We’re still not sleeping all the way through the night, though things are better.  He’s happy as a clam most all the time, babbling speaking dinosaur like a pro, and getting where he needs to go via rolling.

So, seeing as how my life is a series of non-sequitors lately, I thought this might be more appropriate.  I’ll still check in here when I have more profound things to say.  I don’t really fancy myself much of a [mommy] blogger anyway.

Behold.

http://overheardthroughthebabymonitor.tumblr.com/

how we hold hands in the middle of the night

the rhythmic tuck tuck tuck of your swallows

the look on your face when you get excited about something and try to chew on your fist

the last big sigh before you drift off to sleep

your good morning face

your incredibly soft, fat baby hands with knuckle dimples deeper than moon craters

how you blow raspberries at the most serious of times

the sound from the next room of your feet kicking the side of the crib

your laugh, the one that sounds like huuuuuuh

how you grab fist fulls of my hair and don’t let go

just like I don’t ever want to let go

of you.

I knew going into this that I could never be a stay-at-home mom.  My financial decisions to borrow for school in my late teens and early twenties prevented it.  We’ve spent the last year and a half paying cash for Joe’s Special Ed license so that he can get a full-time position.  Debt has not been a blessing to us.  It limits our choices and we have too much of it.  So, we’ve decided not to borrow anymore but that doesn’t change that we still need my salary.  The only way we could possibly maybe make it work is to sell our house, move into a small apartment in possibly a not great school district, and sell one of our cars.  Our retirement would suffer.  I’m not even sure we could get out of our house if we tried.

And then I think I probably wouldn’t be the best stay-at-home mom.  I love my babe more than life itself, but I am not the most patient person.  He might be better with someone who has experience teaching colors and baby sign language.  I’m pretty sure I’d miss having a professional outlet and would regret lowering my overall earning potential by being out of the workforce for a number of years.  I never thought I was the stay at home type, but I loved maternity leave.  I was upset that it wasn’t even really on the table for discussion without slashing and burning lots of things.  Especially when so many friends seemed to be able to stay at home with ease.  (By the by, I am sure there is way more to each situation than I know.  I am envious nonetheless.)  When I think about leaving Will with someone I don’t feel good about, none of that matters.  All I can think about is how I won’t get that time back.  But there are obstacles aplenty.

So once faced with the idea of actually leaving my baby, I panicked.  I didn’t have a rich uncle to swoop in and save me from my previous stupidity and allow us to afford living on one income.  This was actually happening.  We were running out of time.  Some places laughed at me (nicely) when I asked if they had openings in August.  I didn’t really sleep well to begin with since Will still gets up at night, usually 2-3 times, but I stopped sleeping restfully in between.  What if we don’t find anyone?

We interviewed a few daycares ranging in style and curriculum.  The most expensive couldn’t guarantee me that Will would be fed by the same person throughout the day.  And one in-home person didn’t want me to drop by during the day because she was “too busy” with the one baby she is currently watching.  It dawned on me – all of these people want my business and yet none of them have done what they are asking me to do.  The teachers I met in the various Infant rooms were either college students working on their degrees with no children, or older and had stayed home with their kids and returned to childcare because they missed babies.  In-home caregivers stay home with their own children and take on additional ones so that they can subsidize staying home.  One director on the tour kept obnoxiously mentioning her niece that attended and her sister who couldn’t afford it so her parents’ paid for some so that she could get a good preschool education.  It’s not the same, lady, sorry.  I’m emotionally fragile and I don’t think you are more sympathetic to my plight by mentioning your niece.  Act like you care about my baby at the very least.  Talk to me about the Infant classroom.

Not to mention, how was I supposed to make a decision like this with so many variables in the air?  We don’t know where Joe will land.  Our house may have to eventually go on the market as he’s applying anywhere he can find within a 1-hour driving radius.  We don’t know how much he’ll be making.  His salary could increase enough to allow him to quit his two part time jobs, or it could double if they pay him for his Master’s Degree and experience.  Can I in good conscience  sign up to pay for daycare that costs more than my mortgage?  Or agree to in home care not knowing how far he will have to drive to pick the baby up?

Thankfully after weighing all the possibilities I think we have found a place.  God surely answered my prayers about finding someone we knew and an environment we felt good about.  And there still may be an alternate possibility if Joe gets hired in a certain district he’s applied.  In the back of my mind I still dread the day, though.

Anyway, I don’t mean to be a mom martyr about all this and I don’t mean to start a stay-at-home mom versus working mom debate.  We beat ourselves up enough already.  I just had zero idea how hard it would be for me to handle.  Like, sick to my stomach hard.  Lump in my throat and tearful daily breakdowns hard.  Sometimes I think it may have been easier if I was interviewing places while I was still pregnant, but I’m not sure.  I wish I could go back and tell my 18 year old self so many things.  I’m sure I wouldn’t listen, but I could try.  Everyone told me how difficult it is.  But I had no idea until it was my own baby.  No idea.

Really though, when I make myself think of the big picture, we are lucky in so many immeasurable ways.  We both have good jobs and can afford a nice roof over our head.  Each of us has had months home with Will – months more than most couples get.  But it still tugs at my heartstrings more than I ever thought it would.  And it makes me that much more determined to work hard to pay off our debt, put away college savings for our own child(ren), and pay off our house so that we are not limited in our choices because of money.  I want to be able to give more and not worry about how it will impact our day-to-day.

Most importantly, I want to do right by this smiley face.

If you are, I am going to ramble for a bit about the things that helped me in an attempt to help others.  I apologize if this is a bit soapbox-y but breastfeeding is one of the greatest joys in my life and I wish others success and happiness with it if they so desire.  I think our communities have a long way to go in terms of support and positivity.

Many, many of my friends tried breastfeeding and I only had 1 make it beyond the 6 week mark.  Almost all of them were very sad about it.  My friend that did make it wound up exclusively pumping for 14 months.  Her only advice was: get help early and often.  Proved very useful!  So when I was looking to find more information or get started, I turned to the internet.  There was never really a one-stop shop so for my friends that are out there and still reading, I hope this can be that for you.

The first thing I’d recommend is to ignore the naysayers.  I grew up formula fed as did my husband and we were a generation when it was new and sophisticated and the trendy thing to do.  As a result, our families do not always know how to be supportive.  Sometimes in life you just have to be stubborn for the things you want, and if you want to make breastfeeding work, most of the time you can.  It may be hard and you may want to vent every now and again, but be cautious not to listen to people who are negative about it.  Mom is allowed to bitch and be negative occasionally about breastfeeding if she wants, but everyone else is under radio silence.  (And if it does come that you need to supplement or formula feed, it should come from the horse’s mouth, not someone else.)  Surround yourself with a good support system.  The #1 factor in if a woman will succeed is based on the attitude of her husband and mother (I found that in a book but I am drawing a blank where – will cite if I remember).  Having been through the first weeks, it is so true.  The CDC puts out a breastfeeding report card and the statistics are interesting.  In Ohio, where I live, 64.8% of mothers try breastfeeding, 37.5% of them are still breastfeeding at least partially at 6 months, and 20.3% make it to a year.  Support is key!

Speaking of support, consider where you will have your baby.  A lot of hospitals are “baby friendly” which often translates to “breastfeeding friendly.”  Unfortunately these days many women do not have a choice in this matter as so many decisions are insurance-based.  If you do have a choice of hospital, call each and go with the one with more lactation consultants on staff.  My hospital had two part time and thankfully I delivered on a Wednesday night when one was there.  She basically held and fed my baby for me that first night because I was so exhausted.  She made Joe help, too.  And the next day, her partner came and spent 2 hours with me.  Despite me taking a class and reading all I could and being stubborn as hell to succeed, had I given birth in the middle of the night on a Saturday with no lactation consultants around, I know for a fact our outcome would have been very very different.  I took a class at the hospital where I delivered and they both remembered me.  Make breastfeeding mom friends and educate yourself.  Knowledge is power.

Additionally, writing a birth plan will go far to lay out what you would like to see happen to encourage breastfeeding to be successful.  In there I would include: contact with baby as soon as humanly possible after birth (even in the event of a c-section), delaying all unnecessary procedures until after 2 hours of skin to skin contact and the first feeding (getting vital signs is really all they need to do immediately and they can do this while the baby is on you), rooming in, and no pacifiers.  This way, you don’t have to tell the staff you intend to breastfeed; they already know.  And births don’t always go as you plan them to (mine certainly didn’t) but in my opinion, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t plan at all.  Thankfully my hospital was awesome, despite not being officially designated baby friendly, and a lactation consultant was perched outside our room along with the moms waiting for me to deliver.  How’s that for service?

So now let’s talk supplies.  Just like support, you need good ones.  I’m linking all of the stuff I had and would endorse if someone asked.  There are many similar products out there though, so shop around!  Even if you will be a stay-at-home mom the investment for a double electric pump is worth it in my opinion.  I also got a hands-free bra to use which allows you to play on the internet while you’re pumping.  Take your pump with you to the hospital, and learn how to use it before the baby is born.  Do not repeat my mistake waiting to read the instructions until 2:30am with a screaming baby.  Ask in the hospital if you need bigger or smaller shields than the pump came with as this will affect your output.  Or possibly a nipple shield.  Get some soothies gel pads for the fridge and nursing pads and storage bags.

My advice in the early weeks is to BE YE LAZY.  Make it your business to feed the baby, shower occasionally, and sleep as much as possible.  When someone comes over, make them clean or cook something.  Dad should change diapers and bring you a glass of water every time you nurse.  If someone in that support system wants to know what is helpful – this is it.  They can make sure mama eats, mama makes sure baby eats.  When your supply regulates in those early weeks, you will likely have more than you need.  My advice for this point is to BE YE NOT LAZY.  As much as it sucks, and I hate pumping as much as the next person, take advantage.  Take full advantage, friends.  Pump and freeze as much as you can.  My blood pressure would be far lower right now if I had taken advantage early on and built up a better freezer stash.  There will come a day when you will need it.  And even if you decide to formula feed later, your baby can use up what you have saved before making the switch.

I have heard many women say that formula feeding is easier.  At first glance, it may appear to be.  But breastfeeding moms don’t have to make or heat bottles in the middle of the night (I am lazy – see above), and I only have to wash 4 per day.  Breastfeeding is greener and less wasteful.  Better for my baby and the environment?  Yes, please.

Put the lactation consultant on speed dial.  My insurance does not cover appointments with them, sadly.  I chose a pediatrician’s office that has one on staff, so every time I took the baby for a weight check I had an appointment with her afterward.  I think it’s worth it and I am fortunate enough to be able to spend a few dollars up front to avoid a year’s worth of formula costs.  Many women are not that lucky.  I got a “breastfeeding mom gift pack” in the hospital that was a mini shoulder bag made by Similac.  It was full of formula.  My only guess is that the “formula feeding mom gift pack” contained more?  Doctors are not allowed to endorse one brand over the other but they still find their way in – think of all the freebies they give out.  My OB’s office had free stethoscope type headphones laying out so that you could hear your baby’s heartbeat anytime.  The sponsor?  Similac.  There is no money to be made on breastmilk, and these companies know that formula is a product with a very high brand loyalty so they try to influence you early.  On Similac’s website – “Your breast milk contains the perfect blend of nutrients to give your baby a healthy start.”  They know.  They even have lactation help by phone and a breastfeeding section.  So if you make it 8 weeks and decide to quit, you’ll remember them.  Formula companies are not evil, but they are smart.  I encourage everyone to be an equally smart consumer when deciding whether to exclusively breastfeed, breastfeed and supplement, or formula feed.

I think that about sums up my thoughts.  This is a great article and debunks a lot of myths.  Kellymom.com is great as well.

What do you think?  Did you try to breastfeed?  Did it work?  If not, do you plan to try something different next time?  I’m always up for a discussion on breastfeeding if you want help or advice and if you want to send me hate mail, that’s fine too.

Edited to add: I can’t believe I forgot my favorite breastfeeding product of all!  I originally intended to borrow it from exclusive pumper friend but quickly realized I was going to wear it out so I plan to just buy a new one for her when she has her next baby.  My BrestFriend.  Amazing.  We call it the “ring of power” in our house.  Joe wears it sometimes and asks me to get him drinks.  I can’t tell you why we call it that because I promised my husband I wouldn’t write it on the internet.  It’s the only pillow that doesn’t slide around and my kid is trained like Pavlov’s Dog to get excited when he hears the buckle click.  Next time I’ll buy one for upstairs and one for down and get a few extra covers.  Right now I just lay a cloth diaper over whichever side I’m using.  You need one!

It sounds so stupid now, but looking at all the different options gave me serious angst.  Do I need a travel system?  Pram with convertible seat for a toddler?  A simple umbrella stroller?  Reclining seat?  One for jogging?  3 wheels?  4?  10?  Hell, I don’t know.  I don’t have room in my garage for 5 of the damn things, nor do I have room in the budget for more than one so I need to make my purchase count.  Which, of course, paralyzed me into making no decision at all.  It’s not like a crib where aside from basic safety stuff you just pick a style or activity mat where they’re all pretty much the same save the obnoxious hanging toys and bright colors.  Strollers have so many more options.  Does everything come with it or do I have to buy attachments?  There were weight limits and folding options to consider!  Some go with car seats and some don’t.  HELP ME!

So I turned to the internet.  (As a side note – what did people do before the internet and online reviews?)

We finally decided on the Baby Jogger City Mini.  It came highly recommended and was nice on the eyes and budget.  I am in LOOOOVE and now understand why my brother used to sleep with a plunger.  Some inanimate objects are good enough to sleep with.

My now 3 month old babe loves it.  He loves looking at the trees in the neighborhood and it lays back almost totally flat so he can sleep.

We have plans to go to the zoo this week and I can’t wait.  If the world ends on 5/21, at least I will have had one last birthday and a final stroll with my favorite new toy that whispers “Pssst, she’s not a virgin.”

I had no idea how deeply satisfying it could be to feed a hungry baby and watch their eyes get heavy in your arms.  Their sighs become deeper and their limbs limper and they drift off, blissfully comforted without a care in the world.  I am really struggling with the rest of life because right now that is all I care about.  I think I am more emotional now than my first weeks postpartum because I want to cry just typing this.  Thinking about bouncing into my grandparents’ house and seeing them drum up something in the kitchen for us has a whole new meaning now.  I just want to hold him and feed him and wear Depends so I don’t have to get up to pee.

OK, I’m kidding about the disposable underwear.

Maybe.

I don’t think it hit me until we had him home a night or two.  Then it really sunk in.  This is my child and he came out of me.  This tiny screaming tyrant who wanted to be fed all the time belonged to me.  It felt more appropriate to think that we belonged to him.  We were his staff.  My breast was his new appendage.  I was tired and the overwhelming love everyone talks about just wasn’t there yet.

What was wrong with me?  Shouldn’t I want to do anything for this tiny person?  Instead I just wanted to sleep.  On my saggy skin stomach.  Sure, I felt like something was missing if he was out of my sight but I just wasn’t feeling like we were a family yet.  We certainly weren’t a functioning family unit.  Everything had been turned upside down.  I didn’t have time to feed myself.  I envied my husband who got more sleep than me.  I wanted to kick him when he snored.  I wanted him to read my mind and bring me everything I needed because I was too exhausted to ask.  Forming sentences was a chore.

So I did the only thing I knew to do.  Survival was minute to minute.  I lived by the Avenue Q song For Now.  ”Your hair!  Is only for now.”  That’s a good thing, I thought, because I haven’t washed it in 3 days and it sure looks like shit.

But now he’s excited to see me.  And he smiles!

I’m his favorite and I kind of like it.  We enjoy each other’s company tremendously.

I’d done as much preparation as I could for a natural childbirth that started with spontaneous labor.  I was aware a million factors may cause it not to happen, but if asked to describe my perfect scenario, that was it.  At my 40 week appointment on Monday, my OB, who had been nothing but supportive of my plans and preparations, wanted to schedule an induction.  I understood her position and her mine, so with her wanting 40 weeks and me wanting 42, so we compromised with penciling me in for the following week at 41.  Since I now had an official deadline, I asked to have my membranes stripped.  It wasn’t something I’d wanted to have done but I figured it was better than the alternative if it had a chance of working.  Also for the previous few days I’d had lots of cramping.  Nothing terribly painful, but it was there.  I told her about this but neither of us were sure if it meant anything.  That’s the frustrating part about the signs of labor – sometimes they are signs and sometimes they are meaningless.

Since my 36 week appointment, at our first opportunity to know, my cervix had been very high and off to one side.  It was not square in my pelvis, and after 4 weeks of activity, stretching, swimming, anything I could think of, I was only 1cm dilated at 40 weeks.  Every time my OB checked me she commented how hard it was to find and that I was one of the most difficult – likely because of the way the baby was laying.  If I pushed my belly to one side, my cervix became square.

My doula recommended going to a chiropractor who specializes in the Webster Technique, a minor adjustment that loosens the ligaments that supports the uterus and has been known to turn breech babies.  So after my 40 week appointment on my due date, I also went to the chiropractor for an adjustment.  With the blessing of my OB who said it couldn’t hurt, and even additionally suggested acupuncture, I was trying a bit harder to get this baby to come.  I’d never been to a chiropractor before and was a bit nervous but she calmed my fears.  There was no cracking and popping, just pressing.  At the chiropractor, my sacrum was slightly misaligned, so the adjustment felt pretty good.  And the highlight of my day – I got to lay on my stomach on the special chiropractic table.  At that point I would have paid triple to just lay there.  We scheduled another adjustment for Wednesday and Friday of that week, as well as a pressure point massage.

So to set the scene – there are a few factors at play here.  Cramping on my own, membrane stripping which caused a whole lot of MORE cramping, and the chiropractor.

At dinner the night of my due date, the same day as the membrane stripping and chiropractor visit, I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.  Nothing really helped me feel better, so I laid around most of the evening.  Between 8 and 10 I noticed that my cramps were coming around 10 minutes apart and had a pattern to them.  I didn’t want to get too excited because I’d been wondering on and off what labor would actually feel like.

Through the night, Monday into Tuesday, I couldn’t really sleep.  I would lay down for an hour or watch some TV and was generally restless.  Every ten minutes for 30-45 seconds I felt the tightening.  They were uncomfortable enough that I couldn’t sleep but not so bad I couldn’t also do something else.  I watched Larry the Cable Guy – Life in America.  I wrote Thank You notes, realizing I wouldn’t have much time shortly to catch up on them.  In the morning, I was still feeling pretty lousy but still wasn’t convinced it was here to stay.

Joe stayed home from work and we walked the dogs multiple times, did a few loads of laundry, and hung out.  I went back and forth with timing because I didn’t want to be a slave to the clock.  However, ten minutes apart became eight, then seven, then six and I was less able to continue walking, moving, or focusing when they came.  Dinner was nearly impossible to sit through.  I watched Biggest Loser, half of it with my eyes closed as I breathed, and then took a bath to try and relax.

It had been my plan to stay at home to labor as long as possible, not only because home is comfortable, but because I felt I had the best chance of avoiding interventions by arriving at the hospital in very active labor.  I was on the cusp of the 5-1-1 rule I’d heard about – don’t go until your contractions are 5 minutes apart, lasting 1 minute long, and are continuous in that pattern for 1 hour.  Around this time the space between became a bit more erratic.  I’d been in contact with my doula all day who gave me some suggestions to stay comfortable and ensure things kept moving along.

After 9pm, things got more serious.  I had to really work hard on my breathing and I began to experience the I-can’t-move-but-I-can’t-sit-still feeling as well.  Five minutes became four, then three.  I called the doula to come to our house and around 11pm she arrived.  I was laboring in our bedroom, no longer comfortable in front of my mother-in-law, who had been awesome and supportive and mostly stayed out of the way all day.  In between I paced and alternated leaning, laying, squatting, and hanging on Joe.  At that point things were very intense but I felt good and in control of how I was able to handle everything.  We had such a groove going that I wondered if our doula Heather was really even necessary.  Later I’d laugh at my naivite – how ridiculous that thought seemed in hindsight.

At midnight as Tuesday night turned to Wednesday morning, we decided to head to the hospital.  All signs pointed to active labor and I was beginning to become excited to meet our baby.  Time alternately flew by and stood still.  The ride to the hospital was only about 6 minutes, and as we left I asked Joe not to hit any bumps.  There was snow at the end of the driveway, and my soon to be dad of a husband backed out of the driveway so fast over the rough snow I nearly hit the ceiling.  At that point pretty much everything hurt even between contractions.  There was constant pressure everywhere and sudden movements I could not control were very difficult to handle.  That was one thing I was not prepared for during labor – while you get a break between contractions, so many pieces parts are readjusting that there is a nearly constant ache.  The pain is not on and off like a switch, which is how I had it in my head.  He drove five miles under the speed limit and after about half a mile I said “Ok, please go faster.”  I was anxious to get out of the car – sitting with a seat belt on was not fun.

Arriving at the hospital, we parked near the front entrance, which was of course closed.  We took a walk to the ER because the cold air felt great and it was just around the corner.  Only problem was that I forgot the ER had been recently remodeled and moved.  So, around the corner turned into a quarter mile walk around the back of the hospital complex.  Once we realized how far it was, I had to weigh which was worse – getting back into a car or continuing to walk.  We decided to keep walking, and at the ER entrance had to double back through the entire complex on the inside to get to the maternity ward – conveniently located a few steps inside and on the second floor from the main entrance with a nice view of my car and best parking space in the house.

The floor was very quiet and we were shuffled into triage quickly.  As soon as I changed into my gown, I felt like I’d peed myself.  The nurse didn’t think it was pee, and as I sat on the bed for her to take my vital signs, more gushed out.  It was around 1am at this point, and they confirmed that my water had broken.  The nurse noticed it was tinged with green, and after they tested it, it was confirmed to be meconium – baby’s first bowel movement.  I knew enough to know that it wasn’t necessarily a bad sign, but it wasn’t a good one either.

She checked my cervix and matter-of-factly announced that I was dilated to just over 2cm.  All of the air instantly was vacuumed out of the room.  ”Only 2?!”  I yelled, exasperated.  Over 24 hours of labor, 8 of which was increasingly difficult, and I was a 2.  My doula Heather quickly reframed and said “This is progress.  Progress is good.  You were 1 yesterday.”  My mind immediately went to a very bad place.  I was not nearly as far along as I wanted to be, my water had broken and I knew not only would I be admitted but that I was on the clock, and my blood pressure was very high so pre-eclampsia labs were ordered.

I was hooked up to the telemetry contraction and fetal heart rate monitors as we checked into our room.  My OB had already sent over a copy of our birth plan so it was in my chart and everyone was more than accommodating  of our wishes.  My doctor’s partner was on call and said she’d call my OB and explained that two of our wishes were not negotiable at this time but everything else was still on track.  First, I’d have to be continuously monitored (contractions, fetal HR, and blood pressure cuff) until the labs came back, and second, rather than putting the baby to my chest right away they’d have extra staff for him/her in our room to examine his lungs and rule out a meconium aspiration.

The blood pressure cuff soon became the bane of my existence.  It cut off circulation to my hand and made it turn purple every time it took a reading, kept sliding around, and rendered my left arm pretty useless.  I had a hep lock in my right hand, so I felt many of my previous coping tools slipping away as my movement was restricted.

The three of us – Joe, Heather, and I managed to find a groove and labored successfully until shift change at 7, when my OB and new nurse arrived.  My OB checked me herself and said I was comfortably more than 2.  So, six hours at the hospital in hard labor and I had progressed millimeters.  I tried not to internally panic.  She was confident with a wait and see approach, said my labs came back great and that while my blood pressure was likely high from the stress of the environment, they still wanted to watch it.  It had never been more than 120/80 at any of my weekly appointments and I was thankful she was there because she knew.  We talked about the meconium in my water and she said that it it isn’t often a problem but they would have to scope the baby to be sure nothing was wrong.  She over-explained everything and for where I was mentally at that point, I was grateful.  I was totally on board with the revised plan both because the safety of the baby was always first priority and I understood the reasoning behind it fully.

My new nurse Jenilee had a 5 month old baby herself and was extremely upbeat and positive – something I didn’t fully appreciate until later.  Anytime she came in to check my vitals or see how we were doing, if a contraction came, she immediately yanked off the blood pressure cuff and said “Let’s just wait.”  She left us mostly alone except when she had to.  Visitors felt incredibly intrusive at that point.

By this time, my contractions had slowed to five minutes apart but were still in a good pattern, so I was left to labor mostly on my own.  Many comments were made that the three of us made a good team.  As morning turned to noon, we found our groove again in the hospital and I used both Joe and Heather to work through the contractions.  They took short food breaks, which made me insanely jealous.  I asked for an IV because I felt incredibly dehydrated – those ice chips just were not cutting it.  I focused on each contraction and how it was bringing me closer to my baby.  He/she was tolerating everything incredibly well.  I was proud because I thought I was too.  I was able to manage the hardest pain I’d felt in my life.

In early afternoon, the moms came to the hospital.  Mother-in-law brought my exercise ball from home because it was smaller than the one in the hospital – I could barely sit on the one they had and figured it was made for 6′ tall basketball coach mothers.  My mom came just to see how I was doing, and after much persisting, I allowed her in the room to say hi.  She burst into tears as soon as she saw me, I totally lost my focus, and she was banished again.

Around 3pm, my OB and Jenilee came to check me again.  Every time I was checked it was awful, not only because I had to be on my back, but because the baby was laying in such a way that it made everything that much worse.  And moving to that position caused more contractions.  They both agreed that I was around a 3 but that the baby had moved to a better position.  Neither said a word about my progress not being adequate and both made a point to say how great I was doing.  At this point I’d been at the hospital with my water broken 13 hours and I knew enough to know that things were not looking good.  I believed their positive words were genuine, but I lost it.  Heaving, ugly, guttural sobs came out of me that rivaled the moans I’d been uttering to cope with the pain.  I began to doubt myself.  I yelled, exasperated, that it had almost been 2 days.  Heather told me getting to 4 was the hardest part.  Joe said he was so proud of me.  I asked how in the world this was going to work.  I wanted a break.  The disappointment took over.  I couldn’t relax.  I couldn’t stop crying.  Contractions suddenly felt ten times worse because I was not in a good mental place to handle them.

My OB said that everything looked great, I was doing just fine, and before we threw the baby out with the bath water suggested I try something to take the edge off – if I did in fact want a break.  I could get 1-2 hours of relief with a dose of nubain and that would very likely allow me to power through what was ahead.  I cried some more.  Sweet nurse Jenilee said “Honey, I am going to go grab a few things and come back.  When I do, I’ll have the nubain in my pocket.  If you want it, say so.  If you don’t, don’t mention it and we’ll forget the whole thing.”

She came back and I said “Yes, please.”  I was out like a light and slept harder and more soundly than I’d ever in the last 9 months.  I woke up a bit woozy but within 15 minutes was my normal self and relaxed once again.  Over the next 2 hours, I felt really good about the decision to get some rest.  I was able to cope with the harder and stronger contractions and really felt good and positive again.  The baby had moved at some point prior, because rather than wanting to sit, I now wanted to lean.  I labored a long time on the exercise ball while leaning forward on the bed.  I demanded Joe stay in front of me and hold my hands.  Even though I had my eyes closed most of the time, it would no longer do just to have him in the room.  He had to be front and center and I had to know he was there even if we weren’t interacting.

At 5pm, my OB and nurse came back again.  This time I was a “solid 4″ but they could stretch me to a 5.  The meconium in my water was also becoming darker.  I didn’t have to ask what was coming.  I was exasperated.  My OB said she knew I didn’t want pitocin but given the time frame, my (lack of) progress, the meconium, being group B strep positive, and my sustained high blood pressure, she wanted to get things moving along.  I’d been in the hospital 16 hours and had progressed 2-3cm.  Anyone else would have given up on me long ago.  I love her for that and I was in total agreement that for all of our health, this was best.

I was ready to be done, so I asked for an epidural.  Nobody pushed it on me – they waited until I was ready.  And I was.  I gave it my best shot.  Everyone was hopeful it would help me relax enough to have the baby by midnight.

I had another good cry, and then almost cried some more when the anesthesiologist came in with a student.  It’s never good to hear someone behind you explaining how to do a procedure when you’re trying not to writhe in pain.  Unlike nice nurse Jenilee, they don’t wait for you to finish a contraction.  Holding still was pure agony.  The student couldn’t find a good spot in my “bony spine” and claimed “everyone’s anatomy is different.”  More words I didn’t want to hear.  Joe was holding me and I looked up once to see tears in his eyes and then I couldn’t look again.  He had been so strong throughout all of this, but seeing me without relief was difficult.

The main anesthesiologist took over.  It took him five tries.  I was hanging on Joe with the blood pressure cuff going off on my left arm, antibiotics in my right, needles in my back, and a vise grip on my front.  I don’t know if my water gushed or I peed myself or what, but I soaked the bed.  Forty-five minutes, countless awful contractions and another sobbing breakdown later, the epidural was in.

I could still feel my legs but the contractions were much better.  In the first 20 minutes I felt a lot of intense pressure.  Jenilee announced I’d gone from a 5 to a 6 in that short time.  I joked that I was going to deliver before her shift was over at 7.  She excitedly exclaimed that would be awesome.  She placed an internal fetal monitor as well as contraction monitor since the telemetry ones weren’t picking up much anymore.  With the pitocin going, they needed to know.  I needed to know too, because up to that point, the baby’s heart rate was incredibly strong and tolerating labor well – not even dipping during contractions.  I wanted to see what the interventions did.

Sure enough, the baby’s heart rate dropped.  I was rolled from one side to the other, still very uncomfortable from the increased pressure.  I did manage to get on my hands and knees at one point.  As I was laying on my left side, the only place the baby’s heart rate liked, I started feeling contractions again.  My legs were heavy and I lost my previous coping tools, so I laid there gripping the bed and crying.  Heather got right in my face and talked me through how to focus and breathe.  It was so hard not to panic and I think without her I would have.  I was on oxygen from there on out.  They called anesthesia and I yelled that I had to push.  Sure enough, I was almost 10cm.  In an additional 20 minutes, I went from 6 to 10.  So, to recap – it took me 46 hours to go from 1 to 4, 2 hours to go from 4 to 6, and 20 minutes to go from 6 to 10.

Until the epidural was topped off, I was the most miserable I’d been.  I am very lucky it was a short time, because it was my worst nightmare of labor come true.  Feeling out of control of my body while also feeling the pain of my lower half stretching and worrying that my baby was no longer handling all of this very well.

It was time for nurse Mary to take over, and she gave me the blessing to push in whatever position I liked.  We tried the squat bar, laying on one side, but the one that worked the best was the tried and true legs in stirrups with a forward lean.  Joe had gone out to tell the moms I was pushing, and half an hour into it, there was a knock at the door.  My mother.  We’d just figured out what position worked best and I was able to move the baby down a little – we’d barely gotten started.  Mary announced who it was and if she could give my mom an update.  I screamed “Tell her to go the fuck away!”

(As an aside, in the middle of the night I apologized to Mary for cursing at her and she said “It’s really ok.  She wasn’t upset.  Your mom replied excitedly ‘Oh, I guess that means we’re getting somewhere!’”)

Over the next hour, I worked as hard as I could.  As the baby moved down, they announced he/she had dark hair and neither Joe nor I could believe it.  We both figured if he/she had hair at all it would be lighter like when we were little.  I remember I kept asking if I was making progress and they said yes.  I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel and needed constant reassurance.

Just as everyone was setting up, I felt the last kicks I’d feel of my pregnancy.  It was one of the most bittersweet moments – one I had all to myself.  It was like my baby knew exactly what I needed in that moment.  ”We’re going to make it, mom.”

William Joseph came out in one push at 8:27pm on February 16, screaming at the top of his little lungs.  He weighed 7lbs 11oz and was 20 inches long.  Joe announced to the room that he was a boy, which I suspected all along.  The nurses and pediatrician checked him out and he showed no adverse signs from the meconium.  They handed him to me and he immediately calmed down on my chest.  I couldn’t believe it was over.

We both had slight fevers but they were resolved by morning.  I have two stitches from a small first degree tear.  Life is settling down wonderfully.

Looking back, I almost can’t believe it happened.  I feel really good about everything – I was confident in the medical staff, thankful for their respect, and appreciative that they went above and beyond to make our experience a good one.  I wouldn’t change a thing and know that I did all I could as I was pushed beyond my limits.

And after it all, I have the cutest healthy baby with big blue eyes who I don’t want out of my sight.

He’s named after his great-grandfather, my awesome g-pa, who died in 2000.

Starting in November for High School season, everyone (even the girls) grows their leg hair out.  It builds & then in February right before the biggest meet of the year where you have to qualify to continue, you shave it all off. I still remember my first day of practice as a freshman when the seniors sat us down and said “If I see you with a razor, you die.  And I’ll kill you with it.”  Well, maybe it wasn’t quite that dramatic, but they meant business.  There is nothing quite like feeling like a wet & slippery eel that first time you hop in the water.  It’s magical.  But it takes discipline to get there.  And maybe a few scare tactics.

Starting a few years ago, Joe has grown a beard for the winter.  He says it’s to keep his face warm while he shovels all the snow and ice but I really think it’s sympathy hair.  Since I’ve known him, he’s always had facial hair.  He just doesn’t look right without a beard or goatee.  It’s not as extreme as some of my mom’s friends who have keg parties when their facial hair turns 21 (I am NOT kidding – the aforementioned party actually happened in 1982) or whose wives have never seen them clean-shaven, but it’s odd to me for him not to have something on his face.  And it’s odd for him too but he insists on a clean face once a year.

Some cold, hard facts have been weighing on me this week.  Tonight is the big shave-off.  I am 39 weeks and 3 days pregnant with our first baby.

All of this means the karma of the universe will conspire and I will go into labor soon because (1) the biggest swim meet of the year, a 14 hour commitment, is Saturday, and (2) all of our pictures will include new dad Joe with NO FACIAL HAIR at all.  He’ll leave his assistant out in the cold, smelling like chlorine and not look like himself in any of our monumental occasion photos. Hell, I probably won’t look much like myself either if we’re getting right down to it.  But it’s the principle of the thing.

Either that, or he/she will come on Monday when congratulatory flowers cost an arm and a leg.  And a beard.

My  mom told me once that was all she craved when she was pregnant with me in the dead of winter – $8.00 pints of strawberries from God-knows-what tropical country.  This makes me wonder if June Bug will love all things citrus, because right now I could eat a grapefruit with every meal and wash it down with lemonade.

But anyway, back to the strawberries.  When I was 4, I begged my mom to go strawberry picking.  Begged and begged.  At 4, I probably didn’t even know you could do such a thing but I’m sure someone gave me the idea.  So the date was set.  The week before, I came down with the chicken pox.  I was miserable and even worse was that strawberry picking was no longer practical.  I wanted to go anyway and promised I’d be good and sit in the car while everyone else went.  This was back in the day when 4-year olds in a car by themselves was no big deal, so that’s where I stayed.  Mom, grandma, and some aunts and cousins quickly got their pints and came back to me and since I was so cooperative, I talked them into letting me hold the strawberry goodies on the 45 minute drive home.  I just wanted to hold them.

I’m sure you can see where this is going.

When we got home, they opened up the back seat and there I was, red-faced with a giant mess of strawberry juice all down my shirt, and an empty pint.  I’d eaten them all.  Thankfully everyone thought it was hilarious and they didn’t get mad.  But my reputation for making strawberries disappear was cemented that day.  And every time I eat a bowl of fresh ones (like today), I think of that glorious day in the backseat of an old Buick with a pint all to myself.