Bumps and bruises

What a crazy couple of weeks...

Sylvia has entered a whole new wonderful dimension. For the first few months, I catered to an eating, pooping machine that would smile and occasionally throw me a giggle. Since she turned 6 months (she is almost 9 months now), we have been on a serious incline of awesome. The smiles and giggles that melted my heart have now been topped by hugs and nuzzles. Weird noises she used to make are starting to resemble a language that lets me know what she wants, likes, and doesn't (She has totally reinforced my idea that I'm the funniest person in the whole world). The little lump that had to be carried everywhere is now moving around on her own (crawling is her bitch) and can follow me around the house as I clean. She can pull herself up to standing, and she thinks she can stand on her own.

WAIT!! HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PROBLEM!!

The keyword is "thinks" she can stand up on her own. I had no idea the terror that would strike every time she falls down. I'm seriously considering getting her a helmet. She will pull herself up on anything from the coffee table to the wall. Then, she just lets go and SMACK. She either falls into whatever she's standing on or straight to the floor. I know I sound like a horrible mom because I just let her do this, but I really do my best to keep it from happening. Unfortunately, I don't have the time to stand by her every second of every day, and I don't think I should. She needs to learn on her own a bit too, right? As long as all real dangers are removed from her play areas, she should be allowed to fall down and learn to get back up. This is what I keeping telling myself every time she falls hard(it has happened twice now), but the truth is it makes me nauseous. I'm afraid she is going to have brain damage even though I know that she doesn't even have a goose egg bump. I feel like every other mom looks at the bruise on my baby's forehead and thinks I'm a derelict


I guess I should just be glad she can actually move around. She is quite rotund, and gravity is not a big girl's best friend. I hope and pray we make it through this trial and error period without any major Central Nervous System injuries. I have a feeling we will be walking sooner than later. Great....

4 Quarters

I wrote this as a note on Facebook June 4, 2009. It was right before my 25th birthday, and I was having a really hard time with where I was in my life.

So, in less than a month I will be turning 25. If you would have asked me 5 years ago, I would have told you there is no way I would live to see the day. I'm having quite the little quarter-life crisis. I'm pissed at myself for all the stupid things I've done and the things I didn't get done due to my love affair with the party scene. My boss noticed I haven't been as focused at work nor as much of a sarcastic asshole (which he loves, mind you) lately, and he asked me what was wrong. I went on like a five minute rant about my quarter-life crisis, and after I was done he put everything in perspective for me. It was something along these lines:

Jenna, I know you love football, so think of life like a giant football game. There are 4 quarters. In the first quarter you grow, make a lot of your big mistakes, learn, party, and play. In the second quarter, you build. This is when you build your career, your family, and yourself based on the lessons you learned in the first quarter. In the third quarter, if you played the first 2 right, you enjoy what you've built and learned. If you fucked those up, you have to keep building. In the fourth quarter, well, I doubt either of us will make it there! The way I see it, you did everything right in the first quarter, you've made more mistakes and partied more than anybody I know and actually learned along the way. Now, it's time to get your ass building! You don't want to have to make up for anything in the second half. Think of how stressed you are when Jake has to make up for 4 interceptions he threw the first half of a game. That's no way to live life or play football!

Now, here I sit almost 2 years later. I'm married, living in Germany, getting ready to move back to U.S., and I'm next to the most beautiful baby girl I've ever seen. I never would have guessed when I wrote that note that I would be sitting where I am now. I still think it is the best life advice. I'm in the second quarter. I'm building my life. I find it hard to believe that I went from being a lost child to a pretty responsible adult in 2 years. I love this reliable, responsible person I've become. I like knowing that my family can always count on me. It makes me proud. I also like that I was that other person that I've almost completely lost touch with. The only remnants left of that person are, "shitter was full", laughing when the baby toots, and my love for cheap beer. Even my air guitar has gotten rusty. I know I will never have any regrets about taking long shots down the field. I ran most of my crazy plays in the first quarter. Now, I'm hammering with the run game and making steady progress. It may seem boring, but I've always got a few trick plays up my sleeve to keep it interesting. Right now, I would have to say I'm WINNING.

The Funk

So lately I have been in a serious funk. It is almost enough to say I'm semi depressed. I really have no reason to be seeing that I have everything a person needs to be happy. I have just been so unmotivated to do ANYTHING. I weigh more than I've ever weighed (minus being 9 months pregnant) in my entire life, and I can't seem to get motivated to really diet or exercise that much. If I leave the house twice in a week, it is a good week for me. When we moved to Germany they warned us about the winters. They are long and cold. There are no 60 or 70 degree days September-April. I don't even think I saw the sun the whole month of December. I'm not cut out for this. I was born in South Florida. I NEED THE SUN. I have no idea how people do this year after year. I understand why Germans are so miserable though. Needless to say, I am in desperate need of my trip home. In 6 days Bear and I will be in LKN, and we will be in Florida on 19 days. The things I wish to accomplish while I'm home:
1. Spend as much time as possible with family and friends. Being alone sucks. I love Noah and Bear, but I need some time with other people. I isolate myself here. It isn't healthy.
2. Get a tan. I think sunshine is a must for happy people. I truly believe the lack of sunshine and warmth in my surrounding has directly attributed to the lack of sunshine and warmth in my soul.
3. Exercise every day... outside. This goes along with my needing a tan, but fresh air while exercising helps too. Even if my exercise is pushing Bear in her stroller down to Birkdale Village to window shop (I'm not buying myself anything until I lose at least 10 pounds, but it should probably be 20).
4.Go on a couple of real dates with my husband. It will be our anniversary while we are there. We need some time away from our sweet angel to actually feel like a couple again instead of just parents.
5. Show off my baby. I know that is so tacky to say, but she is my most awesome creation. She is such a ham, and I love to dress her up and show her off.
6. Spend one night acting like my old self. I want to take one night and act like the carefree person I used to be. I may drink a few too many Coors Light drafts, sing some karaoke, and do some serious fist pumping. I've spent the last 14 months being completely responsible, and I need a night away with my super crazy fun friends.
7. Do some serious work on myself. Being a stay at home mom is hard. It is emotionally trying being a slave to an infant 24/7, and I am starting to lose touch with who I am. I've lost sight of goals, and I have no priorities past Bear and Noah. I need to find a balance between who I was and who I am, and I need to devise a plan to get to who I want to be.

That was some serious rambling, and I haven't even had a drop of wine...

Guy on the subway

Yesterday Noah and I were on the train, when I told him, "I've been thinking about him a lot lately." Noah knew exactly who I was talking about. It was a man I crossed paths with a few weeks ago.

Bear and I were on the train, again, heading to meet Noah and his coworkers to go bowling. A man got on the train and sat a few seats down from me. He smelled horrible like he lived in a trash can. After I looked at him, I could see that he most likely did live in a trash can. He could barely walk with his cane. People would get on the subway and make rude remarks about the smell. Obnoxious teenagers would yell things in that horrible language. I watched as all this went down, and the man began to cry. I didn't do anything. I just watched in horror.

I was absolutely horrified. I couldn't believe that people are so cruel. They just totally disregarded him as a human. They treated him like a trash can that needed lysol. The thing that disgusted me the most was that I just sat by and watched. I didn't do anything. I didn't try to protect this man from the worst side of humanity, disregard and cruelty. I also didn't give him anything. I should have given him money, taken him to a hostel, done something to help. I didn't though. I just sat by and watched the abuse and watched the man cry. Now, it haunts me. My heart breaks for this man daily. It breaks for him and all the other people that the world forgot. He is somebody's son. He is possibly somebody's brother, father, or uncle. He has dreams, and he probably had a time in his life when things went right for him.

I know some people are homeless and have problems because of bad choices they have made, but they are still people. We've all made bad choices. Please, the next time you see one of these people don't be rude. Follow what you learned in elementary school. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. Please try to be considerate and remember that people still have feelings no matter what situation they are in.

Sylvia's Story

Sylvia’s Story
It actually started August 30, 2010. I was in an abnormal amount of pain even though I was carrying around a giant baby. Noah and I decided that we needed to go to the hospital to have everything checked out. We went and spent the afternoon hooked up to the CTG machine only to be sent home with a couple of pain killers and orders to go get some rest. We went home and tried to relax, but at 5:30 a.m. on the morning of the 31st my water broke. After I adequately explained to my husband (a.k.a. Noah being an ass) that this was the real thing, we were off to the hospital. I was so excited to know that in a few short hours I would be holding the baby girl I’ve been waiting the last 39 weeks to meet. We had no idea what we were in for…
As soon as we got to the hospital, they hooked me back up to the same CTG machine I’d spent hours on the day before. My contractions were strong but irregular. They had us go for a walk and set us up in a hospital room. After being at the hospital for about 4 hours I was still only 4 centimeters dilated. Around 2 they decided to start me on Oxytocin to strengthen my contractions. I finally needed an epidural at that point. The anesthesiologist came in and set me up with a back catheter and some medicine that made things much easier for the time being. Unfortunately, that wonderful medicine wears off quite quickly. By the time my first one wore off I was still only 7 cm. They increased my Oxytocin to try to speed things along, but that just put stress on me and the baby. The doctor on duty came in to do an internal exam on the baby just about the time my most recent epidural wore off. I was in so much pain that I couldn’t even see straight. The baby was stressed, I was in immense pain, and Noah was just about at his wits end watching this train wreck. Even my midwife, Julia, that held a striking resemblance to my best friend was about to lose it.
At around 10:30pm the doctor came in and decided that we had given the “natural way” the best shot we could, but after being on 70ml of Oxytocin for 3 hours (I’m not sure how that is considered natural, but whatever) and still only being 9cm an emergency c-section was going to be necessary. I told my horribly exhausted husband to go lay down for a little while because things were about to get really hard. The hospital called in “Das A Team” which included the head OB, head anesthesiologist, and a number of nurses and midwives. They started me on Partusisten drip to counteract the Oxytocin and stop my contractions. Now, this may have stopped my uterus from contracting, but it caused severe convulsions in every other muscle in my body. I basically had a 3 hour seizure once this started. Noah came back to put on his scrubs unaware of what he was about to see. I’m not sure exactly what it looked like him when he walked in the operating room, but I know what it felt like. I was laying on an operating table, I was strapped down, and uncontrollably convulsing. He sat down next to me and didn’t leave my side. He watched as they gutted me like a fish, and he held the bucket as I puked all over myself unable to turn my head due to being strapped down. Then, I heard the doctor yell, “It’s a big one!” A sense of relief fell over me as I heard the cry of the little person that had been living in my belly the last 9 months. Sylvia Grey Davis 3930 grams, 53cm, born at 11:19pm on August 31, 2010. She was healthy. That was all that mattered. The 17 hours of labor and worst surgery of my life was worth every second, every pain, and the battle scar across my abdomen I’ll wear with pride.
The aftermath was harder than I imagined. I stay in pain, and I probably will for the next few weeks. I have a hard time lifting Sylvia. Hell, I have a hard time getting out of the bed or going to the bathroom. I lose feeling in my legs from my back catheter being left in so long. All the drugs made me feel pretty sick. I have a severe case of anemia and can’t get my blood pressure up to a normal level. I basically feel and look like a walking corpse. I can’t breastfeed. I pump every 2 hours trying to stimulate milk production, but they say when you have a complicated delivery like I did that it can inhibit my ability. The incision is bigger than I thought it would be, and I am sporting black bruises from hip to hip. That is giving me a hard knock lesson in vanity. I’ll be retiring my string bikinis now, and I have to come to grips with the fact that my belly will never be something to be envied again. I’m having a hard time dealing with it all. We told them ahead of time that I was going to need a c-section, but they refused our request because it wasn’t the “natural way” to do it. All I can do at this point is be thankful for my beautiful, healthy girl. There was a reason I was challenged this way. I may be paying for my sins, or I may just be a little unlucky. It doesn’t matter either way, we’re making the best of it. My mommy will be here on Friday!!!!

Almost time for baby..

As of today, I am officially 37 weeks pregnant. When I first found out I was pregnant (post complete freak out of course), I pictured myself giving birth to a bouncing baby in my mommy's hospital. I figured the hardest thing I would have to deal with would be my friends drinking beers in the visiting area. After hospital registration and my doctor's appointment this week, I realized this is not going to be the case at all.

I will be giving birth at Martin Luther Krakenhaus. It is supposed to be the top hospital in Berlin. Silly me, I expected it to be all high tech. WRONG!!!! We got to the hospital to meet the lady to register. We sat in a room with no computers. She wrote down all of my information. As we walked back to make the other appointments with the doctors there to review some of my medical history, I still didn't see any computers. Ahh, the appointment desk, I was sure they would enter that into the computer. Wrong again!! They have an appointment book. The lack of computers and use of technological advances terrifies me that they might lose my baby. I actually had quite the nervous breakdown about the thought of them losing my little princess. Luckily, Noah came to my rescue again. He promised to write D's on her before she leaves the delivery room so we know it is her when they bring her back.

Along with the lack of computers, another thing worried me. I'm supposed to hire a midwife?!?! WTF?!?! I have a doctor and a hospital, but apparently you need a midwife too. Do you know how hard it is to find a midwife when you have maybe 3 weeks left of your pregnancy? Most women book them the day they find out they're pregnant. I still haven't found one. Hopefully the world won't end if I can't get one.

Yesterday, I went back to see the doctor. My little monster was tipping the charts of the EEG machine with all of her movement, so the doctor decided she needed to do another ultrasound to make sure everything was ok in there. Everything was ok alright. Sylvia hit quite a growth spurt in the last 2 weeks! The first time she was measured, she ended up being 7lbs 6oz. The doctor thought that was a little big, so she measured her again. Her second was 7lbs 8oz. Mind you, the measurements aren't an exact science at this point, and they can end up being over or under by up to a pound. Even if she is at the smallest weight she can be, she is still about 8oz more than the average baby at her gestational age. They don't want to make any decisions about what to do with her now (Germans like things to follow their natural flow and not intervene unless it is completely necessary), but I go back in 2 weeks (if I last that long) to be measured again and make a decision on what to do. I'm really not looking forward to pushing a 10lb baby out of my vag. That just doesn't sound like a whole lot of fun.

Needless to say, this is about to be the biggest adventure of our lives. Noah and I aren't going to get the cushion of having friends and family around for support. We're on our own over here. To quote one of my very favorite people, "Things are about to get weird..."

Rainy day in Berlin..

Today was just one of those days... again...

My Tuesday started out with me waking up at about 6:15 a.m. My wonderful husband had already made me a cappuccino knowing that I wasn't thrilled about going to school on this rainy morning, and I am by no means a morning person. After drinking coffee with Noah while he read me the news, I spent the rest of the morning with the worst case of morning sickness I've had since my first trimester. Every time poor Noah walked by or was anywhere near or in the bathroom he heard me either dry heaving hoping I would puke and feel better or ripping farts capable of knocking shelves off of walls. Now, mind you, I try not to fart in front of him, so when he hears these mammoth roars of gas protruding from my body, it is not a good thing. I was horribly embarrassed. Thankful that he doesn't hold these times against me, I began to start my day.

I waddled my fat, fluffy butt to the train station in the rain. I made it to my German courses on time, and by about 10:30 my nausea started to subside. My early language session went well, but my afternoon one was a different story. The Germans think the best way to teach you a language is to only speak that language to you until you pick it up. That is all fine and dandy. I'm pretty smart, and I pick things up rather quickly. My morning instructor understands that for this concept to work, she must speak loudly, clearly, and slowly enough for people to process what she is saying. My afternoon teacher is still struggling with this. She blabbers on at about 90 words per minute in a voice so soft that I can barely hear every other word. Then, she gets annoyed that nobody has any clue what the F*#$ she is talking about. It's hard enough for me to understand her teaching, but I am the only American and the only person whose native tongue is English. Everybody else has to learn German through English instead of through a teacher who speaks Spanish, Norwegian, Italian, French, etc. THAT SUCKS!


After school, I waddled back home in the rain. All I could think about, besides hoping that I make it all the way home, was taking a glorious nap. That, my friends, did not happen. When I got home, I started some laundry and began looking at the numbers to see what kind of car Noah and I can currently afford with baby Sylvia on the way. Mind you, the door to the balcony is always open because there is no AC, and it lets the breeze through. I looked out over the river which I just love when it is raining, and I saw a couple bugs on the door. I decided to play bug killer, break out the vacuum and suck down 2 flying bugs and a couple of spiders. Then, I looked behind our green curtain where it is against the door and saw the swarm. I guess where it has been raining, all of them came in. I completely blew a gasket. I started crying hysterically. I almost started packing to go back home. As much as I would love to call the Orkin Man, they don't have exterminators here for some RIDICULOUS reason. I guess they believe in "live and let live unless you're an American or from the Middle East." After my hissy fit, I realized I needed to take matters into my own hands. I broke out the can of Raid and now am guilty of genocide. I murdered and sucked about 1,000 creepy, crawly, icky insects into my vacuum cleaner, and I don't feel the least bit guilty.



Feeling quite accomplished, I am now sitting on the couch enjoying one of the most delicious cucumbers I've ever eaten and wondering if my husband is ever coming home to rescue me from.. I guess myself..