are things complicated yet?

My parenting problems, let me bring them to you for solving

Oh, you are all very wise about The Threes. I bought a book and I was really enjoying reading it and learning how to corral Three but then it disappeared. Literally, the book has vanished. I can only assume that Claire knew what it was about and destroyed it to protect herself.

Whenever the book turns up, we'll revisit that topic because I have things (so many things) to keep saying on that one.

Me = Fascinated!

You = We already talked about that, A'Dell

***

Sometimes (okay, OFTEN) Charlotte will do something that leaves me perplexed on how to respond or what to do and I kind of look at her waiting for inspiration to strike. Since I already have an older child, when inspiration about what to do is conspicuously absent, there is always this sense of "Aren't I supposed to know the answer to that? I have done this before."

Most of the time, I don't have a flipping clue. I either have a very poor memory or my children look the same but behave very differently. Charlotte does stuff ALL THE TIME that makes me think, "I just really do not think we had this problem with Claire," or, "I don't remember Claire doing this but it sure is cute." I probably DO have a spotty memory but it's likely more of an issue that children are different and they are little, individual people and they all do their very own things at their own pace and in accordance with thier personality, which all seems so "no shit" but truly, I am gobsmacked by this realization every damn day.

Kids are different. WOW. (I am like, the smartest person on the internet for coming up with that gem.)

For example, Charlotte makes raspberry sounds all the time. It is very cute, this constant "Thhhhhbbbbbttttt! Thhhhbt! TTTHHHHBBBBBBTTTTTTT!" I don't remember Claire ever doing that.

She also rolls over, in her sleep, while swaddled. Double swaddled.  I really don't remember Claire doing this. Once she rolls over she's got a problem because she can't roll back so this elicits crying and then I have to stop whatever I'm doing and go rescue her. This would not be a big deal if she did not do it every twenty minutes, around the clock, FTLOG. With her arms pinned in that swaddle she's just a really sad, upside down, baby burrito of despair.

Here's my problem du jour: How to get her to sleep out of the swaddle so that when she does roll over she's fine on her tummy? I have tried the gradual weaning with one arm out and she just can't handle it. Arm flailing, in her face, hitting herself, yanking that paci out, not being able to get it back in her mouth....It is basically everything hilarious about babies and their lack of motor skills, except for the part about how there is no sleeping going on until I stick that arm back in her blanket. If I do that? Eyes shut, instantly. (It is a funny experiment at 2pm but not so much at 4am.)

This makes me wonder if she's simply not ready to give up the swaddle except she's rolling over so it's kind of a problem that needs solving and that makes me think that even if she's not ready, her motor skills demand that she be ready so that we do not end up with the baby suffocating because she can't use her arms to prop up. (Holy run-on sentence, Batman! but I am not going to edit it because it is Friday and I am lazy. LAZY WRITER!)

Also, she's going to be giving her up 2am feed next week but she doesn't know it yet. It's sort of Step One in sleep training and getting her to learn how to go back to sleep on her own and I seem to remember (vaguely?) that Claire ditched the swaddle by now. But maybe not. I CANNOT REMEMBER.

The worst part is that you are all going to want to leave me a variety of helpful comments about infant sleep training and swaddling and not swaddling and what you did in your house and it will all be so different and conflicting because babies are different (lesson of the day, folks!). This is going to be very kind and make for interesting reading and I will totally copy one of you, I am sure, but what I would really like is for some kind of baby expert to come visit my house and just tell me what the freak to do to get the highest chance of success at sleeping more than four hours HOLY CRAP I AM TIRED.

Here. Look at the baby.

 

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. 

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.

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.

You have to admit, being born on Star Wars Day would be a special kind of nerdy

41 weeks tomorrow. YES, FOR SERIOUS.

I was thinking about birthdays last week and I decided this this week has some good options.

5/4/11: May the Fourth (be with you). Star Wars Day! HA HA HA SO NERDY! I love it! Sadly, the child would need to be born in the next 90 minutes so probably no on this one. WOE.

5/5/11: Cinco de Mayo! Pinatas every year! Margaritas for the adults! Margaritas when SHE'S an adult! This is the birthday I've been pulling for ever since we ran past her due date. It's just fun.

5/6/11: Chris likes this one because 5 + 6 = 11 and he's kind of mathy and....yeah. It's a bit of a stretch.

I have determined there are no other potential birth dates in May that make me laugh or raise my eyebrow in a "Hey, that's sort of cool" way, which means (obviously) the child will be born on 5/7 or later and totally ignore my string of 3 preferred birth dates, which also means I'll be pregnant until Saturday and, well, BLEH on that idea.

Still pregnant, still uncomfortable, still impatient. The end.

***

Edited to add that the marvelous and smart Jen has noted that 5-7-11 would be all prime numbers, which is kind of cool.  Hmmm, I could live with that. I was also noticing that this week 6 planets are aligned, which must be some kind of special to astrology people, right?

40 weeks, 4 days

Today I visited my midwife for a Fetal Non-Stress Test. (If you've never heard of it before, you can read about the test here on the American Pregnancy Association's site.) After I hit my due date last Thursday my midwife said she simply wanted to keep closer tabs on New Baby and start seeing me twice a week. But, all indications were that she was healthy and fine so this was more of a due diligence effort. She didn't have any reason to expect to find anything bad.

As expected, she didn't find anything alarming. My BP is normal, I feel pretty good and New Baby produced the right amount of activity and heart accelerations on cue to indicate she's doing fine and there's no reason to force her out artificially. No fetal distress. Good.

The whole appointment took 20 minutes and she sent me on my merry way. She didn't even check my dilation/effacement progress today.

"It doesn't really matter anyway at this point and if you aren't having a lot of contractions then you probably haven't dilated any more."

I like appointments where I get to keep my pants on so that was fine by me. She said that I can't really do anything to bring on labor and it will just happen when it happens and some patients hate that answer but really, I am fine with it. I know I can't do anything. For example, I walked 4-5 miles a day those last few weeks  with Claire and they did exactly nothing for me in terms of triggering labor.

Do I think walking might help? Maybe. Probably can't hurt. I mean, walking IS good for you.

Do I think I won't go into labor because I'm not walking? No. That's just kind of stupid. If walking really made women go into labor it is all you would see pregnant ladies doing.

(Her point was the logic behind all of those "It worked for me!" stories is a more than a little specious. Well, of course you think it worked for you because you did X and then you went into labor. MIRACULOUS! It's kind of like wearing a rally hat at a baseball game. Did it really help? Probably not, but if it makes you feel better about controlling the situation then fine.)

She didn't mention an induction or possibly scheduling one soon.  (Honestly, it's like she's not even aware the procedure EXISTS.) Instead, she noted that she'll probably have me discharged within 24 hours, which is exactly what I wanted and expected and is just a much more POSITIVE conversation topic. Rather than baiting me with visions of made-up late baby complications and dire warnings, she's assuming I'll deliver independently and she'll send me home pretty fast after. I love that.

Good appointment today, but I'm not feeling very confident that I'll have this baby in the next day or so. We'll see. That's all the update I've got.

The waiting game

If you listen to my old OB, Claire was born 9 days past her due date. If you listen to me, she was born 3 days past her due date.

I'm 40 weeks, 3 days pregnant, exactly as pregnant as I was with Claire, and there will be no induction today, which is great since I think we've already established as a group that for all of its medical advantages?  Being induced sort of blows and is highly, highly undesireable when not medically necessary. (I mean, what crazy person would sign up for THAT if she knew from experience what she was getting into and didn't HAVE to in the first place?)

In case anyone has not kept up via FB or Twitter, here is what 40 weeks, 2 days pregnant looks like on me:

It's a waiting game. I have been on maternity leave for two and a half weeks and every day is this weird schedule of last suppers and final opportunities that never actually turn into that last supper or final opportunity.

This might be the last time Chris and I get to go out to dinner for a while! (At first we went to nice places, but we have now have moved on to glamorous outings like Chick-fil-A.)

This might be the last opportunity I have to browse around a shop with my one manageable child! I should go do that! Even though I hate browsing around in shops!

Or, the flip side:

I don't have enough time to really start that project, so I won't. I'll stick to small things I can finish in a half a day. Which is really nothing except laundry and dishes.

I've been living in these odd 4 and 6-hour pockets of time that are really just intervals between when Claire wakes up and goes to sleep. They're the milestones I look forward to because it means that I can go to sleep as well. In the meantime I'm not a very functional adult. I have been asking Chris for lots of favors and my mom is here to help with Claire, and to be here when I go in labor so she can watch Claire, and every day that I don't go into labor it's like...well shit, that was another wasted day for not just ME but for my mom AND Chris. I am not the kind of person that gets excited about wasting the time of three adults for going on three weeks.

I try to keep thinking that this is a one-time thing and a short-term thing, this wasting of other people's time and it's okay because I am pregnant. While moving around is good for me, the honest truth is that my house would be far less clean, the meals far less delicious, freezeable or ready on time if my mom wasn't here. There would be a lot of work waiting for Chris when he got home at the end of the day. We'd all be more tired and I'm SO GLAD that she's here to help us out, but there's no way I'm going to get over the guilt of it so I'm trying my best to just sit back and let her make pot roast (!!!!) and enjoy it while it lasts.

I have an NST scheduled for tomorrow, which I expect to show nothing other than, "Yep! Healthy kid in there. Not ready to come out. Due diligence performed, now please go home." My midwife only wants to keep closer tabs on New Baby at this point, which is fine by me. Nobody is asking me to make decisions about induction or waving the panic flag or telling me about their schedule and how I need to fit into it. In fact, nobody at my midwife's office has said anything other than she's obviously healthy and active so just keep on waiting at home please. It has been really nice not to steel myself for a fight or get spooled up for every visit at this point.

Even in the face of all this boredom and wasted time I might be willing to stay pregnant forever if it means I don't have to be induced again. There is no simple discomfort that I think I can't stand that would make me choose induction. NO WAY. So even though I'm bored and not sleeping well and chewing up the time of my loved ones, I'm sort of okay with it. I want her to be born so we can get this adventure on the road but I'm perfectly content to ride it out for a while. You won't see me asking to be induced and it's this precise reason that I'm glad I chose the care provider that I did. I think I'd be having a mighty fight with almost anyone else at this point, which would just stress me out.

So, that's what I'm doing. Just waiting.

This time around, a few things will be different

I keep having moments where I think,

"This is going to be tough, so physically DIFFICULT to care for two small people at the same time. How? How am I going to do this?"

I try to remember that I won't feel like this, won't move (er, not move?) like this and won't be off balance like this in just a few short weeks (days?). I won't be agile like a teenage high jumper but I will not be nine months pregnant. I think we can agree that these two things (teenage high jumper/9 months pregnant 32-year-old) are pretty much the complete opposite of each other in terms of simple physical ability to, say, get out of a car unassisted.

I'm not too worried about the days and weeks ahead because I do know how to take care of a newborn (the basic tasks are relatively simple in terms of complexity) and even if this newborn is high needs then I think I know how to deal with that too (Twitter, wine). I have a reasonable expectation of what is normal. We have people to support us and give us the breaks and time and help that we need. It is a huge comfort to know that no matter what flavor of baby we get, everything will be FINE.

And yet. I do feel twinges of anxiety about New Baby, partly because Claire as a newborn never made me feel stressed out in any kind of extreme way and I think we've likely used up all of our Good Baby karma. What are the chances we'll get lucky again? She always went back to sleep fairly easily once her middle-of-the-night problem had been solved and I can remember fewer than five times when she was truly inconsolable. I actually LIKED Claire as a newborn quite a bit. I mean, obviously I did not sleep a lot and I wore semi-clean clothes to work sometimes (okay, lots of times) but to me those were normal life changes that I expected. The baby on her own? She was great.

From what I can tell after many years of reading the internet, it's a bit rare to have a decently sleeping child from the start and I have a great deal of sympathy for parents of infants that refuse to sleep. I can imagine no torture worse than a crying, inconsolable child for months and months at a time PLUS all of the other changes/sacrifices that are made. It was 7 months before Claire slept through the night and I thought I was going to die at that point and she was really a very good sleeper anyway. Parents of children with sleep issues? HEROES.

I mean, I get it, and how it must be soul-sucking in a completely defeating way. But I can't possibly understand it since it's not something I personally experienced. I simply have no war story on the topic.

I am curious if that's about to change.

...

Sometimes I wonder if I sugarcoated Claire's first year, both at the time and in my recollection, because she was so desperately wanted and we tried so hard and spent so much money and tears and time to have her in the first place. I wonder if I was so grateful that she existed at all, that I diminished the value of any personal sacrifice I made. Even though Claire didn't have colic or reflux or sleeping issues, she was still an infant that was awake all the time and hard to figure out and she pushed me to my limits quite frequently. (Because, you know, that's what infants DO.)

Baby won't sleep tonight and is having a dance party at 3 am when I have an 8 am conference call to present at? We asked for this! This is what we wanted! And I ate it all up, really I did, in the name of We Will Only Get To Do This Once. I never let myself even creep close to any legitimate feelings of "this baby thing kind of sucks, when does the toddler part begin?" I think I elevated the entire experience and even the most mundane, tiring and repetitive of activities to a high, high pedestal. I talked myself into thinking that even when something was bad, it wasn't THAT bad because, after all, we have a baby. In the back of my mind, there was always a quiet voice whispering that whatever infant indignity we were experiencing, it was better than not having a baby at all.

(It was an exhausting mentality to maintain.)

I wasn't sure if we'd have another baby, if we'd get lucky a second time or if our life circumstances would even financially allow it, so I was obsessed with making sure that even if I was sleep deprived and I did have to go to work in a few hours, that I enjoyed that 1, 3, 5 and 7 am wake up to the fullest. I think it made me kind of delusional actually, because I literally didn't think about anything but Claire for months and month and months. I put a lot of important things on hold and used her as my excuse. I literally felt that I did not have time to work out because that hour was better spent with her. A measly little hour was something I thought I did not deserve or even want in the first place.

I remember when I first met Jennie I was stunned to learn that she went to the movies sometimes. By herself! Because she just really liked the movies and she wanted to go so she...went! WHAT A CONCEPT. It was a game-changing moment for me. (Since then, I have learned that if there is a single truth about Jennie it is that once she decides to do something, THE GIRL GOES AND DOES IT.) Why couldn't I go to the movies? Why couldn't I take a few hours to veg out with my own thoughts? It literally (sadly) had never really occurred to me.

I had convinced myself that not only did I not NEED time, I didn't actually WANT it and, of course, neither of those were true. I had a sleeptastic baby and a pretty good outlook on life and I still managed to lose some sense of self that first year without even realizing it was happening.

I think what I am getting at (in a very roundabout way) is the actual taking care of a newborn isn't something that I'm worrying over too much, mostly because I know that I can't change anything. New Baby will be who New Baby is, end of story. Her needs are not something I can control: they are simply something I need to respond to. These days I am far more likely to feel creeping anxiety about what will happen to ME. (The kids? The kids will be fiiiiiine.)

Having been given a second chance at smelling the delicious head of a newborn anytime I want (which is THE BEST PART about babies), this time I am going to try in a very obvious and clear way to respond to MY needs as well. I didn't end up traumatized because I never took myself out for a latte, but I remember feeling stressed and pulled apart and panicky about way time just seemed to keep rapidly going by month after month after month and it was all because at some point I never stopped to take a freaking BREAK for myself. If you don't stop and make checkpoints, time has this odd tendency to just start running together. (And no, working outside the home doesn't count as alone time.) I'm worried that maybe this sounds like maybe Chris never gave me any time to myself but that's entirely untrue. He encouraged me and pushed me out of the house many times only to hear me say that I didn't WANT to go anywhere alone or do anything by myself and here are some other excuses and a pouty face and I want to stay here and wash clothes and spend TIME with you and the baby. (Again with the We Only Get To Do This Once.) (And what does a smart guy do when his wife gets ANGRY about being told to go paint her nails? He acquiesces, that's what.)  The clarity of hindsight tells me that everyone would have been better off if I had just gone to get my toenails painted or taken the time to run more often.

So, the one thing I want to make sure I do differently this time? Make sure that I do a collection of things that are best for everyone and not just things that are tangibly and obviously good for Claire and New Baby. And, believe me, I know myself and I know how DIFFICULT this is going to be for me, particularly with the older one and her specific, frequent demands.

I need time by myself to run, to stretch, to think, to write, to create, to do something other than be a caregiver, even if it's only for an hour. This is so "no shit" but believe me, it doesn't feel that way with short people leaning on you for everything. The only reason I am putting this in print is so that in 5 weeks I can read it and remember that I deserve and actually want that time alone even it means leaving someone screamy (but well taken care of) back at the house for a little while.

Is it obvious that I have a lot of spare time these days? I have a lot of spare time.

I've only been on maternity leave for a week and a half, but that long of not working has been pretty sweet. It's partly because it's new and partly because Chris is such a superstar at helping me AND my Mom was here for a while too. (You guys, she FOLDED MY UNDERWEAR while I took a nap last week.)

I'm not really DOING a lot so of course it should be easy-living, but I have to say that the best part of the whole thing is where I don't have to get everyone out of the house and prepared for the day by a certain time.

Did we sleep? Not sleep? DOESN'T MATTER, AS WE HAVE NO PLACE TO BE. Is someone sick? Who is going to move their meetings today and take her to the pediatrician?  Who is packing her lunch? Where are her shoes? Why aren't there any clean pants in this drawer? Claire, brush your teeth. TEETH. CLAIRE. NOW. Where are my keys? Shit, where is my phone? Claire, did you put my phone somewhere? Mommy really needs her phone.

Staying home, sleeping in, getting dressed at our own pace and not forcing a kid into shoes and a car seat at 730 am five days a week has been nice. It's nice not to have to pack a lunch on the fly and open the fridge and realize that oh shit, there isn't ANYTHING for lunch and now my kid is going to be the kid with 2 kinds of crackers, applesauce, apple slices and apple juice for lunch and OH WELL she probably won't eat it anyway and ACK! we have to go! go! go! now! now! now!

Being released from the obligations and schedule of two working parents, for whatever short amount of time it lasts, is a special kind of luxury for us.

***

My due date is Thursday and while I know it's an estimate and not a deadline, I'm at that point where I keep waking up pregnant (surprise!) and family is waiting at the ready to help and I'm on maternity leave and the only thing missing is the actual baby.

The climate is very much Baby Watch 2011 and even though it's ridiculous to think that people are expecting me to have the baby on time or even early (nobody is) it's hard not to feel that way with everyone looking and scheduling vacation time or making travel plans while a certain someone is still residing in my abdomen.

Making it even more odd, because I'm so round and slow and waddly, I don't feel like I'm making the best use of this time either. Obviously I am WELL AWARE of just how little free time I have in front of me, so I should really be making the most of these days. Unfortunately, I just want to sit and sleep and I spend a great deal of time planning my day around how few times I can bend over to pick something up. Instead of accomplishing big projects that have been waiting for ages to have the attention they deserve, I am spending my spare time sitting here on the sofa writing blog posts and consuming anything the internet serves up simply because it means I can stay right here and not move.

I can't help but start to get that dread feeling that perhaps I'm just going to keep waiting and waiting and waiting and that bag I packed is stupid because I won't ever go into labor and after all of this effort and thought and research into choosing a care provider who won't push me into an induction, I will still end up in a stupid hospital bed with an IV of Pitocin in two or three weeks, 42 weeks or so pregnant.

To be honest, that thought makes me want to cry. I don't want to be induced again. Yes, yes, safety of the baby, doesn't matter how she gets here, blah-blah-blah, but all other things being equal I don't want to be induced. I don't want to go through the indignity of all that intervention and not being in control (really working on control freak tendencies, but it's a long-term project for me) and I also don't want to end up without the opportunity to experience and have the natural birth that I want to attempt which is all so very selfish and short-term thinking and dirty hippie of me, I KNOW, but the simplest truth is that I don't want to be induced, at all, period, the end, only because IT TOTALLY SUCKS TO BE INDUCED.

And that is pretty much all I think about these days.

Why do things like this always seem to happen to me?

I have so little patience and tolerance for stupid these days.

I am 39 weeks pregnant today and just like every other Thursday for the past several weeks, I went to see my midwife. A different nurse took my vitals today and she was older (50? 60? I am terrible at guessing ages) and she was all sorts of weird and aggravating.

She asked me if I had any questions (not for you, stranger-lady, I'll save those for my primary care provider thanksverymuch) and then she asked brightly if I was getting close to my delivery date. (Um, look at my chart, isn't that something you're keeping tabs on? Also, do you SEE this belly?)  She asked me "What we have in there." (Do you mean in my uterus? A baby. That is why I am here today in the practice. Specifically, it is a girl. And, it's mine. There is no "we.")

She asked if it was my first (nope - isn't that in my chart too?) and what I have at home (a girl) and this news of two girls never fails to make people start some kind of stupid happy-clappy dance of SISTERRRRRS HOW NIIIIIICEEEEE and it's like...I don't even KNOW YOU. SHUT UP. People I know are allowed to be excited but you? You should just take my blood pressure and leave please.

Then she kept calling me "sweetheart" and "sweetie" the entire time and if those words weren't idiotic enough all on their own, they are BEYOND inappropriate and disrespectful for a person I don't even know who is performing work in a professional capacity.  I am not her freaking granddaughter, I am a PAYING PATIENT that is 32-freaking-years-old.

GAH.

So, after the fifth or sixth iteration I just looked at her and said,

"Can you please stop calling me 'sweetheart?' It's REALLY unprofessional of you to talk to me that way."

And her tone immediately changed to "Oh, I guess you're going to be a bitch" (um, yes, if that's how you want to frame it up, sweetie) and she glanced at my elecronic chart and said that she would only call me by......my first name from now on (and she totally mispronounced it) and I told her that Mrs LastName was fine by me as well. IF YOU WANT TO GET TECHNICAL ABOUT IT.

Then she noted that I am 39 weeks and 2 days and I had to correct her and say no, it is 39 weeks exactly (seriously lady, CAN YOU READ?) and she had the gall, the absolute gall, to brightly ask me if I had scheduled my induction yet.

??????????????

And that was when I just looked her straight in the eye and said, "Is Heather (my midwife) here? Because I would really rather talk to her than you."

WHAT PLANET DID THIS WOMAN EVEN COME FROM?