We are in the beginning stages of practicing elimination communication with Flynn. So far, I have good days with a few catches, other days, I get peed on. But hey, Rome wasn't built in a day, as they say. But this post isn't about EC...
This morning, I had Flynn laying on the bed in front of me, naked as a jay bird, a pre-fold under him 'just in case'. We were having a good time, singing various tunes with lots of gestures and dance moves (okay, it was pretty much all me, not so much him, but, he was clearly having a good time). I knew he was going to pee. The indicators were there. But I didn't act fast enough. He peed the bed. Luckily, I was able to shift the pre-fold just enough to catch most of it. No biggie. Pee is sterile. If I washed my sheets... or shirt...or pants... every time he peed... Well, I don't know how I could possibly do more laundry than I already do. So, I go with the occasional un-contained pee pees as one does with any other mundane thing, like, a slightly deflated tire or "bacne". You know, it's annoying, it should probably be fixed, but, eh, it really doesn't interrupt your daily life too much so why bother.
Anyway. So, I sort of laugh and say, "Oooops! You peed the bed, buddy!" With a great big smile plastered across my face. Flynn is absolutely delighted.
Then I sneezed.
Horror of horrors! Stupid ravages of mom-hood on my once wonderfully toned pelvic floor muscles. Stupid pregnancy books and mom sites touting the amazing qualities of kegal exercises. Stupid countless red lights, grocery store lines and commercial breaks spent doing said kegals. Stupid me for thinking "LBL" (you know, "light bladder leakage") would never happen to me! Then stupid me for thinking throughout my pregnancy that everything would go back to normal sometime after this baby came.
Good thing I have a sense of humor.
I looked down at my son, still apparently delighted with his recent relief, and say, "Ooooops!" With a wide smile plastered across my face, because eh, what do you do?
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
Congratulations, you had a baby! Now, what about me?
We interrupt your current broadcast to bring you a counterpoint from the Hellephant.
(The following is a post submitted by my best friend and the guide mother to my son. She is to be known as the Hellephant. Watch for her future submissions, a voice from my past life... before I was a mom.)
Nearly a year ago, I got a phone call from my best friend, telling me she was pregnant. Immediately after congratulating her and asking her how she felt, I began to think, well, what about me? What happens now? This is the first woman in my circle of best friends to get pregnant? How does this affect me? Should I get a boyfriend or something? Are we all growing up now? Do I have to stop drinking a bottle of wine for supper because I’m too lazy to even make a sandwich? Seriously! You’re having a baby, but what about me, what about us? How does our friendship survive?
Gone now are the days of chain-smoking while we cruise around Minneapolis, late night trips to Taco Bell after bar close, watching 13 hour sci-fi miniseries while we discuss the psycho-social ramifications of “if aliens really existed” and “they probably do, but the government is hiding the truth.” Where did that girl with the dreads who used to give me free sandwiches go? Is she reading a book about lactation? Seriously? Did you just say you were running late for some kind of boob meeting? And now you want me present for the birth of your future children in a swimming pool in your living room? Do I get a pool too?
Needless to say, I have been fretting the fate of our relationship, because, to be honest, you’re a grown up now, and you’ve got this wholly un-relatable THING that your life revolves around. I can’t really offer you any advice if your baby won’t stop crying or if he has a weird rash. I have dog, and unless your baby starts throwing up tampons that he ate out of the bathroom garbage, I’m at a loss. I mean, what do we even have in common any more?
I suppose we still talk about poop a fair amount, even though it’s no longer about different kinds of funny names for different shaped poop, but rather elimination communication. You complain that the nursery has become your laundry room, with clothes strewn about everywhere because you have no time to put them away. Hey, my bedroom is like that too! Mostly because I’m too lazy to put my clean clothes away until it is time to do laundry again, but nonetheless, something we share!
And I was invited not only to be Flynn’s Godmother (Guide-mother, Heathen-Mother, Auntie, whatever you want to call it) but also to witness his birth. In the process, I was also invited to see every single orifice of yours! I was able to cringe with you as a strange little male resident, who may or may not have ever actually seen a vagina in real life, went elbow deep in yours trying to find your cervix. I was able to hold your hand and change your ass pad. Together, we discovered that a breast pump sounds just like techno music and the only thing missing from the experience is a glo-stick.
So maybe this baby thing isn’t sooooo bad after all? I mean just because we talk more about the potential dangers of vaccines now instead what happened on Bones last Thursday, doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends. And hopefully soon enough, that baby of yours will start doing cool tricks and walking and talking and stuff. Maybe then you’ll have more time for me.
(The following is a post submitted by my best friend and the guide mother to my son. She is to be known as the Hellephant. Watch for her future submissions, a voice from my past life... before I was a mom.)
Nearly a year ago, I got a phone call from my best friend, telling me she was pregnant. Immediately after congratulating her and asking her how she felt, I began to think, well, what about me? What happens now? This is the first woman in my circle of best friends to get pregnant? How does this affect me? Should I get a boyfriend or something? Are we all growing up now? Do I have to stop drinking a bottle of wine for supper because I’m too lazy to even make a sandwich? Seriously! You’re having a baby, but what about me, what about us? How does our friendship survive?
Gone now are the days of chain-smoking while we cruise around Minneapolis, late night trips to Taco Bell after bar close, watching 13 hour sci-fi miniseries while we discuss the psycho-social ramifications of “if aliens really existed” and “they probably do, but the government is hiding the truth.” Where did that girl with the dreads who used to give me free sandwiches go? Is she reading a book about lactation? Seriously? Did you just say you were running late for some kind of boob meeting? And now you want me present for the birth of your future children in a swimming pool in your living room? Do I get a pool too?
Needless to say, I have been fretting the fate of our relationship, because, to be honest, you’re a grown up now, and you’ve got this wholly un-relatable THING that your life revolves around. I can’t really offer you any advice if your baby won’t stop crying or if he has a weird rash. I have dog, and unless your baby starts throwing up tampons that he ate out of the bathroom garbage, I’m at a loss. I mean, what do we even have in common any more?
I suppose we still talk about poop a fair amount, even though it’s no longer about different kinds of funny names for different shaped poop, but rather elimination communication. You complain that the nursery has become your laundry room, with clothes strewn about everywhere because you have no time to put them away. Hey, my bedroom is like that too! Mostly because I’m too lazy to put my clean clothes away until it is time to do laundry again, but nonetheless, something we share!
And I was invited not only to be Flynn’s Godmother (Guide-mother, Heathen-Mother, Auntie, whatever you want to call it) but also to witness his birth. In the process, I was also invited to see every single orifice of yours! I was able to cringe with you as a strange little male resident, who may or may not have ever actually seen a vagina in real life, went elbow deep in yours trying to find your cervix. I was able to hold your hand and change your ass pad. Together, we discovered that a breast pump sounds just like techno music and the only thing missing from the experience is a glo-stick.
So maybe this baby thing isn’t sooooo bad after all? I mean just because we talk more about the potential dangers of vaccines now instead what happened on Bones last Thursday, doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends. And hopefully soon enough, that baby of yours will start doing cool tricks and walking and talking and stuff. Maybe then you’ll have more time for me.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Field Trip Baby. (Or, Field Trip, Baby!)
Having a baby is like taking a field trip to various museums. No, I'm serious. Think about it.
Natural science and history:
Babies are born just as humans have been born for thousands upon thousands of years. Essentially, they are cave babies. And it's ever so much more fascinating now than ever! We are modern women, in a modern society, filled with modern crap, and along comes this tiny homoerectus. His body depends on mom's warmth to maintain his own body temperature, on her heartbeat and breathing to regulate his. He looks to her for food and comfort, having memorized the inflection of her voice while still in utero. (True story, babies cry according to the inflection of their parents' voices which they learn while still fetuses. Babies in France cry like French people talk, babies in the UK cry like British people talk, and so on. Crazy neat, huh?)
They know nothing of iPhones or toilets, so they really don't understand what you're doing with either. They don't know any difference between a crib and the middle the woods. They're just darned uncomfortable (and express this to you by screaming) with being left alone in either place. To them, a wild animal could come along at any moment. He doesn't care if you need the latest app, half to poop or just need a moment to update your blog (TRUST me). He is the simplest form of human, which is seriously so neat.
The Science Museum:
Hearkening back to biology classes, your baby reminds you of all the basic human functions, because that is about all he's capable of for the first few months. You get to revisit the digestive system (oh, the wonderous digestive system!). HOW many times does a tiny baby have to poop, seriously? How much urine can one tiny bladder hold? (It sure does seem like a LOT when it's all down your shirt and pants, or in a puddle on your bed). Then we are thankfully reminded that urine really is basically sterile, so... "I'll get around to washing those sheets tomorrow, it's just pee , after all" becomes a sort of mantra. Oh yes, and "How is my child still growing if he has puked up everything he just ate?
There's even a brief reminder of puberty. All those tiny pimples and blackheads. My poor kid looked like the definition of pizza face. Not to mention having a mom that couldn't resist picking at him (despite realizing how terribly NOT okay that was...).
We watch as his body systems develop, one by one, we remember anatomy and physiology. His eyes begin to focus and track. His head begins to turn at sounds. His hands begin to reach and grab (your face). His legs begin movements towards walking and crawling.
But best of all, the Art Museum:
Those first few weeks of holding your baby blob... ALL DAY and ALL NIGHT... Sleep deprivation really starts to take a toll. You start, very briefly, sympathizing with those crazy homicidal moms... And while you rock your over tired, finally asleep newborn in your way tired arms, you look down and his face twitches, momentarily, into the cutest smile you have ever seen. Ever. And evolution has provided that smile, just for those very moments. Then, as the weeks pass, suddenly, he looks at you and gives you the biggest, sweetest, toothless grins, and your heart melts.
He's not just a cave baby, a basic human, any more. Now, he has begun smiling and interacting. His babbles, coos, and giggles are music to your ears and totally make up for all the hours he has screamed into your ears. The best kind of art lies next to you each night, breathing softly, still smiling in his sleep. You find yourself struggling between wanting to sleep too, and just watching him.
Forget about the life you used to have, the person you used to be. You haven't lost your social life, but gained a whole new one with a brand new, wonderful friend. You haven't lost the night life, you just have a slightly different one.. You're still awake, dancing, listening to music, you just have a different dance partner. You're learning a new language and some new dance moves and learning oh so much.
Okay.. it has gotten a bit cheesy. All I'm saying is this, your baby is a total trip! I'm going to enjoy every minute while I can!
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Make up? I'm lucky if I WAKE up.
I attended one of my local La Leche League meetings today. I was late, as usual. I was so darned determined to be on time today. FAIL. I took Flynn to bed to nurse and nap before the meeting. We both crashed out, waking up about an hour and half later, at about 9am. I barely register this, since I can barely focus on the clock numbers. I began to calculate just how much time I needed...
*15 minutes to 'top off the tank' (you know, baby's tank)
*2 minutes to change his diaper and dress him
*5 minutes to organize the diaper bag
*5 minutes for myself
*15 minutes to get there, plus 5 for car seat strapping in and taking out
I failed to actually add any of these numbers together, or I would've realized my plan to 'dose for a moment more' was doomed to failure. But, Flynn latched on again and I conked out. I woke up a whole half hour later. Time to adjust the plan above.
Okay...
*15 minutes to top off the tank, changing the diaper while he nurses and organizing the diaper bag with everything I can reach from nursing position
*2 minutes to grab everything I could reach while nursing
*1 minute to brush my teeth and splash water on my face (you know, while brushing my teeth)
*Then an unexpected 5 minutes tacked on while I located my keys (for the second time today... I lost them again later in the day)
*Then another 2 minutes while I located my flip flops
*And another 3 minutes while I ran back into the house to grab the sling I managed to forget because putting it ON TOP of the diaper bag was not reminder enough
The gas light was on yesterday.. And with a broken gas gauge, the gas light is usually our only indication of the tank getting low... It's a crap shoot. I'm not normally a bettin' lady, but I chose to just get on the highway. Luckily, my route is not lacking in gas stations.
I made it to the LLL meeting about 20 minutes late, no gas station stop necessary. Not too shabby, if I do say so myself.
It hasn't been an exceptionally hectic day. I've had much, much worse. But as I was sitting here, moments before beginning this post, I realized... I still have the same bobby pins in my hair that I placed there three days ago, right after my last shower. My hair is starting to look the part of bed head created on a hot, humid night. And I went out into public like this? I don't even remember looking in a mirror at any point today. Good for me, super mom.
While I was at the meeting, I looked around the room (not entirely aware of just HOW terrible I looked) and realized that of all the women in attendance (around 20, give er take), four had a visible amount of make up on. On of them was expecting her first. But the kids all looked adorable. Seems we all put our efforts in vanity into our kids.
But, when I realized my horrible fashion (and some would say, hygienic) faux pas, I didn't even care. I didn't feel embarrassed. I don't even think anyone noticed, and if they did, they had the common courtesy not to say anything.
Oh, how I love being a mom.
*15 minutes to 'top off the tank' (you know, baby's tank)
*2 minutes to change his diaper and dress him
*5 minutes to organize the diaper bag
*5 minutes for myself
*15 minutes to get there, plus 5 for car seat strapping in and taking out
I failed to actually add any of these numbers together, or I would've realized my plan to 'dose for a moment more' was doomed to failure. But, Flynn latched on again and I conked out. I woke up a whole half hour later. Time to adjust the plan above.
Okay...
*15 minutes to top off the tank, changing the diaper while he nurses and organizing the diaper bag with everything I can reach from nursing position
*2 minutes to grab everything I could reach while nursing
*1 minute to brush my teeth and splash water on my face (you know, while brushing my teeth)
*Then an unexpected 5 minutes tacked on while I located my keys (for the second time today... I lost them again later in the day)
*Then another 2 minutes while I located my flip flops
*And another 3 minutes while I ran back into the house to grab the sling I managed to forget because putting it ON TOP of the diaper bag was not reminder enough
The gas light was on yesterday.. And with a broken gas gauge, the gas light is usually our only indication of the tank getting low... It's a crap shoot. I'm not normally a bettin' lady, but I chose to just get on the highway. Luckily, my route is not lacking in gas stations.
I made it to the LLL meeting about 20 minutes late, no gas station stop necessary. Not too shabby, if I do say so myself.
It hasn't been an exceptionally hectic day. I've had much, much worse. But as I was sitting here, moments before beginning this post, I realized... I still have the same bobby pins in my hair that I placed there three days ago, right after my last shower. My hair is starting to look the part of bed head created on a hot, humid night. And I went out into public like this? I don't even remember looking in a mirror at any point today. Good for me, super mom.
While I was at the meeting, I looked around the room (not entirely aware of just HOW terrible I looked) and realized that of all the women in attendance (around 20, give er take), four had a visible amount of make up on. On of them was expecting her first. But the kids all looked adorable. Seems we all put our efforts in vanity into our kids.
But, when I realized my horrible fashion (and some would say, hygienic) faux pas, I didn't even care. I didn't feel embarrassed. I don't even think anyone noticed, and if they did, they had the common courtesy not to say anything.
Oh, how I love being a mom.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
The Baby Blob Phenonenom
During my pregnancy, Shane and I discussed whether or not I would return to work. I really hadn't given it much thought since most women do go back, right? I was working temp jobs and had lost my last job shortly before finding out we were pregnant. (Unplanned... Can you imagine my panic?) Although I tried, I never found employment while I was pregnant. More on that another day...
We then began to discuss the logistics of me going back to work. He works long hours, sometimes up to 12 or 14 hours a day, and frequently works six days a week, sometimes going out of town for a few days. Our options for caretakers are limited. The average pay that I could expect to earn was around $10-12 per hour. Subtracting the cost of childcare and adding in additional gas, food costs (including formula (homemade style) since I do not make enough to pump extra, ever, even if I skip feedings), new clothing and shoes (since I don't fit in much from pre-pregnancy), etc... When it is all said and done, the money I would actually earn would be minimal compared to just staying home. We decided I would be a stay at home mom for the time being, with me aspiring to return to school in the near future.
I couldn't be more pleased with our decision. I can't imagine another way. I sit with Flynn every day while he passes new milestones. How would I feel, missing the moment he found his toes, grabbing a handful of toes in each tiny fist and smiling wildly? Or, on that note, the day I realized he had stopped nursing and looked down to his upturned face bright with a wide grin. Yesterday, he laughed out loud, a real giggle, not just a squeal or squeak. I cried and laughed and generally felt myself jitter with an excitement I've never known previously. He has started becoming so much more animated lately. He has full "conversations" with me, or anyone who will listen, including the flowers on the wallpaper and a tree at the park on Sunday. He grips handfuls of the dogs fur and squeals with glee. He lays on the floor, gripping and shaking the links hanging from his floor gym while grinning at the smiling stuffed octopus looking down at him (oh Nelly, does he love that octopus!). He has just come up on the age that moms would go to work by (12 weeks), if not earlier. Just as he is gaining personality, I am socially obligated to return to work.
So I began to think. It seems it would be so much easier for me to disconnect from him if I returned to work. It makes sense that removing yourself from your baby's constant antics and various achievements and milestones, you would begin distancing yourself from the person he is becoming. As they say, "Out of sight, out of mind." So, it makes sense, why so many moms are so far removed from their child's life by the time they hit puberty, no wonder they don't get along with one another.
If all I knew of my child was that he came, he was a blob, then, one day, I get a report from his babysitter or day care provider that he began crawling and is vocalizing 'da da', his development comes in bunches and through second and third hand reports. I'm not there to witness the amazement that is his confident cruise on all fours or his first tentative word.
Then one day, he's sporting a dirt 'stache and asking to borrow the car. Eventually, he moves away from me. Off to college or across country for some adventures. He meets a 'nice girl' and visits on Christmas.
::Sniff::
My baby is growing up so fast... At least I will be there to witness all of it!
We then began to discuss the logistics of me going back to work. He works long hours, sometimes up to 12 or 14 hours a day, and frequently works six days a week, sometimes going out of town for a few days. Our options for caretakers are limited. The average pay that I could expect to earn was around $10-12 per hour. Subtracting the cost of childcare and adding in additional gas, food costs (including formula (homemade style) since I do not make enough to pump extra, ever, even if I skip feedings), new clothing and shoes (since I don't fit in much from pre-pregnancy), etc... When it is all said and done, the money I would actually earn would be minimal compared to just staying home. We decided I would be a stay at home mom for the time being, with me aspiring to return to school in the near future.
I couldn't be more pleased with our decision. I can't imagine another way. I sit with Flynn every day while he passes new milestones. How would I feel, missing the moment he found his toes, grabbing a handful of toes in each tiny fist and smiling wildly? Or, on that note, the day I realized he had stopped nursing and looked down to his upturned face bright with a wide grin. Yesterday, he laughed out loud, a real giggle, not just a squeal or squeak. I cried and laughed and generally felt myself jitter with an excitement I've never known previously. He has started becoming so much more animated lately. He has full "conversations" with me, or anyone who will listen, including the flowers on the wallpaper and a tree at the park on Sunday. He grips handfuls of the dogs fur and squeals with glee. He lays on the floor, gripping and shaking the links hanging from his floor gym while grinning at the smiling stuffed octopus looking down at him (oh Nelly, does he love that octopus!). He has just come up on the age that moms would go to work by (12 weeks), if not earlier. Just as he is gaining personality, I am socially obligated to return to work.
So I began to think. It seems it would be so much easier for me to disconnect from him if I returned to work. It makes sense that removing yourself from your baby's constant antics and various achievements and milestones, you would begin distancing yourself from the person he is becoming. As they say, "Out of sight, out of mind." So, it makes sense, why so many moms are so far removed from their child's life by the time they hit puberty, no wonder they don't get along with one another.
If all I knew of my child was that he came, he was a blob, then, one day, I get a report from his babysitter or day care provider that he began crawling and is vocalizing 'da da', his development comes in bunches and through second and third hand reports. I'm not there to witness the amazement that is his confident cruise on all fours or his first tentative word.
Then one day, he's sporting a dirt 'stache and asking to borrow the car. Eventually, he moves away from me. Off to college or across country for some adventures. He meets a 'nice girl' and visits on Christmas.
::Sniff::
My baby is growing up so fast... At least I will be there to witness all of it!
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Learning Curve- My Hospital Birth Story
I've been revisiting this post off an on for a couple of weeks. I just feel like it's not complete. Rather than writing another version, I'm just going to go back and add to this. More or less things that I have learned or now feel are more important than I thought they were the first time around. Things that have been added since the original post will appear in italic.
I am what I like to think of as a "Crunchy Convert". I had never heard the term 'crunchy' until I was pregnant. Looking at the definition, I figured I fell somewhere between crunchy and mainstream (or 'silky' as coined on the forums of Baby Center). Before I ever knew I wanted kids, I knew I wanted to breastfeed and have a vaginal birth. I also knew that I wanted to give birth in a hospital, that unassisted births are stupid and, of course, that I NEEDED and epidural (needed? Heck, deserved!) I had no idea what babywearing was (aside from the 'crotch danglers'), although I liked the thought of carrying my little one around, those carriers seemed awkward and uncomfortable (for mom AND baby). We didn't intend on cosleeping and received a really nice pack and play for use as a bassinet. Although I did intend on Flynn sharing our room indefinitely. Anyway, you get the point.
Then NOTHING went as planned for my labor and delivery. My contractions started coming on regularly and slightly more uncomfortable than Braxton Hicks around 2pm on February 22. We headed to Wal-Mart (way too cold and icy for walking outside) and walked around to see if we could bring on some real labor. Later that evening, I called the on-call doctor and was given the go ahead to come on in to the hospital. Once there, we did some walking around the halls, and got settled into my birthing suite. Eventually, a doctor and nurse checked in on me and announced they would be keeping me (ummm.. why wouldn't they? My contractions were coming strong and long at about every 1-3 minutes and for 45 seconds to a minute and a half). My labor continued into the night and around 3am they put an IV in me and started pitocin because "my labor wasn't progressing". I really didn't understand this, because it seemed to me that it was, but I went along with it, figuring it wouldn't hurt. (My contractions were continuing at every 1-3 minutes for 30-60 seconds and had been all night. Not progressing? Maybe just slow?) These, after all, are the medical professionals, right? The experts on birth? In a continuing theme of labor interruption, my cervix was checked regularly and by several different people. I wasn't dilating past a 'barely' 1.5 cm. I wasn't allowed to be up and walking around (except to use the toilet) because they had to monitor the baby while I had the pit drip. There went my hopes of using the whirlpool tub.
The hours slipped by while my contractions continued to come, ever increasing in strength and intensity. My cervix didn't budge. I was getting frantic, picturing the c-section that appeared to be my fate, my destiny, in fact. My mom's birth story with me matches mine up to this point. But in my mom's case, my heart rate dropped, they 'took me' in an emergency c-section. I watched the baby's heart monitor strip anxiously. Note just how anxious I am at this point. No one at any point (except Shane) told me to relax, but Shane was so tense, it didn't really help. (I remember his eyes being just huge... he looked really worried the entire time.) Back labor began at some point. I was given a heating pad while I labored through what felt like my lumbar spine being pulled through a small hole in my back. I still wasn't dilating. My doctor arrived with a resident in tow and announced that they would be giving me a dose of Cytotec, and the resident was going to insert it. (This same resident had checked my cervix earlier in a way I never knew I could feel so violated. I have to wonder if it was one of his first cervix checks that he had done. He barely seemed to know where the cervix was. Having checked my cervix myself during my cycle to determine where I am in my cycle, I can attest that mine sits quite low normally and it's just not that hard to find. Shane still randomly brings up the "stupid resident ramming his fingers up" me and my friend Katie swears she felt him hit her cervix he went so high and roughly. So, needless to say, when I heard this guy was going in again, I was pretty freaking tense). After placing the medication in my cervix, I was told to stay laying down for about an hour to let it work. Apparently, the resident had popped a slight hole in my bag of waters (cytotec is placed on the cervix using a long stick thing with a loop on the end).. When they returned, the bed was soaked and my contractions had increased in intensity. The resident checked my cervix, again and nothing. They offered Nubain for the third time and I refused. I did not want narcotics.
My mom and grandmother visited a little after lunch time. Shane and my good friend left to find some lunch. My contractions were painful, but I was trying very hard to just relax, breathe through them and focus on my conversation with my visitors to distract from the pain. Over the course of an hour, they were coming on strong and frequent, one on top of the other. I suddenly found myself blind with pain. I'll never forget the look in my grandmother's eyes while she stood at the foot of the bed, her hand on my leg and my mother held my hand. Shane and my friend returned to find me groaning and gritting my teeth. I wanted the drugs NOW. My mom began pushing the nurse call button and Shane grabbed my other hand. The nurse entered the room and gave me a full shot of Nubain into my IV line. Immediately, my mind floated away. I slept between the contractions, which were painful, but once again tolerable. My mother left to take my grandma home. I relished in my hour and a half of sleep after not sleeping well for several days. The drug wore off as if challenged head on by the contractions, no longer taking no for an answer. I began moaning and groaning, eventually vocalizing. I was in a lot of pain, I felt like the baby was pressing down hard on my cervix, he wanted out NOW. The nurse came into the room, followed closely by my doctor and the resident. As they entered, my water broke... More like, exploded! I felt the pop, I HEARD the pop. Fluid gushed out all over the bed. I announced to my doctor that my water had just broke. She asked if I was laughing or crying. I guessed a little of both.
My mom had returned at some point. I felt like I had to be dying, why else were there so many people surrounding my bead with such sad looks in their eyes? Why else was I in more pain than I had ever known? Isn't birth supposed to be a wonderful experience? I knew there would be pain, I didn't know I would rather claw my own eyeballs out with a toothpick. There was no end in sight. Confirmed by my doctor when she checked my cervix again and there was still no progress. My mom whispered, "Just get a c-section, honey, you've tried your hardest." I shook my head violently, no way was I giving in now. It's funny, though, thinking back, how incredible the female mind is. I know that I was in some otherworldly pain, but I can't actually remember it, not even to describe it now. Even when it was all over, I couldn't remember any of it. My only reminder was aching pelvic muscles and an abdomen that felt like it had seen a million sit-ups (I suppose, in a way, it had).
While checking my cervix (I should add, here, that this was the first time my actual doctor had checked my cervix), my doctor asked if I had ever had a LEEP procedure. (It should be noted here that a nurse asked me about this during my "OB Education" meeting with her, my second appointment after finding out I was pregnant. So, this information had already been given to my doctor many months before, but it was not noted, for some reason, in the hospital records. I found out later through some reading that LEEP procedures and the scarring they cause can also make the cervix incompetent and can result in preterm labor. It would have been nice of my doctor to be periodically checking my cervix during my pregnancy to be sure all was well... More on this later). My brain was swimming with the after effects of the Nubain and delirious with pain. At first I couldn't process what she was saying. I then nodded and managed to say, "Like six years ago..." She stood up, resolute and announced they would place the epidural and break through the scar tissue. The nurse paged the anesthesiologist while I writhed in pain, I was backpedaling, trying to crawl out of myself. My back ached, the contractions were shoving the baby downward onto my cervix. I wanted to push. I remembered our birthing class when they had told us we couldn't push before reaching 10 cm or it would cause the cervix to swell, making it impossible to birth the baby naturally after that. I tried to breathe. I didn't want that to happen. (In retrospect, I wonder how true that really is. After much reading, I've found out this is actually not all that true. Again, my gut was right.) The epidural was placed as I labored through contractions. There was no rest in between. I leaned over a pillow as Shane held my shoulders and whispered into my ear. I'm not sure what he said, I just remember the whispers. I went there, to that familiar voice. The relief was immediate. Nurses arrived to place my catheter. Another learning experience for another student. (You can read a more recent post: The Inner Grandma for a funny story about this moment in my labor.)
My doctor came and broke through the scar tissue. I went from 1.5 to 6 immediately. She then went home to put her children to bed. I was able to catch a nap, waiting to get to 10cm. I was told it could be until the following morning. This is where I began visualizing. I picture my son coming out, laying in my arms, what he might look like, what his cry would sound like. Sometime around 7:30-8pm, I hit 10cm. They wanted me to labor down for a while. I continued visualizing, slipping in little pushes here and there, thinking I could prevent him from slipping backwards. I wanted this baby out.
(As they were putting me in the stirrups, my doctor and the rough handed resident looked over my birth plan for the very first time. Very important to me was having my son placed immediately on on my bare chest and left to nurse. I did not want nurses touching him or picking him up to weigh him or wipe him down. I wanted the cord left intact for at least a minute or two while he adjusted. This was not something I had ever read about, just something I felt was important. They both laughed at me. My doctor said to me, "Are you sure you want him put right on your chest? He's going to be all icky." I felt so stupid and humiliated. Not really the best feeling going into pushing out my son.)
Finally, the nurse put me in the stirrups. My doctor arrived and asked if I prefer she count or just tell me when to push. I said I just wanted to know when I was having a contraction (being so numb in my abdomen, I couldn't tell very well (I was numb in my abdomen and legs, but I could feel my vaginal canal pretty well. Go figure.)). Shane held my hand and whispered encouragements to me. I grabbed some handles and pulled myself forward, chin to my chest as I had seen them do in the videos and I pushed with all my might. I pushed through the burn. I pushed through the exhaustion. I pushed with every bit of strength and endurance I never knew I had. I grunted and groaned and occasionally screamed. My friend would later report that they could hear me down the hall shouting, "Get this child out of me! Get it out!" I remember that last push when my belly went empty and Flynn was placed on the outside, immediately pressing down on the space he had just vacated. It was such a strange feeling. He was white, covered with watery blood, screaming and perfect. Shane cut the cord (He reports that the doctor and resident were both shouting for him to 'cut it right now'. He said blood shot in every direction. That cord was not done doing it's job).. They took him from me then. His screams went quiet. (Lets not mention how pissed I was...) My doctor told me he had a fever and was having some trouble catching his breath and he had a lot of fluid in his lungs. He would have to go to the NICU. They swaddled him and gave him to me to hold for a moment. I kissed his forehead then his nose. I told him how much I loved him. I wanted to nurse him and rest with him. They took him from me again (They told me to say goodbye. Who the hell says that to a brand new mom? "Say goodbye, we're taking your kid to the NICU"?). I felt my heart go hallow.
My head was swimmy and my legs were tingling as the epidural wore off. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Flynn's cries disappeared down the hall. I delivered the placenta, unceremoniously. I vaguely remember the clean up (apparently I had splashed the wall five feet beyond the bed). My mom, sister, best friend and Shane gathered around the bed and chatted briefly as I ate a cold turkey sandwich with wilted veggies (32 1/2 hours of labor, and I got a cold cut sandwich and old broccoli. I wanted fetuccini alfredo.). Everyone but Shane left. They wouldn't allow me to get up yet so I fell asleep, crying for my baby. At some time in the early morning, a nurse came in and awoke me. She helped me to the toilet and cleaned me up, placing an ice pack in a pad and handing me some mesh undies and a squirt bottle with warm water to cleanse myself (a little warning on how badly that was going to sting would've been great!). Shane then helped me into a wheelchair and took me down to the NICU. I knew right where my baby was as we entered. He wasn't crying, I could just sense it (one of the many things I would find that would amaze me about the mother-child bond). He was under an oxygen hood and covered in wires. Flynn was given IV fluids and antibiotics and kept under observation until his cultures came back negative for pneumonia, a total of four days.
Within weeks of coming home with my well-deserved son, I began reading. I've been pouring through research ever since. I've made friends with other crunchy moms. I have completely converted to the crunchy side. Reading about Cytotec in those first few weeks home, I realized how they had robbed me of my after birth bonding time. It was over 24 hours before I was able to nurse him. We are still, at nearly 12 weeks, struggling with the repercussions of this (low milk supply). The side effects associated with this drug are heinous and I can't believe it is legal to use this stuff! Especially off-label and without telling the woman the many varied and dangerous side effects! I would've never consented.
I feel robbed of my natural birth experience. I feel tricked by the mainstream into believing this highly medicalized birth experience is what is now totally natural. And I feel horribly guilty and naive for believing and buying into that.
I'm positive that all my following birth experiences will be wonderful, at home, natural and much less stressful. I will get to relax in my warm birthing pool, in my living room and birth in a more natural position than flat on my back. All subsequent babies will be left with their cords intact to avoid the chances of breathing problems (why do they cut the cord so quickly in hospitals?), and offered a breast to nurse as long as they deem fit, and brought to my bed, not left in a bassinet to shiver.
I find it was this experience that pulled me away from ever wanted to deal with any facet of medicine again. My son sees a chiropractor. He is worn daily and for most of the day. Sad that it takes such a horrible, but almost 'completely normal', medical experience to make me think... And I am not just thinking, but telling everyone who will listen!
Some applicable reading:
The Dangers of Cytotec
Homebirth Under Fire
I am what I like to think of as a "Crunchy Convert". I had never heard the term 'crunchy' until I was pregnant. Looking at the definition, I figured I fell somewhere between crunchy and mainstream (or 'silky' as coined on the forums of Baby Center). Before I ever knew I wanted kids, I knew I wanted to breastfeed and have a vaginal birth. I also knew that I wanted to give birth in a hospital, that unassisted births are stupid and, of course, that I NEEDED and epidural (needed? Heck, deserved!) I had no idea what babywearing was (aside from the 'crotch danglers'), although I liked the thought of carrying my little one around, those carriers seemed awkward and uncomfortable (for mom AND baby). We didn't intend on cosleeping and received a really nice pack and play for use as a bassinet. Although I did intend on Flynn sharing our room indefinitely. Anyway, you get the point.
Then NOTHING went as planned for my labor and delivery. My contractions started coming on regularly and slightly more uncomfortable than Braxton Hicks around 2pm on February 22. We headed to Wal-Mart (way too cold and icy for walking outside) and walked around to see if we could bring on some real labor. Later that evening, I called the on-call doctor and was given the go ahead to come on in to the hospital. Once there, we did some walking around the halls, and got settled into my birthing suite. Eventually, a doctor and nurse checked in on me and announced they would be keeping me (ummm.. why wouldn't they? My contractions were coming strong and long at about every 1-3 minutes and for 45 seconds to a minute and a half). My labor continued into the night and around 3am they put an IV in me and started pitocin because "my labor wasn't progressing". I really didn't understand this, because it seemed to me that it was, but I went along with it, figuring it wouldn't hurt. (My contractions were continuing at every 1-3 minutes for 30-60 seconds and had been all night. Not progressing? Maybe just slow?) These, after all, are the medical professionals, right? The experts on birth? In a continuing theme of labor interruption, my cervix was checked regularly and by several different people. I wasn't dilating past a 'barely' 1.5 cm. I wasn't allowed to be up and walking around (except to use the toilet) because they had to monitor the baby while I had the pit drip. There went my hopes of using the whirlpool tub.
The hours slipped by while my contractions continued to come, ever increasing in strength and intensity. My cervix didn't budge. I was getting frantic, picturing the c-section that appeared to be my fate, my destiny, in fact. My mom's birth story with me matches mine up to this point. But in my mom's case, my heart rate dropped, they 'took me' in an emergency c-section. I watched the baby's heart monitor strip anxiously. Note just how anxious I am at this point. No one at any point (except Shane) told me to relax, but Shane was so tense, it didn't really help. (I remember his eyes being just huge... he looked really worried the entire time.) Back labor began at some point. I was given a heating pad while I labored through what felt like my lumbar spine being pulled through a small hole in my back. I still wasn't dilating. My doctor arrived with a resident in tow and announced that they would be giving me a dose of Cytotec, and the resident was going to insert it. (This same resident had checked my cervix earlier in a way I never knew I could feel so violated. I have to wonder if it was one of his first cervix checks that he had done. He barely seemed to know where the cervix was. Having checked my cervix myself during my cycle to determine where I am in my cycle, I can attest that mine sits quite low normally and it's just not that hard to find. Shane still randomly brings up the "stupid resident ramming his fingers up" me and my friend Katie swears she felt him hit her cervix he went so high and roughly. So, needless to say, when I heard this guy was going in again, I was pretty freaking tense). After placing the medication in my cervix, I was told to stay laying down for about an hour to let it work. Apparently, the resident had popped a slight hole in my bag of waters (cytotec is placed on the cervix using a long stick thing with a loop on the end).. When they returned, the bed was soaked and my contractions had increased in intensity. The resident checked my cervix, again and nothing. They offered Nubain for the third time and I refused. I did not want narcotics.
My mom and grandmother visited a little after lunch time. Shane and my good friend left to find some lunch. My contractions were painful, but I was trying very hard to just relax, breathe through them and focus on my conversation with my visitors to distract from the pain. Over the course of an hour, they were coming on strong and frequent, one on top of the other. I suddenly found myself blind with pain. I'll never forget the look in my grandmother's eyes while she stood at the foot of the bed, her hand on my leg and my mother held my hand. Shane and my friend returned to find me groaning and gritting my teeth. I wanted the drugs NOW. My mom began pushing the nurse call button and Shane grabbed my other hand. The nurse entered the room and gave me a full shot of Nubain into my IV line. Immediately, my mind floated away. I slept between the contractions, which were painful, but once again tolerable. My mother left to take my grandma home. I relished in my hour and a half of sleep after not sleeping well for several days. The drug wore off as if challenged head on by the contractions, no longer taking no for an answer. I began moaning and groaning, eventually vocalizing. I was in a lot of pain, I felt like the baby was pressing down hard on my cervix, he wanted out NOW. The nurse came into the room, followed closely by my doctor and the resident. As they entered, my water broke... More like, exploded! I felt the pop, I HEARD the pop. Fluid gushed out all over the bed. I announced to my doctor that my water had just broke. She asked if I was laughing or crying. I guessed a little of both.
My mom had returned at some point. I felt like I had to be dying, why else were there so many people surrounding my bead with such sad looks in their eyes? Why else was I in more pain than I had ever known? Isn't birth supposed to be a wonderful experience? I knew there would be pain, I didn't know I would rather claw my own eyeballs out with a toothpick. There was no end in sight. Confirmed by my doctor when she checked my cervix again and there was still no progress. My mom whispered, "Just get a c-section, honey, you've tried your hardest." I shook my head violently, no way was I giving in now. It's funny, though, thinking back, how incredible the female mind is. I know that I was in some otherworldly pain, but I can't actually remember it, not even to describe it now. Even when it was all over, I couldn't remember any of it. My only reminder was aching pelvic muscles and an abdomen that felt like it had seen a million sit-ups (I suppose, in a way, it had).
While checking my cervix (I should add, here, that this was the first time my actual doctor had checked my cervix), my doctor asked if I had ever had a LEEP procedure. (It should be noted here that a nurse asked me about this during my "OB Education" meeting with her, my second appointment after finding out I was pregnant. So, this information had already been given to my doctor many months before, but it was not noted, for some reason, in the hospital records. I found out later through some reading that LEEP procedures and the scarring they cause can also make the cervix incompetent and can result in preterm labor. It would have been nice of my doctor to be periodically checking my cervix during my pregnancy to be sure all was well... More on this later). My brain was swimming with the after effects of the Nubain and delirious with pain. At first I couldn't process what she was saying. I then nodded and managed to say, "Like six years ago..." She stood up, resolute and announced they would place the epidural and break through the scar tissue. The nurse paged the anesthesiologist while I writhed in pain, I was backpedaling, trying to crawl out of myself. My back ached, the contractions were shoving the baby downward onto my cervix. I wanted to push. I remembered our birthing class when they had told us we couldn't push before reaching 10 cm or it would cause the cervix to swell, making it impossible to birth the baby naturally after that. I tried to breathe. I didn't want that to happen. (In retrospect, I wonder how true that really is. After much reading, I've found out this is actually not all that true. Again, my gut was right.) The epidural was placed as I labored through contractions. There was no rest in between. I leaned over a pillow as Shane held my shoulders and whispered into my ear. I'm not sure what he said, I just remember the whispers. I went there, to that familiar voice. The relief was immediate. Nurses arrived to place my catheter. Another learning experience for another student. (You can read a more recent post: The Inner Grandma for a funny story about this moment in my labor.)
My doctor came and broke through the scar tissue. I went from 1.5 to 6 immediately. She then went home to put her children to bed. I was able to catch a nap, waiting to get to 10cm. I was told it could be until the following morning. This is where I began visualizing. I picture my son coming out, laying in my arms, what he might look like, what his cry would sound like. Sometime around 7:30-8pm, I hit 10cm. They wanted me to labor down for a while. I continued visualizing, slipping in little pushes here and there, thinking I could prevent him from slipping backwards. I wanted this baby out.
(As they were putting me in the stirrups, my doctor and the rough handed resident looked over my birth plan for the very first time. Very important to me was having my son placed immediately on on my bare chest and left to nurse. I did not want nurses touching him or picking him up to weigh him or wipe him down. I wanted the cord left intact for at least a minute or two while he adjusted. This was not something I had ever read about, just something I felt was important. They both laughed at me. My doctor said to me, "Are you sure you want him put right on your chest? He's going to be all icky." I felt so stupid and humiliated. Not really the best feeling going into pushing out my son.)
Finally, the nurse put me in the stirrups. My doctor arrived and asked if I prefer she count or just tell me when to push. I said I just wanted to know when I was having a contraction (being so numb in my abdomen, I couldn't tell very well (I was numb in my abdomen and legs, but I could feel my vaginal canal pretty well. Go figure.)). Shane held my hand and whispered encouragements to me. I grabbed some handles and pulled myself forward, chin to my chest as I had seen them do in the videos and I pushed with all my might. I pushed through the burn. I pushed through the exhaustion. I pushed with every bit of strength and endurance I never knew I had. I grunted and groaned and occasionally screamed. My friend would later report that they could hear me down the hall shouting, "Get this child out of me! Get it out!" I remember that last push when my belly went empty and Flynn was placed on the outside, immediately pressing down on the space he had just vacated. It was such a strange feeling. He was white, covered with watery blood, screaming and perfect. Shane cut the cord (He reports that the doctor and resident were both shouting for him to 'cut it right now'. He said blood shot in every direction. That cord was not done doing it's job).. They took him from me then. His screams went quiet. (Lets not mention how pissed I was...) My doctor told me he had a fever and was having some trouble catching his breath and he had a lot of fluid in his lungs. He would have to go to the NICU. They swaddled him and gave him to me to hold for a moment. I kissed his forehead then his nose. I told him how much I loved him. I wanted to nurse him and rest with him. They took him from me again (They told me to say goodbye. Who the hell says that to a brand new mom? "Say goodbye, we're taking your kid to the NICU"?). I felt my heart go hallow.
My head was swimmy and my legs were tingling as the epidural wore off. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Flynn's cries disappeared down the hall. I delivered the placenta, unceremoniously. I vaguely remember the clean up (apparently I had splashed the wall five feet beyond the bed). My mom, sister, best friend and Shane gathered around the bed and chatted briefly as I ate a cold turkey sandwich with wilted veggies (32 1/2 hours of labor, and I got a cold cut sandwich and old broccoli. I wanted fetuccini alfredo.). Everyone but Shane left. They wouldn't allow me to get up yet so I fell asleep, crying for my baby. At some time in the early morning, a nurse came in and awoke me. She helped me to the toilet and cleaned me up, placing an ice pack in a pad and handing me some mesh undies and a squirt bottle with warm water to cleanse myself (a little warning on how badly that was going to sting would've been great!). Shane then helped me into a wheelchair and took me down to the NICU. I knew right where my baby was as we entered. He wasn't crying, I could just sense it (one of the many things I would find that would amaze me about the mother-child bond). He was under an oxygen hood and covered in wires. Flynn was given IV fluids and antibiotics and kept under observation until his cultures came back negative for pneumonia, a total of four days.
Within weeks of coming home with my well-deserved son, I began reading. I've been pouring through research ever since. I've made friends with other crunchy moms. I have completely converted to the crunchy side. Reading about Cytotec in those first few weeks home, I realized how they had robbed me of my after birth bonding time. It was over 24 hours before I was able to nurse him. We are still, at nearly 12 weeks, struggling with the repercussions of this (low milk supply). The side effects associated with this drug are heinous and I can't believe it is legal to use this stuff! Especially off-label and without telling the woman the many varied and dangerous side effects! I would've never consented.
I feel robbed of my natural birth experience. I feel tricked by the mainstream into believing this highly medicalized birth experience is what is now totally natural. And I feel horribly guilty and naive for believing and buying into that.
I'm positive that all my following birth experiences will be wonderful, at home, natural and much less stressful. I will get to relax in my warm birthing pool, in my living room and birth in a more natural position than flat on my back. All subsequent babies will be left with their cords intact to avoid the chances of breathing problems (why do they cut the cord so quickly in hospitals?), and offered a breast to nurse as long as they deem fit, and brought to my bed, not left in a bassinet to shiver.
I find it was this experience that pulled me away from ever wanted to deal with any facet of medicine again. My son sees a chiropractor. He is worn daily and for most of the day. Sad that it takes such a horrible, but almost 'completely normal', medical experience to make me think... And I am not just thinking, but telling everyone who will listen!
Some applicable reading:
The Dangers of Cytotec
Homebirth Under Fire
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