I went into labor Thursday morning around 10am. Our birthing class instructor had told us to continue about the day like normal for as long as possible, so I did. I took my shower. I tested my blood. I ate breakfast as best I could even though I really wasn't hungry at all. I hadn't packed my hospital bag yet, so I pulled up the list on my computer and started packing. While I was packing, Tracey IM'd me asking how things were going. I told her I was having contractions and was trying to pack my bag and had dishes I needed to do. She offered to come over and do dishes for me. I was having some trouble focusing on what I was doing with the contractions interrupting me every few minutes and there were a lot of dishes to do. So I told her to go ahead and come over if she wanted to.
I tried timing contractions, but they weren't regular like I thought they'd be so I was hesitant to call my doctor. Tracey and Andrew both told me to just go ahead and call. At 1:30 I finally decided that although they were anywhere from 2-5 minutes apart and didn't seem to be lasting a full minute long, they were pretty strong so I must actually be in labor, so I went ahead and called. The nurse I talked to asked if they were too strong to walk and talk through. I was still able to walk and talk through them, but I really thought I was in labor, so I didn't tell her that; I just said that they were "pretty strong". Since I had never had a cervix check (my next appointment was supposed to be Friday), she told me to come on in and they'd check me out.
I was so nervous about going in. I was sure they'd take one look at me, tell me it was false labor and send me home. They hooked me up to the monitors when I got there and I was having pretty strong contractions. Then the doctor came in and asked how dilated I thought I was (he joked that I might be at 6 cm and I was like, that'd be nice but I seriously doubt I'm more than 2 or 3). Then he checked me and goes "You're at 8 cm." I thought he was joking and just stared at him and was like "What?". He repeated himself and showed me how big 8 cm was with his hands because he seemed to think I didn't understand what he was telling me. I was just kind of in shock. I might have managed a little "Oh.", but I'm pretty sure I mostly just stared blankly like he was speaking another language to me or something. He told me we should head straight to the hospital. (We'd left our bags at home because I figured I hadn't been laboring long, so we could always just come back home and get them.)
As we were all walking out the door he asked what my plan was as far as pain management. I told him that I would probably want an epidural but that I wanted to go as long as possible without anything.
On the way to the hospital, we called our parents and told them to spread the word that I was in labor and already dilated to 8cm and we were on our way to the hospital. And we called Angie and Megan to let them know that they could head on over whenever they were ready to join us. When we arrived the nurse asked us if there were people we didn't want in the room. I told her there were two girls coming to join us for the delivery, but everyone else could stay out. She seemed surprised. We asked Tom to go to our house and bring us the bag that I'd almost finished packing and a couple little things that hadn't gotten into the bag yet. So we allowed him in. And for some reason both of our parents ended up in our room at some point, but didn't stay for long.
They asked me again about pain management and I repeated what I'd told my doctor. They put a heparin block in my hand "just in case" they needed to start an IV. I warned the nurse that I have difficult veins, but that did no good. It took her two or three tries and she blew the vein on the left hand before she finally got it in on my right hand.
I thought it was weird that I was 8 cm dilated and 100% effaced but wasn't in terrible pain. The nurse kept asking where I'd put it on a pain scale and I was like "…maybe a 2 or a 3...I've had period cramps way worse than this." So I walked around and used the birthing ball and rocked in the rocking chair while they hooked me up to monitors intermittently to make sure everything was looking ok. His heart rate stayed steady the entire time. I remember them commenting frequently saying things like "This is usually when the heart rate drops." or whatever, but my baby seemed unphased by this whole labor thing and just chilled with me through it all.
Around 7:20 pm the doctor finally came in to check my progress and break my water. I was still only 8 or 9 cm dilated at that point. So he broke my water.
The nurse, Helen, was concerned that the baby's head was crooked in the birth canal and may not make it out easily if he didn't turn all the way. She had me get on my hands and knees to try and get him to turn, but that was definitely not the position we were meant to be in. My knees, hips and back were just killing me in that position and the weight of the belly made it feel like my abdomen was going to drop off onto the bed. Out of nowhere I started vomiting. My sister handed over a hair-tie, which Andrew promptly dropped into my puke bucket while he tried to tie my hair back as I vomited. I don't know if they rinsed that one off or found another but he did get my hair up. The nausea passed as quickly as it came and I lay back down since the hands-and-knees position seemed to be making things harder on me and the baby wasn't budging anyway.
It wasn't long before I moved into transition phase. Helen was great and helped me reposition so I could best deal with the pain. She pulled out the squatting bar so I'd have something to lean against. And every time a contraction hit I'd sit up in a squatting position and lean against the bar. Transition was certainly the roughest part of the whole ordeal, though I don't think I'd rate it a full 10 on the pain scale. I tried my best to breathe through contractions and took great pleasure in relaxing between them. At some point during transition (in the middle of a contraction, no less), Andrew asked me if I wished I'd had that epidural yet. I remember shaking my head and gasping out "No." Nobody else ever asked me and honestly, I never even thought about it. I just breathed through contractions as best I could and relaxed fully in between.
Then I started feeling the urge to push. Helen checked me and said there was still a little bit of cervix left. I had a couple more contractions during which I really felt like pushing (and did a little bit while I was squatting against the bar--I couldn't help it!). Then I told her again that I really felt the need to push. So she checked me again between contractions and called for the doctor to let him know I was going to start pushing.
Then with the next contraction she had Andrew hold my right leg while she held my left and I started pushing. (The doctor still wasn't there.) I remember feeling relieved to be at the pushing phase finally. It was so much more comfortable than transition. The contractions didn't really hurt anymore, there was just an immense pressure like I was taking the biggest poop of my life. I remember thinking I'd have rated transition at a 9 on the pain scale and pushing at only a 5 or a 6. The nurse watched my first push and said something like "Oh, wow." And called for the doctor again because the baby was coming fast. She assured me that I was a great pusher and I think I had one more push and one more panicked call from Helen to the doctor before he finally came in to see me crowning.
In the middle of the first push the doctor watched he mentioned something about the perineum (my sister later told me he was saying that the baby's head was against the perineum) and I panicked thinking he was going to do an episiotomy because I'd never discussed a birth plan or let anyone other than Andrew know that I would rather tear than be cut. I remember finishing my push and then asking "What?". They told me to "Nevermind." and that I was "doing great." I was really angry that they wouldn't just answer me and treated me like I wasn't there when I was the one in the middle of this, but another contraction came so I focused on the pushing instead of yelling at my doctor.
On push 4 I felt the baby's head start to exit the birth canal, but then the contraction faded. I knew I should probably wait for the next contraction to help me out, but decided I didn't want to wait. So I started to sit back as the contraction faded, then instantly thought "NO, we are NOT doing this." and scrunched back up and finished pushing the head out hoping no one had noticed that the contraction had ended. It was such a relief to have the head out. The shoulder push was easier and once they passed it was like everything just rushed out of my body in this warm gelatinous flood.
After 19 minutes and 6 pushes (my sister said she only counted 5, so I'm pretty sure the nurse counted the head push as 2 because she was reading it off the monitor afterwards and I'd relaxed a bit when the contraction had faded), Lukas Andrew Nordman came into this world at 9:04pm on Thursday, January 21, 2010. His poor little forehead and nosey were bruised from coming through the birth canal so fast (and crooked--he never did bother to straighten out) and he had almost no "cone head". He measured in at 8 lbs 2 oz and 20.5 in long. He scored a 9 and a 9 on his APGARs.
Andrew got to cut the cord and then Lukas was passed up to me for slimy cuddles and kisses.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Failure to Look at the Baby: Part 1 - Jaundice
I follow a few different Breastfeeding groups online and the topic of "Booby Traps" has been coming up a lot lately, it seems. I've answered a couple of questions on breastfeeding surveys regarding booby traps and breastfeeding experiences and this particular story seems to be coming up repeatedly for me as I answer.
So I think it's a sign that it's time to share my Failure to Thrive story.
This is a doosy, so bear with me. I've decided to break it into parts to make it more readable.
Let's start off in the beginning of the beginning. Somewhere along the line in the dizzyingly constant barrage of prenatal testing, I failed the Blood Glucose Tolerance Test. Before I go off onto a lengthy tangent about my feelings and experience with that one, let me just stop myself and sum it all up: GD went unchecked for a month, it took a few weeks to get under control, my morning fasting sugars were always high, I was put on insulin because diet alone wasn't doing it.
Lukas was born weighing 8lbs, 2oz at 38 weeks, 3 days gestation. His father and I were both born at 7lbs, 13oz. I'm inclined to believe that his weight at birth was higher than it would have been had my body not been pumping extra sugar his way for at least a month and a half. He then proceded to lose exactly 10% of his body weight after birth.
I was lucky enough to have had an unmedicated, vaginal birth. I attempted to put him to my breast within the first hour, but couldn't get him to latch. I was told I had flat nipples so he couldn't tell as easily when he'd made it to the nipple to start sucking. Over the next 24 hours, I think I was shown every trick in the book to get a baby to latch on to flat nipples. Nothing worked. Every time he was awake, I paged for help latching him on. It took them so long to respond that he would fall asleep before help arrived every time. He'd been born at 9:04pm on Thursday. The hospital ran out of space for laboring mothers and discharged us at 10:00pm on Friday night, nipple shield and formula samples in hand, without Lukas having ever latched onto my breast.
Because it was the weekend, and the Lactation Consultant with the hospital wouldn't be able to see me at home until Monday and Lukas still hadn't nursed successfully, we were told to come back to the hospital on Sunday to have his biliruben and weight checked and get some lactation help.
While at home, I had some luck getting him to latch with the nipple shield. I could tell he was getting something because I felt my uterus contracting, there would be droplets of colostrum left in the nipple shield as evidence after a feeding, and he had plenty of wet diapers. By Sunday he was looking a little yellow and I still couldn't feed him without the shield. My milk hadn't come in yet and I wasn't sure how to use my pump.
As we prepared to go in for the hospital check-up, I naively debated whether or not to bring my pump in so the Lactation Consultant, who I was told would be there, could show me how to use it while we were there. In the end, I left it at home figuring I could just ask questions. She'd be coming to see us at home on Monday anyway. By then my milk should have come in and everything would be better anyway.
However, when we got to the hospital, there were only two nurses on shift. Neither of them had been there when we delivered and no one seemed to know why we were there. We could see our names written down on the calendar on their desk. What was the problem? Finally, they decided to take us back to the lactation room (basically a closet in the corner in the back of the maternity wing with a chair and a scale in it--nothing else would have fit). We were left there to wait.
For the next 45 minutes, we were left alone to wait in that tiny, hot little "room." Lukas started fussing almost immediately. I couldn't latch him on without enduring 10 minutes of screaming at minimum, so I elected to try and wait to feed him since someone was surely going to be with us soon. My husband went and searched out a nurse. Twice. As we were about to just leave, someone came in and checked his biliruben with a little wand thing they pressed against his forehead. She thought it looked high and checked again. Yep, high. Out she went. She rushed in and out, telling us very little and asking us a lot.
She told me that the Lactation Consultant would just weigh Lukas and check his biliruben levels tomorrow like she just had, so did we want her to cancel the appointment for us. Shocked, tired, hot, sore, hormonal, and 3 days post-partum, I asked "That's all she does at the home visits?" The nurse affirmed and asked us again if we wanted to cancel. Heartbroken that the savior I'd been waiting for didn't exist, I begrudgingly agreed to let her cancel the appointment.
She then wanted to have Lukas's blood tested because that'd be a more accurate reading. We'd been waiting so long that Out Patient was closed for the day. So they sent us down to the ER to get Lukas's blood drawn to check for jaundice. A mere 4 hours later, we returned home. Exhausted, beaten, and overwhelmed.
We didn't have an official pediatrician set up yet at birth because when I'd called my doctor's office asking about it, I'd been told they didn't set that sort of thing up until 2 weeks after the baby was born. Being a naive first-time mom, I didn't realize how silly that was and believed what I was told. So the hospital's pediatrician, Dr. M, saw Lukas at the hospital on Friday morning and was the one on file to follow up with the jaundice. On Monday, when my doctor's office opened, I called to set up the doctor I wanted for Lukas. All day Monday, I fielded calls from both offices. Both wanted me to set up appointments. Dr. M couldn't seem to understand that Dr. F was supposed to be Lukas's doctor. She told me I might have to drive out to her other office 45 minutes away. She told me to give him nursery water and to nurse him every 2 hours. I'd never even heard of nursery water and assumed she meant formula (I later learned that nursery water does exist and is not, in fact, formula, but special water to be used for such things as mixing formula.). I told her that I was nursing on demand. Dr. F scheduled us to come in early in the afternoon on Monday.
While we were waiting in his office, my milk finally came in. I was afraid to try and feed Lukas because that meant at least 10 minutes of Lukas screaming in a public place where everyone could hear me failing. Dr. F explained that Lukas's biliruben level was at 17 and that at 20, they had to start worrying about brain damage. He told me to express my milk and bottle feed him for the time being and gave us the choice of taking Lukas back to the hospital to be put under the bili lights or to use a bili blanket at home. We chose the blanket. We also needed to take him in to the hospital's Out Patient lab to have his blood drawn daily to check his biliruben levels.
When we got home, I pumped while my husband fed Lukas his first bottle of formula. At some point, while Lukas and I were napping, the Lactation Consultant called to check up on us because we'd cancelled our appointment and she was worried. My husband explained what was going on and she expressed concern about the bottle feeding. I was so tired, overwhelmed, and frustrated with our situation that I just assumed she was of the "formula is the devil" crowd and instantly wrote her off. She clearly hadn't wanted to help us anyway.
For the next 6 days, Lukas sat in his bouncer wrapped in the bili blanket unless he was eating or getting his diaper changed. It didn't take long for me to give up on trying to feed him without the nipple shield. It clearly wasn't going to happen. So he ate with the shield and we supplemented with expressed milk to make sure he was getting more than enough. We went to the hospital every day to have his labs drawn and followed up with doctor visits and phone calls.
On Saturday, we went in to get the lab drawn, knowing they would be closed on Sunday. We reminded them that they needed to page Dr. F with the results because his office would be closed in the afternoon. They assured us they would. We could tell he was no longer jaundiced and his numbers had been going down for the last few days, so we opted not to keep him under the lights unless we were called and told his numbers were bad. We got no call, so we assumed he was healthy.
Monday morning brought an angry phone call from the doctor's office wanting to know why we'd skipped the lab draw on Saturday. My husband fielded that call as well and explained that we hadn't skipped the draw, the hospital must not have paged the doctor with the results. The doctor's office called us back a little while later to let us know that we didn't need to worry about the jaundice anymore.
At Lukas's 2 week appointment he'd returned to a healthy 7lbs, 14oz. Still not back to his birth weight, but Dr. F agreed that his birth weight was probably inflated because of my GD. We were set free into the world with our baby and told we didn't have to make another appointment until he was 2 months old. We both breathed a happy sigh of relief. The horror was over. We could finally relax and enjoy our baby.
Let's start off in the beginning of the beginning. Somewhere along the line in the dizzyingly constant barrage of prenatal testing, I failed the Blood Glucose Tolerance Test. Before I go off onto a lengthy tangent about my feelings and experience with that one, let me just stop myself and sum it all up: GD went unchecked for a month, it took a few weeks to get under control, my morning fasting sugars were always high, I was put on insulin because diet alone wasn't doing it.
Lukas was born weighing 8lbs, 2oz at 38 weeks, 3 days gestation. His father and I were both born at 7lbs, 13oz. I'm inclined to believe that his weight at birth was higher than it would have been had my body not been pumping extra sugar his way for at least a month and a half. He then proceded to lose exactly 10% of his body weight after birth.
I was lucky enough to have had an unmedicated, vaginal birth. I attempted to put him to my breast within the first hour, but couldn't get him to latch. I was told I had flat nipples so he couldn't tell as easily when he'd made it to the nipple to start sucking. Over the next 24 hours, I think I was shown every trick in the book to get a baby to latch on to flat nipples. Nothing worked. Every time he was awake, I paged for help latching him on. It took them so long to respond that he would fall asleep before help arrived every time. He'd been born at 9:04pm on Thursday. The hospital ran out of space for laboring mothers and discharged us at 10:00pm on Friday night, nipple shield and formula samples in hand, without Lukas having ever latched onto my breast.
Because it was the weekend, and the Lactation Consultant with the hospital wouldn't be able to see me at home until Monday and Lukas still hadn't nursed successfully, we were told to come back to the hospital on Sunday to have his biliruben and weight checked and get some lactation help.
While at home, I had some luck getting him to latch with the nipple shield. I could tell he was getting something because I felt my uterus contracting, there would be droplets of colostrum left in the nipple shield as evidence after a feeding, and he had plenty of wet diapers. By Sunday he was looking a little yellow and I still couldn't feed him without the shield. My milk hadn't come in yet and I wasn't sure how to use my pump.
As we prepared to go in for the hospital check-up, I naively debated whether or not to bring my pump in so the Lactation Consultant, who I was told would be there, could show me how to use it while we were there. In the end, I left it at home figuring I could just ask questions. She'd be coming to see us at home on Monday anyway. By then my milk should have come in and everything would be better anyway.
However, when we got to the hospital, there were only two nurses on shift. Neither of them had been there when we delivered and no one seemed to know why we were there. We could see our names written down on the calendar on their desk. What was the problem? Finally, they decided to take us back to the lactation room (basically a closet in the corner in the back of the maternity wing with a chair and a scale in it--nothing else would have fit). We were left there to wait.
For the next 45 minutes, we were left alone to wait in that tiny, hot little "room." Lukas started fussing almost immediately. I couldn't latch him on without enduring 10 minutes of screaming at minimum, so I elected to try and wait to feed him since someone was surely going to be with us soon. My husband went and searched out a nurse. Twice. As we were about to just leave, someone came in and checked his biliruben with a little wand thing they pressed against his forehead. She thought it looked high and checked again. Yep, high. Out she went. She rushed in and out, telling us very little and asking us a lot.
She told me that the Lactation Consultant would just weigh Lukas and check his biliruben levels tomorrow like she just had, so did we want her to cancel the appointment for us. Shocked, tired, hot, sore, hormonal, and 3 days post-partum, I asked "That's all she does at the home visits?" The nurse affirmed and asked us again if we wanted to cancel. Heartbroken that the savior I'd been waiting for didn't exist, I begrudgingly agreed to let her cancel the appointment.
She then wanted to have Lukas's blood tested because that'd be a more accurate reading. We'd been waiting so long that Out Patient was closed for the day. So they sent us down to the ER to get Lukas's blood drawn to check for jaundice. A mere 4 hours later, we returned home. Exhausted, beaten, and overwhelmed.
We didn't have an official pediatrician set up yet at birth because when I'd called my doctor's office asking about it, I'd been told they didn't set that sort of thing up until 2 weeks after the baby was born. Being a naive first-time mom, I didn't realize how silly that was and believed what I was told. So the hospital's pediatrician, Dr. M, saw Lukas at the hospital on Friday morning and was the one on file to follow up with the jaundice. On Monday, when my doctor's office opened, I called to set up the doctor I wanted for Lukas. All day Monday, I fielded calls from both offices. Both wanted me to set up appointments. Dr. M couldn't seem to understand that Dr. F was supposed to be Lukas's doctor. She told me I might have to drive out to her other office 45 minutes away. She told me to give him nursery water and to nurse him every 2 hours. I'd never even heard of nursery water and assumed she meant formula (I later learned that nursery water does exist and is not, in fact, formula, but special water to be used for such things as mixing formula.). I told her that I was nursing on demand. Dr. F scheduled us to come in early in the afternoon on Monday.
While we were waiting in his office, my milk finally came in. I was afraid to try and feed Lukas because that meant at least 10 minutes of Lukas screaming in a public place where everyone could hear me failing. Dr. F explained that Lukas's biliruben level was at 17 and that at 20, they had to start worrying about brain damage. He told me to express my milk and bottle feed him for the time being and gave us the choice of taking Lukas back to the hospital to be put under the bili lights or to use a bili blanket at home. We chose the blanket. We also needed to take him in to the hospital's Out Patient lab to have his blood drawn daily to check his biliruben levels.
When we got home, I pumped while my husband fed Lukas his first bottle of formula. At some point, while Lukas and I were napping, the Lactation Consultant called to check up on us because we'd cancelled our appointment and she was worried. My husband explained what was going on and she expressed concern about the bottle feeding. I was so tired, overwhelmed, and frustrated with our situation that I just assumed she was of the "formula is the devil" crowd and instantly wrote her off. She clearly hadn't wanted to help us anyway.
For the next 6 days, Lukas sat in his bouncer wrapped in the bili blanket unless he was eating or getting his diaper changed. It didn't take long for me to give up on trying to feed him without the nipple shield. It clearly wasn't going to happen. So he ate with the shield and we supplemented with expressed milk to make sure he was getting more than enough. We went to the hospital every day to have his labs drawn and followed up with doctor visits and phone calls.
On Saturday, we went in to get the lab drawn, knowing they would be closed on Sunday. We reminded them that they needed to page Dr. F with the results because his office would be closed in the afternoon. They assured us they would. We could tell he was no longer jaundiced and his numbers had been going down for the last few days, so we opted not to keep him under the lights unless we were called and told his numbers were bad. We got no call, so we assumed he was healthy.
Monday morning brought an angry phone call from the doctor's office wanting to know why we'd skipped the lab draw on Saturday. My husband fielded that call as well and explained that we hadn't skipped the draw, the hospital must not have paged the doctor with the results. The doctor's office called us back a little while later to let us know that we didn't need to worry about the jaundice anymore.
At Lukas's 2 week appointment he'd returned to a healthy 7lbs, 14oz. Still not back to his birth weight, but Dr. F agreed that his birth weight was probably inflated because of my GD. We were set free into the world with our baby and told we didn't have to make another appointment until he was 2 months old. We both breathed a happy sigh of relief. The horror was over. We could finally relax and enjoy our baby.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Treats for the Fire-Breathing Dragon and Something New
I just have to boast that after yesterday's post (haha, I rhymed--so clever) I was thinking about anger all day today. More specifically, I was thinking about recognizing and dealing with my anger and frustration. Which was good because my son was beyond testing my patience for most of the day. But I'm happy to report that not once did I snap at him. I actually managed to remain calm for an entire day of him waking up early, fussing, whining, screaming, throwing tantrums, refusing naps, refusing to have his diaper changed, refusing to put on clothes, refusing to take off clothes, fighting bed-time, and getting into everything he shouldn't in between these fits of mostly unknown origin.
Kids, right?
Anyway, I'm pretty pleased with myself and felt the urge to share that pleasure. Now this fire-breathing mama-dragon has treated herself by sharing with you. We'll see how tomorrow goes.
Now, for something new:
It turns out I have a lot of thoughts and opinions that I mostly prefer to express through the written word (as if you couldn't have guessed by my tendency to publish rather verbose blog posts). So, with that in mind, I think I'm going to start putting up reviews now and then for products I use that I have strong opinions about.
I'm also working on starting up my own little Etsy-based WAHM business. So I'm creating a lot of new things right now and if I can figure out how to post pictures of said "things," I will share them here as well. I'm sure it's not that difficult; I just haven't even attempted to look for the button I need to push to do it.
And on that note, I leave you until another day.
Kids, right?
Anyway, I'm pretty pleased with myself and felt the urge to share that pleasure. Now this fire-breathing mama-dragon has treated herself by sharing with you. We'll see how tomorrow goes.
Now, for something new:
It turns out I have a lot of thoughts and opinions that I mostly prefer to express through the written word (as if you couldn't have guessed by my tendency to publish rather verbose blog posts). So, with that in mind, I think I'm going to start putting up reviews now and then for products I use that I have strong opinions about.
I'm also working on starting up my own little Etsy-based WAHM business. So I'm creating a lot of new things right now and if I can figure out how to post pictures of said "things," I will share them here as well. I'm sure it's not that difficult; I just haven't even attempted to look for the button I need to push to do it.
And on that note, I leave you until another day.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Calming the Beast
Until a few weeks ago, I was under the impression that all the patience people told me I had was a facade. Patient? Me? Maybe before Lukas was born, but now I'm easily angered and snap at the drop of a hat. It felt like my anger was a huge beast the lay sleeping just beneath the surface all the time. In an instant it could lift its head and take control. Then one day at play group, one of the other moms who was experiencing a rather difficult time with her toddler confided to us the rage she felt at times. Instantly, we all opened up to her. We all felt that way! We all felt the same rage and frustration. Sometimes we just needed to slam doors or break things.
Parenthood is tiring. I eats away at us because it is constant. We don't always get the breaks we need and when we do get breaks, they aren't always when we need them the most.
Parenthood is hard. It's life-changing. We have to balance our own needs with the needs of a child who will remain wild and societally shapeless for years.
Last week, I read an article in Mothering Magazine that discussed the topic of dealing with anger and teaching our children to deal with anger through example. The author, Tera Freese, described how she learned to deal with her anger by treating it like a new baby. No matter what important thing she might be doing when the anger awoke, she had to stop and deal with it first. She recognized that in any situation, she was only able to control herself and her reactions. She learned to vocalize so that her daughters would understand what was going on. "I am angry." She did breathing exercises and taught them to do the same when they were angry. My favorite is what she calls the "Snake Breath"-- breathing in deeply through the nose then "hissing" as you exhale. She created a "nest" at the end of the couch that she and her girls could go to when they needed to get away and deal with their anger. The article was packed with phenomenal ideas about how to manage anger and teach our children to do the same.
It's good to know I'm not alone, but I still need a lot of practice if I don't want my son to think I'm the beast.
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