Zygote has learned how to laugh. She will open her mouth wide, move her head from side to side and bellow. It's redonk adorable.
Tonight, YG and I were leaning over her changing table, shoulder to shoulder, talking to her. She had been a little bitch earlier in the evening, probably tired out from the long drive. We had to leave our friend's house because of her constant screaming, and home was no better. Eventually, though, she calmed down and we set on her table to get her ready for bed. We would each say something to her and she'd coo and giggle. If we didn't know better (and to avoid becoming the type of holier-than-thou parents who think their children are geniuses), we would swear she was talking to us. YG tickled her and she screeched and smiled, and he exclaimed, "oh, you are so cute."
"Look what we made," I said, staring at her. Then I started to cry AGAIN.
"See, Zygote," YG exclaimed. "Mommy isn't the crusty, cold person she thinks she is. She's a sentimental softie."
Zygote cocked her head. I spoke for her, "I don't know, man. Sometimes she's a real bitch."
And then we all laughed.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Post 4: Leaving Zygote
For the past eleven and a half weeks, Zygote and I have been, quite literally, attached. Because of nursing, I hadn't really been away from her for more than a couple of hours here and there. In the insane, sleep-deprived weeks after she was born, this fact could send me into a tailspin, with lots of tears and moaning about how everyone else got to go someplace cool except me. Insert eye roll here.
YG and I both think that it's important to spend time away from kids for a number of reasons, but the first being that you should have some time to reconnect (ew, Hallmark word) and remember why exactly you wanted to have kids with this person in the first place. My parents went on a vacation by themselves every year, and we hope to do the same.
So we began planning. At the start of the summer, I could not wait to get away. It didn't matter where. I just didn't want to be here. I didn't want to constantly be feeding and doing laundry and crying. I wanted out. I know this was all post partum hormones raging, but when you're in it, it's hard to see that it's temporary.
We scheduled a trip to Atlantic City. At first, we were planning to spend a full week away, but we couldn't line up my parents for babysitting duty for a full week, so we decided on a two-night stay. I started dutifully pumping and preparing.
And then I didn't want to go. That's probably not entirely true. I wanted to go, but I was afraid of missing Zygote too much while I was gone. I've gone from hating this attachment to enjoying it and accepting that laundry and feedings and elastic waist pants are my life for a while now. I also became paranoid, thinking about all the things that could go wrong while she was with my parents (who have raised three semi well-adjusted children) for two days. They could get in a car accident. They could think it was too cold and swaddle her in too many blankets and then she would suffocate. They could trip and fall while carrying her. She could get attacked by deer (seriously, this one woke me up out of a deep sleep). Or worst, she would do totally fine and not miss me at all. Or worst worst, she would do totally fine and take to the bottle and not need the one thing I can exclusively give her and not need me anymore.
I am not normal.
I cried a little in the bathroom this past Thursday when we were getting ready to leave her but knew, deep down, that YG and I needed this trip, and that my parents would enjoy their time with her. It was fabulous. We gambled and spent a whole day doing nothing but sleeping late, swimming in the pool and drinking and eating and gambling some more. We read books and magazines and watched Sports Center uninterrupted. I drank a ton of girly drinks and wore dresses and regular bras and praise Jesus, stillettos. I missed her terribly, but I had a blast.
YG and I both think that it's important to spend time away from kids for a number of reasons, but the first being that you should have some time to reconnect (ew, Hallmark word) and remember why exactly you wanted to have kids with this person in the first place. My parents went on a vacation by themselves every year, and we hope to do the same.
So we began planning. At the start of the summer, I could not wait to get away. It didn't matter where. I just didn't want to be here. I didn't want to constantly be feeding and doing laundry and crying. I wanted out. I know this was all post partum hormones raging, but when you're in it, it's hard to see that it's temporary.
We scheduled a trip to Atlantic City. At first, we were planning to spend a full week away, but we couldn't line up my parents for babysitting duty for a full week, so we decided on a two-night stay. I started dutifully pumping and preparing.
And then I didn't want to go. That's probably not entirely true. I wanted to go, but I was afraid of missing Zygote too much while I was gone. I've gone from hating this attachment to enjoying it and accepting that laundry and feedings and elastic waist pants are my life for a while now. I also became paranoid, thinking about all the things that could go wrong while she was with my parents (who have raised three semi well-adjusted children) for two days. They could get in a car accident. They could think it was too cold and swaddle her in too many blankets and then she would suffocate. They could trip and fall while carrying her. She could get attacked by deer (seriously, this one woke me up out of a deep sleep). Or worst, she would do totally fine and not miss me at all. Or worst worst, she would do totally fine and take to the bottle and not need the one thing I can exclusively give her and not need me anymore.
I am not normal.
I cried a little in the bathroom this past Thursday when we were getting ready to leave her but knew, deep down, that YG and I needed this trip, and that my parents would enjoy their time with her. It was fabulous. We gambled and spent a whole day doing nothing but sleeping late, swimming in the pool and drinking and eating and gambling some more. We read books and magazines and watched Sports Center uninterrupted. I drank a ton of girly drinks and wore dresses and regular bras and praise Jesus, stillettos. I missed her terribly, but I had a blast.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Post 3: Henry David Thoreau Probably Never Called Your Grandmother A Bitch
Today was a gorgeous summer day, and YG had to work so I decided to take the girls to Walden Pond for some swimming and sleeping and reading in the sun. It was glorious. Zygote napped for most of the time. I finally got around to starting The Emperor of Ocean Park. And the MG made a few friends and swam for most of the afternoon.
But because this is me, you know there's a catch, right?
I was nursing Zygote when I noticed that an older woman was shooing the MG away from the little girl she was playing with. MG followed them over to their blanket, where the woman shooed her away again. MG went back in the water, upset, and I heard her shouting, "Stella, stella! Come play with me!" The girl ran back in the water, smiling, but was grabbed by the woman again. MG sulked back to the blanket in tears. When I asked what was wrong, she said that the woman, the girl's grandmother, told her she was too old to play with Stella and to go away. We saw Stella going back into the water so the MG took off, and I told her to nicely tell the grandmother that she would like to play. The two girls splashed around a bit, but then the grandmother came over and shooed the MG away again. The poor kid sat in the water, doing her best Brando impersonation, shouting "Stella! STELLA!" If it wasn't so heartbreaking, I would have laughed.
Defeated, MG returned to the blanket and I let her play with Zygote while I went for a swim. I did a few laps, and noticed the grandmother at the water's edge. I swam over and introduced myself as MG's stepmother, and said that while I understood that MG was a few years older, she really enjoyed playing with Stella.
I don't know what I was expecting. Usually, I'm the bitch or at best, the cold one, in social situations so I'm caught off guard when someone else is inexplicably rude. The woman replied, in a heavy accent, "I told her to go away. She's too big." I said that I understood, but they seemed to be playing together nicely. "I told her to go away, to stop annoying people. She's annoying."
Immediately, I am in bitch mode. Annoying? It's one thing for me to think the MG is annoying. Let's face it: most kids are from time to time. But we're related. I'm ALLOWED to think she is annoying. This, though, was a total stranger telling me that my kid was an irritation. I attempted to remember that mothers are supposed to have manners (I think. Although I didn't read it anywhere, it makes sense) , and responded with a not-too-snotty, "well, okay then. No need to be rude."
Then, HER fur was up. "Rude? Rude? Your daughter. She is annoying and rude."
Editorial note: the MG may be many things. Rude is not one of them. She's overly polite and always says "excuse me," "please" and "thank you."
Manners were gone. "Sure, lady, whatever you say. Go ahead and be a freakin' bitch [emphasis on the bitch] about it."
Then I smiled and stomped away while a few other parents gaped.
Back at the blanket, the MG asked what we were talking about and I gave a noncommittal response about the weather. I let her go back in the water where she made a number of other friends and they played about a year's worth of Marco Polo.
After we packed up our stuff, I took her for pizza at Mike's in Davis Square where we people watched and played with Zygote. And yes, she did annoy me with about 60 billion questions and stories. She's allowed.
But because this is me, you know there's a catch, right?
I was nursing Zygote when I noticed that an older woman was shooing the MG away from the little girl she was playing with. MG followed them over to their blanket, where the woman shooed her away again. MG went back in the water, upset, and I heard her shouting, "Stella, stella! Come play with me!" The girl ran back in the water, smiling, but was grabbed by the woman again. MG sulked back to the blanket in tears. When I asked what was wrong, she said that the woman, the girl's grandmother, told her she was too old to play with Stella and to go away. We saw Stella going back into the water so the MG took off, and I told her to nicely tell the grandmother that she would like to play. The two girls splashed around a bit, but then the grandmother came over and shooed the MG away again. The poor kid sat in the water, doing her best Brando impersonation, shouting "Stella! STELLA!" If it wasn't so heartbreaking, I would have laughed.
Defeated, MG returned to the blanket and I let her play with Zygote while I went for a swim. I did a few laps, and noticed the grandmother at the water's edge. I swam over and introduced myself as MG's stepmother, and said that while I understood that MG was a few years older, she really enjoyed playing with Stella.
I don't know what I was expecting. Usually, I'm the bitch or at best, the cold one, in social situations so I'm caught off guard when someone else is inexplicably rude. The woman replied, in a heavy accent, "I told her to go away. She's too big." I said that I understood, but they seemed to be playing together nicely. "I told her to go away, to stop annoying people. She's annoying."
Immediately, I am in bitch mode. Annoying? It's one thing for me to think the MG is annoying. Let's face it: most kids are from time to time. But we're related. I'm ALLOWED to think she is annoying. This, though, was a total stranger telling me that my kid was an irritation. I attempted to remember that mothers are supposed to have manners (I think. Although I didn't read it anywhere, it makes sense) , and responded with a not-too-snotty, "well, okay then. No need to be rude."
Then, HER fur was up. "Rude? Rude? Your daughter. She is annoying and rude."
Editorial note: the MG may be many things. Rude is not one of them. She's overly polite and always says "excuse me," "please" and "thank you."
Manners were gone. "Sure, lady, whatever you say. Go ahead and be a freakin' bitch [emphasis on the bitch] about it."
Then I smiled and stomped away while a few other parents gaped.
Back at the blanket, the MG asked what we were talking about and I gave a noncommittal response about the weather. I let her go back in the water where she made a number of other friends and they played about a year's worth of Marco Polo.
After we packed up our stuff, I took her for pizza at Mike's in Davis Square where we people watched and played with Zygote. And yes, she did annoy me with about 60 billion questions and stories. She's allowed.
Post 2: Documentation
Of the many weird things about being pregnant and having an infant, one of the strangest things is the realization that, at one point in time, my parents were equally as enamored with me. I'm the oldest and they were married for about four years before I was born so they must have had the same 'what the hell are we doing? how is this going to change our lives?' conversations, and then subsequent 'hey, this is going okay. we should do this again' conversations.
We talk about these things now because I'm curious, but I didn't really know anything before about my parents' lives as young people deciding to have kids and struggling to figure out what to do with those kids once they had them. It seems like, in my mind, we have always been the family we are now -- all five of us. Although one of my earliest memories if of my brother being born. I remember that I had a book called, "The New Baby" and after he was born, my dad took me to the Livingston Mall to get my ears pierced, my present since presumably, my brother was their present. Then we went to the hospital. This was before "rooming in" and "family time," so he was still in the nursery and the nurses gave me a stool to stand on to look through the glass. I don't remember anything else, but I do remember that stool and peering through the window. Sadly, I don't have any recollection at all of my sister being born, but to be fair, we all sneezed and my mom was pregnant again. Also, I was six so forgive my less-than-astute powers of observation. I did find, though, documentation of my sister's birth when I was digging around some paperwork at my parents' house. On that weird light green paper with the dotted lines across the middle to make sure you're printing your letters correctly, it said, "My mom had another baby. Her name is Becky. She has brown hair. We like her."
The other weird thing I've discovered is that not everybody goes through life looking at people and events like they are characters and plot developments in their own personal novel. Some people are fine with things just happening, and they don't feel the need to document everything so that they won't forget it. I am not one of these people. I have kept a journal since I was ten years old. I like to remember the specifics of what I was doing, what I was wearing, baseball scores, the weather, etc. and sometimes the important stuff of what's going on in my mind and who I've loving/hating at the time. When I die, my children will have pages and pages of documentation confirming their suspicions that their mother was a self-involved headcase with a lot of teenage angst long after the teenage years. And that also, she had no idea what the hell she was doing.
I don't know if that makes me happy or sad, but I like that, in between the whiny 'what should I do with my life' ramblings, Zygote will find long detailed explanations of lazy, summer days just watching her smile and giggle, how I could happily spend hours walking her around town and chattering about where we're going, hoping that she might get it, and how I have such hope for her.
I don't know why I assume that Zygote and I will not be close later on. Who knows? Maybe we will manage to successfully navigate the middle school/high school years without her feeling totally alienated, but not in a creepy 'my mom is my best friend/my children are my LIFE' sort of way. I hope so. But if not, I have the documentation to prove that at one point in time, all we needed to make each other happy, was each other.
And, that I am crazy. But of course, as a teenager, she will already know that.
We talk about these things now because I'm curious, but I didn't really know anything before about my parents' lives as young people deciding to have kids and struggling to figure out what to do with those kids once they had them. It seems like, in my mind, we have always been the family we are now -- all five of us. Although one of my earliest memories if of my brother being born. I remember that I had a book called, "The New Baby" and after he was born, my dad took me to the Livingston Mall to get my ears pierced, my present since presumably, my brother was their present. Then we went to the hospital. This was before "rooming in" and "family time," so he was still in the nursery and the nurses gave me a stool to stand on to look through the glass. I don't remember anything else, but I do remember that stool and peering through the window. Sadly, I don't have any recollection at all of my sister being born, but to be fair, we all sneezed and my mom was pregnant again. Also, I was six so forgive my less-than-astute powers of observation. I did find, though, documentation of my sister's birth when I was digging around some paperwork at my parents' house. On that weird light green paper with the dotted lines across the middle to make sure you're printing your letters correctly, it said, "My mom had another baby. Her name is Becky. She has brown hair. We like her."
The other weird thing I've discovered is that not everybody goes through life looking at people and events like they are characters and plot developments in their own personal novel. Some people are fine with things just happening, and they don't feel the need to document everything so that they won't forget it. I am not one of these people. I have kept a journal since I was ten years old. I like to remember the specifics of what I was doing, what I was wearing, baseball scores, the weather, etc. and sometimes the important stuff of what's going on in my mind and who I've loving/hating at the time. When I die, my children will have pages and pages of documentation confirming their suspicions that their mother was a self-involved headcase with a lot of teenage angst long after the teenage years. And that also, she had no idea what the hell she was doing.
I don't know if that makes me happy or sad, but I like that, in between the whiny 'what should I do with my life' ramblings, Zygote will find long detailed explanations of lazy, summer days just watching her smile and giggle, how I could happily spend hours walking her around town and chattering about where we're going, hoping that she might get it, and how I have such hope for her.
I don't know why I assume that Zygote and I will not be close later on. Who knows? Maybe we will manage to successfully navigate the middle school/high school years without her feeling totally alienated, but not in a creepy 'my mom is my best friend/my children are my LIFE' sort of way. I hope so. But if not, I have the documentation to prove that at one point in time, all we needed to make each other happy, was each other.
And, that I am crazy. But of course, as a teenager, she will already know that.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Project: 30 in 38
I go back to work in 38 days. Soon, I will find words to express the dread and sometimes excitement (adult conversation ALL DAY) that I feel about this. Right now, I'm a little bit sad because I'm finally starting to get the hang of things, have a routine, and enjoying my time with Zygote...and the end looms.
Like most things post-Zygote, the reality of my maternity leave didn't quite match up to the summer I had envisioned in my head. I had chattered endlessly to YG about "The Summer of JM" and how I was not only going to write and read every day and make a ton of new mommy friends, I was also going to figure out what exactly I was going to do with the rest of my life, develop a plan and be well into plan execution mode (to use a little corporate speak) before I headed back to work. YG indulged me. This is his second kid so he either knew better than to frighten me ahead of time, or he actually believed that I might be able to pull this off. He knows how I am when somebody tells me that I can't do something. I do it anyway. With gusto. No matter how stupid or ill-informed it is. I ignored all of my friends who told me that "maternity leave does not equal vacation" and went ahead with envisioning The Wonderful Summer of JM.
It's now 11:08 a.m. and I am sitting here in my pajamas with morning breath, an unmade bed and finally, a napping kid. This is not out of the ordinary. However, I have my second load of laundry in the washer, am ready to empty the dishwasher, wasted time on Facebook, and possibly, if luck holds out, I can take a shower. I'm feeling pretty good. And that, folks, is the reality of The Summer of JM. Don't get me wrong -- I've had a lot of free time. I did read some good books and I got back to running and I joined a moms' group to meet some new people, but I WILDLY underestimated how much time I would be spending being Zygote's mom.
I'm now at the point where I really like being Zygote's mom, but with the return to office life coming soon, I want to try and tackle some other items on my list. Last night when I was waxing neurotic to YG about all of this stuff, I said that I needed a Project. I haven't taken a writing class in a while and when I don't have deadlines, I tend to forget about writing. I was whining about how I didn't know what I want to be when I grow up and how it's unlikely that I will figure that one out in next 38 days, and when I caught a breath, I continued to whine about how I can't even figure out what to write about and how I can't even get my poorly-maintained blog updated. Whine, whine, whine. Angst, angst, angst.
The end result of this conversation was the decision to try and write 30 pieces/posts/whatever you want to call them in the next 38 days. I don't know if YG suggested this just to shut me up -- it was after 11 p.m. when most normal people would like to go to bed, but also when my neuroses seem to kick in high gear -- or if he knew I would immediately like the competition aspect. But, I like the idea. And given that my only other projects at the moment seem to be deciding what rerun of America's Next Top Model I'm going to watch while nursing Zygote, let's just consider this Item #1.
Like most things post-Zygote, the reality of my maternity leave didn't quite match up to the summer I had envisioned in my head. I had chattered endlessly to YG about "The Summer of JM" and how I was not only going to write and read every day and make a ton of new mommy friends, I was also going to figure out what exactly I was going to do with the rest of my life, develop a plan and be well into plan execution mode (to use a little corporate speak) before I headed back to work. YG indulged me. This is his second kid so he either knew better than to frighten me ahead of time, or he actually believed that I might be able to pull this off. He knows how I am when somebody tells me that I can't do something. I do it anyway. With gusto. No matter how stupid or ill-informed it is. I ignored all of my friends who told me that "maternity leave does not equal vacation" and went ahead with envisioning The Wonderful Summer of JM.
It's now 11:08 a.m. and I am sitting here in my pajamas with morning breath, an unmade bed and finally, a napping kid. This is not out of the ordinary. However, I have my second load of laundry in the washer, am ready to empty the dishwasher, wasted time on Facebook, and possibly, if luck holds out, I can take a shower. I'm feeling pretty good. And that, folks, is the reality of The Summer of JM. Don't get me wrong -- I've had a lot of free time. I did read some good books and I got back to running and I joined a moms' group to meet some new people, but I WILDLY underestimated how much time I would be spending being Zygote's mom.
I'm now at the point where I really like being Zygote's mom, but with the return to office life coming soon, I want to try and tackle some other items on my list. Last night when I was waxing neurotic to YG about all of this stuff, I said that I needed a Project. I haven't taken a writing class in a while and when I don't have deadlines, I tend to forget about writing. I was whining about how I didn't know what I want to be when I grow up and how it's unlikely that I will figure that one out in next 38 days, and when I caught a breath, I continued to whine about how I can't even figure out what to write about and how I can't even get my poorly-maintained blog updated. Whine, whine, whine. Angst, angst, angst.
The end result of this conversation was the decision to try and write 30 pieces/posts/whatever you want to call them in the next 38 days. I don't know if YG suggested this just to shut me up -- it was after 11 p.m. when most normal people would like to go to bed, but also when my neuroses seem to kick in high gear -- or if he knew I would immediately like the competition aspect. But, I like the idea. And given that my only other projects at the moment seem to be deciding what rerun of America's Next Top Model I'm going to watch while nursing Zygote, let's just consider this Item #1.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Fuck You, PETA
Really?
That's low. And it doesn't make any sense. Surely veganism doesn't always equal thin. And I thought PETA was all about saving the animals, not a diet campaign.
According to their own press release, "“Trying to hide your thunder thighs and balloon belly is no day at the beach,” says PETA Executive Vice President Tracy Reiman. “PETA has a free ‘Vegetarian Starter Kit’ for people who want to lose pounds while eating as much as they like."
And I thought the sea kittens campaign was bad.
That's low. And it doesn't make any sense. Surely veganism doesn't always equal thin. And I thought PETA was all about saving the animals, not a diet campaign.
According to their own press release, "“Trying to hide your thunder thighs and balloon belly is no day at the beach,” says PETA Executive Vice President Tracy Reiman. “PETA has a free ‘Vegetarian Starter Kit’ for people who want to lose pounds while eating as much as they like."
And I thought the sea kittens campaign was bad.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
All That Parental Bliss
is sometimes negated when you have to use cutting shears to remove your child's shit-filled onesie.
Insomnia: Remembering Chloe
I can't sleep and am waiting for the Tylenol PM to kick in.
Last week, my friend's six-week-old baby died. I am struggling to figure out if there's something we can do or say and to make sense of how something like this can happen. It was a fitful pregnancy and each week, I would wake up and hope that she would make it through another week and get her kids (twins) to safety. And then a miracle happened, and they were born. Six weeks later, one is gone. IS there anything you can possibly say? It seems like there are no words, and as someone who hides behind words and doesn't deal especially well with feelings, I'm at a loss. I am just sorry. For the family. For my friend. And for the little boy struggling to survive without his sister.
And then there's the strange feeling of guilt over my own healthy family and this renewed desire to fiercely protect them. Today, Zygote had a bunch of shots. She turned purple and screamed and YG held her hands and I stroked her foot. My boobs actually started leaking once she started to cry. She's been hellish all day, but I just kept her close and nursed her more than usual. She isn't a snuggly baby -- she's too kicky and alert for cuddles -- but she stayed wrapped around me for most of the day. And I cried because I'm so lucky to have her in my life.
Last week, my friend's six-week-old baby died. I am struggling to figure out if there's something we can do or say and to make sense of how something like this can happen. It was a fitful pregnancy and each week, I would wake up and hope that she would make it through another week and get her kids (twins) to safety. And then a miracle happened, and they were born. Six weeks later, one is gone. IS there anything you can possibly say? It seems like there are no words, and as someone who hides behind words and doesn't deal especially well with feelings, I'm at a loss. I am just sorry. For the family. For my friend. And for the little boy struggling to survive without his sister.
And then there's the strange feeling of guilt over my own healthy family and this renewed desire to fiercely protect them. Today, Zygote had a bunch of shots. She turned purple and screamed and YG held her hands and I stroked her foot. My boobs actually started leaking once she started to cry. She's been hellish all day, but I just kept her close and nursed her more than usual. She isn't a snuggly baby -- she's too kicky and alert for cuddles -- but she stayed wrapped around me for most of the day. And I cried because I'm so lucky to have her in my life.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Pregorexia and Other Thoughts
One would think that I would have plenty of time to spend blogging with the "not working" and all, but organizing my life in two-hour chunks is way more difficult than I thought. But today, there is naptime, sweet naptime. So I can post links to all the interesting articles I've been reading (note: I do most of my reading on the blackberry during middle of the night feedings. Breastfeeders seem to be an untapped market for mobile device makers).
First, I read this response over at We Are The Real Deal to Maggie Baumann's essay on pregorexia. If you're not scouring the Internets daily like I am, the back story is that Baumann talked about suffering from an eating disorder during both of her pregnancies and then was thoroughly annihilated in the blogosphere. I do wish Baumann had gotten some help for herself, but I'm really put off by the backlash. Here's the bit I couldn't have said better:
Before I got pregnant, I assumed pregnancy would be such a relief because it would be the first time in my life that I wouldn't have to obsess about my weight. Ha ha ha. And then reality and an actual pregnancy hit. While I did eat what I wanted for the first time in a long time, the obsession didn't magically disappear. Sometimes it was actually worse, thanks to the doctors who were telling me that I was either gaining too fast or too slow depending on the visit. I was not only obsessing about my weight, but it became more loaded because I thought I might be harming my kid if I got too fat or too skinny. One conversation with my doctor went something like this:
Doc: You're putting on weight a little bit faster than we would like.
Me: But what can I do about it? I go to the gym every day and I'm only eating a few extra calories.
Doc: Well, at this point, you can cut out the extra calories. You might also want to cut out sweets and carbs.
Me: I thought I wasn't supposed to diet during pregnancy?
Doc: Well, that's not a diet. It's eating healthy.
Yeah, okay, I get that, but I still contend that all the obsessing about my weight gain and the related stress was much worse for Zygote than ice cream or my Chipotle habit.
The kicker? I was told -- while waiting to have my C-section after my prior 30 hours of labor -- that one of the best things I could do to avoid another C-section would be to get myself down to a healthy weight.
Folks, I gained 33 pounds during pregnancy. That's within the guidelines. Prior to pregnancy, I wore a size 12 which is about average. And then I lost all that weight within 6 weeks. I am woefully average.
And now, I am still obsessing. I wonder when I'll have the time to exercise, what it will be like to wear "work" clothes again, how to eat enough fruit and vegetables so that Zygote will get what she needs, how we're going to cook healthy food for our kids when we both work, etc. I am not Maggie Baumann, but I certainly have my share of disordered thoughts. I think I'm pretty average there too.
First, I read this response over at We Are The Real Deal to Maggie Baumann's essay on pregorexia. If you're not scouring the Internets daily like I am, the back story is that Baumann talked about suffering from an eating disorder during both of her pregnancies and then was thoroughly annihilated in the blogosphere. I do wish Baumann had gotten some help for herself, but I'm really put off by the backlash. Here's the bit I couldn't have said better:
"The truth is that millions of women suffer from eating disorders and the majority of American women struggle with some form of disordered eating–from chronic dieting to compulsive exercise to secret eating. Most of us know firsthand what it means to have food and weight issues. Why should we expect that those issues will just magically disappear during the most body and life transforming (not to mention stressful) times in our lives, aka pregnancy and new motherhood? There are mothers who have full-blown eating disorders and pregnant women who shed tears over their changing lives and changing bodies. There are women who look at pictures of celebrity new moms in their bikinis and feel desperately unhappy in their own skin and women who are terrified of passing their poor body image on to their children. These are all vulnerabilities that have the potential to unite us. "
Before I got pregnant, I assumed pregnancy would be such a relief because it would be the first time in my life that I wouldn't have to obsess about my weight. Ha ha ha. And then reality and an actual pregnancy hit. While I did eat what I wanted for the first time in a long time, the obsession didn't magically disappear. Sometimes it was actually worse, thanks to the doctors who were telling me that I was either gaining too fast or too slow depending on the visit. I was not only obsessing about my weight, but it became more loaded because I thought I might be harming my kid if I got too fat or too skinny. One conversation with my doctor went something like this:
Doc: You're putting on weight a little bit faster than we would like.
Me: But what can I do about it? I go to the gym every day and I'm only eating a few extra calories.
Doc: Well, at this point, you can cut out the extra calories. You might also want to cut out sweets and carbs.
Me: I thought I wasn't supposed to diet during pregnancy?
Doc: Well, that's not a diet. It's eating healthy.
Yeah, okay, I get that, but I still contend that all the obsessing about my weight gain and the related stress was much worse for Zygote than ice cream or my Chipotle habit.
The kicker? I was told -- while waiting to have my C-section after my prior 30 hours of labor -- that one of the best things I could do to avoid another C-section would be to get myself down to a healthy weight.
Folks, I gained 33 pounds during pregnancy. That's within the guidelines. Prior to pregnancy, I wore a size 12 which is about average. And then I lost all that weight within 6 weeks. I am woefully average.
And now, I am still obsessing. I wonder when I'll have the time to exercise, what it will be like to wear "work" clothes again, how to eat enough fruit and vegetables so that Zygote will get what she needs, how we're going to cook healthy food for our kids when we both work, etc. I am not Maggie Baumann, but I certainly have my share of disordered thoughts. I think I'm pretty average there too.
Sunday, August 02, 2009
Vacation 2009
Just back from two weeks in Long Island. Lots to report, but that will have to wait.
Pictures here.
Pictures here.
Monday, July 27, 2009
arrival
Heading into week 2 of vacation in Long Island so posting is light. Nursing the baby and typing this on my blackberry at the same time...I have arrived at parenthood.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Something Sensible That I Said That I Don't Want To Forget
...in case it makes it into an essay or something later on.
I feel like I am an extra in someone else's life -- like I have no clue what I'm doing, have no business being here, and that people are going to discover it and take her away from me.
Also...
My life is all about choosing what chair to breastfeed from next and the occasional load of laundry.
I feel like I am an extra in someone else's life -- like I have no clue what I'm doing, have no business being here, and that people are going to discover it and take her away from me.
Also...
My life is all about choosing what chair to breastfeed from next and the occasional load of laundry.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Friday, July 03, 2009
Zygote's Birth Story
June 2009
Dear Zygote –
This is your birth story. Even though I, your mother, consider myself a writer, I had a hard time describing the monsoon of emotions that came up during your last few weeks in utero and your eventual birth. These are just the details. Maybe someday we will get to the emotional part, but I wanted to remember everything before it started to fade away. Also, I know my grammar sucks. And yes, this is hard for a writer. We’ll deal.
Your Due Date: June 2, 2009
Your dad and I went to see Dr. Fine at Harvard Vanguard and you were still looking very big and hadn’t descended. She sent us to get an ultrasound to check your size, and we drove across the city to Boston Ultrasound in Brookline through tons of traffic and ended up waiting for an hour to be seen. Two different people took your measurements. One put you at 9 lbs, 3 oz. and the other put you much over. An average of 9 lbs, 10 oz was determined. Dr. Fine was worried about you being over 10 lbs and me not being able to push you out. We spoke that afternoon and she felt that someone my height and weight could push out a 10 pounder. I was happy. I didn’t want to schedule a C-section.
Your dad and I drove out to Ayer and picked up your big sister, Jessica, from your grandparents’ house. We had pasta for dinner and watched The Simpsons, one of Jess’ favorite shows.
The Next Week
Over the course of the next week, I did everything that I could to get you to drop or get my cervix dilated and effaced. I went to the gym almost every day and took walks around our neighborhood. We also tried evening primrose oil, red raspberry leaf tea, spicy food—all things I had previously dismissed as “hippie shit.” Then we set up the breast pump and I would sit on the exercise ball and bounce, hoping something would happen. We looked at my belly in the mirror every day and convinced ourselves that you were moving. We also spent a lot of time going out to eat with friends, figuring we’d be pretty cooped up after you were born. Sol and Brandon came over for ice cream, and Matt, who was visiting from San Francisco, came over twice. Your Nana Bonnie called every day to check your status. On Sunday, we even snuck in some last meal out at Harvest, waiting for your arrival. On the menu – apple cinnamon pierogies, huevos rancheros and lemon semifreddo for dessert.
We did some chores around the house on Sunday and planned on eating light that evening, but we finally met our “new” neighbors and they invited us over for steaks on their back porch. Of course, we said yes and even joked that it was the sort of random thing that happened in other people’s birth stories. We were still hoping you might come out on your own. You had other plans.
Monday, June 8
We went back to see Dr. Fine. You were still pretty high and I wasn’t dilated at all, so we decided to do an induction on Tuesday night to see if we could get things moving. Your dad and I went home and finished our chores and errands. I told work that it would be my last day and happily put on my out-of-office response for the next 16 weeks. I also did laundry and gave the cats extra food. We then walked up to the gym for one last workout together in the hopes of exercising you out. No such luck.
We then decided on dessert before dinner and went for ice cream at JP Licks before picking up a pizza at Mike’s for home. I ate about a third of that pizza, knowing that I wouldn’t have much of an appetite for the next few days. Then we just went home and relaxed.
Tuesday, June 9: Induction Day
I slept late that morning and let Alistair, one of our cats, stay in bed with me longer than normal. Your dad had some work emails to finish up so I read some books and burned CDs for the hospital. It was a rainy day so I couldn’t go for a walk, but your dad and I decided we wanted one last adult lunch in Davis Square before your birth. We broke out the umbrellas and headed up to Blue Shirt Café and ordered our usual: a wrap to split and vegetable soups. I don’t remember what exactly we talked about, but your dad was probably talking me off the ledge as usual. I was VERY nervous about your arrival. As is my typical way, I was totally logistically prepared for your birth, but emotionally, I was a wreck. I was afraid of labor, scared of screwing you up and afraid of messing up the good relationship your dad and I have. I was worried about being a mom. Your dad has been through this before so he understood.
We decided to get something sweet and headed over to Mr. Crepe to split a chocolate and banana crepe and decaf café au laits. The guy working the counter was sweet, and when he found out I was being induced that afternoon, he told us he was happy we chose to spend our day there.
After lunch, we walked back to the house and double-checked our bags. More typical behavior for your dad and I. We always double check in the event that our items decided to make a break from the bags when we weren’t looking. At 3:30, I called the hospital and they instructed me to come over after dinner. They told me to eat at home where the food was better. We snuggled in the bed for a while, talked about what you might be like, and made some veggie burgers for dinner that we ate while watching bad t.v. on the couch.
We called our families and the doula to let them know what was going on and headed over to Mt. Auburn Hospital. We almost left our second bag in the car because we assumed that with your position, the induction wouldn’t work and that we’d be going home the next day. Our doula told us that happened frequently with first pregnancies so we worked out a preferred schedule of when we would go home and what induction methods we would try next.
In Labor and Delivery, we were assigned a room and I changed into my johnnie gown. Another doctor, Dr. Andersen, came in and explained how the Cervidil application would work, and then waited for the order to be placed. It came quickly and burned immediately. We settled in and watched the Yankees/Red Sox game. The Yankees played horribly; losing 7-0, Burnett vs. Beckett, and it seemed excruciatingly long. We needed to wait 12 hours to see if the Cervidil had succeeded or not.
The nurses were nice enough to find your dad a cot so went to bed, the last good night sleep we had. I was given and Ambien to help me get to bed and tried to ignore the beeping of all the monitors.
Wednesday, June 10: Laboring
When I woke up, I noticed that I was having minor contractions, and that I was really uncomfortable. Dr. Fine came around 8:30 a.m. and removed the Cervidil application. It was incredibly painful and burned so much that I started to cry. Her internal exam made me writhe in pain. It turns out that I was allergic to the medication and had a bad reaction that was causing me to swell and burn, very convenient when anticipating labor.
The positive? It worked! I was 2 cm dilated and 80% effaced. Dr. Fine advised that I start working with my contractions so your dad and I decided to stay in the hospital and not go home to labor as originally planned.
It was still early when I first started to believe that I might not be able to do this. We had originally told our doula to come after lunch, but after a few hours of whimpering, I asked your dad to call her. I took a shower in an attempt to relax. The water felt good on my back, but I started getting very sleepy. I wanted to lie down in the bed, but every time I did, I would get nauseous and start to gag. My back was in unbelievable pain, but none of the recommended back labor positions were working for me, so I just started to cry again.
I don’t remember how long I cried, but while I did, your dad put all of my focal points and pictures on the bed: a picture of the beach on Long Island, a picture of the beach on Longboat Key when your dad and I went to spring training in Florida, and a rock that had the word “grace” carved into it, a present from our minister, Dan, for when your dad was first dealing with his hearing loss. I sat on the birthing ball and tried to focus on them. The only two positions that seemed to give me any relief were the ball and sitting in the rocking chair where I was able to doze off for a little bit.
The contractions were hard, but in between, I was able to talk a little and walk around. I don’t remember when Ananda, our doula, arrived, but I think it was around noon. I was in the middle of a contraction, crying, with my eyes closed when I felt another set of hands on me. Ananda and your dad kept massaging me and helping me through back labor, one of the most painful kinds of labor (or so I read). They would push down as hard as they could on my back to apply counter pressure, but I was still in incredible pain.
Around mid afternoon, Dr. Fine came in for a status check. I was dilated to 5 cm, but you were still facing the wrong direction, sunny side up, and she wanted me to walk around to try and get you turned around. The next couple of hours were a blur, and I don’t remember time as much as just pain. Your dad figured out a system that helped me manage the pain a little bit better. He would watch the contractions on the monitor and shout out to me when they were peaking. I would cry and scream, “I need this to be over,” and he we would yell, “almost over” or “done, done.” That was the only thing keeping me sane.
They were also worried about me not eating and needing the strength to continue through. Months earlier, when we were at a “Meet the Doctors” session at the hospital, one of the doctors mentioned that women wouldn’t be worried or thinking about food while In labor. At the time, I couldn’t imagine any situation in which I would not be thinking about what to eat, but they were right. All the carefully prepared healthy snacks we had picked up before going to the hospital seemed disgusting to me. Against my will, I ate a banana that Ananda offered and your dad smeared with peanut butter. That was probably the worst banana I have ever eaten. Your dad left to make some phone calls, and Ananda helped me, still whimpering about wanting to go home, to the bed. I think I was lying down for about five minutes, when I suddenly shouted, “puke. PUKE.” Ananda grabbed a basin just in time for me to vomit up everything. Worst Banana in the World: 1. Me: 0.
We decided I should take a bath to try and deal with the pain. I took a pillow into the tub and sat in the water while your father poured warm water over my belly. It was relaxing, but I didn’t like being away from our “system.” The contractions seemed worse when I didn’t know that they would be ending.
I had another status check and had progressed to 6 cm, but things weren’t moving as fast as the doctors would like. You still weren’t descending. And the contractions just kept getting worse, with the back pain not lessening. Your dad and Ananda suggested I try another position to try and turn you. My most vivid memory of this part of labor was kneeling on the bed with my face and limbs wrapped around the top part of it, just screaming bloody murder and crying. I felt delirious and kept saying that I wanted it all to be over with and that I wanted to go home. I was pretty sure that we were nearing dinnertime, and I just knew that at only 6 cm and several hours into labor, that I would not be able to manage the pain on my own. I started begging for drugs, but your dad and Ananda told me to take it one contraction at a time. I don’t know how long I did that, but finally, I burst out crying again with an “I am not fucking around. I need some help. Please! Please!”
We called Dr. Fine and she went over our options. I still knew that I didn’t want an epidural. I wanted to be able to move around and to feel you, so I opted for a narcotic. The shot of Nubane must have been enormous because two weeks later, I still have a bruise, but it was such a relief. I could still feel my contractions, but they felt more like those from the early morning – the ones that I thought were totally not manageable at the time. I was able to relax a little. Your dad and Ananda ate dinner. We watched the second Yankees-Red Sox game. The Yankees lost. Again.
Thursday, June 11: Birthday
I don’t remember a lot of what happened next, but after a few hours, the narcotic started to wear off. The contractions were back and painful, but they hadn’t sped up. My labor was starting to stall out at 7 cm and I was feeling everything. Still, you hadn’t descended.
I managed through a few contractions, but then I asked Dr. Fine if I could get another shot. She wanted me to try and get things moving on my own and suggested I take a bath or a walk. Your dad and Ananda got me up and we did several laps around the L&D ward, stopping whenever I would have a contraction. One of the awesome night nurses kept telling me how great I looked and to keep going. We walked over to the post-partum wing and watched a little baby in the nursery getting cleaned up. Your dad kept me reminding me that you were coming soon, and we looked out the window at the Charles River at night. We walked back and I received my second Nubane shot.
At that point, we all tried to sleep. Ananda slept on a mat on the floor, and your dad slept on a chair next to me with his head on the bed. When he would hear me cry out during a contraction, he would grab my hand in his sleep. Dr. Fine checked me again, and I had progressed to 9.5 cm but still needed to efface more. You had descended a little, but not enough. At this point, she told me that we were probably looking at several more hours before being able to push. The narcotic was wearing off, and I was exhausted so sometime around 4 a.m., almost 24 hours in, I decided to get the epidural. I wanted the strength to be able to push and knew I couldn’t handle another few hours of contractions.
Your dad and Ananda had to leave the room, and I had to stay with the one nurse who had been brusque and rude earlier. When the anesthiologist came and expressed disbelief that someone would get an epidural at 9.5 cm, she immediately warmed up and said that I had been through enough and held my shoulders as I battled and shook through my next set of contractions, crying. We had problems getting the needle in, and he thought he might need to retry, but then everything came together. The relief was immediate. It was hard to remember what I had been so scared of. Your dad and Ananda came back, and we all went to bed.
Around 6 or 7 a.m., Dr. Fine came back and checked me again. I was exactly the same as I was a few hours prior. We decided to break my water to see if that would speed things up. Even that was problematic. She had to try a few times before the bag would finally break, and when it did, I was happy I was in the hospital. This was no small trickle. More like an endless gush. Dr. Fine started talking about the possibility of a C-Section if you didn’t descend more, but she wanted to give me more time to labor.
Her shift ended at 8, and I was turned over to Dr. Liau. She went through the same explanations as Dr. Fine and told me that I had finally progressed to 10 cm, but still hadn’t descended. She thought we should give you more time and then try to push you down. We waited. Your dad made some phone calls. The nurses prepped the room.
When it came time to start pushing, I was asked to roll onto my back. I had been on my side for hours in the hopes that it would move you face down and further into the birth canal. On my back, your heart rate plummeted and there was frantic activity to get me back on my side. We tried again, but the same thing happened. And again. They gave me an oxygen mask that stayed on for the duration of my labor.
Dr. Liau again explained our options. We could try to push, and then run the risk of an emergency C if you continued to get into trouble, or we could choose to get a C-section and give them time to prep the operating room and me. It my choice, but I desperately wanted someone to tell me what to do.
Your dad and I asked everyone to leave and I just looked at him. He started to cry which made me cry and said he couldn’t watch me go through any more pain only to end up in an emergency situation. I was so tired and afraid of you being hurt. I opted for the C-section.
We called everyone back in the room and they told us how things would work. At that moment, I really wanted to make sure I saw my parents before the operation and kept asking your dad if they were there yet. When they finally arrived, he let them in and I started to cry and said I just couldn’t do it anymore, that I needed to get you out. Your pop-pop told me not to cry and held my hand and kissed it. I was still holding the Grace rock. Your nana told me not to worry.
Then it seemed like we were waiting for hours. An earlier C-section was finishing up and the doctor preferred to wait until the main operating room was open instead of using the emergency back up. A woman scheduled to have a C with twins was bumped for me, and I felt guilty.
Then it was time. Your dad needed to stay in the room and change into scrubs while I was wheeled into the OR. It was then that I realized I was having an operation. I was staring at the bright white lights on the ceiling, and it felt like I was in a movie. The doctors administered my second epidural and did a number of tests. I was paranoid about feeling the cut and kept telling them, “I feel that” for every little twinge. They assured me that it was normal. They covered my belly with an antiseptic and then brought your dad in. He looked cute in scrubs, but I could barely listen to him talking because I was so scared.
He held my hand and stroked my hair. I forgot to tell the doctors that I wanted to hear what was going on, and they were so many people talking it sounded like everything was an emergency. It didn’t hurt, but I just felt a lot of pressure and discomfort. Then they told me that I would feel a LOT of pressure when they took you out. It felt like ten people were leaning on my stomach, and I may have cried. And then your dad and I thought we heard a cry.
The anesthesiologist told us he could see and said that we had a healthy baby. We asked if you were a boy or girl, but he couldn’t see so it was a few seconds before he declared, “it’s a girl!” Your dad and I laughed in shock because we were so sure that you would be a boy. And then we both started to cry. Your dad looked at you and he tearily told me that you were beautiful. I had my glasses on, but all I could see was your big shock of hair and squirming limbs. It old your dad to take a picture and show it to me and cried when I saw you. The doctors let him bring you over to me and I saw your big eyes, and he held us cheek to cheek. More tears. I didn’t want to let you go.
You were 9 lbs, 2 oz and 21.5 inches long, born at 11:47 am. The nurses had to take you to the nursery while I was getting sewn up. Your dad stayed with me for a bit before going to be with you. Under the lights, I got the post-epidural shakes and went through four warming blankets. I shook so badly that I needed to hold the sides of the table. I was exhausted, but channeling Lifetime movies and afraid that I might die and leave your father a widow with a new newborn if I closed my eyes, so I willed myself awake.
My stitches were in, and then I was sluggishly transferred back to my bed and wheeled back to the birthing room. Your dad, Ananda and your grandparents wheeled you in shortly after. We tried to nurse immediately and I felt your skin on mine for the first time and watched you root around, amazed that you knew what to do.
And then our adventure began.
Love,
Mommy
Dear Zygote –
This is your birth story. Even though I, your mother, consider myself a writer, I had a hard time describing the monsoon of emotions that came up during your last few weeks in utero and your eventual birth. These are just the details. Maybe someday we will get to the emotional part, but I wanted to remember everything before it started to fade away. Also, I know my grammar sucks. And yes, this is hard for a writer. We’ll deal.
Your Due Date: June 2, 2009
Your dad and I went to see Dr. Fine at Harvard Vanguard and you were still looking very big and hadn’t descended. She sent us to get an ultrasound to check your size, and we drove across the city to Boston Ultrasound in Brookline through tons of traffic and ended up waiting for an hour to be seen. Two different people took your measurements. One put you at 9 lbs, 3 oz. and the other put you much over. An average of 9 lbs, 10 oz was determined. Dr. Fine was worried about you being over 10 lbs and me not being able to push you out. We spoke that afternoon and she felt that someone my height and weight could push out a 10 pounder. I was happy. I didn’t want to schedule a C-section.
Your dad and I drove out to Ayer and picked up your big sister, Jessica, from your grandparents’ house. We had pasta for dinner and watched The Simpsons, one of Jess’ favorite shows.
The Next Week
Over the course of the next week, I did everything that I could to get you to drop or get my cervix dilated and effaced. I went to the gym almost every day and took walks around our neighborhood. We also tried evening primrose oil, red raspberry leaf tea, spicy food—all things I had previously dismissed as “hippie shit.” Then we set up the breast pump and I would sit on the exercise ball and bounce, hoping something would happen. We looked at my belly in the mirror every day and convinced ourselves that you were moving. We also spent a lot of time going out to eat with friends, figuring we’d be pretty cooped up after you were born. Sol and Brandon came over for ice cream, and Matt, who was visiting from San Francisco, came over twice. Your Nana Bonnie called every day to check your status. On Sunday, we even snuck in some last meal out at Harvest, waiting for your arrival. On the menu – apple cinnamon pierogies, huevos rancheros and lemon semifreddo for dessert.
We did some chores around the house on Sunday and planned on eating light that evening, but we finally met our “new” neighbors and they invited us over for steaks on their back porch. Of course, we said yes and even joked that it was the sort of random thing that happened in other people’s birth stories. We were still hoping you might come out on your own. You had other plans.
Monday, June 8
We went back to see Dr. Fine. You were still pretty high and I wasn’t dilated at all, so we decided to do an induction on Tuesday night to see if we could get things moving. Your dad and I went home and finished our chores and errands. I told work that it would be my last day and happily put on my out-of-office response for the next 16 weeks. I also did laundry and gave the cats extra food. We then walked up to the gym for one last workout together in the hopes of exercising you out. No such luck.
We then decided on dessert before dinner and went for ice cream at JP Licks before picking up a pizza at Mike’s for home. I ate about a third of that pizza, knowing that I wouldn’t have much of an appetite for the next few days. Then we just went home and relaxed.
Tuesday, June 9: Induction Day
I slept late that morning and let Alistair, one of our cats, stay in bed with me longer than normal. Your dad had some work emails to finish up so I read some books and burned CDs for the hospital. It was a rainy day so I couldn’t go for a walk, but your dad and I decided we wanted one last adult lunch in Davis Square before your birth. We broke out the umbrellas and headed up to Blue Shirt Café and ordered our usual: a wrap to split and vegetable soups. I don’t remember what exactly we talked about, but your dad was probably talking me off the ledge as usual. I was VERY nervous about your arrival. As is my typical way, I was totally logistically prepared for your birth, but emotionally, I was a wreck. I was afraid of labor, scared of screwing you up and afraid of messing up the good relationship your dad and I have. I was worried about being a mom. Your dad has been through this before so he understood.
We decided to get something sweet and headed over to Mr. Crepe to split a chocolate and banana crepe and decaf café au laits. The guy working the counter was sweet, and when he found out I was being induced that afternoon, he told us he was happy we chose to spend our day there.
After lunch, we walked back to the house and double-checked our bags. More typical behavior for your dad and I. We always double check in the event that our items decided to make a break from the bags when we weren’t looking. At 3:30, I called the hospital and they instructed me to come over after dinner. They told me to eat at home where the food was better. We snuggled in the bed for a while, talked about what you might be like, and made some veggie burgers for dinner that we ate while watching bad t.v. on the couch.
We called our families and the doula to let them know what was going on and headed over to Mt. Auburn Hospital. We almost left our second bag in the car because we assumed that with your position, the induction wouldn’t work and that we’d be going home the next day. Our doula told us that happened frequently with first pregnancies so we worked out a preferred schedule of when we would go home and what induction methods we would try next.
In Labor and Delivery, we were assigned a room and I changed into my johnnie gown. Another doctor, Dr. Andersen, came in and explained how the Cervidil application would work, and then waited for the order to be placed. It came quickly and burned immediately. We settled in and watched the Yankees/Red Sox game. The Yankees played horribly; losing 7-0, Burnett vs. Beckett, and it seemed excruciatingly long. We needed to wait 12 hours to see if the Cervidil had succeeded or not.
The nurses were nice enough to find your dad a cot so went to bed, the last good night sleep we had. I was given and Ambien to help me get to bed and tried to ignore the beeping of all the monitors.
Wednesday, June 10: Laboring
When I woke up, I noticed that I was having minor contractions, and that I was really uncomfortable. Dr. Fine came around 8:30 a.m. and removed the Cervidil application. It was incredibly painful and burned so much that I started to cry. Her internal exam made me writhe in pain. It turns out that I was allergic to the medication and had a bad reaction that was causing me to swell and burn, very convenient when anticipating labor.
The positive? It worked! I was 2 cm dilated and 80% effaced. Dr. Fine advised that I start working with my contractions so your dad and I decided to stay in the hospital and not go home to labor as originally planned.
It was still early when I first started to believe that I might not be able to do this. We had originally told our doula to come after lunch, but after a few hours of whimpering, I asked your dad to call her. I took a shower in an attempt to relax. The water felt good on my back, but I started getting very sleepy. I wanted to lie down in the bed, but every time I did, I would get nauseous and start to gag. My back was in unbelievable pain, but none of the recommended back labor positions were working for me, so I just started to cry again.
I don’t remember how long I cried, but while I did, your dad put all of my focal points and pictures on the bed: a picture of the beach on Long Island, a picture of the beach on Longboat Key when your dad and I went to spring training in Florida, and a rock that had the word “grace” carved into it, a present from our minister, Dan, for when your dad was first dealing with his hearing loss. I sat on the birthing ball and tried to focus on them. The only two positions that seemed to give me any relief were the ball and sitting in the rocking chair where I was able to doze off for a little bit.
The contractions were hard, but in between, I was able to talk a little and walk around. I don’t remember when Ananda, our doula, arrived, but I think it was around noon. I was in the middle of a contraction, crying, with my eyes closed when I felt another set of hands on me. Ananda and your dad kept massaging me and helping me through back labor, one of the most painful kinds of labor (or so I read). They would push down as hard as they could on my back to apply counter pressure, but I was still in incredible pain.
Around mid afternoon, Dr. Fine came in for a status check. I was dilated to 5 cm, but you were still facing the wrong direction, sunny side up, and she wanted me to walk around to try and get you turned around. The next couple of hours were a blur, and I don’t remember time as much as just pain. Your dad figured out a system that helped me manage the pain a little bit better. He would watch the contractions on the monitor and shout out to me when they were peaking. I would cry and scream, “I need this to be over,” and he we would yell, “almost over” or “done, done.” That was the only thing keeping me sane.
They were also worried about me not eating and needing the strength to continue through. Months earlier, when we were at a “Meet the Doctors” session at the hospital, one of the doctors mentioned that women wouldn’t be worried or thinking about food while In labor. At the time, I couldn’t imagine any situation in which I would not be thinking about what to eat, but they were right. All the carefully prepared healthy snacks we had picked up before going to the hospital seemed disgusting to me. Against my will, I ate a banana that Ananda offered and your dad smeared with peanut butter. That was probably the worst banana I have ever eaten. Your dad left to make some phone calls, and Ananda helped me, still whimpering about wanting to go home, to the bed. I think I was lying down for about five minutes, when I suddenly shouted, “puke. PUKE.” Ananda grabbed a basin just in time for me to vomit up everything. Worst Banana in the World: 1. Me: 0.
We decided I should take a bath to try and deal with the pain. I took a pillow into the tub and sat in the water while your father poured warm water over my belly. It was relaxing, but I didn’t like being away from our “system.” The contractions seemed worse when I didn’t know that they would be ending.
I had another status check and had progressed to 6 cm, but things weren’t moving as fast as the doctors would like. You still weren’t descending. And the contractions just kept getting worse, with the back pain not lessening. Your dad and Ananda suggested I try another position to try and turn you. My most vivid memory of this part of labor was kneeling on the bed with my face and limbs wrapped around the top part of it, just screaming bloody murder and crying. I felt delirious and kept saying that I wanted it all to be over with and that I wanted to go home. I was pretty sure that we were nearing dinnertime, and I just knew that at only 6 cm and several hours into labor, that I would not be able to manage the pain on my own. I started begging for drugs, but your dad and Ananda told me to take it one contraction at a time. I don’t know how long I did that, but finally, I burst out crying again with an “I am not fucking around. I need some help. Please! Please!”
We called Dr. Fine and she went over our options. I still knew that I didn’t want an epidural. I wanted to be able to move around and to feel you, so I opted for a narcotic. The shot of Nubane must have been enormous because two weeks later, I still have a bruise, but it was such a relief. I could still feel my contractions, but they felt more like those from the early morning – the ones that I thought were totally not manageable at the time. I was able to relax a little. Your dad and Ananda ate dinner. We watched the second Yankees-Red Sox game. The Yankees lost. Again.
Thursday, June 11: Birthday
I don’t remember a lot of what happened next, but after a few hours, the narcotic started to wear off. The contractions were back and painful, but they hadn’t sped up. My labor was starting to stall out at 7 cm and I was feeling everything. Still, you hadn’t descended.
I managed through a few contractions, but then I asked Dr. Fine if I could get another shot. She wanted me to try and get things moving on my own and suggested I take a bath or a walk. Your dad and Ananda got me up and we did several laps around the L&D ward, stopping whenever I would have a contraction. One of the awesome night nurses kept telling me how great I looked and to keep going. We walked over to the post-partum wing and watched a little baby in the nursery getting cleaned up. Your dad kept me reminding me that you were coming soon, and we looked out the window at the Charles River at night. We walked back and I received my second Nubane shot.
At that point, we all tried to sleep. Ananda slept on a mat on the floor, and your dad slept on a chair next to me with his head on the bed. When he would hear me cry out during a contraction, he would grab my hand in his sleep. Dr. Fine checked me again, and I had progressed to 9.5 cm but still needed to efface more. You had descended a little, but not enough. At this point, she told me that we were probably looking at several more hours before being able to push. The narcotic was wearing off, and I was exhausted so sometime around 4 a.m., almost 24 hours in, I decided to get the epidural. I wanted the strength to be able to push and knew I couldn’t handle another few hours of contractions.
Your dad and Ananda had to leave the room, and I had to stay with the one nurse who had been brusque and rude earlier. When the anesthiologist came and expressed disbelief that someone would get an epidural at 9.5 cm, she immediately warmed up and said that I had been through enough and held my shoulders as I battled and shook through my next set of contractions, crying. We had problems getting the needle in, and he thought he might need to retry, but then everything came together. The relief was immediate. It was hard to remember what I had been so scared of. Your dad and Ananda came back, and we all went to bed.
Around 6 or 7 a.m., Dr. Fine came back and checked me again. I was exactly the same as I was a few hours prior. We decided to break my water to see if that would speed things up. Even that was problematic. She had to try a few times before the bag would finally break, and when it did, I was happy I was in the hospital. This was no small trickle. More like an endless gush. Dr. Fine started talking about the possibility of a C-Section if you didn’t descend more, but she wanted to give me more time to labor.
Her shift ended at 8, and I was turned over to Dr. Liau. She went through the same explanations as Dr. Fine and told me that I had finally progressed to 10 cm, but still hadn’t descended. She thought we should give you more time and then try to push you down. We waited. Your dad made some phone calls. The nurses prepped the room.
When it came time to start pushing, I was asked to roll onto my back. I had been on my side for hours in the hopes that it would move you face down and further into the birth canal. On my back, your heart rate plummeted and there was frantic activity to get me back on my side. We tried again, but the same thing happened. And again. They gave me an oxygen mask that stayed on for the duration of my labor.
Dr. Liau again explained our options. We could try to push, and then run the risk of an emergency C if you continued to get into trouble, or we could choose to get a C-section and give them time to prep the operating room and me. It my choice, but I desperately wanted someone to tell me what to do.
Your dad and I asked everyone to leave and I just looked at him. He started to cry which made me cry and said he couldn’t watch me go through any more pain only to end up in an emergency situation. I was so tired and afraid of you being hurt. I opted for the C-section.
We called everyone back in the room and they told us how things would work. At that moment, I really wanted to make sure I saw my parents before the operation and kept asking your dad if they were there yet. When they finally arrived, he let them in and I started to cry and said I just couldn’t do it anymore, that I needed to get you out. Your pop-pop told me not to cry and held my hand and kissed it. I was still holding the Grace rock. Your nana told me not to worry.
Then it seemed like we were waiting for hours. An earlier C-section was finishing up and the doctor preferred to wait until the main operating room was open instead of using the emergency back up. A woman scheduled to have a C with twins was bumped for me, and I felt guilty.
Then it was time. Your dad needed to stay in the room and change into scrubs while I was wheeled into the OR. It was then that I realized I was having an operation. I was staring at the bright white lights on the ceiling, and it felt like I was in a movie. The doctors administered my second epidural and did a number of tests. I was paranoid about feeling the cut and kept telling them, “I feel that” for every little twinge. They assured me that it was normal. They covered my belly with an antiseptic and then brought your dad in. He looked cute in scrubs, but I could barely listen to him talking because I was so scared.
He held my hand and stroked my hair. I forgot to tell the doctors that I wanted to hear what was going on, and they were so many people talking it sounded like everything was an emergency. It didn’t hurt, but I just felt a lot of pressure and discomfort. Then they told me that I would feel a LOT of pressure when they took you out. It felt like ten people were leaning on my stomach, and I may have cried. And then your dad and I thought we heard a cry.
The anesthesiologist told us he could see and said that we had a healthy baby. We asked if you were a boy or girl, but he couldn’t see so it was a few seconds before he declared, “it’s a girl!” Your dad and I laughed in shock because we were so sure that you would be a boy. And then we both started to cry. Your dad looked at you and he tearily told me that you were beautiful. I had my glasses on, but all I could see was your big shock of hair and squirming limbs. It old your dad to take a picture and show it to me and cried when I saw you. The doctors let him bring you over to me and I saw your big eyes, and he held us cheek to cheek. More tears. I didn’t want to let you go.
You were 9 lbs, 2 oz and 21.5 inches long, born at 11:47 am. The nurses had to take you to the nursery while I was getting sewn up. Your dad stayed with me for a bit before going to be with you. Under the lights, I got the post-epidural shakes and went through four warming blankets. I shook so badly that I needed to hold the sides of the table. I was exhausted, but channeling Lifetime movies and afraid that I might die and leave your father a widow with a new newborn if I closed my eyes, so I willed myself awake.
My stitches were in, and then I was sluggishly transferred back to my bed and wheeled back to the birthing room. Your dad, Ananda and your grandparents wheeled you in shortly after. We tried to nurse immediately and I felt your skin on mine for the first time and watched you root around, amazed that you knew what to do.
And then our adventure began.
Love,
Mommy
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Saturday, June 06, 2009
Still Here
Still hanging out. Z is still up there. We will find out on Monday if I've made any progress.
Words I hope I never hear again for a while: nipple stimulation, cervical ripening, etc.
Plus side: one more weekend to do absolutely nothing.
Words I hope I never hear again for a while: nipple stimulation, cervical ripening, etc.
Plus side: one more weekend to do absolutely nothing.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Recently Read and Watched
Read
1. Dear American Airlines by Jonathan Miles -- I first heard about this book on NPR last year and immediately loved the concept of being inspired to write a novel while waiting at O'Hare Airport, where you ALWAYS end up delayed. It was a quick read, but great. I liked the main character even though he reminded me a little too much of drunken, sobbing poets I know. It's funny how you can love a character, but be less enamored by the real-life translation.
2. Writer Mama: How to Raise A Writing Career Alongside Your Kids by Christina Katz: Another quick read. It's much more suited to women who don't have other full-time work, but there were a lot of good tips on query letters and figuring out your target markets. I'm in the middle of that excercise right now, so it was helpful.
In other news, I got another rejection letter. But again, it was a personalized rejection. Woo hoo?
3. The Story of Edgar Sawtelle by David Wroblewski: Oh, boy, did I love this book. Almost 600 pages and I finished in a couple of nights. It was the "it" book last year, and I didn't think I'd like it because really, 600 pages about dogs? I don't even like dogs that much. But the writing is so beautiful and vivid, and the dogs as characters are so interesting and intense. I knew it was a take on Hamlet, but I still gasped and cried a little at each plot twist. Highly recommended.
Watched
1. Rescue Me is back on. I think this may be my favorite show on t.v. Is Denis Leary a dick? Yes. Do I care? No.
2. We went to see the new Star Trek last weekend. This was YG's doing. He never wins in the "what should we see?" debates, so I indulged him and it was actually really good. Good story and plot. Attractive people do not hurt either.
3. I've been ordering My So-Called Life on Netflix. I remember the season this show came on. It was my freshman year of college and we would watch it in the room I shared with Steph in Lawrinson. NN and I were obsessed with it, and I still have letters from our first summer home, with quotes from the show scattered across the envelopes and margins. It holds up over time. I am still Angela Chase.
I am expecting a lot of Netflix time over the next few months.
1. Dear American Airlines by Jonathan Miles -- I first heard about this book on NPR last year and immediately loved the concept of being inspired to write a novel while waiting at O'Hare Airport, where you ALWAYS end up delayed. It was a quick read, but great. I liked the main character even though he reminded me a little too much of drunken, sobbing poets I know. It's funny how you can love a character, but be less enamored by the real-life translation.
2. Writer Mama: How to Raise A Writing Career Alongside Your Kids by Christina Katz: Another quick read. It's much more suited to women who don't have other full-time work, but there were a lot of good tips on query letters and figuring out your target markets. I'm in the middle of that excercise right now, so it was helpful.
In other news, I got another rejection letter. But again, it was a personalized rejection. Woo hoo?
3. The Story of Edgar Sawtelle by David Wroblewski: Oh, boy, did I love this book. Almost 600 pages and I finished in a couple of nights. It was the "it" book last year, and I didn't think I'd like it because really, 600 pages about dogs? I don't even like dogs that much. But the writing is so beautiful and vivid, and the dogs as characters are so interesting and intense. I knew it was a take on Hamlet, but I still gasped and cried a little at each plot twist. Highly recommended.
Watched
1. Rescue Me is back on. I think this may be my favorite show on t.v. Is Denis Leary a dick? Yes. Do I care? No.
2. We went to see the new Star Trek last weekend. This was YG's doing. He never wins in the "what should we see?" debates, so I indulged him and it was actually really good. Good story and plot. Attractive people do not hurt either.
3. I've been ordering My So-Called Life on Netflix. I remember the season this show came on. It was my freshman year of college and we would watch it in the room I shared with Steph in Lawrinson. NN and I were obsessed with it, and I still have letters from our first summer home, with quotes from the show scattered across the envelopes and margins. It holds up over time. I am still Angela Chase.
I am expecting a lot of Netflix time over the next few months.
This Is What Zygote's Due Date Looks Like
So, the chances of me having this kid anytime today are probably slim to none. S/he hasn’t even started descending yet, and there’s basically nothing going on. My doctor couldn't even feel my cervix to check progress without some major discomfort (read: hand in my vag), and she couldn't feel the head after. The good news was that Zygote seemed super happy on the heartrate monitor and is still healthy.
My doc still had some concerns about the size of this kids, given that we're probably looking at another week. She wanted me to go get an ultrasound to get a read on the size and said that if we were looking at an 11 lb. kid still, she wanted to at least discuss the possibility of a scheduled C. This did not make me happy. She said that, at my size, she definitely thinks I am capable of birthing a 10 lb kid, but she wanted better data.
We went over to the ultrasound place, on the other side of the city in Brookline, in a shit ton of traffic. Grumble. Brookline is my personal hell -- I always get lost and there's never enough parking. I called my doula on the way over, and she was great in calming me down and telling me that the ultrasound would probably put me more at ease and then I could examine my options regarding inductions, Cs, etc. She's also sending me a bunch of information about birthing big babies, and I will follow her advice, spending the next few days getting it on and feeling my tits.
I had two different doctors measure me, and the average size they came out with was 9lbs, 10 oz. give or take approx 20 oz. Take please.
When I left my regular doc's office this morning, our plan was to try and let things happen naturally this week, and recheck at my appointment next Monday. If I haven’t delivered by then or shown any progress, we would schedule an induction or the C-section (depending on ultrasound results), most likely for the middle of next week. I talked to the doula and said I was okay with the idea of induction, and she agreed that it would be the next logical step if that's where we ended up.
The doc called this evening to discuss the results. I told her that I don't want to schedule a C. I don't think it's necessary and it's too early to make that call. If I end up needing one, that's fine, but I want to try to labor. Also, it's a major operation, so if I can avoid that, I want to. She agreed that this was the best course of action and reiterated that she thinks I'm capable of delivering a 10 lber.
So there you have it.
Two conflicting thoughts I have had all day (or, this is the crazy that is my brain):
1. Upon hearing that someone of "my size" is capable of delivering a 10 lb baby: Normal people can't do this, but you, lard ass, totally can. The ultrasound doctor even said, "You're a big girl. You can do this." Note that I never read "big" as strong, healthy, capable.
2. Upon hearing that having a 10lb baby means I will be dropping a full third of the weight I gained in the hospital and "you are all baby. You may even end up losing weight after this": ooooooh.....oooooohhhh.....Stop thinking about your weight. Start thinking about your kid. But, oooohhh.
Full frontal shot:
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