#it frustrates me bc this is exactly why i developed my own tendencies to be so careful

[princess-stabbity]

@liam-kostco:

babe, i didn't have exactly the same kinds of problems, but I know how it feels to suddenly start realizing how much of your fucked upedness actually DOES go back to those early formative experiences .  Even one time incidences of my parents (usually my dad) yelling and getting frustrated with me over something have stuck in my mind my whole life.

(this is why i’m afraid of being a mom tbh like i love kids i love the idea of having kids but i’m so full of sharp edges i worry abt being the cause of these kinds of memories) 

or like realizing that probably the reason i have severe anxiety probably goes back to how intensely doom and gloom my parents were about the state of life and the world after bush got elected and 9/11 happened (my dad working for united + having his own anxiety problems = constant fear of the company going bankrupt and him getting laid off, which never happened, but still).

this is...very relatable, tbh. i tend to kind of write it off as “oh, i was always just an anxious kid” but like...it’s probably relevant that i lost my first grandparent at about age...4-5, i think, and another at 6 (plus 2 pets as well). it didn’t even occur to me that that might’ve been unusual until my friend’s mom commented on how early i’d been exposed to death, and like...she wasn’t wrong? i mean, after my grandfather died i started having recurring nightmares about death, to the point that our golden retriever sarah had to start sleeping in my bed with me to make me feel safe again.  i had my first panic attack at about that time when i realized that i and everyone i had ever loved would die. 

then, as a bonus, there was my dad’s general poor health and dangerous career choice, so like...i just kind of internalized the idea very young that my dad could die at any minute. i remember having a nightmare and subsequent panic attack about that as late as age...13? 

and, y’know, even to the extent it is simply Who I Am, did you know that emerging research suggests that ptsd can basically be passed down? both mouse and human studies have furthered evidence that parents and even grandparents with ptsd have children with a tendency toward anxiety and fucked up cortisol levels, even if that parent or grandparent had no part in raising the kid. 

guess whose dad developed ptsd in the 80s?? 

anyway, i therapy can be expensive, but if you can find something covered by insurance or even just get on medication (not sure if you are or not atm?), I would absolutely recommend doing so.  I have both been the person who didn't do anything about my mental illness and watched it literally kill multiple family members, so uh...pls do ur best to get help bc ilu very much

i’m on zoloft rn, and tbh it’s been pretty good at boosting my mood, i think, if not my ability to function. it’s only a limited scrip, tho, so i gotta at least go back to my gp if not give in and go to therapy. tbh i’m p sure we could find somebody our insurance will cover....it’s just that i don’t know how long i’ll have insurance. i’ve been joking abt trying to use up all my insurance while i’ve got it, going to see all these docs, but i’m not really joking. i think i only have until my birthday. :/  so it’s like...do i really want to start this when idk how long i’ll be able to keep it up? and when i feel like i’m already using up all my spoons going to the doctors i’m already seeing? also what if my psychiatrist turns out to be a murder wizard who wants to have me at his next dinner party

and ilu2 babe 💖 

[thetexpatriatemama-blog]

The Texpatriate Baby Arrives

Ask any mama: Every pregnancy is unique. Compound that with the vast differences of pregnancy and childbirth in different countries, and you get two experiences that are, literally and figuratively, miles apart.

My life is not the most dramatic by any stretch of the imagination. Likewise, both of my pregnancies were remarkably average (thank goodness). Besides a smattering of back pain, searing heartburn, and insatiable cravings for chocolate and cottage cheese, I can’t really complain. But just because two pregnancies are average does not mean they are even close to being the same.

During my first pregnancy in Texas, I worked two jobs, moved mid-pregnancy, and spent any free time planning my registry, decorating the nursery, and yes, sleeping. Ahh…the perks of life BC—that’s Before Children. Healthcare in Texas made things easy and I loved the pregnancy perks. Constant sonograms and imaging to check in with my little guy, excellent baby care, birthing, and breastfeeding courses offered by my hospital of choice, and the luxury of knowing my hand-selected hospital was only a 5-minute drive away. I loved that my OBGYN listened to my input and that the hospital was receptive to my (admittedly picky) birth plan. Other than being induced due to low amniotic fluid, my labor and delivery was decidedly normal. Long and arduous, but normal. Overall, it was an exceptional experience.

When we moved to Sweden with our then 18-month-old, we talked about the possibility of having another LO in the next year or so. Because we didn’t know how long we would be living abroad, we decided to go for it! I was hesitant to go through the pregnancy and birthing process in a foreign country, especially one with such a different health care philosophy from that of the U.S. Truth be told, I should have just steered clear of any and all Facebook groups consisting of expat moms who were pregnant abroad. Let me tell you, it’s usually only the negative experiences that moms feel the need to share. Between those horror stories and articles popping up on my FB feed about babies being born in taxis or moms being sent to Finland because the hospitals here are so overcrowded, I was a little nervous to say the least! (These were actually some of the less scary stories! 😥)

After we began trying, it didn’t take long (okay, a week) to seal the deal. It was official. We were having a baby in Sweden. Navigating the socialized health care here is not always hardly ever easy…especially when your Swedish doesn’t even compare to your 2.5-year-old’s. 😊 Nonetheless, I was assigned a midwife (you only see a doctor for a pregnancy here if there is an issue) and was told that the first appointment wouldn’t be until around week 12. At which point, I found out that the phrase “laid back” does not do justice to the Swedish philosophy on pregnancy. No need to confirm the pregnancy with a test. No need for more than 2 or 3 sonograms during the entire pregnancy. No need to be weighed at each appointment (Score! 🎉). Heck, my midwife never even gave me a single internal exam or breast exam throughout the entire pregnancy…not that I am complaining!  

In Sweden, it is assumed that the default is a normal pregnancy, and additional precautions are only taken if problems arise…but no need to stir up drama where there is none, right? This laissez-faire approach has its pros and cons. Obviously, a hands-off approach is more affordable for taxpayers, and the Swedish philosophy is to not “bother” the baby with constant monitoring. Apparently, the paparazzi of monthly sonograms is just too much for babes to handle while they are developing in the womb. In terms of the mother’s mental well-being, it can be frustrating not knowing for sure that everything is going by the book. That being said, even an infinite number of tests could never guarantee that no problems go overlooked. And since every pregnancy is different, what is “by the book” anyway? Overall, I appreciated the easy-going approach more than I expected because it made me a little more easy-going, too. I simply had no choice but to let things go and just try not to worry (of course, it helped immensely that it was my second pregnancy).

Although I didn’t have much choice in my midwife assignment, I found myself blessed with an absolutely fabulous one. She was reassuring, knowledgeable, friendly, and most importantly, knew I wasn’t Swedish. She did everything she could to explain the hows and whys of the Swedish pregnancy to me in a way that I would understand.

As the weeks passed and my due date loomed near, I told her that my first pregnancy had to be induced due to low amniotic fluid and expressed my concerns that this pregnancy might follow suit. She was receptive to my concerns, but ultimately, the Swedes really really don’t like to induce labor any earlier than absolutely necessary. Their rationale? It can up the risks of a C-section and yes, it would be a shame to bother the baby before she is ready to make her debut. Perhaps this is why Sweden has one of the lowest C-section rates in the world (about half that of the U.S.)...

Well, my due date came and went. I was convinced that I was not meant to go into labor on my own. (The women in my family have a tendency to go two weeks late and then need induction, so I figured I would be no different.) Four days after my due date, I woke up around 3am with a stabbing pain in my right side below my bump. This was no labor pain. I called the hospital.

“Can you feel the baby moving? Call back in an hour or so if you haven’t felt her move.”

Okay…A few spoonfuls of cottage cheese and a tablespoon of Nutella ought to get her moving. An hour later? Nuthin’. I jostled and wiggled, but she just wasn’t having it. Although the pain in my side was still going strong.

I called back.

Okay, we are headed to the hospital. We hopped on the nearby subway with our packed hospital bag and car seat just in case we left the hospital with one more person than we had arrived with.

After around 10 hours of testing and monitoring, the sharp pain in my side was still a big question mark. But one thing was clear: I was not in labor. A few irregular contractions here and there and the first internal exam of my entire pregnancy confirmed that much. Because the baby had finally woken up a bit (literally the second we walked into the pregnancy wing of the hospital), they chose not to induce, despite my pleas to get on with it. Far and away, my least favorite part of giving birth under socialized health care is the distinct feeling that I didn’t really have much say in how things were going to go down. I missed having a voice, having a vote, in how my baby was born. It had been my body for 30 years, and it seemed absurd that my opinion didn’t amount to much, despite my ability to recount to the doctors and staff the growing risks of allowing this little egg to cook for too long.

So, instead of giving me a baby, the staff pushed a few pain medications on me (despite my outspoken desires to avoid narcotics during my pregnancy). I had avoided taking a single “optional” medication throughout my pregnancy, and strong pain relievers have an adverse effect on me, anyway. That didn’t seem to faze any of the staff.

I was told to return the following day to check on the progress of my nebulous pain. It hadn’t subsided completely, but it was not as excruciating, so they considered it a win and sent me home. Again.

I cried the whole way home. Five days past my due date and all I wanted was to be induced. I could even handle a long labor and more painful contractions if it meant not going another week with the aches and pains of being overdue.

Once the woeisme phase passed, I went home and tried cheering myself up by Googling hilarious ways other mamas had tried inducing naturally. A few of my favorites?

·       Eat 8 whole pineapples.

·       Castrol oil. (You read right. This is not to be confused with Castor Oil. 😂)

·       Shine a flashlight…up there.

·       “Put the vacuum on your boob.”

·       Row to the middle of a lake in a small boat.

These ideas definitely cheered me up—and I may have tried a few of the more commonly known techniques myself. 😏 From prunes to peppermint oil, and some slightly more embarrassing strategies, I did everything I could to take matters into my own hands.

So, what happened? I woke up the next morning in labor, folks. Whether it was timing or technique, we will never know. I crossed my fingers that the hospital would have a bed for me (they didn’t the last two days I visited due to overcrowding and too few staff). Luckily, it was as if my little girl had timed her grand entrance conscientiously because there was a spot open with our name on it. We waited until contractions were 4 minutes apart and headed in. When we arrived, I was around 4-5cm dilated and the delivery midwife said something very Swedish. “Go take a walk for an hour or two. Get some food and then you can come back later.”

Seriously? I didn’t know if I should be offended at basically being told to get out of her hair (in the nicest way possible, of course) or excited at the fact that I was allowed to eat! One of the perks of being in a country with such a low rate of C-sections. 😉

When we returned around 1.5 hours later, it was time to settle in for the long (or short) haul. When I couldn’t handle the contractions anymore, they administered a “walking epidural” that would relieve some of that pain. Little did I know that it didn’t do much of anything to relieve the pain of the delivery itself. 😲 After my experience in Texas, it was decided: Not all epidurals are created equal, my friends.

After around 12 hours of laboring, our little girl was popped onto my chest (sans bath) and we got acquainted with one another. She came out at 8 pounds even (exactly 1 pound heavier than my son) and 20” long. Her APGARs were 9 and 10 and she was amazingly chill for a baby who had just made her entrance into this brave, new world. One of her first executive decisions? EAT!

An hour or so later, we checked out of the hospital and into the “Patienthotell,” which is basically exactly what it sounds like. We chatted with a midwife for a bit before crashing hard. Our first night was surprisingly simple. No nurses constantly checking in, a snuggly bed, and a good decent night’s sleep. In the morning, we had breakfast at the hotel and an appointment with a pediatrician to make sure our little Dreampuff was happy and healthy. One more chat with a midwife and we were on our way home to introduce the newest family addition to our son.

So, how do the two experiences compare side-by-side? If I had to choose one over the other, I would honestly be hard-pressed. 

For me, one of the most important things is knowing that my voice and my opinion on what should happen to my body and my baby matter. In my experience, I found this to be the case more so in the U.S. because I was footing some of the bill myself. I had a choice of doctor, hospital, birth plan, and on-the-fly decision making. That was not always the case in Sweden, although I felt incredibly lucky to be in such capable hands for most of my pregnancy. 

Plus, I loved the hands-off approach in Sweden and in the hours after the birth, I would say Sweden wins hands down. There was a feeling of calm and serenity afterwards that helped us settle in, as opposed to the hustle and bustle of testing, bright lights, and uncomfortable recovery rooms in the U.S. Seriously, it is beyond me why the rest of the world has not adopted the idea for Patient Hotels.

Now that we are back home with our precious little Squeaker, we are looking forward to the next part of this journey: raising a tiny tot abroad. This could get interesting.

Hej då,

TheTexpatriateMama