are things complicated yet?

The long goodbye

The facts are these:

1. After his surgery in March, to remove a large-ish cancerous mass from his back leg, the vet thought that we had bought Jake a good bit of time. He guessed it might be six months before the tumor grew back and in the meantime he'd have good quality of life.

2. About two weeks ago, we noticed the mass growing back. It seemed rather big for something that had been mostly removed a mere two months ago.

3. This weekend, Jake had a very difficult time sitting, walking and getting all the way down to the floor. By Monday, he could not or would not walk. He was not putting any weight on his leg and his leg was very, very swollen, particularly around one joint.

4. Tuesday, Chris took him to the vet. He had a 104 fever (normal is 100 - 102). The tumor had come back, quickly. The vet looked at him and said,

"Oh, man. I'm not sure I can fix him this time. I'm really sorry." Heart breaks into a frillion bits and pieces.

5. He also said that he'd never seen a sarcoma grow back that quickly. (And maybe there's some comfort in the idea that what is happening to your beloved pet is unusual and not normal, but when you draw the short stick it sucks because that's the reality you've just been handed. It's yours now, rare or not, and it's just as crappy as something common.)

6. The tumor was blocking the return blood flow in his leg and it was pooling and collecting. There was also another swollen mass that he thought was more blood collecting in his abdomen. He gave him a steroid shot and some pain killers and sent Chris home. They had The Talk about what to do if this did not make him "markedly better" in 24 hours.

7. He came home and told me and I cried.

It's just so hard, losing a pet that's been in your life this long. He's not even MY dog, he belongs to Chris. Chris got Jake when he was still in college and this dog has been with him through a lot. For me, Jake has always been a part of this awesome package deal of Chris + Jake that I lucked into. He's an amazing animal.

I am not sure what the next few days hold for Jake, but I'd be lying if I told you I thought he'd be with us next week. I think he's in pain and that his leg hurts. He can't or won't go outside to pee without a significant amount of encouragement. (But, he will go.) So not being able to walk is pretty bad for a dog, I know. I KNOW.

But, I am not sure that his whole body is in pain. You know, end-of-life pain. I have a hard time thinking that we'll have to, you know, put him to sleep or put him down or, my God, euthanize him (I hate that word and maybe it's because I hate the concept even more). Who am I to say that Jake has had enough? Who am I to deprive him of one more day of Milk Bones and loving pats, even if he's just laying on the floor all day? I wish he could tell me. What if he's in pain but not PAIN-PAIN? What if we made that decision too soon? What if we didn't make it soon enough and he suffered a great deal unnecessarily?

I can't decide if a long goodbye is better than a short goodbye. If knowing what's ahead is better than a surprise. They both probably suck and those are the kinds of things you tell yourself to temper the blow. It was better this way.

And then there is Claire. We told her that Jake was sick and had to go see the doggie doctor. Her face got sad and she asked if Jake needed his temperature taken. She said that sometimes she goes to see the Doctor and she gets medicine and she feels better. Jake get some medicine? Yes, honey. Jake will get some medicine.

We stopped short of telling her it would make him better.

Here are all the things I SHOULD be doing since both of my children are asleep at the same time. (!!!)

Load the dishwasher.

Empty the kiddie pool in the backyard so it doesn't make a giant brown spot.

Laundry. There's always laundry, even when I think there's not. I'm sure I could locate something that needs to be washed.

Vacuum. Because it just makes the living room FEEL better.

Write thank you notes for the positively darling gifts that have been arriving for Baby Charlotte.

Print out a return label for something I'm sending back to Amazon for the FOURTH TIME OMG. They have a serious error in the warehouse. I keep ordering an item and they keep sending me the wrong one. FOUR TIMES.

Organize the pile of "important papers I need to keep" that are collecting on my desk. Probably would throw them all away and wonder, "Why did I think these were important?"

Work on 2009 photo book, but it's such a DEAL to open it up and figure out where I left off and that just sounds like too much work.

Buy 6 more cloth diapers from CottonBabies.com, but that means I'd need to go get my wallet and it's in the other room and...nope.

Pick up toys. Banish my least favorite ones and claim I don't know where they are if Claire asks.

Organize my medicine cabinet and throw away the Vicodin from when I had my wisdom teeth out in 2006.

Organize my closet and get rid of anything I've owned for more than 5 years and haven't worn in the past 3. But, that would mean I have almost no clothes left and that sounds like a big job so...no.

Throw away the cookies I made last week that are all hard and yucky, which is so disappointing.

Boil some water and make iced tea.

Charge my phone.

Throw away anything in the fridge that's rotting. There's always something.

Shop for a new post-partum wardrobe at the extra 50% off sale at LOFT. (Wallet location issue.)

Take out the trash (HA HA, just kidding, that is totally a job for Chris).

Get the mail. Throw it all away because it will probably be a bunch of crap, so why even bother fetching it with this valuable time?

Think of things to write about for Style Lush. Perhaps actually write them.

Buy Claire some new velcro Converse because her feet finally grew. (But, again, WALLET.)

Box up my maternity clothes for shipment to Maggie.

A Yoga DVD. Or a Shred DVD. Or something, you know, active.

Cancel my dentist appointment for next week because I found out they are out-of-network and I am so not paying for that shit. Find a new dentist that is in-network.

Take the Toy Story sticker off the dog's paw. (To my credit, I just now glanced up and saw it for the first time.)

Call my best friend and chat.

(Well. I didn't expect to see that I'd been wasting my time in such a grand manner. This should be an excellent to-do list for later on this week. You know, if I decide that I actually want to use naptime in a smart way tomorrow. Anyway, children are awake and I promised Claire I would take her to the playground after nap so, OFF WE GO!)

A short update on the cloth diaper experiment, which will be of no interest if you are not already the kind of person that is interested in cloth diapering

Remember when I asked you to tell me everything you know about cloth diapers? And then you did? And then I bought some cloth diapers and I stacked them up very neatly and all folded up and took a picture and said how cuuuuuuute cloth diapers were? Yes? It was several months ago, so I don't blame you if this relatively minor event in someone else's life has skipped your mind.

I am finally using said cloth diapers with Charlotte and I love them. For me, this totally falls into the category of "Why isn't everyone doing this?"

We paper diapered Charlotte at first because I didn't want to deal with laundry the first few days and I was also skeptical that my stash of Bum Genius 4.0's would fit my 7 pound, 3 ounce baby (her weight 2 days after birth). I bought one box of Pampers Newborn Swaddlers and a week later I accidentally bought a box of Size 1's thinking they were newborn sized. (I was so pissed.) (But then Charlotte put on weight like it was her job and measured 8 pounds, 13 ounces at 13 days old and I was really glad I had some Size 1 diapers around Day 8.)

Anyhoodle, yesterday I got the cloth diapers out and I told Chris that we were going to use them for a day and see how it went. If they leaked or something else went awry that indicated she was still a bit small for them, we'd put them away for a week or so and try again later.

I was really surprised to find that they actually DID fit her. I mean, she's almost nine pounds and the diapers are supposed to fit a baby from 7+, but they just looked enormous compared to the wee Size 1 Pampers, so I don't think my raised eyebrow was totally unwarranted.

But they did fit and they were snug and they were cute and that all added up to awesome in my book. With the paper dipes I found that Charlotte's bottom was pretty red for the first two weeks. It wasn't a rash, exactly, it was just kind of...red. I'm not sure I blamed it on anything, but with the first cloth diaper change? Her bottom wasn't red. Like, AT ALL. I was amazed. It wasn't even a problem I knew I had and it was already solved for me.

We went through about ten diapers that first day and I put them in the wash on Sunday morning. My washing machine doesn't have an option for just a rinse cycle, so I washed them once on cold and again on hot with 1/4 scoop of Charlie's Soap Powder. I probably could have tricked my washing machine somehow if I babysat the cycle but I don't have time for that. (I'll probably try to experiment a little on what works best with my 11-year-old  Whirlpool.) My method seemed to work though: they came out pure and white and smelling like clean laundry.

(Nobody was more surprised than I was.)

I put the covers and liners in the dryer on low and the covers were dry in about ten minutes. The liners took a bit longer on high after I removed the covers, but not too long. I stuffed them and put them back on the changing table and the whole thing was done and ready for the next day.

I know it sounds like it can't be true, but they're really no more trouble than disposable diapers. The laundry takes a little bit of time, sure, but it's a passive activity. Everyone was right about how it's easy laundry: no sorting, no folding. Just dump it in the washing machine and turn it on. The trade in savings and lack of rashes make it totally worth it to me.

We have 14 dipes and I might like a handful more, but I would really like to get by on as few as possible since I know she'll need fewer per day as time goes on. I might wait a week or so and see how we're able to get by before I think about another purchase.

But, yeah. Simple. Just like you told me it would be. (IMAGINE THAT.)

(Also, isn't that diaper up there so cute and appropriate it makes you want to scream? My friend Lorraine sent it to me.)

The first three days

We were discharged 24 hours after Charlotte was born. I couldn't get out of that hospital fast enough. There is nothing like your own bed and your own things. Hospitals kind of suck when you aren't actually sick and are really just tired.

We told Claire that she could sit in the back seat on the way home with Baby Charlotte. (I'm not sure when we'll stop calling her that, for now it seems to be sticking.) But, the way the day worked out she was already at the house with my parents when it was time to leave the hospital, so she didn't get to. I was so eager to start things off on the right note and I was worried that she'd remember and freak out when she didn't get to come home with us. Remarkably, she never mentioned it and it wasn't an issue. (THE ISSUES WERE ALL TO COME - HOOOO BOY.)

Anyway, we got home and my mother (saint that she is) had pink balloons and she and Claire had made a little banner to hang on the mantle that said "Hi Charlotte." (Mom said that if we had picked a shorter name it might have said Welcome but since we didn't all we got was Hi.) She had bought a cake. It was all very festive and a like a little party and it meant so, so much to me.

Claire was very bouncy and excited and asked over and over again if she could "please to hold Baby Charlotte" the moment we walked in the door.

In an effort to make Claire feel like she was the ultimate Big Sister, we got Charlotte out of her car seat and Claire held her very gently and lovingly on the Boppy. (She's calling it "The Roundy Pillow," which makes me laugh). She held her and talked to her and it was cute, oh my God it was so cute. I thought,

"This is one of the very best moments that my life will be made of. They will love each other so much, and WOW I am so proud of Claire for being so mature and so loving with Charlotte. Gosh, reading those Big Sister books totally helped! Is it this simple?"

HA HA, NO IT IS NOT.

The next day Claire woke me up with a very serious request: Baby Charlotte needs her chair. Her chair? The baby doesn't have a chair? Her...car seat? Is that it? No. Claire was starting to get upset. She had asked her Daddy and Grammie to get Baby Charlotte's chair (she neeeeeeds it) and neither of them could figure it out. Suddenly, I remembered: She must be talking about the bouncy seat that is upstairs in Charlotte's closet. Claire had helped me put it together weeks ago and I'm sure I said something about how Baby Charlotte would like to sit in it. So, in an effort to positively reinforce this helpful and kind thing she wanted to do we scampered up there right away, got the bouncy seat and brought it downstairs, all the while heaping praise on Claire for being such a thoughtful big sister and what a good idea it was!

Wasn't that nice of her? What a great kid! I started to think I was kicking ass at this parenting two kids thing, 48 hours in.

The rest of the day went downhill. Claire was misbehaving and acting flat-out wild and crazy. She was jumping on the sofa and not listening in the slightest when we asked her to please STOP jumping on the sofa. (Very unlike her to not respond at all to directions, especially after repeated requests.) She refused to nap and refused to eat anything resembling healthy food (I believe she subsisted on Goldfish and Cheez-its for a few days).

She was devastated when Baby Charlotte could not sleep with her in her Big Girl Bed with her that first night (aww, how cute!), and then threw a 90-minute tantrum about going to bed in the first place (not so cute).

It built and it built and it built over the next three days. While she maintained her loving attitude towards Charlotte she was growing increasingly hostile towards us. On the second night there was a HUGE bedtime fight. A three-hour bedtime fight. She got stories from me, from Daddy and from Grammie. She got hugs and a cover up and a fort and more books and more water and the light on from each of us. There was also yelling and door kicking and jumping on the bed and things that were taken away and there was an unholy amount of crying and screaming. FOR THREE HOURS. There is not enough pain medication in the state of Texas to make that experience tolerable three days after giving birth.

Our (now all too obvious) error was giving her all that attention at bedtime and giving into her demands. In the haze of all the crazy that follows the birth of a sibling, it seemed okay (appropriate even!) to indulge her. Things are bizarre! Let's cut her a little slack! Give her what she wants! What we didn't realize was that we'd just given her three hours of uninterrupted attention for behaving in a way that we DO NOT WANT HER TO BEHAVE, EVER. Shit. How could we be so dumb? We'd just been hornswaggled by someone who can't count past eleven.

The really aggravating part was that we felt like we HAD given her lots of attention and quality time since come home from the hospital. (Obviously, it was still not enough.) We did make an effort to spend a significant amount of time with Claire doing one-on-one activities but we did not shut ourselves in a room, just the two of us, and play without interruption for three hours.  We had just given Claire exactly what she wanted and positively reinforced behavior that is absolutely unacceptable the other 364 days of the year. A three hour bedtime fight? Really? What were we thinking? (We weren't thinking. We were just hoping that it would end soon and then IT NEVER DID.) We opened a bottle of wine and strategized how to spend the next day because there was no way in hell we were going to repeat this awful one.

Outings. Outings were in order. Outings as an incentive to behave. We planned such a grand outing: a visit to a carousel. We watched YouTube videos of carousels and talked about how she would get to pick an animal to ride on and won't it be fun? She was spooled up into a very impressive state of excitement about the carousel by the time we'd run through what YouTube offers on the topic. The only thing she needed to do was get dressed. Simple! Just get dressed! Like we do EVERY DAY.

Uh, no. It took her three hours and a fake we're-walking-out-the-door-without-you move. The whole thing was not about getting dressed and was all about her saying no to anything we asked her to do and the attention that followed (which we tried not to give her). Eventually, she did get dressed and went and enjoyed it, but MY GOD what a struggle it was. A three-hour fight about pants and shoes while jostling and nursing a newborn and wondering when you can take your next pain pill? That sucked. (It sucked even though Chris and my mom were there! She wore ALL OF US out that morning. It was really very impressive.)

And the whole time I was like, Look! I am trying to do something nice for you! I am trying to do something fun and you are RUINING IT! WHY CAN'T WE DO NICE THINGS? Could I have just dropped it and said fine, no carousel today, and moved on? Yes. But, I really felt like she would enjoy it and I also wanted to get her out of the house to do something that might wear her out a bit because naptime loomed in my future as another potentially gigantic fight that I wanted to avoid.

By the third day I was getting a little sleep deprived and I was still in pain. Claire was discovering new buttons to push by the minute and then running her hands along all of them like a kid in an elevator might do.  All of my buttons were being pushed at the same time and I swear, all she had to do was look at me funny and my blood pressure skyrocketed. Everything was a fight. EVERYTHING. We were literally starting a new fight as soon as the last one wrapped up. She was impatient and demanding and rigid -- all normal behavior for a kid her age but not CONSTANTLY.

She turned a cup of water and who was going to get it and what cup it would be in into a fight. A snack and what kind and which bowl and how much. A game. A chair she wanted to sit in. A chair I didn't want her to sit in. Clothes that needed to be put on. Etc, etc etc. It seemed like everything we'd taught her in the past year was suddenly voided. Where did my nice little girl go? This wasn't her. She's not this kind of kid. She's a nice and kind child. Who is this?? I don't know how to deal with this kid! She's totally unfamiliar to me!

It was bad, it was so bad. She told me to go back to the hospital. She told her Grammie that she was not nice and she was not listening and she needed to go to time out. She gave Chris her turtle and told him  the turtle was not being nice and he needed to go to time out.  She was hearing everything we said all right, but it was absolutely not the right way to communicate what we wanted from her. She was dishing it out exactly as she'd heard us give it to her non-stop for the past few days.

But, how were we to know? (If anyone tells me I should have known, I will kick you in the shins.) I was using all of the techniques and lines and punishment methods that HAD worked in the past with her. We were spending (what we thought) was good quality time with her. (And, perhaps no amount of time would have been enough in those first few days.) I thought I knew how to manage my kid. But, it turns out that saying "Claire, you're not following directions. Do you need to go to time out and have a break?" only works the first time and after a hundred times in the same morning it just sounds like Mommy is being mean. Go figure. If I had been able to step outside of the situation and see it unfolding it would have been obvious to see where things were going awry, but that's not a superpower I posses.

***

I knew that the first few days would be difficult, but I was so completely wrong about HOW they would be difficult. I thought my worries and trouble would come from Charlotte; this great unknown entity. Would she sleep? Would she be healthy? Would she eat? There are so many different ways to stress over a newborn. Babies are tough. Everyone knows that! I thought I had Claire figured out, or at least I thought I knew her well enough to know what range of behavior to expect. I was wrong, so very, very wrong.

What turned the attitude in this house around? Time, stickers and an unbelievable amount of praise for everyday good behavior.

She went to my parents' house for a couple of days and received the special kind of undivided attention that only grandparents can give. When she got home I took her to Walmart and she picked out $10 worth of stickers. (It was a very thrilling moment for her.) She earns a sticker for being nice, helping out, following directions, listening, etc. When she has five stickers she can pick a prize from a box of toys. Items in the box include toothbrushes, new cups, puzzles, bubbles, books, a kite, etc. I tried to focus on items that would require an activity upon opening, rather than something passive. So far, books have been the biggest dud since it's not a Super! Fun! Thing! To! Do! right out of the box. (If she is disappointed with her prize, I let her trade and she seems to like that.) The biggest hit has been a pair of Walmart brand toothbrushes with a penguin and a lion on them. Go figure.

All I have to do is mention the idea of earning a sticker and Claire is ON IT. Stickers are very easy to earn in this house and she definitely has the idea down. Did she sit nicely and eat breakfast without losing her shit over what color cup her juice is in? YOU GET A STICKER! Last night she was not behaving in the bath and Chris told her that if she didn't stop she would LOSE A STICKER. Her face was horrified and she said,

"No! I only have to get one more sticker and I get a prize!"

AWWWW YEAAAAAH. Stickers are awesome.

I'm not so stupid to think that the sticker chart will work forever, but it's working for now (in tandem with ridiculous amounts of praise and positive attention) and I'm thrilled that we seem to have cracked some kind of post-sibling good behavior code. We had an amazing day yesterday and Claire was a delight to spend time with. She was funny and sweet and open to suggestions. She made jokes and laughed and helped out. She didn't take a nap, but I didn't ask her to. She was so nice I actually didn't even notice that we skipped nap until naptime was over. She went to bed without any argument whatsoever (that never happens) and woke up at 8 am today, perfectly pleasant.

I got that same brand of kid again today, so we're working on a bit of a streak.

*Sigh.*  Parenthood. It is never boring, that's for sure.

I don't even know where to start, so maybe we'll just start with today.

Charlotte is almost two weeks old (adorably) and Claire is still two-and-three-quarters (somewhat regrettably).

Claire was, er, hmm. How do I put this nicely so she doesn't apply for emancipation when she's a teenager?  Claire was very difficult the first few days we were home from the hospital and she went on "vacation" to Grammie and Colonel's house for 5 days last week. She came home yesterday and she missed us and we missed her, oh yes we did, but the break was nice for everyone. I'm not sure if it reset expectations or if she simply needed massive amounts of attention and time to get used to her new reality, but we had a very pleasant day today, just the three of us, and I was so happy for that. One nice day makes up for a lot of unpleasant ones.

***

I took both of them to Walmart this morning and it was fine, really it was, except for the part where the carts are not frakking big enough to put an infant carrier AND groceries in it. Really, am I missing something strategic about grocery shopping with the child and the baby so that I end up taking actual food home with me? We get one of those carts where Claire can ride on the end close to me in a little seating area. She can hop in and out at will and she's very well behaved about the whole thing.

But then what to do with Charlotte? I'm not quite good enough with the Moby Wrap to venture out in public and yet...I can't think of any other solution than dropping the carseat into the cart. (And you'd better believe I'm not putting on TOP of the cart over the kiddie seat. The tippy-crash nightmares I have about that setup are chilling.)

So, basically what I am telling you is that I spent TWO HOURS getting everyone fed and dressed in a coordinated manner this morning so that we could all go to Walmart and buy not enough food for even a week because it wouldn't fit in the stupid cart. This is not something I am interested in repeating, so I am really hoping someone will tell me what I did wrong.

***

The tumor-type-thing on Jake's leg is already growing back. I can see it from a few feet away, wobbling around on his thigh. It's maybe the size of a walnut, which isn't all that big but considering it was mostly gone less than two months ago, that seems like rather rapid growth to me. I had finally kind of forgotten about that whole incident and let myself passively believe that he'll live another five years and then...yeah. We'll watch it and see how he responds.

***

And....yes. That might be all the interesting content I can come up with tonight. Here! Look at some pictures!

Charlotte's Birth Story, Part II

Part I here.

***

Once we're in the room I change into a gown and two very nice nurses attend to me. I briefly wonder if everyone merits two nurses at this fine facility or if things are just super slow at 4 am on Saturday night. (They are super slow.) One of them asks me a bunch of questions and the other takes my vitals.

The questions include gems such as:

When was your last menstrual period? (Um, shit if I know, it's been A LONG TIME.)

Have you used alcohol or recreational drugs? I ask her if she means recently? Or, ever? She means EVER.  Well, I USED to drink but I haven't in about nine months.

Would I like my tubes tied? (No.)

The other nurse checks me and I'm 4 cm, -2 station and 60% effaced which I'm moderately pleased to hear. (Two days prior I was 3 cm and 50% effaced, baby had not engaged.) She tells me that she's going to get my IV started and I tell her that I'd like a hep lock instead. She seemed a bit surprised that 1) I knew what it was and 2) I asked for it. But, she doesn't give me any push back or raise an eyebrow, she just says sure, let me go get that kit. The other nurse asks me what my pain level is on a scale of 1-10. My midwife (Heather) had warned me prior that she thought that question was really unfair and kind of cruel and I just shouldn't answer it.  So, I don't. I tell them that I'm doing fine and I know what pain relief options are available to me. They confirm that I don't want them offering up any pain relief again? Am I certain? I say yes and they're cool with that and nobody ever bothers me about my pain level, which is nice as it takes the focus off it.

All this time I am having contractions but they're not very hurty and they're actually quite manageable, though definitely uncomfortable.  I am walking around the room and swaying my hips, trying to get this baby to move down and also to turn the proper way. It's about 5 am and I'm doing fine, I'm even a little bit BORED, and I can tell that Chris is just DYING from exhaustion and hunger (he doesn't get the adrenaline boost I do). I tell him to go find the cafeteria and get some coffee and something to eat.  Turns out nothing will be open for a while, but one of our nurses brings him some coffee (so nice!). It's really good coffee, so he's fine with that.  When the Subway in the hospital (!) opens, because he is desperate he goes and gets one of the breakfast sandwiches. He says it was kind of gross but it filled him up, so whatever. For some reason, we haven't packed any snacks and this is very unlike us.

In the meantime, I ask for a ball to sit on (a real, adult-sized one) and they bring it to me. My midwife comes about 845 am and we chat a bit about how the night went and she's encouraging and interested in my story. I'm really glad to see her and also glad she's a familiar face I trust. I find as the entire day progresses I am very, very glad that Heather is there for exactly those reasons.  She checks me and now I'm 5 cm and 80% effaced, with the baby at -2 station.  So, good progress! I feel kind of kick ass. The baby is moving downward and all of the walking and bouncing I'm doing is helpful. I haven't spent a single contraction in the bed yet, which she tells me is great and this kind of movement is exactly what I should be doing.

I am still smiling and both my nurse, Lyndse (rather unfortunate spelling, don't you think?), and Heather are impressed with my demeanor at this point. But honestly, it just didn't hurt that much. I mean, obviously the contractions were painful but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle and it only lasted a minute and then I got a break before there was another one. I didn't take any classes or follow a method. My general attitude was to simply let the contractions come and not fight them, physically or mentally, and actually WELCOME them for the work they were doing and how close they were bringing me to meeting our baby.  I'm not sure if this mindset really helped or not, but it got me through the morning pretty easily.

At 11 am I was 6 cm with the baby at -1 station. I am about to throw myself a parade since I obviously kick so much butt at being in labor. We are actually getting really bored with the whole "wait around in the hospital room all damn morning" thing. GO ME!

At noon the contractions are MUCH stronger and I have to lean against a wall to get through them and I can't talk. We're no longer bored. They're longer, more intense and more painful. I figure these contractions are doing a LOT of work. Maybe I'm an 8! Or a 9!

But, by 1pm I've only dilated an additional half centimeter to 7. Hmm. Progress seems to have slowed. In 2 hours I've only moved a half centimeter and I've been in a lot of pain for not much result. That sucks. No parade for me, I guess.

Heather says flat out, "I think you need a little help." She surmises that there's likely a reason the baby hasn't moved downward more and that I haven't dilated more. It could be the position or any one of a hundred things, but the point is there's probably a reason and we can wait it out or address it now and move things along on our own.

She'd like to start me on a light drip of Pitocin. Just hearing the word Pitocin makes my blood pressure rise, so bad was my experience with it last time. (11 hours on a Pit drip, no drugs, failed epidural.) I am very opposed to Pitocin in the sense that I know exactly how it can make me feel and I do not like it.

Here is where my relationship with Heather and my knowledge about her philosophy towards labor and delivery come into play. I never for a second thought that Heather wanted to hurry up my labor so she could go have dinner or some other ulterior motive. I thought Heather was probably right. The past two hours had been HARD and to not have any progress? That's frustrating. I asked her how much Pitocin we were talking about. Like, a teensy bit that I could tolerate? Or a moderate bit that would probably make me miserable? I am not wild about the idea of being on Pitocin without an epidural, so horrific was my prior experience. And, what if the epidural doesn't work and then I'm still on Pitocin and it's too late to backtrack and I'm stuck on this drug with no pain relief...I started to mildly panic at the thought.

Plus, I think that I could probably talk Heather into delaying the Pit. I know that if I wanted to wait it out another hour, she would agree to watch and wait. The baby looks great on the monitor and is taking the contractions well. The problem is that my contractions have slowed. They're every 6 or 7 minutes and only if I stand up.  If I sit down they're more like every 12 minutes. They should be every 2 or 3 minutes. Hmmm. I am worried that if we wait to see I might end up on the Pit anyway later tonight and reach the same conclusion -- only much later in the evening rather than by dinner time.

Also? I have not had anything to eat since dinner the night before. I'm really tired at this point. I've been on my feet since about 830 the night before, walking and swaying and contracting. I haven't slept for more than 45 minutes or so.  I've been in labor for about 15 hours, hardly sitting for any of it. I'm worried that since this baby is the wrong way and she's only at -1 station, that I might have to push for a while and I know that's physically demanding. If I end up in labor for 6 or 10 more hours, with transition still in front of me, I'm not sure what energy I'll have left. I don't want to fail at delivering the baby and end up in the OR for a c-section due to maternal exhaustion. I also tend to agree that a little bit of Pitocin might be helpful.  There is, after all, a huge difference in going from 0 to 10 in an induction and going from 7 to 10 while already in labor. (At least, that's what I tell myself. I have no idea if that's actually true.)

In this moment I remember feeling very conflicted about the right thing to do, what I wanted to do and the easy thing to do. I wonder if the Pitocin will be manageable, if I can deliver without the epidural after all and maybe I just need a little kick to move things along. I'm worried about the epidural stalling my labor out even more, but Heather doesn't think that will happen. I'm worried about the epidural failing again, so should we bother trying? Mostly, I'm worried that it's a gateway to a c-section. Those stories seem to always start with "and then my labor slowed down." My birth plan is simple: Do not get sliced open.

I was having a really hard time weighing it all with people looking at me and after what seemed like a long time (really, it was probably only a minute) and a short chat with Chris we decide that we trust Heather. I'll do the Pitocin and I will be needing an epidural. I am no martyr. I will not put myself through that agony a second time. I hope and pray that my epidural works this time around and it was just a poorly skilled and very busy anesthesiologist last time.

I've been off monitors and off an IV all day, so things start to happen fast around us once we green-light her recommendation. They start a bag of saline and push it through me quickly. The room temperature solution (70-something) feels icy in my arm and makes me really cold. The anesthesiologist comes in and listens to my story. He's a nice guy, a funny guy, and I like him. Throughout this whole thing I feel so calm and so at ease. I'm not panicky or second guessing everyone or wondering if anything is the right decision. I feel like I've chosen the right team and the right direction.

I get my epidural and since my contractions are so far apart right now, I manage to not contract the entire time that he's placing it, which is glorious. The procedure freaks me out though, so while I am hunched over I count by 7's to distract myself. I pick a random number and count up and since I am terrible at mental math this requires a great deal of concentration and does the trick nicely. 47 plus 7 is...let's see, 54. 54 plus seven is...61.

The epidural works. I can still sort of move my legs and I can feel sensation but there is no pain. I can tell when I am contracting, but it does not hurt. It is the most impressive kind of medicine I have ever experienced in my entire life. I want to bake brownies for my anesthesiologist.

Within ten minutes I am a solid 8 and 30 minutes later a 9. Heather has me move onto my left side at this point and details are a bit fuzzy here. The baby started to turn on her way out (hooray!) and the way she was turning was incredibly painful. Even with the epidural, it was the most searing pain I've ever felt in my life. The pressure was something like bone on bone as she turned and forced her way into my pelvis at the same time. (Am really glad I had the epidural, if just for that.) A few minutes later, Heather told me to start pushing. At first I kind of forgot how to push and I kept releasing my breath, but I got the rhythm down quickly and pushed for less than 20 minutes. Chris was looking intently at me the entire time and I felt like I should look into his eyes, but I found I did better if I focused on a random spot on the beige wall in front of me. I remember feeling VERY GUILTY about this, as if we should be sharing this eye-locking moment in our marriage.

She was born face down (as she should) and they put her on my chest immediately. She was a bit purpley but she pinked up quickly. I remember feeling surprised by her, which sounds stupid, but I was. I think I kept saying, "You're here! You're here! Hello!" She was alert and cried a little, but not a lot, which at first I was concerned about. She looked exactly like Claire to me, which I was also shocked at (I don't know why). Her hair was dark and the cord was wrapped around her ankle. They left her on my chest for what felt like ages, and she looked at me with wide eyes and her mouth smacking. They weighed her (7 pounds, 15 ounces) and brought her back to me to nurse. She latched well almost immediately, which was also pleasing.

My placenta did not remain intact and there was some significant kerfuffle about that. This was another reason I was glad I'd had an epidural - so I couldn't feel any of THAT going on.

Honestly, the whole thing felt (and still feels, in retrospect) too easy.  My first labor was SO HARD and SO AWFUL and SO FORCED and this one just seemed to come naturally (even with the Pitocin) and I surprised myself with my responses and behavior. This pregnancy was so difficult and this delivery was so comparatively simple.

I felt good immediately after the delivery - really good actually. I found out that my parents and Claire were in the hospital waiting to see us. We were moved to a recovery room. Claire came in and oh my goodness, she looked so anxious. I'm not sure what she thought was going to be behind that door but she knew Mommy and Daddy were there and we had been gone all day long. She jumped up into bed with me right away and I introduced her to Charlotte. She was very serious and the first thing she said was,

"Please I can hold Baby Charlotte?"

In the end, was it the experience I imagined? Not quite. I would have liked to have done the whole thing on my own, only as a sort of Kick Ass Thing I Once Did. But even still, my main objective in wanting an unmedicated labor and delivery was to simply avoid a c-section. Gold star!

I think choosing Heather made all of the difference in the world. I don't consider myself a "people person" (in the sense that I never want to make small talk with the grocery store checkout people or other randoms) and really I'm quite anti social occasionally, but once Heather appeared in my room that morning I felt SO MUCH BETTER that it was her, a person I trusted completely and had a relationship with, and not a stranger that was simply on call. If I have any more babies I will absolutely return to Heather or another midwife. The difference in tone, style and type of care was incredible.

***

I look at this picture and see the moment we became a family of four. I see the start of something big and fabulous and exciting and I want to stay in that crappy hospital bed and let the feeling linger a little while longer because I'm certain that any minute there will be an enormous flash of light and I'll be old and my babies will be grown and this lovely day, the day that my Charlotte was born, will seem like so very, very long ago. 

We interrupt this birth story to bring you a stunning comparison photo

Charlotte is on the left. Claire is on the right. It appears I have given birth to the same child twice. I knew that they looked alike, a lot alike actually, but MY OH MY does this paint the picture. What a gorgeous pair they'll be. (I'm the mom. I'm allowed to make bold statements like that.)

(Click to embiggen and gape at their similarities in more detail.)

Charlotte's Birth Story, Part I: At first, there was a great deal of denial about the situation

Friday, May 6

At some point today I became DONE. 41 weeks, 1 day and THE END. I am no longer in a good mood and find humor in my situation.

I'm not sure what exact item or event pushed me over the edge, but everything annoys me, nothing makes me happy and opening my eyes makes me anxious about all kinds of stupid things that nobody except for me cares about.

It might have been the funny looks people gave me at the hamburger place at lunch. (Yes! I know that I am very, very pregnant! I am still going to eat this cheeseburger, dumbass.) It might have been someone giving me very well-meaning advice I hadn't asked for. It might have been Claire throwing a fit about a tennis racket. It might have been the off and on, going nowhere contractions I'd been having since Monday and continued to have today. It might have been the idea that even though I've done so much and prepared myself for so many outcomes I am still going to get screwed and have to be overly managed through this labor and delivery and and basically I am such a failure at this whole entire being pregnant thing because I cannot even get the baby out on my own. FAIL FAIL FAIL.

I remember feeling that way last time. At some point I stopped caring about my principles and research and desires and I just wanted to do something, anything. I wanted to yell at people that I AM FINE and THANK YOU I DON'T NEED ANYTHING when really I am not fine and I need a whole lot but I'll never, ever tell you that because I know everyone is already doing a lot for me in the first place.

Obviously, it follows that Friday afternoon I had a mini-breakdown where I cried silent, hot tears of frustration that had been building for days. It was hot, I was cranky, I was tired. I felt enormous and I was certain that we'd get through the weekend and have to induce early the next week. I was mad about that.

I vented on Twitter, which is something I try not to do in general, but I could not help it that day.

Because Jennie is such a wonderful person and she always knows exactly what people need, she asked if I wanted some company tonight. Dessert? Dinner? Anything I wanted, she was game for. And damn, THANK GOODNESS for friends like that. She came over and we had dessert and she had a glass of wine and we hid upstairs away from everyone else and just chatted about things that had nothing to do with pregnancy. The entire time I had to stand up because I was having contractions, but, again, I totally wrote them off. I am sure she thought I was crazy.

After Jennie left, I got ready for bed and tried to go to sleep at about 10. My contractions were semi-painful but they'd been that way before. If I just stayed put I figured they'd go away and I could sleep soon.

Except...they didn't go away. And, in fact, they were kind of hurting. Maybe a lot? I got out of bed and went into the living room. I read the entire internet. (Well, I read what was in my reader and then I didn't know where to go to find more, quality internet to read.) Gosh, these contractions really do sort of hurt. Maybe I should time them? I get out my iPhone and the contraction timer app. After an hour I can see that they are seven minutes apart. Huh. And, GAHHHHHH, that one sort of hurts more than the others did.

Where is that stupid paper they gave me that says when to go to the hospital? Should I be thinking about going to the hospital? I want to do most of my laboring at home if this is the real thing (which, obvs is not because I am not that lucky) but JUST IN CASE, what was it again?  Oh, 5 minutes apart.  Well, we are not there. See? I told you it wasn't the real deal.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

I try to go to bed again at 1am, THREE HOURS after the contractions start. Can't. They hurt too much. Back to the living room I go. At some point I decide that I would like to sit on a yoga ball but I don't have one and then I see one of Claire's big bouncy balls and I'm like YES! I will totally sit on that!  (Here's where the crazy/irrational begins to set in.) I sit on her ball and I bounce around and rock back and forth not because it hurts but because I'd like to move the baby downward with these contractions and get SOMETHING out of them since obviously it is not labor.

OBVIOUSLY, I AM AN IDIOT.

So there I am, sitting on a child's purple, polka-dotted bouncy ball from Walmart that was $2.50, laptop on the ottoman because it's low (the bouncy ball is like 24" diameter so I have to put my laptop somewhere so I can type on it), having contractions 7 minutes apart in the dark at 1 am, for going on three hours. I am 100% convinced that this is not labor.

At 220 am, I decide that screw this, I am tired and I am going to go to bed, contractions be damned. I will triumph over these stupid fake contractions! I lay in bed and they hurt and they come every seven minutes but eventually I fall asleep.

About 320 I wake up because of a contraction. It hurts. (I know, you are surprised.) I stand up. I feel a sort of gush of watery fluid. Hmmm, was that my water breaking? Maybe? I don't know. I go to the bathroom to check it out. I can't really...tell anything. But my pajama pants are soaked and I need new ones so I put some on. I walk around a little more. If it wasn't my water breaking then...what was it? This is a question I decide not to ponder too much and I just avoid it. If this is really labor, then my contractions will pick up and I'll know then that it was really my water breaking. Yes, THEN is when I will be able to tell and when that happens I will wake Chris up. Because I am tired and stupid, I think this is a good plan.

I have some more contractions. Because I am in a great deal of denial I still can't really decide if this is labor. I Google stupid things that I already know the answer to like, "Do I have to go to the hospital if I think my water broke?" For some reason I am very worried about going to the hospital and having them send me home. I fret. I bounce on the Walmart ball some more.

All of my activity eventually wakes Chris up.  What are you doing, he says. Well, I think my water might have broken. But I can't tell. I mean, MAYBE it did.  This snaps him awake pretty fast but he cannot understand the part about how I'm not sure if my water broke. Was I...peeing when it happened?  No, I just stood up and it was, you know, gushy. But I'm not sure if that's what it actually was. It didn't seem like ENOUGH fluid. And just then, while I was standing in the closet I have another contraction and there's an enormous gush of fluid and Chris is like, well, I think we have our answer. (He's always been the smart one.)

I worry that this is still unproductive labor, since the contractions have been the same for so many hours. I worry that I will arrive and there will be no progress for a long time and I'll still end up hooked to an IV of Pitocin right away. I worry that I've been awake all night and I might be awake all of the next night too, if this labor is long, and I am already so, so, so tired. Stupid water breaking first thing.

He takes a shower and I take a shower. We pack some things up.  I open the Google doc of "Things to take to the hospital" that I typed up weeks ago, thinking I'd never need this list since I was going to end up induced anyway. We find all of the iPhone chargers and cameras. We both forget our toothbrushes. We get in the car and he drives me the 6 miles to the hospital at 345 am. We leave my mother and Claire sleeping upstairs.

We have to go in the ER door, because all of the other doors lock at 9 pm. I tell the triage nurse that my water broke and I need to go to L&D.  There is an EXTREMELY intoxicated woman in the waiting area with a busted up toe. While we are waiting for L&D to fetch me, she tells us that she busted her toe on a door in a club and she also had a lot to drink tonight and her toenail is almost ripped off and she really did drink a lot of alcohol before coming here tonight. Like, really, A LOT of beer.  I am moderately amused by her.

A chatty nurse with glasses like Lisa Loeb brings a wheelchair over. She takes us to Labor and Delivery and things start feeling legit. We are at the hospital. This is really happening.

We are going to have a baby today.

Charlotte Mae

Charlotte Mae was born on May 7, 2011 at 4:05 pm. She weighed 7 pounds, 15 ounces and was 21 inches long.

We are so in love.

I am really looking forward to the day when I can stop posting midwife updates and start posting actual BABY updates

Today's update is that I am now 3 cm, my membranes have been stripped and New Baby had another NST that showed she's doing just fine. She also flipped around last night (and believe me, I FELT IT HAPPEN) and she's now backwards or "sunny side up." Not SUCH a big deal but labor will likely be more painful and longer this way. It would be best if she reversed herself.

Finally, my midwife broached the topic of induction and asked if I wanted to put a date out there and I declined, saying that I'd rather wait until Monday to discuss it more then. She thought that was fine but did say that we're getting to a point where she begins to worry about meconium and aspiration but we'll discuss more on Monday if nothing happens in the next few days.

I mean, 3 cm? 41 weeks? Membranes stripped? Sporadic contractions? This is going to end soon, right? All signs point to yes? SOMEONE PLEASE SAY YES.

***

It's typical risk management at this stage of pregnancy for a care provider to ask questions about meconium and meconium aspiration and meconium aspiration syndrome. It's a possibility that we need to be aware of so that we can weigh it versus other distress factors present (of which there are currently none except for the part where I am 41 weeks pregnant). I see four possible ways to begin to end this pregnancy at this point:

1. Go into labor on my own; no meconium

2. Go into labor on my own; meconium

3. Induction with no meconium

4. Induction with meconium

She's worried about meconium simply because of the dates, which I agree is an actual risk. She didn't push me or pressure me, it was more of a truly open-ended question that she wanted to get my thoughts on. Am I ready to be induced? Because there is this thing out there that might happen, so it would be a valid reason. Or not? (NOT! NOT! NOT!) I sort of got the feeling that she was gently offering me an out, especially since I told her that I woke up today and just felt DONE.

I am not sure that the smallish risk of meconium being present (because of course, it might not be present at all)  is enough to warrant induction, particularly with a backwards baby. I'm initially inclined to give New Baby a little more time to flip back the way she's supposed to be.  That is, if I was induced because we were frightened of meconium and there was no meconium? I would be relieved but I would also be kind of pissed that I'd just put myself through that (with a backwards baby that might be tougher to get out in the first place, which has risks of to New Baby but which might lead us more towards an eventual c-section), especially with an active baby showing no signs of distress and continuing to perform hourly acrobatics with healthy levels of amniotic fluid.

So, long way to say that we'll talk about the risks of meconium on Monday and I'll be doing a lot of research in the meantime and we'll make a decision then. But, I think I'll be hard pressed to agree that the MAYBE, UNKNOWN risks outweigh the DEFINITELY PRESENT risks of induction (and oh, there are SO MANY) plus the fact that meconium could be present in either scenario (it can be present at 37 weeks or 42 so it's kind of a crapshoot).

Induction early next week seems to give us the baby sooner, but not necessarily healthier or with my uterus intact and not sliced open.

So, yeah. I knew this question was going to present itself (because I'm just not lucky enough to go into labor at a reasonable time like a normal person) and I'm not very happy about it. Best case scenario is that I have this baby on my own before I have to deal with this rabbit hole of information and statistics I'll need to understand first to make an informed decision.