Kevin is officially on paternity leave and we are leaving for vacation in the morning. Some people think this is crazy. I actually think this is the opposite of crazy. What would be CRAZY is missing a fun trip with my family to some serious Wine Country and a beautiful house on a giant lake. I mean, even if she screams the entire time, at least I can 1. look at a pretty lake while she is screaming 2. have a fresh glass of local wine while she is screaming - hey, they say it lowers your blood pressure AND helps the breastmilk let down - everyone wins! and 3. can hand her off to my husband, mom, dad, uncle, aunt, cousin or cousin's girlfriend who is a neo-natal emergency care nurse at one of the best children's hospitals in the country.
What would also be crazy is staying here while my mom who has been our personal saint is on the above mentioned trip - my mother is basically the only reason I've showered regularly for the past 3 weeks.
However, our car is packed to the roof and we have a strange assortment of items coming along with us. And traveling with a 3 week old who sometimes loves the car (sleeps) and sometimes hates it (screams bloody murder for seemingly NO reason.) Fingers crossed for a great, event-free trip.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
is she sleeping through the night?
We keep getting this question from people and I'm like...um....what on earth do you mean? Are you speaking English? Are you on the same planet as we are? Do babies ever atually sleep through the night?
I'm feeling the need to explain our particular situation. Please do not take this as a vent or complaint - there is not really a place to "complain" about your own baby. It is what it is and you just kind of deal however you need to. It really is merely an explanation in response to the question in the title of this blog entry. I don't know if this is "normal" or "common" - I'm not trying to say that everyone experiences this or to scare the mommies to be. I really don't know what other people's nighttime routines are like. I honestly don't know if I had a grossly misled conception of what it would be like and now I know the truth, or if I just have a crazy baby.
Ok, so not only does she not sleep through the night. She does not, umm, go to bed at night. She is kind of UP all night. There is no such thing as "putting her down for the night." This does not happen. I can't even imagine how amazing it would be to set my baby in her co-sleeper or crib sometime between the hours of 8pm and midnight and have her sleep for more than 2 hours at a time. The only possible way to maybe possibly get her to do this would be to allow her to cry it out to the point that she would exhaust herself and pass out. This, 1. does not feel right to me and 2. would, according to many well-respected publications, mean that we might as well sever all ties to our child right here and now and be prepared to see her on Oprah in 20 years confiding in America about how selfish her parents were.
I always pictured sleeping, in bed, next to my husband, having gently placed our sweet little one in the co sleeper just a foot away from me, and then, maybe at 1am and again at 3 or 4am and maybe again at 6am hearing my baby cry and getting up to feed her and struggling to stay awake for 20 or 30 or 40 minutes or maybe even an hour to feed her. That seemed like that would suck a lot and I recall my middle of the night trips to the bathroom during pregnancy and thinking "oh, this is preparing me for when I have to get up at night with the little one." Nope. That is not how this particular situation is working out. Getting up out of my own bed 4 times a night would be no big deal. And if Kevin took care of one or two fo those waking up times, hey, that would be freakin' vacation, paradise and heaven rolled into a chocolate fudge sundae. Rather, here is how it goes:
Putting her in the cosleeper simply does not work. She will not sleep in it and if we place her in it while sleeping, she will wake up immediately. We have tried this on four seperate occasions and basically, since there is constant crying in our bedroom, neither person can sleep at all.
So, instead, here is what we do:
From about 8pm until about midnight, there is a variety of fussing, crying, screaming and sleeping, usually fussing being the most frequent and sleeping being the least freequent. Sleep MAY set in around 11pm. Kevin then heads upstairs to bed. I stay up, downstairs, armed with the moses basket, the Boppy, various bottles filled half with breastmilk and half with formula, a good book, some burp cloths, a binkie and a lot of late night tv. I try to prepare mentally to handle dealing with whatever combo of fussing, crying, screaming and sleeping (plus diaper changing and feeding) come my way until 4am. Now, she may sleep one or two hours during that time, in which case I lay near her (she is usually in her moses basket or sitting half-reclined in her Boppy) and half-sleep...fully expecting to be jarred awake by the previously mentioned screaming, fussing, etc. Sometimes I half-sleep with my finger inserted in the pacifier which is inserted in her mouth because otherwise it falls out and wakes her up.
At 4am - which I am often wide awake to greet - I change (and, if needed) feed her and then gently wake my equally sleep-deprived husband. I then sleep from 4am-8am when he leaves for work. Kevin may get her to sleep a little more until 5 or 5:30 or so...at which point she is usually very awake - so he holds her while he makes coffee and has his cereal and checks out online news, etc. Sometimes he can get her to sleep a little bit after a feeding. But generally, he has to hold her for most of this time...and then puts her in her car seat which he then takes into the bathroom with him while he showers, etc. So, Kevin usually gets about 5 hours of uninterrupted sleep plus one or one and a half hours of maybe-half-sleep. And I get 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep, plus 1-2 hours of maybe-half-sleep. I wonder how long it is possible to function like this. 17 days feels like a lot right now.
I'm feeling the need to explain our particular situation. Please do not take this as a vent or complaint - there is not really a place to "complain" about your own baby. It is what it is and you just kind of deal however you need to. It really is merely an explanation in response to the question in the title of this blog entry. I don't know if this is "normal" or "common" - I'm not trying to say that everyone experiences this or to scare the mommies to be. I really don't know what other people's nighttime routines are like. I honestly don't know if I had a grossly misled conception of what it would be like and now I know the truth, or if I just have a crazy baby.
Ok, so not only does she not sleep through the night. She does not, umm, go to bed at night. She is kind of UP all night. There is no such thing as "putting her down for the night." This does not happen. I can't even imagine how amazing it would be to set my baby in her co-sleeper or crib sometime between the hours of 8pm and midnight and have her sleep for more than 2 hours at a time. The only possible way to maybe possibly get her to do this would be to allow her to cry it out to the point that she would exhaust herself and pass out. This, 1. does not feel right to me and 2. would, according to many well-respected publications, mean that we might as well sever all ties to our child right here and now and be prepared to see her on Oprah in 20 years confiding in America about how selfish her parents were.
I always pictured sleeping, in bed, next to my husband, having gently placed our sweet little one in the co sleeper just a foot away from me, and then, maybe at 1am and again at 3 or 4am and maybe again at 6am hearing my baby cry and getting up to feed her and struggling to stay awake for 20 or 30 or 40 minutes or maybe even an hour to feed her. That seemed like that would suck a lot and I recall my middle of the night trips to the bathroom during pregnancy and thinking "oh, this is preparing me for when I have to get up at night with the little one." Nope. That is not how this particular situation is working out. Getting up out of my own bed 4 times a night would be no big deal. And if Kevin took care of one or two fo those waking up times, hey, that would be freakin' vacation, paradise and heaven rolled into a chocolate fudge sundae. Rather, here is how it goes:
Putting her in the cosleeper simply does not work. She will not sleep in it and if we place her in it while sleeping, she will wake up immediately. We have tried this on four seperate occasions and basically, since there is constant crying in our bedroom, neither person can sleep at all.
So, instead, here is what we do:
From about 8pm until about midnight, there is a variety of fussing, crying, screaming and sleeping, usually fussing being the most frequent and sleeping being the least freequent. Sleep MAY set in around 11pm. Kevin then heads upstairs to bed. I stay up, downstairs, armed with the moses basket, the Boppy, various bottles filled half with breastmilk and half with formula, a good book, some burp cloths, a binkie and a lot of late night tv. I try to prepare mentally to handle dealing with whatever combo of fussing, crying, screaming and sleeping (plus diaper changing and feeding) come my way until 4am. Now, she may sleep one or two hours during that time, in which case I lay near her (she is usually in her moses basket or sitting half-reclined in her Boppy) and half-sleep...fully expecting to be jarred awake by the previously mentioned screaming, fussing, etc. Sometimes I half-sleep with my finger inserted in the pacifier which is inserted in her mouth because otherwise it falls out and wakes her up.
At 4am - which I am often wide awake to greet - I change (and, if needed) feed her and then gently wake my equally sleep-deprived husband. I then sleep from 4am-8am when he leaves for work. Kevin may get her to sleep a little more until 5 or 5:30 or so...at which point she is usually very awake - so he holds her while he makes coffee and has his cereal and checks out online news, etc. Sometimes he can get her to sleep a little bit after a feeding. But generally, he has to hold her for most of this time...and then puts her in her car seat which he then takes into the bathroom with him while he showers, etc. So, Kevin usually gets about 5 hours of uninterrupted sleep plus one or one and a half hours of maybe-half-sleep. And I get 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep, plus 1-2 hours of maybe-half-sleep. I wonder how long it is possible to function like this. 17 days feels like a lot right now.
Friday, July 24, 2009
More room for my kid at Harvard
So I've been reading this book - I'm only about 30 pages in - called Bad Mother. And it's brought up some interesting ideas. Namely how we, as women and particularly as mothers, judge each other. THere was this whole feminist theory a while back about how the whole judgement toward mamas came out of some push from those in power to distract us from the "real" problems...we spend time sniping at each other and gossiping to each other about who lets their child use a binkie while President Bush sent many thousands of young people to die in Iraq for what many consider to be no good reason.
But, seemingly, it's not really about that. I mean, that totally happens - but it's not George Bush or the Republicans that are to blame for this one. It's women. It's us.
Who did this to us? Who made us all holier than thou...thou being the slutty-loking lady in the Walmart yapping on her cell phone while ignoring her two year old who is wearing nothing but a diaper and scooting around on the floor with a half eaten candy bar in his hand? Oooh, see, right there? I'm doing it! But I can't help it!!!
We all feel superior to that woman - so that makes it seem ok, right? But should we? I don't know!! It's like we make being a good mom impossible. We either are condemned by someone for not breastfeeding or for breastfeeding our child until said child is 5 years old and able to lift up our shirt, unfurl our bosom and help themselves while reciting several states and capitals while he or she is at it. You can't win. Really - you can't. You can't win and you can't please everyone. In fact, I am starting to think you can't please much of anyone.
Attachment parenting vs scheduling parenting, cry-it-out vs...whatever you call it when you do everything you can to prevent your baby from crying. Breastfeeding vs bottle feeding. Baby wearing vs "crib dwelling", schedule feeding vs demand feeding, vaccines vs no vaccines vs delayed vaccines.
The thing is...I have feelings and thoughts and opinions on all of these issues. Most of them, fairly well researched. And honestly, there is merit to both sides in most if not every single one of these issues, in my opinion. That is why they are controversial. Each side feels soooo strongly - I had no idea what I was getting into. It's like going to a Roe-vs-Wade themed debate every day when you get on the Internet or just tell someone in passing that you're pregnant/have a baby.
People like to share their views. And a fairly significant portion of that view sharing poulation isn't satisfied to just share....they want to over-share, plus convince, persuade, guilt, manipulate, strong arm and coerce you over to their side. I think one conclusion I'm coming to in all of this is that I want to continue to advocate that people EDUCATE themselves. An uneducated parent is well, probably not the best they could be. I think it's fair to just encourage people to seek factual, balanced information on these topics. And I think if someone asks your opinion, awesome - share away. But as for me, I really want to try to stop the mommy-bashing. For a variety of reasons.
The question is...why do we care so much about what other people do with their kids? (I actually think I know the answer to this - mostly we just enjoy feeling like something besides the worst mother on the block.) On the one hand, it's just mean and rude to assume you (I) know soooo much better than someone else.
Secondly, the mistakes of that other parent can actually work to your advantage. I mean, one way of looking at it is to say "ha - you do that crazy (enter one side of some controversial parenting issue that you disagree with) - well, your kid will be the one in jail/insane asylum/living with you when she's 40 - hey, the crazier your kid is, the more opportunities to excel my kid will have. I've decided - I'll probably totally go back on this within the next 17 minutes and gossip to my husband or mother about something I saw someone doing that I disagree with - that this is going to be my attitude. More room for my kid at Harvard.
But, seemingly, it's not really about that. I mean, that totally happens - but it's not George Bush or the Republicans that are to blame for this one. It's women. It's us.
Who did this to us? Who made us all holier than thou...thou being the slutty-loking lady in the Walmart yapping on her cell phone while ignoring her two year old who is wearing nothing but a diaper and scooting around on the floor with a half eaten candy bar in his hand? Oooh, see, right there? I'm doing it! But I can't help it!!!
We all feel superior to that woman - so that makes it seem ok, right? But should we? I don't know!! It's like we make being a good mom impossible. We either are condemned by someone for not breastfeeding or for breastfeeding our child until said child is 5 years old and able to lift up our shirt, unfurl our bosom and help themselves while reciting several states and capitals while he or she is at it. You can't win. Really - you can't. You can't win and you can't please everyone. In fact, I am starting to think you can't please much of anyone.
Attachment parenting vs scheduling parenting, cry-it-out vs...whatever you call it when you do everything you can to prevent your baby from crying. Breastfeeding vs bottle feeding. Baby wearing vs "crib dwelling", schedule feeding vs demand feeding, vaccines vs no vaccines vs delayed vaccines.
The thing is...I have feelings and thoughts and opinions on all of these issues. Most of them, fairly well researched. And honestly, there is merit to both sides in most if not every single one of these issues, in my opinion. That is why they are controversial. Each side feels soooo strongly - I had no idea what I was getting into. It's like going to a Roe-vs-Wade themed debate every day when you get on the Internet or just tell someone in passing that you're pregnant/have a baby.
People like to share their views. And a fairly significant portion of that view sharing poulation isn't satisfied to just share....they want to over-share, plus convince, persuade, guilt, manipulate, strong arm and coerce you over to their side. I think one conclusion I'm coming to in all of this is that I want to continue to advocate that people EDUCATE themselves. An uneducated parent is well, probably not the best they could be. I think it's fair to just encourage people to seek factual, balanced information on these topics. And I think if someone asks your opinion, awesome - share away. But as for me, I really want to try to stop the mommy-bashing. For a variety of reasons.
The question is...why do we care so much about what other people do with their kids? (I actually think I know the answer to this - mostly we just enjoy feeling like something besides the worst mother on the block.) On the one hand, it's just mean and rude to assume you (I) know soooo much better than someone else.
Secondly, the mistakes of that other parent can actually work to your advantage. I mean, one way of looking at it is to say "ha - you do that crazy (enter one side of some controversial parenting issue that you disagree with) - well, your kid will be the one in jail/insane asylum/living with you when she's 40 - hey, the crazier your kid is, the more opportunities to excel my kid will have. I've decided - I'll probably totally go back on this within the next 17 minutes and gossip to my husband or mother about something I saw someone doing that I disagree with - that this is going to be my attitude. More room for my kid at Harvard.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
A baby story - the real deal
I wanted to make sure to get this down before the details get too fuzzy. Warning: it's a little graphic.
I had to be induced on my due date because of her getting bigger than the midwives were comfortable with. So we were scheduled to come in the night before to begin the induction process. The night before happened to be Kevin's birthday. We went out to dinner at Bravo for Kevin's birthday and to enjoy our last evening out as non-parents. I felt huge and ready to get this show on the road. Pregnancy is blessedly a slow process so you slowly tack on the extra pounds and your body slowly changes shape, but toward the end, no matter how slowly it happened, you still feel like you are trying to carry a watermelon under your shirt and act normal about it. We got back to the house around 8pm and settled in to wait for the call. The midwives set it up so that we would get called in sometime between 9p and midnight and told to come in when they were ready for us. At 11pm I got antsy and called them - I was terrified they had forgotten about us and that we'd have to wait until the whole next night - and they said to come on in.
We arrived just before midnight, got checked in and taken back to our room. We had previously decided to donate the baby's cord blood so there is this whole series of blood tests they do so they had to take a LOT of blood from me before we did anything else. The nurse who did it wasn't very good at it so things got off to a rocky start. She used the term "Heinz ketchup" to describe how NOT quickly my blood was coming out - which made me gag - and then somehow she managed to get it all over the sheets, my hand, y gown, etc. Ugh!!!
After that small ordeal, Emily, the midwife, came back and checked me out - I was 2cm dilated, about 60% effaced and the baby was at pelvic station -1. So, we decided to try the Cevadil instead of the Cytotec. Cervadil is gentler and takes longer but is safer. They inserted the Cervadil around 2am and we settled in for the night. I was having soem contractions, but they gave me something to help me sleep so I conked out. We slept until about 9am. I got to order some "food" and by that I mean a liquid meal of jello, chicken broth, iced tea and a popcicle. I had another meal of this at about 8 hours later and this is all I ate for the 36 hours of labor. I knew I was going to be hungry during this process but people said I wouldn't care - not true. I cared. At least during the first 24 hours. In the morning, my mom came for a visit. I was having very mild contractions. We had a nice visit as I was still feeling very good and quite chatty. I was optimistic that this would not be nearly as painful as I feared. Around 2pm, Lizzie, our doula, came and we met with Carolyn the midwife - she checked me out and decided to start the Pitocin.
I was wearing a hospital gown and was hooked up to an IV and a heart monitor and a contraction monitor, so I had to get unplugged from the monitors and wrap the wires around my neck and wheel the IV tower to the bathroom and kind of creep along like an old lady and navigate the tubes and such- not fun. Tip to the mamas-to-be: wear a comfy nursing bra if you feel the need to have a little support going on during this whole labor thing if you plan to breastfeed.
My parents came back around 7pm thinking we were going to have a baby that night - but we were making SLOW progress. So we visited for a bit and sent them away and said to come back the next morning when the baby was more likely to emerge. I was having more serious contractions at that point. Lizzie, Kevin and I were all talking and watching tv and even dancing to music on my ipod blaster at one point - hip hop...Black Eyed Peas and OutKast. I also sat on the birth ball a lot and that helped to get through the contractions. Kevin and Lizzie took turns applying pressure to my lower back to help with the pain. It really wasn't bad at this point but they kept increasing the pitocin drip.
Around 11pm, they really began to ramp up. By midnight, it was really, truly awful. I was in a very significant amount of pain. I could not speak and I was very grouchy. After a little while, I started yelling during contractions. I did not expect to do that. It took me by surprise that 1. the pain was actually that bad and 2. that I would feel compelled to yell. Sometime around 1am, I asked for some drugs - Carolyn okayed Stadol, a narcotic administered through the IV. In it went and I was immediately HIGH AS A KITE. It was great. For about 40 minutes, I was silly and mellow and didn't care about contractions. But then it wore off. And it was worse than before. I had to wait another hour to get another dose and when they gave it to me it did absolutely nothing.
So it was a little before 3am at this point. I endured the hellish pitocin-induced contractions for about another 2 hours - exhausting not only myself but my husband - we never would have made it without Lizzie...she was super helpful - so, around 5am, after hours of screaming obscenities and all sorts of crazy cominations like "oh no, oh no, ow ow ow ow ow, oh no no no no no!" (Man that must be distrubing to listen to all day/night for those nurses!!) I finally said "uncle" and asked for the epidural.
It hurt going in, like a weird, pinchy, stinging feeling, and it was kind of scary how surgical and medical it all was - but the anethesiologist was very skilled and it began working almost immediately. We were all able to get some sleep at that point. We slept until almost 8am. Then....my water broke! I had forgotten all about that happening - meaning I wasn't waiting for it or anything so it totallyshocked me. What a strange feeling. Like a very thick, full water balloon - there was an actual popping sound that kind of amazed me. Thank God that didn't happen in the grocery store or all the places you picture it happening. What a mess that would have been.
Around 9am, Tina, the midwife who was at that point on shift and my official favorite midwife (thank you, Lord - those who have been following the story closely know that there was one midwife I was hoping to avoid all contact with) came in and said I was 10cm and ready to push. She suggested I "labor down" for one hour, just kinda let the little one settle on into the birth canal. So we did. Epidural had started to wear off but it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been hours before.
At 10am we started pushing. Kevin and Lizzie had front row seats and my mom had returned so I decided she could hang out and be present as well. Honestly, at that point, for me, it is completely true that you lose your inhibitions and do not care about what happens - what comes out of your body, what noises it makes and who is looking at your hoo-ha. I am very serious when I tell you that if the local high school marchign band wanted to come through during the pushing, I could not possibly have cared less.
It takes a few contractions to really "learn" how to push correctly. From the feedback I was getting, you woudl have thought I could be a professional pusher but somehow it still took 2.5 hours to get this kiddo out and into the world. It hurt really really really bad. The pushing, I was told would be the "easy" part - maybe because I'd had the epi at that point, it's all kind of relative, but I am telling you, that was some serious pain. I almost couldn't even enjoy the idea of my baby girl being born because I was so happy when that little head and then the shoulders came out...I just wanted to jump up and scream "IT IS FINALLY OVER!!!!!! THAT SUCKED SOOOO BAD!!" Everyone else was tearing up with joy over the beauty of this little life beginning and I was just sooooo happy to be done hurting. I guess that is what happens when you are in labor for 36 hours with a powerful drug to move your labor along - I don't recommend doing that if you have the option, by the way - it was medically neccessary. I had really hoped to have some "I am woman, hear me roar" kind of experience, but honestly, my main feelings during the whole thing were variations of agony and relief. Never did empowerment or even excitement enter the picture for me. Mostly just "holy crap, please let it be over soon." I blame the pitocin. I did get to watch everything via this overhead mirror in the ceiling - it was a really strange thing to watch but pretty cool.
Cassidy was born with low blood sugar so she needed formula right away. This was unfortunate because it kind of messed with my breastfeeding plans. Also, about 2 hours after she was born, I had some serious, serious hemoraging. My blood pressure plummeted, my lips turned blue, I vomitted and passed out and Kevin thought I was going to die. I was given very powerful painkillers and then a doctor scooped out my insides like a pumpkin on Halloween - which I got to see because that mirror thing was still up there - ugh. Will never forget that image. I was high from the narcotic but what went through my mind as I watched Kevin holding Cassidy with this really scared look on his face was "How tragic!! Died in childbirth and barely even got to hold the baby!" I was really glad when the situation began to improve and I didn't have to entertain that horrible thought any longer.
Once I was stabilized and we were all able to relax and know I wasn't actually going to die, we had a really nice stay in the hospital. Recovery from birth is one of those situations that kind of takes a village. There is the lady who changes your blood-soaked sheets, the person who brings the Percocet - LOVED her, the person who you call to order your food, the person who shows you how to urinate in the least painful way possible, the person who comes in and pushes on your saggy belly to make sure you aren't still hemoraging. Then there is the crew who makes sure baby is ok. There is the pediatrician, the evil lactation consultant, the nursery ladies who loved Cassidy's first outfit (the KISS onesie) then there is the nurse who shows you how to bathe her and the list goes on. I loved being in the hospital and having so much help. But seriously someone came in to poke or prod me or the baby every 10 minutes. I was really bruised from all of the blood samples, and I was also reallly really sick of that heparin lock IV thing that I had to keep in the entire time.
The losing of the inhibitions thing seems to last a few days, and here is how I know that. The day we were discharged, after two full days of showing my goods to whoever wanted to see and probably some who didn't especially want to, I was standing at the sink with the door to the bathroom open. Someone knocked and it was Jacob, 20-year old nursing student who had been taking care of us along with his teacher for the past two days. I say "Come on in" and proceed to have a 5 minute conversation before it occurs to me that I am wearing a tank top and MESH hospital-issues underpants. That's it. I had a conversation with a 20 year old man in my underwear and it took me FIVE MINUTES to care!!!!
So, that's my story, for better or worse, that's what it is. Because of the issues shared above, I am pumping and giving her 1/2 breastmilk and 1/2 formula with each feeding. She got too lazy with the bottles she was given while I was out of commission to have the motivation to "latch on" properly, and I didn't get any help from the lactation department until days later and when I did, they were rude and mean and not especially helpful - I probably could still have gotten the breastfeeding thing to work, but at that point, I was so overwhelmed by everything else about being a mom, I just could not purposely engage in a long process that involved my new daughter screaming in my face and scratching me any more than she already does. I really give my thumbs up to those who had challenges and worked to establish breastfeeding anyway - it is no easy task and you should be commended. Just don't be a jerk and judge those of us who went another path - parenting is hard enough without people shaking their heads disapprovingly.
I will tell you the best thing so far about having this child. My husband has never been happier, and it is the sweetest thing I have ever seen in my life. When I am hormonal and grumpy and overwhelmed, watching the two of them just melts my heart and makes me know for sure that everything we've gone through in the past 13 days is totally worth it.
Little Miss Grumples
I had to be induced on my due date because of her getting bigger than the midwives were comfortable with. So we were scheduled to come in the night before to begin the induction process. The night before happened to be Kevin's birthday. We went out to dinner at Bravo for Kevin's birthday and to enjoy our last evening out as non-parents. I felt huge and ready to get this show on the road. Pregnancy is blessedly a slow process so you slowly tack on the extra pounds and your body slowly changes shape, but toward the end, no matter how slowly it happened, you still feel like you are trying to carry a watermelon under your shirt and act normal about it. We got back to the house around 8pm and settled in to wait for the call. The midwives set it up so that we would get called in sometime between 9p and midnight and told to come in when they were ready for us. At 11pm I got antsy and called them - I was terrified they had forgotten about us and that we'd have to wait until the whole next night - and they said to come on in.
We arrived just before midnight, got checked in and taken back to our room. We had previously decided to donate the baby's cord blood so there is this whole series of blood tests they do so they had to take a LOT of blood from me before we did anything else. The nurse who did it wasn't very good at it so things got off to a rocky start. She used the term "Heinz ketchup" to describe how NOT quickly my blood was coming out - which made me gag - and then somehow she managed to get it all over the sheets, my hand, y gown, etc. Ugh!!!
After that small ordeal, Emily, the midwife, came back and checked me out - I was 2cm dilated, about 60% effaced and the baby was at pelvic station -1. So, we decided to try the Cevadil instead of the Cytotec. Cervadil is gentler and takes longer but is safer. They inserted the Cervadil around 2am and we settled in for the night. I was having soem contractions, but they gave me something to help me sleep so I conked out. We slept until about 9am. I got to order some "food" and by that I mean a liquid meal of jello, chicken broth, iced tea and a popcicle. I had another meal of this at about 8 hours later and this is all I ate for the 36 hours of labor. I knew I was going to be hungry during this process but people said I wouldn't care - not true. I cared. At least during the first 24 hours. In the morning, my mom came for a visit. I was having very mild contractions. We had a nice visit as I was still feeling very good and quite chatty. I was optimistic that this would not be nearly as painful as I feared. Around 2pm, Lizzie, our doula, came and we met with Carolyn the midwife - she checked me out and decided to start the Pitocin.
I was wearing a hospital gown and was hooked up to an IV and a heart monitor and a contraction monitor, so I had to get unplugged from the monitors and wrap the wires around my neck and wheel the IV tower to the bathroom and kind of creep along like an old lady and navigate the tubes and such- not fun. Tip to the mamas-to-be: wear a comfy nursing bra if you feel the need to have a little support going on during this whole labor thing if you plan to breastfeed.
My parents came back around 7pm thinking we were going to have a baby that night - but we were making SLOW progress. So we visited for a bit and sent them away and said to come back the next morning when the baby was more likely to emerge. I was having more serious contractions at that point. Lizzie, Kevin and I were all talking and watching tv and even dancing to music on my ipod blaster at one point - hip hop...Black Eyed Peas and OutKast. I also sat on the birth ball a lot and that helped to get through the contractions. Kevin and Lizzie took turns applying pressure to my lower back to help with the pain. It really wasn't bad at this point but they kept increasing the pitocin drip.
Around 11pm, they really began to ramp up. By midnight, it was really, truly awful. I was in a very significant amount of pain. I could not speak and I was very grouchy. After a little while, I started yelling during contractions. I did not expect to do that. It took me by surprise that 1. the pain was actually that bad and 2. that I would feel compelled to yell. Sometime around 1am, I asked for some drugs - Carolyn okayed Stadol, a narcotic administered through the IV. In it went and I was immediately HIGH AS A KITE. It was great. For about 40 minutes, I was silly and mellow and didn't care about contractions. But then it wore off. And it was worse than before. I had to wait another hour to get another dose and when they gave it to me it did absolutely nothing.
So it was a little before 3am at this point. I endured the hellish pitocin-induced contractions for about another 2 hours - exhausting not only myself but my husband - we never would have made it without Lizzie...she was super helpful - so, around 5am, after hours of screaming obscenities and all sorts of crazy cominations like "oh no, oh no, ow ow ow ow ow, oh no no no no no!" (Man that must be distrubing to listen to all day/night for those nurses!!) I finally said "uncle" and asked for the epidural.
It hurt going in, like a weird, pinchy, stinging feeling, and it was kind of scary how surgical and medical it all was - but the anethesiologist was very skilled and it began working almost immediately. We were all able to get some sleep at that point. We slept until almost 8am. Then....my water broke! I had forgotten all about that happening - meaning I wasn't waiting for it or anything so it totallyshocked me. What a strange feeling. Like a very thick, full water balloon - there was an actual popping sound that kind of amazed me. Thank God that didn't happen in the grocery store or all the places you picture it happening. What a mess that would have been.
Around 9am, Tina, the midwife who was at that point on shift and my official favorite midwife (thank you, Lord - those who have been following the story closely know that there was one midwife I was hoping to avoid all contact with) came in and said I was 10cm and ready to push. She suggested I "labor down" for one hour, just kinda let the little one settle on into the birth canal. So we did. Epidural had started to wear off but it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been hours before.
At 10am we started pushing. Kevin and Lizzie had front row seats and my mom had returned so I decided she could hang out and be present as well. Honestly, at that point, for me, it is completely true that you lose your inhibitions and do not care about what happens - what comes out of your body, what noises it makes and who is looking at your hoo-ha. I am very serious when I tell you that if the local high school marchign band wanted to come through during the pushing, I could not possibly have cared less.
It takes a few contractions to really "learn" how to push correctly. From the feedback I was getting, you woudl have thought I could be a professional pusher but somehow it still took 2.5 hours to get this kiddo out and into the world. It hurt really really really bad. The pushing, I was told would be the "easy" part - maybe because I'd had the epi at that point, it's all kind of relative, but I am telling you, that was some serious pain. I almost couldn't even enjoy the idea of my baby girl being born because I was so happy when that little head and then the shoulders came out...I just wanted to jump up and scream "IT IS FINALLY OVER!!!!!! THAT SUCKED SOOOO BAD!!" Everyone else was tearing up with joy over the beauty of this little life beginning and I was just sooooo happy to be done hurting. I guess that is what happens when you are in labor for 36 hours with a powerful drug to move your labor along - I don't recommend doing that if you have the option, by the way - it was medically neccessary. I had really hoped to have some "I am woman, hear me roar" kind of experience, but honestly, my main feelings during the whole thing were variations of agony and relief. Never did empowerment or even excitement enter the picture for me. Mostly just "holy crap, please let it be over soon." I blame the pitocin. I did get to watch everything via this overhead mirror in the ceiling - it was a really strange thing to watch but pretty cool.
Cassidy was born with low blood sugar so she needed formula right away. This was unfortunate because it kind of messed with my breastfeeding plans. Also, about 2 hours after she was born, I had some serious, serious hemoraging. My blood pressure plummeted, my lips turned blue, I vomitted and passed out and Kevin thought I was going to die. I was given very powerful painkillers and then a doctor scooped out my insides like a pumpkin on Halloween - which I got to see because that mirror thing was still up there - ugh. Will never forget that image. I was high from the narcotic but what went through my mind as I watched Kevin holding Cassidy with this really scared look on his face was "How tragic!! Died in childbirth and barely even got to hold the baby!" I was really glad when the situation began to improve and I didn't have to entertain that horrible thought any longer.
Once I was stabilized and we were all able to relax and know I wasn't actually going to die, we had a really nice stay in the hospital. Recovery from birth is one of those situations that kind of takes a village. There is the lady who changes your blood-soaked sheets, the person who brings the Percocet - LOVED her, the person who you call to order your food, the person who shows you how to urinate in the least painful way possible, the person who comes in and pushes on your saggy belly to make sure you aren't still hemoraging. Then there is the crew who makes sure baby is ok. There is the pediatrician, the evil lactation consultant, the nursery ladies who loved Cassidy's first outfit (the KISS onesie) then there is the nurse who shows you how to bathe her and the list goes on. I loved being in the hospital and having so much help. But seriously someone came in to poke or prod me or the baby every 10 minutes. I was really bruised from all of the blood samples, and I was also reallly really sick of that heparin lock IV thing that I had to keep in the entire time.
The losing of the inhibitions thing seems to last a few days, and here is how I know that. The day we were discharged, after two full days of showing my goods to whoever wanted to see and probably some who didn't especially want to, I was standing at the sink with the door to the bathroom open. Someone knocked and it was Jacob, 20-year old nursing student who had been taking care of us along with his teacher for the past two days. I say "Come on in" and proceed to have a 5 minute conversation before it occurs to me that I am wearing a tank top and MESH hospital-issues underpants. That's it. I had a conversation with a 20 year old man in my underwear and it took me FIVE MINUTES to care!!!!
So, that's my story, for better or worse, that's what it is. Because of the issues shared above, I am pumping and giving her 1/2 breastmilk and 1/2 formula with each feeding. She got too lazy with the bottles she was given while I was out of commission to have the motivation to "latch on" properly, and I didn't get any help from the lactation department until days later and when I did, they were rude and mean and not especially helpful - I probably could still have gotten the breastfeeding thing to work, but at that point, I was so overwhelmed by everything else about being a mom, I just could not purposely engage in a long process that involved my new daughter screaming in my face and scratching me any more than she already does. I really give my thumbs up to those who had challenges and worked to establish breastfeeding anyway - it is no easy task and you should be commended. Just don't be a jerk and judge those of us who went another path - parenting is hard enough without people shaking their heads disapprovingly.
I will tell you the best thing so far about having this child. My husband has never been happier, and it is the sweetest thing I have ever seen in my life. When I am hormonal and grumpy and overwhelmed, watching the two of them just melts my heart and makes me know for sure that everything we've gone through in the past 13 days is totally worth it.
Little Miss Grumples
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Thoughts on parenting...
Here we are. 12 days in. I am now an expert. Hahahahaha. Actually, I feel like I know nothing. I feel like I'm babysitting half the time and wondering when someone will come to collect this child they have mistakenly left with me for almost two weeks. And then it hits me. She's ours. FOREVER. THere will be nights out and weekends at Grandma's and eventually summer camp, but for the love of all things holy, she is freakin' Here. To. Stay. There is no feeling like it, really. Your whole life gets turned upside down, sideays and backwards in that one singular moment when the obscenely painful pushing results in a mass of gloopy, warm, squirming, shrieking, oddly smelling human out and up onto your belly thanks to the midwife.
I will never forget that moment. The relief of having done the equivilent of basically shitting out a television as one descriptive friend of mine so finely put it...the excitement of seeing this person I've been feeding, housing and protecting inside my body for 40 weeks...the terror of the real, serious, major responsibility that suddenly was dumped in our collective, marital lap. Then of course the overwhelming feeling of "I AM NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER DOING THAT AGAIN NO MATTER WHAT!!!!!!!!"
What I didn't realize is that the birth...well, I hate to say this....but it's kind of NOTHING compared to the sleepless nights of baby-screaming that have followed, paired charmingly with the tsunami of hormones that make me feel desperate, anxious, overwhelmed, worried, angry, melancholy, lonely and depressed and make me cry at the idea of anything sad, scary, beautiful or sweet. So these days I really really really feel like "I AM SOOOOOO NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN. EVER. NO MATTER WHAT!!!!!!!!!"
A baby makes you realize how selfish you are.
A baby makes you realize how easy you had it and makes you want to kick yourself for not appreciating it before.
A baby makes you realize that getting a dog is completely out of the question.
A baby makes you realize that even though you make a nice salary, you are actually poor in that spoiled, not-real American middle-class poor kind of way.
A baby also does some neat-o things. A baby makes you realize that you are seriously perfectly matched with your (my) ever-patient, selfless husband. A baby makes you realize that you had purpose before....but now you have Purpose with a capital P. Talk about a reason for living....man, I've never felt so focused. Even if said focus includes - change poopy diaper while Cassidy screams in my face for no real reason.
Here is a picture of her when she is just so calm and sweeet and perfect. This is about 70% of the time, what life with Cassidy is like at this stage....but, man, that other 30% is ROUGH! How come no one takes pictures of babies while they are screaming and shaking thier little fists at you? I'll make more of an effort.
I will never forget that moment. The relief of having done the equivilent of basically shitting out a television as one descriptive friend of mine so finely put it...the excitement of seeing this person I've been feeding, housing and protecting inside my body for 40 weeks...the terror of the real, serious, major responsibility that suddenly was dumped in our collective, marital lap. Then of course the overwhelming feeling of "I AM NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER DOING THAT AGAIN NO MATTER WHAT!!!!!!!!"
What I didn't realize is that the birth...well, I hate to say this....but it's kind of NOTHING compared to the sleepless nights of baby-screaming that have followed, paired charmingly with the tsunami of hormones that make me feel desperate, anxious, overwhelmed, worried, angry, melancholy, lonely and depressed and make me cry at the idea of anything sad, scary, beautiful or sweet. So these days I really really really feel like "I AM SOOOOOO NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN. EVER. NO MATTER WHAT!!!!!!!!!"
A baby makes you realize how selfish you are.
A baby makes you realize how easy you had it and makes you want to kick yourself for not appreciating it before.
A baby makes you realize that getting a dog is completely out of the question.
A baby makes you realize that even though you make a nice salary, you are actually poor in that spoiled, not-real American middle-class poor kind of way.
A baby also does some neat-o things. A baby makes you realize that you are seriously perfectly matched with your (my) ever-patient, selfless husband. A baby makes you realize that you had purpose before....but now you have Purpose with a capital P. Talk about a reason for living....man, I've never felt so focused. Even if said focus includes - change poopy diaper while Cassidy screams in my face for no real reason.
Here is a picture of her when she is just so calm and sweeet and perfect. This is about 70% of the time, what life with Cassidy is like at this stage....but, man, that other 30% is ROUGH! How come no one takes pictures of babies while they are screaming and shaking thier little fists at you? I'll make more of an effort.
WELCOME TO MY NEW BLOG
In the beginning....there was Cassidy.
This blog will be the chronicals of my trials, tirbulations and adventures as a parent. PARENT??? Yup - parent.
Those of you who followed lemonscarlet.diaryland.com know that I haven't had comments turned on for YEARS - so now that urge to flame me, cheer me on or disagree politely can be fulfilled to your hearts' content. I'm excited.
Here we go!
Let's begin with some graphic pictures of the little one's birth, shall we?
This blog will be the chronicals of my trials, tirbulations and adventures as a parent. PARENT??? Yup - parent.
Those of you who followed lemonscarlet.diaryland.com know that I haven't had comments turned on for YEARS - so now that urge to flame me, cheer me on or disagree politely can be fulfilled to your hearts' content. I'm excited.
Here we go!
Let's begin with some graphic pictures of the little one's birth, shall we?
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