Engineer Archive

Clink. GODDAMNIT! Several days after baby proofing the kitchen and I still open the lower cupboards without remembering unhook the new plastic latch on the inside. “Don’t worry”, Kurt said mocking me after hearing the ‘clink’ of my latest attempt, “You’re smart. You’ll figure it out after three tries or less.” He’s such an ASS!

Flash Fiction Friday is hosted by g-man. You may also visit Flash Fiction Friday 55′s, a blog dedicated to hosting 55 Flash Fiction Friday posts.

I got a taste of life as a single working mother during your nine-day motorcycle trip. You spent last weekend getting ready for a track day, but on my one evening off, I still have to come to the rescue. You say you were doing me a favor, but I think you have it backwards.

Flash Fiction Friday is hosted by g-man. You may also visit Flash Fiction Friday 55′s, a blog dedicated to hosting 55 Flash Fiction Friday posts.

I know he adores his baby girl, but occasionally, he still surprises me. The doting dad went on a nine-day motorcycle trip without his family. Along the way, he took his friends aside and said, “Don’t get weirded out if I grab you and kiss you on top of your head…I miss my baby.”

Flash Fiction Friday is brought to you by susiestheboss and is also hosted by g-man. Also, a blog was recently established, dedicated to hosting only Flash Fiction Friday 55′s.

My father doesn’t say a lot, but when he does, I listen. As a teenager, it may not have seemed like it, but I did pay attention. There are two occasions permanently ingrained in my mind where seemingly unexpectedly my dad calmly gave his words of wisdom. I’m not being sarcastic – he does give his words of wisdom calmly, and he only ever gives it once.

When I was going from elementary school to junior high – Major side note – Back in my day we didn’t have stupid graduations after every blasted year/quarter/test. We just got our grades and moved on. Our only f$#%@ graduation was the one at the end of TWELVE YEARS of HELL and that’s the way we liked it! *mumble* Fricken’ pansies with their stupid yearly graduations. And our teachers weren’t afraid of hurting our feelings or stressing us out by using a red pen to give us a big fat “F” if we didn’t study. “F” is for failure and those that deserved it go it. If you can’t learn to accept a little failure once in a while your going to have a really really hard time at life in general. On the up side therapists will love you.

Not every child is a genius and not every child will pass the mustard. If you feel that your contribution to society deserves better than a RED “F” then maybe you should spend some time with the little prodigy and help them with their homework. I don’t like the “no child left behind” crap. Lowering the bar with this “no child left behind” BULLSHIT makes the smart kids BORED AS HELL!!! *stomping away from the soapbox with furled eyebrows*

Anyway, going from elementary school to junior high my dad told me, “If someone hurts you it’s ok to fight back.” I knew exactly what he was talking about, and it’s a very good thing he told me it was ok too. I was a VERY shy kid. I finally opened up my freshman year of high school, but I had been so painfully shy previously that in my yearbook someone wrote that she thought I was literally retarded. I simply did not speak. It’s good that my dad gave me the ok because unfortunately it’s not a matter of “if” for many girls, but “when” they will need to have the confidence to stand up for themselves.

Three days after graduating high school, I was on my way to Michigan to live with some friends, one of which paid for my flight. Before I left my dad said, “Don’t feel like you’re obligated to do anything.” His words made me always make sure I only did things because I wanted. After all a gift isn’t a gift if something is expected in return. That makes it a bribe.

Kurt is a lot like my dad – except the part about being a man of few words. I’ve shown the word “concise” in the dictionary to Kurt. He still doesn’t get it. In the thesauruses, his picture shows up in the list of antonyms. But when the buzzing of his voice switches to a serious tone, I know Sophia will pay attention. It may seem like she only ever wants me right now, but she loves you. You make her laugh. You’ll be a great dad Kurtie. Just don’t try to limit her time on the phone when she’s a teenager.

My dad to me: You can only be on the phone for ten minutes
Me to my friend on the phone: Ok, I’ll call you back.
(I hang up and dial the phone to my friend immediately)
My dad to me: You can’t call them back!
The next time I’m on the phone to my friend: Ok, it’s been ten minutes – YOU call me back.
My dad: You have to have ten minutes between each call!
Me: damn it!

To the tune of “Stuck With You” by Huey Lewis and the News – Dirty Kurtie’s version goes like this:

We’ve had some fun
Yes, we’ve played peek-a-boo
Been to the park to play
But now my diaper’s filled with poo

She thought I’d like some prunes
but I don’t like how they taste
She thought I’d try some apple sauce
But now it’s just goin’ to waste

I was bound by all that rice
Now I’m in my car seat
on the way home
and a diaper change

Yes it’s true – yes it’s true
I am happy to sit in poo
Yes it’s true – yes it’s true
I’m so happy to be stuck in poo
‘Cause you can see – you can see -
that I’m happy to sit in pee.

Kurt and I tried for a year and a half to conceive. I only mention it because I would have loved to tell Sophia that she was conceived in a castle in Spain, but she blew it. Apparently, the stubbornness gene is very strong. Sophia was conceived after ruining my Christmas with a monthly cycle. I gave up on that day, broke down and decided to buy tickets to Vegas for our eighth anniversary. I wound up going to Vegas nine weeks pregnant and extremely tired! I worked up to the bitter end of my pregnancy. I felt like I wasn’t going to make it during the first trimester.  Although I was extremely tired I didn’t see why not work since I have a desk job. There were a few days that my supervisor would come up to see where I was on my projects before I made my announcement at work that I was so tired he would jokingly ask if I was on drugs. What’s funny is that the HR department selected our whole department to be randomly tested soon after he started making those jokes. Sometimes I wonder about those coincidences, anyway…I worked up to the end.

I convinced my employer to let me work from home the last week of my pregnancy. The last day at the physical office, I filled out all of my time sheets and leave slips. I put down that my last day of work would be my due date and planned to start leave on that date even if Sophia came late. I started working from home on Thursday, September 20th. The next day I went into the office to change my leave slip to make Monday the 24th my last day of work. I wasn’t feeling good and just wanted the whole thing to end.

Monday I spent the not only working from home, but working in my bed, still in my PJs. It was awesome! After work, I went to some stores looking for a vegetable steamer basket. I only remember that because I stayed up late that night blogging about it and as my friend pointed out that post is probably what started my labor. I posted it at a quarter to midnight then surfed around commenting on other blogs. I figured I didn’t have to work in the morning, so why not stay up.

At about two in the morning, I decided to go to bed except that when I lay down I kept feeling my stomach hurt. It wasn’t a stomachache – it was more like mild cramps that came and went. I thought might be Braxton hicks’ contractions. I hadn’t felt anything like it through the whole pregnancy – maybe these were them, I tried to sleep through it. No luck. I know! I’ll change positions – that’s supposed to make them go away. I stood up and walked around. I waddled from room to room. Nope, still there. Damn, I’m getting sleepy.

2:30 a.m. – these cramps just keep coming! Shit! OHMYGOD – this is the real thing! Should I wake up Kurt? These don’t really hurt that bad, I can handle this. I’ll wait on waking up Kurt for now.

3am – HOLY SHIT THIS HURTS! I can’t take this. If I have to be awake then he should be awake!  Time to wake up Kurt! I waddled into the master bedroom and an especially painful contraction hit. Kurt woke up, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s time!”

For a split second, he looked very confused, as if to say, “How can this be? She’s not scheduled to arrive until the 27th. See, look here on the spreadsheet.” Kurt jumped out of bed, looked at me, and then leaned over and said, “Oh my god I think I’m going to be sick.” I will never forget those words because at that moment I was thinking, “Don’t you dare force me to be the strong levelheaded one right now!”

Kurt snapped out of it quickly. He got into his drive the land whale to the hospital clothes. He asked me how long I had been having the contractions and how far apart they were. My answer, “Since two a.m. and I have no idea, that’s what you’re here for.” He and found a note pad to record the times that my contractions hit. He tried to find the books that we got from the hospital because despite all of our planning neither one of us thought to post the number to triage in a handy spot. It took us a while to remember where I put the books and then it took a while longer for us to realize that the number was conveniently printed in the front of the book, and not somewhere in the middle.

The contractions started out at ten minutes apart and each time one hit there was not comfortable position to be found. I tried kneeing at the bed, sitting on the bed, sitting on the toilet, standing, standing slightly hunched over. At one point I remember sitting on the bed and moving across it backwards. Kurt mostly watched on in wonder as if I was one of the freak sideshows at the circus. He offered to try one of the positions mentioned in class and I went with it, but it wasn’t working for me. I pushed him away and continued my silliness of moving across the bed backwards and making useless trips to the bathroom.

Apparently, many of the sounds I made during my contractions were very much like the ones I make during sexcapades. “Is it wrong that you’re turning me on right now?” He asked. No, not really, but it is wrong that you decided to let me know what you’re thinking. Freak. What is it about guys that allows them to get all turned on when we’re sick with rivers of snot flowing out our nose or waddling around like a five foot eight duck that swallowed a beach ball that’s about to be delivered out the other end?

After three or four contractions at ten minutes apart, it went down to eight, and then the next one was six, then four. By this time, I was crying. “What’s wrong?” He asked.

“It feels just like my miscarriage.” I said. I repeated that a few times and Kurt assured me after each utterance that this time I would have a baby. I must have been having some sort of psychotic episode because I still had my doubts, and it really did feel just like the miscarriage I had nine years earlier.

After a couple contractions at four minutes apart, I told Kurt it was time to go to the hospital. “Ok” he said. I could tell he only said, “Ok” because that’s what they told the partners to say in class. I’ll call triage. He called the hospital at about 4:15 and they told him that because it was my first baby that we should wait until I had been at four minutes for at least a couple hours. And my uterus was all WTF? Kurt then proceeded to try to stall me. “Why don’t you go brush your teeth first?” He said. I obediently went and brushed my teeth. Then he said that he was going to go do the dishes – “You don’t really want Angel to see all the dishes in the sink when she comes to feed the animals do you?”

“I don’t give a shit, we need to GO” I said. My contractions were now three minutes apart. Kurt called triage at 4:30 to tell them we were on our way. He ran around the house doing god knows what. I felt like he was still stalling. I was getting really annoyed, but didn’t say anything. It was finally time for me to get in the car. Kurt cracked some joke that I don’t remember and didn’t laugh at. “Boy you must be in pain” he said. Do ya think!? On our way to the hospital, Kurt stopped for gas. I wanted to kill him, but I needed a driver. He only put a gallon in the tank but it took F-O-R-E-V-E-R! We arrived at the hospital around 5:30. As we walked into the admitting area, I had a contraction. I sat on a chair, got up, leaned on a wall, waddled to another wall and leaned on it. There was a brief pause and then it started again. This marked the beginning of my one-minute apart contractions that lasted forty five seconds. The nurse in the admitting area must have missed the pause because she said, “Is that still the same one?” Lady, you really aren’t helping!

Even though I pre-registered with the hospital months ago, there were still some papers to sign, T’s to cross, I’s to dot, and all that time consuming jazz. Finally, I was escorted to some area that rang of the ER. It was a large room with about four to six beds. I really didn’t count the beds. It wasn’t on my short list of priorities at that particular moment. The nurses hooked me up to some machines to monitor my heart rate and measure contractions. A nurse checked my cervix. Only two centimeters dilated, but there was some blood. The “bloody show” has officially begun.

My contractions were now consistently one minute apart and lasting F-O-R-E-V-E-R!! I was beginning to freak out. I kept saying, “Make it stop!” I was in a bed in a sitting position and at the beginning of each contraction, my first impulse was to reach for the top of the bed and pull myself up it. I was pretty much climbing the walls. I wanted my epidural and I wanted it NOW!! The nurse explained that they couldn’t give me anything without my doctor’s permission. Damn it!

I was so scared of this step of the whole process. Those movies they shoe in the birth classes really don’t help. My legs began to shake uncontrollably. It freaked me out. Kurt asked for some washcloths to put on my thighs. I can’t remember if he asked for warm or cold, but I did remember that it was something they told the partner to do in the class we took. I couldn’t control my breathing so I started hyperventilating. With each contraction I repeated, “Make it stop!” I could hear some nurses in the background giggling. They were probably laughing at me, but I really didn’t give a shit. I could tell that everyone including Kurt thought my saying, “make it stop” was a plea to make the baby stop coming, but that’s not what I meant. I just didn’t have the capacity to explain what I wanted was for some one to relieve the pain, NOW! After a few more contractions, my lips felt numb. I told Kurt, because for some reason I thought it might be in his power to fix the numbness. With each contraction, I became more scared and started hyperventilating even more. My fingers and forearms started to feel numb. I felt like I was going to throw up. Kurt asked for a bucket. The nurse yelled at Kurt to calm me down or I would pass out, and Kurt looked at her like, “Are you fuckin’ kidding me, she won’t listen to me.” He gave it a shot anyway.

Kurt very calmly tried to get me to follow his breathing pattern. I gave it a shot, but I had such a hard time following direction. He kept trying and I kept trying. We finally came to a happy medium when he stopped trying to micromanage each breath and just let me know when I’m going too fast. Breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth – ssslllooowww. I wanted anything to focus on other than the pain, so I complied. I focused on Kurt’s mouth. Yep that gaping hole was my focal point. Love you hun. After each contraction, I took another sip of water and Kurt took a couple seconds to wipe my spittle off his glasses.

Seven in the morning was shift change. After a lot of praise on how well I had been handling my contractions since Kurt started helping me with my breathing I was introduced to Kim, the nurse that would deliver Sophia. She told me my doctor had approved pain medication for me. She said that it wouldn’t eliminate the pain, it would just change the way I felt about it. She administered a half dose of fentanyl via my iv. She said she would give me the second half when we got to my room. I had a few more contractions before I was moved into a wheelchair. They seemed so much easier to manage and I felt like I was getting a good fifteen-minute nap in-between each one. I later learned from Kurt that I was only closing my eyes for fifteen seconds.

We arrived at my room. My cervix was checked again. I was now at six centimeters. My doctor popped in. He said that he had heard about my morning.
“Yeah I was climbing the walls earlier.”

“Yep, that’s what I heard.” He told the nurse she should really read my birth plan. He said that he made copies and all the nurses in his office loved it.

I got the other half of my drugs. Ahh drugs. At nine, I received my epidural. The nurse had asked me what I expected to feel after the epidural and how much I wanted to feel – I don’t want to feel ANYTHING! I had felt quite enough in the last few hours. I don’t need to feel anymore of it. We invented, cultivated, synthesized, refined all kinds of drugs so that we don’t have to go through the pain our ancestors did and I want to take advantage of that technology. Natural birth is scary thing and I’ll let someone else go through it. That shit is not my bag baby!

The epidural went in easily, however I could still feel my contractions so they tried to up the dose, nope still there. The anesthesiologist had to come in again, pull the tape off my back, and push the needle in a little further. AAaahhh all better. After it kicked in all I felt was a little pressure with each contraction. At ten, the doctor broke my water and then we just waited for Sophia to drop into position. Kurt ran down to the car to grab the birth plan, which was almost pointless by this time. It was more for comic relief for the nurse than anything else.

I can’t remember if Kurt took this time to start making calls or not. I remember that we sat around and talked for a while. It was really odd to me to think that this time had finally arrived.

At noon the nurse came in to check on Sophia’s position for the umpteenth million time and she was right there. It was time to push. The doctor came in to check things out and while he was there, commented on the interesting pattern on my feet. I wore sandals (without socks – because that’s how sandals should be worn) and I had a tiger striped tan line on my feet. Note to self – if I ever get to do this again take the frickin’ time to put on socks before the doctor comes in.

The nurse asked if I felt the urge to push. I felt nothing, but she was right there, so it was time. I pushed with each contraction a few times and then the nurse said with one more push she’ll be out. YIKES! I asked the nurse if I would feel this part. She seemed to understand that I really needed to know if there was any chance I might feel the pain. She said it would be and intense pain as the head crowned but that it would be brief. Push push push push. “Guess what color her hair is?” The doctor asked me. I just smiled. Well that answers that question. “Shall I make it into a Mohawk” he asks showing the nurse. Wow, really, there’s THAT much hair. Holy crap! “Ok one more push and we’ll get the head out” She told me that about three more times. I just didn’t have the energy for the third push. My first two pushes one each contraction were really strong, the third, not so much.

“Are you tired of pushing?” The nurse asked in a sympathetic voice.

“Yes!”

“Well then push harder!” I laughed at her drill sergeant like attempt. That stuff didn’t work when I was in the military either. She decided to try another position/method for me to use. She got a bar out with a towel or sheet wrapped around it. The bar was at my feet and I was to hang onto the towel. The doctor explained that I was going to push just the head out then stop while he cleared her mouth and then I would push the shoulders out.

I didn’t feel the crowning at all. They had to tell me when to stop pushing. She came out crying. I pushed the shoulders through without any problem and the doctor held her up for us to see. She had meconium all over her back side. The nurses took her and wiped her up, wrapped her in a receiving blanket, and handed her to me. I cried.

To the tune of “I Love Rock and Roll” by Joan Jett – Dirty Kurtie’s version goes like this:

I saw mom sittin’ there by the milkin’ machine
I knew my diaper probably wasn’t clean
The pump was going strong, playing my favorite song
And I could tell it wouldn’t be long till she fed me
Yeah me
And I could tell it wouldn’t be long till she fed me
Yeah me

Singin’ I love mommy’s boob
So whip one out and feed the baby
I love mommy’s boob
It’s breakfast time, so just feed me

Last night Kurt was ranting about something (I know I know, it’s so unusual for him) and he said, “I’m not getting any younger!”
Really?! damn I was hoping.
“You were hoping, weren’t you?”
*Innocent look* It’s like he can read my mind sometimes.
“What, do you want to trade me in for some young good-looking stud?”
“No” I said, “I was hoping that you’d stop being a curmudgeon!”

To the tune of “Safety Dance” by Men Without Hats (Thank you Buffy for the correction) – Dirty Kurtie’s version goes like this:

Poop your pants if you want to
Push it right out your behind
Cause your friends don’t poop and if they don’t poop
Well their no friends of mine
I say, we can poop where we want to
A place where they will never find
And we can act like the cat crapped under the couch
and it’s hanging out his behind
and we can poop

Kurt did his taxes tonight, but before he started, he informed me that he was going to find out exactly how much of a deduction our precious baby brings us.  His exact words were, “Now I’ll know how much I love her, I’ll be able to quantify my love for her.”  Aaahh my engineer, the walking spreadsheet…ever the adoring devoted daddy – for the right price of course.

Before I get a slew of comments and emails telling me to dump Kurt – HE WAS JOKING!