over
I have recently embarked on a mission to find a maternity swim suit. I am during non-pregnancy times what one would consider "well endowed", so you can imagine what the girls look like as they prepare to enter the third trimester.
Seeing as though my only saving grace this summer is the zero gravity feeling a pool provides, my plan is to spend as much time in one as possible. At first I was thinking of just heading to my nearest fabric store and purchasing enough spandex to cover my car and then just wrapping it around myself.
Since then, I've decided that perhaps purchasing an actual maternity bathing suit is the way to go.
I have only a few requirements.
First and foremost is that all naughty bits must be adequately covered. In addition to the obvious, you can add belly to this category. (Which, as a 35 year old woman, is quite obvious to me, but apparently there are a lot of pregnant women who don't share this thought.)
I would like some sort of structure...I want the body parts that belong towards the north part of my body to remain north and not sag so low they look like they are resting on my stomach.
I would also prefer the bottom of the suit to include some sort of skirt or shorts.
BLACK. BLACK. BLACK. BLACK. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD MAKE IT BLACK.
No horizontal stripes. The fact that I have to include this pisses me off to no end. I don't wear horizontal stripes in my non-pregnant, thinnest days, so why in the land of all that is good and holy do maternity manufacturers produce clothing with horizontal stripes? It's like their mocking us.
That's it. I'll keep you posted.
Seeing as though my only saving grace this summer is the zero gravity feeling a pool provides, my plan is to spend as much time in one as possible. At first I was thinking of just heading to my nearest fabric store and purchasing enough spandex to cover my car and then just wrapping it around myself.
Since then, I've decided that perhaps purchasing an actual maternity bathing suit is the way to go.
I have only a few requirements.
First and foremost is that all naughty bits must be adequately covered. In addition to the obvious, you can add belly to this category. (Which, as a 35 year old woman, is quite obvious to me, but apparently there are a lot of pregnant women who don't share this thought.)
I would like some sort of structure...I want the body parts that belong towards the north part of my body to remain north and not sag so low they look like they are resting on my stomach.
I would also prefer the bottom of the suit to include some sort of skirt or shorts.
BLACK. BLACK. BLACK. BLACK. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD MAKE IT BLACK.
No horizontal stripes. The fact that I have to include this pisses me off to no end. I don't wear horizontal stripes in my non-pregnant, thinnest days, so why in the land of all that is good and holy do maternity manufacturers produce clothing with horizontal stripes? It's like their mocking us.
That's it. I'll keep you posted.
5/16/12
A Little Rusty
I'm a week into my new gig of non-working, pregnant mother and I still feel like I need to make sure my day is filled with a list of tasks to complete before I pick up Leah at 3:30.
I'm also having a hard time figuring out what is my job (role, responsibility, whatever) as a SAHM and what, as a pregnant woman, I am justified to ask Greg do...ok, demand Greg do...ok, be disappointed and sigh dramatically when Greg doesn't do it automatically.
Also, if Greg works from home, do I still need to cook dinner if he totally has the time to do it? If he has a slow day and doesn't have much to do am I still obligated to wash all dishes? Yes, he's technically the bread winner and I'm technically the homemaker, but does that mean he doesn't touch any task related to homemaking anymore? Does it really mean that I work from sun up to sun down at my new job while his is over at the end of the workday?
Am I overthinking this?
In other news, yes, I've been gone and this blog has been neglected. I'm not certain if I'm back for good so forgive me if I don't pretty it up immediately.
I'm also having a hard time figuring out what is my job (role, responsibility, whatever) as a SAHM and what, as a pregnant woman, I am justified to ask Greg do...ok, demand Greg do...ok, be disappointed and sigh dramatically when Greg doesn't do it automatically.
Also, if Greg works from home, do I still need to cook dinner if he totally has the time to do it? If he has a slow day and doesn't have much to do am I still obligated to wash all dishes? Yes, he's technically the bread winner and I'm technically the homemaker, but does that mean he doesn't touch any task related to homemaking anymore? Does it really mean that I work from sun up to sun down at my new job while his is over at the end of the workday?
Am I overthinking this?
In other news, yes, I've been gone and this blog has been neglected. I'm not certain if I'm back for good so forgive me if I don't pretty it up immediately.
4/21/11
The Healing Corner: Abbe's Story; Part Four
It was Thanksgiving 1983. We had just purchased out first home 4 months prior. The week before I found out I was pregnant with our second child.
Ray III was 3 yrs old. Because I grew up in a Jewish household, I just loved all the Christmas holiday things. The family, the food, the gifts - meaning the shopping, the wrapping and cooking ~ alot of things people thought a chore I thought was fun. Since I was new to all this I also over indulged in shopping and planning.
A few weeks before Christmas I started spotting. I went to the doctor and he told me to stay off of my feet as much as possible.
I did, but it was the holidays and I also had a toddler at home and a husband who worked long hours. Anyone who lived nearby was busy in their own lives.
As usual we were planning to go to North Jersey for Christmas. It felt like one of those changes was going to get the best of us within the next couple of years because we were the only family members that lived down the shore at the time. We could still travel with little Ray, but we felt in the near future we would want him waking up in his own home on Christmas to share the excitement.
It was a bitter cold winter. I mean bitter. Below freezing wind factors.
Christmas Eve day I started spotting more. Then the pain started.....and continued. I couldn't/shouldn't leave my bed. I was hoping I wasn't miscarrying.
Uncle Ray stopped on the way home from work on Christmas Eve, picked up a roast and some fixings that he could put together for us for Christmas dinner at the last minute since we couldn't travel. I told him to go up north with Ray and spend the holiday there. He wouldn't go.
5:30 that morning I woke up in extreme pain and just knew from the depth of my soul I just miscarried. Here is was Christmas morning. I had to call the doctor. He said maybe not, just stay off my feet. I knew differently because the pain stopped out of the blue.
I cried for the baby I just miscarried. I cried because I pulled my husband and son away from the extended family for the day. I will never, ever forget Ray's words to me at that moment....."Abbe, you and Ray are my family. We are here together. This is how it's going to be from now on as our family grows."
That was the turning point in us running up north on Christmas. We realized that our immediate family was important and we had to alter tradition. We found our way over the years how to visit a day or two later. It's was all ok.
Later into the morning I called my friend Colleen to tell her what had just happened. She invited us to stop by later in the evening for dessert with her parents and family. It was the start of a new tradition. Now 27 yrs laters I still stop by late on Christmas night. Through that 27 yrs, she's divorced and has a new segment to her family, Uncle Ray died, her Dad died who always made the plum pudding Uncle Ray craved for every year, the kids have grown, sometimes one of our kids are there, sometimes not....however it falls, it works.
The next morning I went to the doctor and the ultrasound confirmed what I already knew.
.
Ray III was 3 yrs old. Because I grew up in a Jewish household, I just loved all the Christmas holiday things. The family, the food, the gifts - meaning the shopping, the wrapping and cooking ~ alot of things people thought a chore I thought was fun. Since I was new to all this I also over indulged in shopping and planning.
A few weeks before Christmas I started spotting. I went to the doctor and he told me to stay off of my feet as much as possible.
I did, but it was the holidays and I also had a toddler at home and a husband who worked long hours. Anyone who lived nearby was busy in their own lives.
As usual we were planning to go to North Jersey for Christmas. It felt like one of those changes was going to get the best of us within the next couple of years because we were the only family members that lived down the shore at the time. We could still travel with little Ray, but we felt in the near future we would want him waking up in his own home on Christmas to share the excitement.
It was a bitter cold winter. I mean bitter. Below freezing wind factors.
Christmas Eve day I started spotting more. Then the pain started.....and continued. I couldn't/shouldn't leave my bed. I was hoping I wasn't miscarrying.
Uncle Ray stopped on the way home from work on Christmas Eve, picked up a roast and some fixings that he could put together for us for Christmas dinner at the last minute since we couldn't travel. I told him to go up north with Ray and spend the holiday there. He wouldn't go.
5:30 that morning I woke up in extreme pain and just knew from the depth of my soul I just miscarried. Here is was Christmas morning. I had to call the doctor. He said maybe not, just stay off my feet. I knew differently because the pain stopped out of the blue.
I cried for the baby I just miscarried. I cried because I pulled my husband and son away from the extended family for the day. I will never, ever forget Ray's words to me at that moment....."Abbe, you and Ray are my family. We are here together. This is how it's going to be from now on as our family grows."
That was the turning point in us running up north on Christmas. We realized that our immediate family was important and we had to alter tradition. We found our way over the years how to visit a day or two later. It's was all ok.
Later into the morning I called my friend Colleen to tell her what had just happened. She invited us to stop by later in the evening for dessert with her parents and family. It was the start of a new tradition. Now 27 yrs laters I still stop by late on Christmas night. Through that 27 yrs, she's divorced and has a new segment to her family, Uncle Ray died, her Dad died who always made the plum pudding Uncle Ray craved for every year, the kids have grown, sometimes one of our kids are there, sometimes not....however it falls, it works.
The next morning I went to the doctor and the ultrasound confirmed what I already knew.
.
10/6/10
Brought To You By Coffee
Sometimes having kids feels like doing time for a crime you didn't commit. I mean, yes, technically, with regards to Leah, I did "commit the crime." I mean, we wanted her, and she's here due to us. But, there are times when taking care of her seems really exhaustive and heavy and just plain tough.
I was talking to a co worker who is child-free, by choice. He spent the weekend babysitting his 5 year-old neice, and today, Wednesday, he's still recuperating from the weekend. He just doesn't understand how people can do this day in and day out, like deal with kids, all the time. And, he's right. I don't know how I do it.
We spend a lot of time in the car. And Leah must talk, question, comment, and narrate the entire time she's in the car. There's a lot of "Look, Mommy"s too. It's non-stop. When I pick her up from my sister's house on Wednesdays and am in the thick of a 45-minute commute in rush hour traffic after working for 9 straight hours, the last thing I want to do is "Look at my knee, Mommy! Look at my sock! Oh, man! There's a bus!" And if she doesn't get a reaction she will keep going, louder and louder, until she does. So, we have a conversation for the duration of the entire ride. Every ride. Every day.
Now, I don't want you all to think that I'm complaining about parenthood, because I'm not. Much. I knew it would be tough and challenging. Not as tough and challenging as it actually is, but still, I had an idea. What I'm saying is that despite the challenges, we still do it. We still have kids. We still run ourselves ragged taking care of them and tending to their needs. We still think about them and worry about them. We kiss, hug, cuddle, and snuggle them. We love them to pieces. More than we ever thought possible. It's worth it. It must be, right?
Despite being woken up at 5 a.m. this morning to the words, "I want pancakes now!" I never regret the day Greg and I decided to become parents. I can't even remember life without Cha Cha. And I don't want to...because I was probably well rested and energetic and richer. And, really, who wants to think about that?
I was talking to a co worker who is child-free, by choice. He spent the weekend babysitting his 5 year-old neice, and today, Wednesday, he's still recuperating from the weekend. He just doesn't understand how people can do this day in and day out, like deal with kids, all the time. And, he's right. I don't know how I do it.
We spend a lot of time in the car. And Leah must talk, question, comment, and narrate the entire time she's in the car. There's a lot of "Look, Mommy"s too. It's non-stop. When I pick her up from my sister's house on Wednesdays and am in the thick of a 45-minute commute in rush hour traffic after working for 9 straight hours, the last thing I want to do is "Look at my knee, Mommy! Look at my sock! Oh, man! There's a bus!" And if she doesn't get a reaction she will keep going, louder and louder, until she does. So, we have a conversation for the duration of the entire ride. Every ride. Every day.
Now, I don't want you all to think that I'm complaining about parenthood, because I'm not. Much. I knew it would be tough and challenging. Not as tough and challenging as it actually is, but still, I had an idea. What I'm saying is that despite the challenges, we still do it. We still have kids. We still run ourselves ragged taking care of them and tending to their needs. We still think about them and worry about them. We kiss, hug, cuddle, and snuggle them. We love them to pieces. More than we ever thought possible. It's worth it. It must be, right?
Despite being woken up at 5 a.m. this morning to the words, "I want pancakes now!" I never regret the day Greg and I decided to become parents. I can't even remember life without Cha Cha. And I don't want to...because I was probably well rested and energetic and richer. And, really, who wants to think about that?
.
.
.
7/14/10
Party of Three
Everyone always asks me when I am having a second child. And the answer is "Not now." Or, "Not yet." Or, sometimes, "Not ever." And as hard as those answers are for people to hear, it's not that difficult for me to say.
I'm not ready for a second child, for a myriad of reasons, but mostly because I'm content with my family right now. Or, I should say, the number of people in my family right now. Women have told me that until they had their second (third, fourth, herd), they felt incomplete. They knew their family wasn't done. But, me? I don't feel that way.
Occassionally, I think of having a second child so that Leah wouldn't have to go through life alone. If we are being honest, I really think about having a second so that if anything happens to me, or Greg, or both of us, Leah has someone else to go through it with. I am grateful for my sister when my mom died and do not know how I would have made it through if I had to have done it alone.
But that is not a good enough reason. That's unfair to a potential child of mine. "Oh, I had you so that if I died Leah could lean on you for support." Jeez, that sounds horrible!
I owe it to any future children to want and desire them. I owe it to myself and my husband to wait until we feel that desire to expand our family. So, for now, we are party of three. And, it's just fine by us.
.
.
I'm not ready for a second child, for a myriad of reasons, but mostly because I'm content with my family right now. Or, I should say, the number of people in my family right now. Women have told me that until they had their second (third, fourth, herd), they felt incomplete. They knew their family wasn't done. But, me? I don't feel that way.
Occassionally, I think of having a second child so that Leah wouldn't have to go through life alone. If we are being honest, I really think about having a second so that if anything happens to me, or Greg, or both of us, Leah has someone else to go through it with. I am grateful for my sister when my mom died and do not know how I would have made it through if I had to have done it alone.
But that is not a good enough reason. That's unfair to a potential child of mine. "Oh, I had you so that if I died Leah could lean on you for support." Jeez, that sounds horrible!
I owe it to any future children to want and desire them. I owe it to myself and my husband to wait until we feel that desire to expand our family. So, for now, we are party of three. And, it's just fine by us.
Dana, Greg, and Leah
Pat, Enzo, and Dana
..
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6/29/10
Something's Always Wrong
I was trying to think of what to write about today and the usual suspects popped up.
My kid? Been there, done that. Ad infinitum.
Working mommy guilt? Think I’ve touched on that enough for a lifetime.
Running? Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
My dead mom? Not everyone needs to cry every day due to the epic writings of my overinflated ego.
Honestly, I think I need psychiatric help. When I think about things, I mean, really think about things, I have a great life. A good marriage, a supportive husband, an intelligent kid, a nice house, great friends, a good family, a secure job. Yet, I am always looking for something to complain about. Always searching for something that might be wrong, or off, or needs improvement.
Rather than focusing on all the good in my life, and just enjoying it, I find myself only able to see the imperfect things, and then I harp on how I can’t fix it, and how hard it is to deal with it, and waaaahhhhhh. Seriously, I don’t know why more people don’t tell me to STFU more often.
A couple of weeks ago my dad told me, in so many words, that maybe it was time to get over my mom’s death and stop being so angry and sad about it. I was all bent out of shape when he said that. I thought, “Well, he’s not in my head! He doesn’t live my life; doesn’t know what I go through! He’s so insensitive!” But, maybe he had a point.
I mean, if I spend all day thinking about how cruddy life is now that my mom is gone, I might miss something important. Like how GOOD life is despite my mom being gone. If I exert as much energy on trying to enjoy time with my family as I exert on being aware of the absence of my mom, I would probably see that things are not that bad. Maybe even quite good.
Yes, I miss my mom and wish she could have met and known Leah. Yes, I wish she could have been here for when Marco’s baby is born. And I really wish she could be here for when Adriana gets married.
But I still get to experience those things. Those are really great things that I will get to live with and know. And it’s okay to be happy for the fact that I get to have those experiences even though she doesn’t.
Maybe it is time to stop dwelling on something that I can’t change. Something that will affect me forever and that I’ll never forget. But, it doesn’t have to negatively impact every other aspect of my life. My mom’s death doesn’t have to ruin my future.
Quit your bitching and go make this leaf into some rhubarb pie!
.
.
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6/10/10
Welcome To The Black Parade
Every time I think that I am getting over this, every time I think that I am okay with the cards I’ve been dealt and the loss that I’ve endured, something-whether big and bold or tiny and insignificant-hits me. And it can be the teensiest thing: a sentence, an event, a stranger, a revelation. But it’s enough to throw me back to November 10, 2007, the morning it all started.
It was a Saturday. Greg and I had woken up early and were cleaning up breakfast. I remember the TV was on—a show on TLC called “Kids By The Dozen.”
I had to go to the bathroom. That day marked my 20th week of pregnancy; I was officially half way there. On my way to the bathroom I heard the phone ring. Greg looked at the caller id and told me it was my dad. I told him to tell him to either wait a minute until I finished or I’d call him right back, as I closed the bathroom door behind me.
My father has an Italian accent and speaks loudly. It must be a gut reaction, but when people speak to him, they too speak loudly. As I walked to the sink to wash my hands I noticed that I hadn’t heard Greg talking to my dad. I had heard him say, “Hello,” but then he didn’t say anything else. I didn’t hear the the tell tale loud-speak that comes when one speaks to my dad on the phone.
As I stood there in front of the sink I knew right then and there something had happened.
I slowly opened the door and walked down the hallway. Greg met me at the end of the hallway. He said, “I have to tell you something.”
It was then that I took a mental snapshot of my life. I wanted to remember life, and how good it was, at that very moment. I knew that what he was going to tell me was going to be devastating. I tried to hold it off for as long as I could.
“No. I don’t want to hear it.”
“I have to tell you.”
“No, I don’t want to know. Oh god! Ok, let me guess. It’s my grandmother.”
“No.”
“Oh no, oh no! It’s Marco. It’s him! Is it a car accident? Is someone dead? Just tell me, is someone dead?!”
“No.”
“Ok. Who is it?”
“It’s your mom. She had a heart attack.” At that moment I fell to my knees.
“They are just waiting for her to wake up. Go and take a shower, and get dressed and we’ll drive to St. Joe’s and wait for her to wake up.”
I don’t know if my father told Greg that they were just waiting for her to wake up or if that was something that Greg made up for me. I will probably never ask Greg or my dad, so I will never know. I mean, it was not the truth, not at all. So, I’m not sure who decided to go with that.
I remember my shower taking so long because I would start crying over and over. I remember it started to snow once we got on the highway. I remember the tire pressure light came on and Greg insisted on pulling into a gas station to fill the tire.
At that point, for the first time in my entire pregnancy, I wanted time to stand still. I didn’t want the next five months to go by so that I could meet my daughter. The last thing I wanted at that very moment was to know what her name would be.
You see, Greg and I had a difficult time choosing a name for Leah. I remember going through page after page of the baby-name book praying that one would just leap out at me. I had a wish that I could just have a tiny glance into the future and find out what her name was. To save us the time and effort it was costing us to agree on one.
And, as I sat in the car, watching the snow fall on the windshield, cursing Greg for stopping to fill the tire at a time like this, I realized that if I could have been given the opportunity to know my future daughter’s name at that moment, I would have passed.
That morning is so vivid in my mind. The rest of the week, and the following week, I remember in snippets. Being told by the hospital front desk that I wasn’t permitted to go up to see my mother, trying to remain calm when asking her to look into it but not being able to finish the sentence, the look on her face when she was told we were permitted to go up. (That’s when I knew my mother was going to die, that they weren’t just waiting for her to wake up.)
Being left alone with my mom soon after arriving while Greg drove my dad home to change. Asking Gwen the nurse how good her chances were of waking up and being told, “slim to none.” Asking if it was true that people with strong personalities have more of a chance of pulling through. Being told no. Being thankful for that.
The Code Blue alarms that went off three times that night. The way we’d jump up out of our seats when the alarm would go off and run out of her room into the waiting room and all sit there holding each other's hands so tightly…waiting for the foot steps to come down the hall to tell us it was over.
Hearing each time that she had pulled through, again.
Signing the DNR.
Speaking with doctor after doctor. Her one doctor telling my dad that I should be concerned about my weight and my dad having to inform him that I was pregnant.
Gwen returning on day 2 in a horrible mood.
Physically not being able to eat for the first time in my life.
Deciding it was time.
The woman who tried to convince us that we didn’t need a full autopsy. Me telling her that in 23 years I was going to be my mother’s age and I owed it to my unborn child to make sure that I didn’t die.
The grueling three and a half days she continued to live.
The song “I hope you dance” playing on a friend’s myspace page when I received the phone call that she had finally died.
And five months later, having to return to that hospital to give birth to Leah Patricia.
Named for Patricia Ellen Grieco.
I live with these memories and on most days I am able to keep them inside. And not let them affect my life. But then something small happens—to me. Or to Leah. Mostly to Leah. And I go back and think about how life was before. How much Leah had been through before she was even born. How much I have to tell her in the future. How much she’s going to miss.
It was a Saturday. Greg and I had woken up early and were cleaning up breakfast. I remember the TV was on—a show on TLC called “Kids By The Dozen.”
I had to go to the bathroom. That day marked my 20th week of pregnancy; I was officially half way there. On my way to the bathroom I heard the phone ring. Greg looked at the caller id and told me it was my dad. I told him to tell him to either wait a minute until I finished or I’d call him right back, as I closed the bathroom door behind me.
My father has an Italian accent and speaks loudly. It must be a gut reaction, but when people speak to him, they too speak loudly. As I walked to the sink to wash my hands I noticed that I hadn’t heard Greg talking to my dad. I had heard him say, “Hello,” but then he didn’t say anything else. I didn’t hear the the tell tale loud-speak that comes when one speaks to my dad on the phone.
As I stood there in front of the sink I knew right then and there something had happened.
I slowly opened the door and walked down the hallway. Greg met me at the end of the hallway. He said, “I have to tell you something.”
It was then that I took a mental snapshot of my life. I wanted to remember life, and how good it was, at that very moment. I knew that what he was going to tell me was going to be devastating. I tried to hold it off for as long as I could.
“No. I don’t want to hear it.”
“I have to tell you.”
“No, I don’t want to know. Oh god! Ok, let me guess. It’s my grandmother.”
“No.”
“Oh no, oh no! It’s Marco. It’s him! Is it a car accident? Is someone dead? Just tell me, is someone dead?!”
“No.”
“Ok. Who is it?”
“It’s your mom. She had a heart attack.” At that moment I fell to my knees.
“They are just waiting for her to wake up. Go and take a shower, and get dressed and we’ll drive to St. Joe’s and wait for her to wake up.”
I don’t know if my father told Greg that they were just waiting for her to wake up or if that was something that Greg made up for me. I will probably never ask Greg or my dad, so I will never know. I mean, it was not the truth, not at all. So, I’m not sure who decided to go with that.
I remember my shower taking so long because I would start crying over and over. I remember it started to snow once we got on the highway. I remember the tire pressure light came on and Greg insisted on pulling into a gas station to fill the tire.
At that point, for the first time in my entire pregnancy, I wanted time to stand still. I didn’t want the next five months to go by so that I could meet my daughter. The last thing I wanted at that very moment was to know what her name would be.
You see, Greg and I had a difficult time choosing a name for Leah. I remember going through page after page of the baby-name book praying that one would just leap out at me. I had a wish that I could just have a tiny glance into the future and find out what her name was. To save us the time and effort it was costing us to agree on one.
And, as I sat in the car, watching the snow fall on the windshield, cursing Greg for stopping to fill the tire at a time like this, I realized that if I could have been given the opportunity to know my future daughter’s name at that moment, I would have passed.
That morning is so vivid in my mind. The rest of the week, and the following week, I remember in snippets. Being told by the hospital front desk that I wasn’t permitted to go up to see my mother, trying to remain calm when asking her to look into it but not being able to finish the sentence, the look on her face when she was told we were permitted to go up. (That’s when I knew my mother was going to die, that they weren’t just waiting for her to wake up.)
Being left alone with my mom soon after arriving while Greg drove my dad home to change. Asking Gwen the nurse how good her chances were of waking up and being told, “slim to none.” Asking if it was true that people with strong personalities have more of a chance of pulling through. Being told no. Being thankful for that.
The Code Blue alarms that went off three times that night. The way we’d jump up out of our seats when the alarm would go off and run out of her room into the waiting room and all sit there holding each other's hands so tightly…waiting for the foot steps to come down the hall to tell us it was over.
Hearing each time that she had pulled through, again.
Signing the DNR.
Speaking with doctor after doctor. Her one doctor telling my dad that I should be concerned about my weight and my dad having to inform him that I was pregnant.
Gwen returning on day 2 in a horrible mood.
Physically not being able to eat for the first time in my life.
Deciding it was time.
The woman who tried to convince us that we didn’t need a full autopsy. Me telling her that in 23 years I was going to be my mother’s age and I owed it to my unborn child to make sure that I didn’t die.
The grueling three and a half days she continued to live.
The song “I hope you dance” playing on a friend’s myspace page when I received the phone call that she had finally died.
And five months later, having to return to that hospital to give birth to Leah Patricia.
Named for Patricia Ellen Grieco.
I live with these memories and on most days I am able to keep them inside. And not let them affect my life. But then something small happens—to me. Or to Leah. Mostly to Leah. And I go back and think about how life was before. How much Leah had been through before she was even born. How much I have to tell her in the future. How much she’s going to miss.
We'll carry on, we'll carry on
And though you're dead and gone, believe me
Your memory will carry on, we'll carry on
And in my heart I can't contain it
The anthem won't explain it
.
5/26/10
A Little Girl and Her Daddy
Greg and Leah have a good relationship. They spend a lot of time together and do a lot together. Greg spends several days a week with Leah, and they enjoy swimming, gardening, and yard work. He likes to take her on errands and she knows a lot of people at Lowes.
I feel bad that I don't get to spend every day with Leah, but I'm happy that she gets to spend that time with her daddy. Not many dads get the chance to work a flexible schedule that allows them to be home with their children during the day.
There are times that Greg and I talk about having a second child, and we discuss our reservations. Although he never says it, I think he's afraid that he won't be able to love and care for a another child as much as he does for Leah. I know that's not true, but when you see them together, you can see why he might feel that way.
He's a good dad.
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5/17/10
The Healing Corner: Dana's Story
November 24th, 2007
Patricia E. Grieco
Eulogy
Mom,
I wish I could turn back time and keep you here just a little longer. I wish I had just one more day with you. I’d settle for an hour, or even a phone call. I’d give anything just to hear your voice, or to see you at the kitchen table as I walked into your house.
I wish I could listen to you talk about “Dancing with the Stars”, or have you lick your finger and wipe my face, or hear you call me “Dana Ann!” one more time, or smile while you and Daddy showed us your newest dance step, or was able to call you up and tell you when the baby kicked.
But I know that I can’t, and I’ll be okay with that. The pain of losing you will never go away, but hopefully each day it will lessen, until all I think about are the good times and the great memories. I’ll miss you more than anything in this world, and I’d give anything to still have you here, but I want you to know that we’ll be okay. Daddy, Marco, Adriana, and I will take care of each other, and your passing will bring us closer together. We’ll be sure to call each other daily, and ask about each other’s days. We’ll say “I love you” to each other, and spend as much time together as we can.
We’ll think of you whenever we are together, and especially when we are alone. We’ll remember your smile and your laugh and your kindness and your love. We’ll know that you will be watching us, guiding us, helping us get through the tough times. But you’ll also be with us during the good times. You’ll be there when my baby is born. You’ll be there when Marco makes his millions and when Adriana walks down the aisle. You’ll be there when Daddy goes back to dance class. You’ll always be there.
And when we least expect it, we’ll feel your presence. We’ll know that you’re with us, and we’ll be thankful that we had so many good years with you, and so many good memories to remember you by, and a future that we all look forward to living, with you standing right next to each one of us.
We love you so much, and we hope we do you proud.
.
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.
4/23/10
The Naked Cowgirl(s)
One of the things that still really stings, and I imagine will continue to for a long time, is when people see Leah doing something, and they ask me if I used to do that. Or, if she acts in a certain way and they wonder if I acted that way at her age. If she likes a certain animal, food, toy...did I also like those things? When the doctor asks at what age did I get my first ear infection or when did I start teething. What were my first words? Did I say any words funny? Did I throw tantrums? Was I funny? What was my favorite food? What was my bedtime routine? Did I enjoy bath time?
My dad means well, and he remembers some stuff, but he doesn't remember the little things and the milestones the way a mom does.
I never had the chance to ask my mom about being a mom, since she died when I was only 5 months pregnant. We didn't get that far. I just assumed she would be a huge part in my baby's life, and I figured I'd have her to answer questions as we went along.
These days I rely heavily on pictures. I try to piece together my childhood through the pictures that my parents took. I hope that they captured all of the important things on film, and I see if I can tell what type of little girl I was before I have any memories. It's fun to find pictures of me doing the same things that Leah does.
Like, take for instance, this. This picture combo tells me that we both enjoy riding our rocking horses.
In the nude.
My dad means well, and he remembers some stuff, but he doesn't remember the little things and the milestones the way a mom does.
I never had the chance to ask my mom about being a mom, since she died when I was only 5 months pregnant. We didn't get that far. I just assumed she would be a huge part in my baby's life, and I figured I'd have her to answer questions as we went along.
These days I rely heavily on pictures. I try to piece together my childhood through the pictures that my parents took. I hope that they captured all of the important things on film, and I see if I can tell what type of little girl I was before I have any memories. It's fun to find pictures of me doing the same things that Leah does.
Like, take for instance, this. This picture combo tells me that we both enjoy riding our rocking horses.
In the nude.
Dana
Leah
Yee Ha!
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3/26/10
TWO
My original due date was March 25th. After some thinking, Greg and I realized that that date made perfect sense. (*censored backstory*) It was a few weeks later, when the baby was measured during a sonogram, that my due date was changed to March 30th. But, I knew I would go into labor on the 25th.
It was 12:00 p.m. on the 25th of March in 2008, and I felt the first contraction as I took the last bite of a hot dog all the way. (Only a few people will know exactly what that is, but you should know they are very good.) I was surprised since I had just returned home from an appointment where my doctor had told me that I was no where close to giving birth. But I knew it was a contraction. I knew it was starting.
My husband? My concerned, supportive, loving husband? Left me at home and went to his friend's house.
I went into my bedroom and for the next 11 hours, I tracked my contractions, while Greg came in and out of the room throughout the day to inform me of the next friend he was going to see. It was so beautiful to be going through the birth of our first child alone and in my bedroom.
At least my mother in law had gotten me one of those waterproof mattress pads.
Several hours later, after I had dutifully typed up Greg's homework for a food handling class he was taking, WHILE HAVING CONTRACTIONS PEOPLE, my husband finally agreed to move the whole outfit to my dad's house, who lived considerably closer to the hospital.
And, at 1:00 a.m. after I promised a cruel and unusual divorce if he didn't bring to me the hospital immediately, off we went to St. Joseph's in lovely downtown Paterson, NJ. (And those of you who know Paterson, know that is sarcasm. Coincidentally, the ones who know Paterson are probably also the ones who know hot dogs all the way.) And upon arrival I was given a nice healthy dose of an epidural and assigned a room that was three floors below where my mom had lived for 10 days on life support 4 months earlier.
Sidenote: One of my biggest fears during the latter half of my pregnancy was that when I went into labor I was not going to be able to stop thinking about our time in the hospital when my mom was sick. I was afraid it would consume me and I wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything else. That I was going to ruin everything by being crazy. HOWEVER, labor pains are so incredibly debilitating that, until the final push, I didn't think of my mom's death ONCE.
Back to the epidural. I'm not sure if I was supposed to not feel anything below my stomach, but that's what happened and man, at that point, I NEEDED THAT.
And, another 8 hours after that, I began pushing, while my sister and Greg cheered me on. AND, another 3 hours after that, two doctors, a couple of med students, four nurses, and a cheering section of about 15 various medical staff (janitor? probably.) successfully pulled out my daughter with the help of 1) sheer will, 2) some Jersey muscle, and 3) forceps. At 12:12 p.m. on March 26, 2008.
That's 24 hours and 12 minutes of labor for those keeping track.
Now, this is the part where I would love to tell you that the second they laid her on my chest I looked down and reconized this child as my baby...but that would be lying. Because, for me, I looked at this bloody, angry, black-haired, large-cheeked baby and thought, "WHO are you? You don't look like me, or your dad, or anyone in the family, and I cannot BELIEVE that YOU were in ME You are your own little person!" And then they whisked her away and began the task of "stitching me up." (Won't go into details.) (You're welcome.)
I was always in awe of Leah. I just couldn't believe that I had taken part in creating her. She entered this world screaming and barking out orders and hasn't stopped since. I'm a pretty strong willed person, but she takes the cake. I have met my match in her, and all I have to say to that is, thank god. Because Leah has saved my life.
I don't know how my dad, brother, and sister have managed thus far without a Leah of their own. But all I know is that if I didn't have her, my life would not be where it is today. I don't know if I would have made it. If I didn't have something growing in my stomach reminding me of her imminent arrival, I wouldn't have had anything to live for in those first few months after my mom's death. And if I didn't have someone as needy and helpless as my newborn baby, I wouldn't have been able to get through the first year of holidays without my mom. And if I didn't have anything as beautiful and intelligent as my daughter, I wouldn't be able to get through the days that are hard to live.
She makes me be a better person; she makes me sit up and see what's going on around me; she makes me notice the small things; she makes me feel happiness and saddness and anger and joy; she makes me crazy; she makes me estatic; she makes me feel. I don't think I'd want to be feeling anything if I didn't have her.
And today, my Leah Patricia is two. It's been the hardest two years of my life, but the best ones too. And I pray that when she is old enough, she understands what that sentence means.
It was 12:00 p.m. on the 25th of March in 2008, and I felt the first contraction as I took the last bite of a hot dog all the way. (Only a few people will know exactly what that is, but you should know they are very good.) I was surprised since I had just returned home from an appointment where my doctor had told me that I was no where close to giving birth. But I knew it was a contraction. I knew it was starting.
My husband? My concerned, supportive, loving husband? Left me at home and went to his friend's house.
I went into my bedroom and for the next 11 hours, I tracked my contractions, while Greg came in and out of the room throughout the day to inform me of the next friend he was going to see. It was so beautiful to be going through the birth of our first child alone and in my bedroom.
At least my mother in law had gotten me one of those waterproof mattress pads.
Several hours later, after I had dutifully typed up Greg's homework for a food handling class he was taking, WHILE HAVING CONTRACTIONS PEOPLE, my husband finally agreed to move the whole outfit to my dad's house, who lived considerably closer to the hospital.
And, at 1:00 a.m. after I promised a cruel and unusual divorce if he didn't bring to me the hospital immediately, off we went to St. Joseph's in lovely downtown Paterson, NJ. (And those of you who know Paterson, know that is sarcasm. Coincidentally, the ones who know Paterson are probably also the ones who know hot dogs all the way.) And upon arrival I was given a nice healthy dose of an epidural and assigned a room that was three floors below where my mom had lived for 10 days on life support 4 months earlier.
Sidenote: One of my biggest fears during the latter half of my pregnancy was that when I went into labor I was not going to be able to stop thinking about our time in the hospital when my mom was sick. I was afraid it would consume me and I wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything else. That I was going to ruin everything by being crazy. HOWEVER, labor pains are so incredibly debilitating that, until the final push, I didn't think of my mom's death ONCE.
Back to the epidural. I'm not sure if I was supposed to not feel anything below my stomach, but that's what happened and man, at that point, I NEEDED THAT.
And, another 8 hours after that, I began pushing, while my sister and Greg cheered me on. AND, another 3 hours after that, two doctors, a couple of med students, four nurses, and a cheering section of about 15 various medical staff (janitor? probably.) successfully pulled out my daughter with the help of 1) sheer will, 2) some Jersey muscle, and 3) forceps. At 12:12 p.m. on March 26, 2008.
That's 24 hours and 12 minutes of labor for those keeping track.
Now, this is the part where I would love to tell you that the second they laid her on my chest I looked down and reconized this child as my baby...but that would be lying. Because, for me, I looked at this bloody, angry, black-haired, large-cheeked baby and thought, "WHO are you? You don't look like me, or your dad, or anyone in the family, and I cannot BELIEVE that YOU were in ME You are your own little person!" And then they whisked her away and began the task of "stitching me up." (Won't go into details.) (You're welcome.)
I was always in awe of Leah. I just couldn't believe that I had taken part in creating her. She entered this world screaming and barking out orders and hasn't stopped since. I'm a pretty strong willed person, but she takes the cake. I have met my match in her, and all I have to say to that is, thank god. Because Leah has saved my life.
I don't know how my dad, brother, and sister have managed thus far without a Leah of their own. But all I know is that if I didn't have her, my life would not be where it is today. I don't know if I would have made it. If I didn't have something growing in my stomach reminding me of her imminent arrival, I wouldn't have had anything to live for in those first few months after my mom's death. And if I didn't have someone as needy and helpless as my newborn baby, I wouldn't have been able to get through the first year of holidays without my mom. And if I didn't have anything as beautiful and intelligent as my daughter, I wouldn't be able to get through the days that are hard to live.
She makes me be a better person; she makes me sit up and see what's going on around me; she makes me notice the small things; she makes me feel happiness and saddness and anger and joy; she makes me crazy; she makes me estatic; she makes me feel. I don't think I'd want to be feeling anything if I didn't have her.
She makes me live.
I wake up every day for my husband, but I get out of bed for my Leah.
And she makes me live for ME.
And she makes me live for ME.
And today, my Leah Patricia is two. It's been the hardest two years of my life, but the best ones too. And I pray that when she is old enough, she understands what that sentence means.
Happy Birthday, Leah. You've made me who I am today.
3/24/10
Last Words (And Giveaway Winner)
On the evening of Thursday, November 8, 2007, I called my mom and told her that I had just felt my daughter kick from inside my belly. I was just about 20 weeks along and was getting nervous and anxious (me? nervous and anxious? How unlike me) because I hadn't really felt Leah move much throughout my pregnancy. All of my pregnant friends were complaining about kicks to the ribs by this point, and I wasn't even sure if the small tiny flutters I were feeling were baby movements or just gas. (PS-it was gas. Because I still feel those flutters, and I am most definately NOT pregnant.)
So, on Thursday, November 8, 2007 I laid down on the couch with my hands on my stomach, like I did EVERY SINGLE NIGHT and waited to feel her move. And waited. And waited. And finally, she moved. TWICE! I called my mom immediately.
And that was the last time I spoke to her.
On the afternoon of Friday, November 9, 2007 I emailed my mom to ask her if she had the name and address of the makeup lady I had used for my wedding. I was finally writing vendor thank yous, and I didn't have the makeup lady's information. She wrote me back at 12:42 p.m. and this is what the email said:
Dana,
Here's Rhonda's address:
Miss Rhonda S*****
1** C***** Avenue
Little Falls, NJ 07424
Talk to you soon!
Mom
And that is the last letter I have from her.
Ok, now onto something more fun---THE PEN GIVEAWAY.
So, I counted the entries and we have 8. (The last two don't count, as they are from my tool-husband.) Since we are small potatoes here at DeenutsDana, I cut 8 pieces of paper and put them in a container.
Here a where a picture of the 8 pieces of paper was to go, but Blogger has some issue with me and turns my pictures sideways when I upload them and I don't have the patience to deal with this today.
Then, I asked a co-worker to pick a piece of paper. If anyone that I work with reads this, please note that this endeavor took 40 seconds and was done while we were all on break. Ahem.
That's says 6, and the 6th comment was left by ANDREA CLAYTON. Who just happens to be my husband's cousin. But, I swear, it wasn't fixed! I've emailed Andrea to inform her that she is the lucky goose who gets the pen, and will be mailing that off to her today.
I know this giveaway was sort of lame, but I'm using it as a test case, and I think it was pretty fun. I'm going to try it again soon, and I promise we'll get some better prizes as we go along. I've enabled AdSense on this blog, and for every click that one of the ads gets, I make a little money. I'm going to use that money for the giveaways on this website.
So, on Thursday, November 8, 2007 I laid down on the couch with my hands on my stomach, like I did EVERY SINGLE NIGHT and waited to feel her move. And waited. And waited. And finally, she moved. TWICE! I called my mom immediately.
And that was the last time I spoke to her.
On the afternoon of Friday, November 9, 2007 I emailed my mom to ask her if she had the name and address of the makeup lady I had used for my wedding. I was finally writing vendor thank yous, and I didn't have the makeup lady's information. She wrote me back at 12:42 p.m. and this is what the email said:
Dana,
Here's Rhonda's address:
Miss Rhonda S*****
1** C***** Avenue
Little Falls, NJ 07424
Talk to you soon!
Mom
And that is the last letter I have from her.
Definately kicks more now.
Ok, now onto something more fun---THE PEN GIVEAWAY.
So, I counted the entries and we have 8. (The last two don't count, as they are from my tool-husband.) Since we are small potatoes here at DeenutsDana, I cut 8 pieces of paper and put them in a container.
Here a where a picture of the 8 pieces of paper was to go, but Blogger has some issue with me and turns my pictures sideways when I upload them and I don't have the patience to deal with this today.
Then, I asked a co-worker to pick a piece of paper. If anyone that I work with reads this, please note that this endeavor took 40 seconds and was done while we were all on break. Ahem.
This is Adam and he installs solar panels for a living.
Let's give it up for Adam.
Let's give it up for Adam.
Closeup:
That's says 6, and the 6th comment was left by ANDREA CLAYTON. Who just happens to be my husband's cousin. But, I swear, it wasn't fixed! I've emailed Andrea to inform her that she is the lucky goose who gets the pen, and will be mailing that off to her today.
I know this giveaway was sort of lame, but I'm using it as a test case, and I think it was pretty fun. I'm going to try it again soon, and I promise we'll get some better prizes as we go along. I've enabled AdSense on this blog, and for every click that one of the ads gets, I make a little money. I'm going to use that money for the giveaways on this website.
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