Thursday, February 27, 2014
Monday, February 24, 2014
Let the adventures in parenthood begin
At some point this blog became 95% about my journey through infertility. I didn't intend for that to happen but it was the subject that motivated me the most to write. Now that Archer has arrived, it seems likely that much of my blog will now be reflecting on my new adventures through parenthood. Certainly the first four weeks of Archer's life have been all consuming of my time and emotional capital. I haven't had any time to write a blog entry because my life is currently being lived in 30-180 minute increments. Living on a 24-hour clock, never getting more than two hours of sleep at a time, makes the days run together. I can't quite tell if I feel like I've been a mother forever, or if I feel like it's flown by. And, truthfully, I still have moments where I look at Archer and think, "I wonder when his parents are coming to pick him up."
So, how did we get here? What's our birth story? (That's what most people want to know.) Archer was due on January 17th. At my appointment on the 16th, the OB (not my usual doctor, who was on a week's vacation) announced that he thought I should get scheduled to be induced the following Saturday. That caused me all sorts of stress that subsequent week as I prayed to go in to labor naturally. I watched each day pass on the calendar with increasing dread. I know plenty of women who have been induced, but I wanted to avoid it if I could. On Thursday I called my OB (back from vacation) and expressed my concerns and anxiety about the Saturday appointment. My OB explained that I was still in the window of having a normal, term pregnancy and that if I wasn't ready to be induced on Saturday, then I shouldn't be induced. (I need to reiterate how much I adore my OB - he is exactly the type of doctor that I wish everyone could have. If we were to have a second child I would need to have him as my OB again because I don't think anyone else could measure up.) He suggested I keep the Saturday appointment at Labor and Delivery (L&D) as more of a "check-up" just to see where I was at.
Saturday morning Zac and I packed the car as if we were going to the hospital to have a baby, just in case. On the way in to L&D I told Zac that I needed to pee. Now. I barely made it into a nearby bathroom and almost peed all over myself. The urge to pee wasn't new - I was 41 weeks pregnant, after all. I just figured it was only inevitable that at some point I'd wet my pants. While I was a bit mortified and exasperated, I didn't think much of it. At the appointment the doctor examined me and announced that I hadn't dilated any more than the last two appointments. (Still sitting at 1cm.) He suggested that we go home and wait until Monday or Tuesday to come back in to see where I was at, but needed to check a couple more things before he let us leave. He pulled out the ultrasound machine and looked around my belly to check on amniotic fluid. His brow furrowed as he searched and searched. He looked up at us and said, "You really have no amniotic fluid left. You haven't experienced or noticed any leaking?" Zac looked at me and said, "Are you sure that wasn't your water breaking in the bathroom?" Turns out, it was. I don't know what I expected my water breaking to be like, but I was expecting something more than the sudden urge to pee. (And it certainly wasn't like anything I've ever seen on "General Hospital" where the breaking of the waters usually is accompanied by a natural disaster, vehicular collision or at a remote cabin in the woods with no medical personnel.) The doctor, who had a moment earlier said that we might be going home, shrugged and said, "Well, looks like, 'Welcome to Labor and Delivery'."
Our appointment was at 9:00am on Saturday. Archer arrived at 5:23am the following morning. I can't complain about the 20 hours that it took for him to arrive. I was able to be up and walking around for most of Saturday. My biggest goal was to stay out of that darn hospital bed as long as possible. Even when the evening rolled around and I had to be tethered to some monitors at all times, the 10-foot cords allowed me the ability to stand near my bed, pace a little, do a few squats and sway. Zac and I used these early evening hours to finally decide on a name for our baby. (Nothing like the pressure of the last minute to force you to make a decision.) They continued to gently increase my Pitocin each hour or so and the contractions settled into a nice, steady increase in frequency and intensity. Finally as we got closer to midnight, Zac fell asleep on the fold out chair in the room. I dozed a little, but finally around 12:30am I decided it was time for an epidural. I had made it to six centimeters and the pain, while not unbearable, was tough to get through. I had heard that the intensity level of contractions doesn't increase much after about the five centimeter mark, but that the increased frequency is what made the perception of pain feel overwhelming. I decided I didn't need to be a hero. I was tired. I hadn't slept well the night before our appointment - the anxiety of the potential inducement had kept me tossing and turning. Now it was approaching 1:00am and I knew we still had a ways to go. I wanted some rest, to put myself in the best position possible to do the hard work that was coming.
When the epidural team came in, Zac was a bit startled. Granted, that was mostly because he had been asleep and suddenly an additional three to five people were coming in and out of the room. He helped me breathe through the contractions so I could be as still as possible for the insertion of the epidural. The procedure was successful and, as my lower half numbed, Zac and I went back to "sleep" as we waited until I hit the magic 10 centimeters. The epidural guys did a great job. I was numb, but could still feel when I was having a contraction and still had some control over my muscles. Basically the pain was gone, but I had enough sensation to have an idea of what was going on.
A little after 4:00am the nurse visited to check on my progress. She announced, "Oh my, you're ready to go." That surprised me. I assumed that the epidural would slow my progress down, but I had continued to dilate about a centimeter an hour while I had slept. I was equally pleased to know that the end of this part of the process was almost done but I couldn't help but be a little nervous at how the pushing was going to go. I had heard horror stories of women pushing forever, only to end up exhausted and needing a C-section. I also knew there were still plenty of opportunities for complications. Hemorrhaging, the cord around the baby's neck, etc. But I was ready. I spent almost my entire pregnancy working out to keep my body strong. I had experienced a charmed pregnancy and first part of the labor process. I was cautiously optimistic that perhaps my good fortune would continue.
My conversation with the examining nurse had roused Zac from his slumber (bless his heart, that man can sleep like the dead anywhere at anytime) and I could tell that he was nervous when he realized that it was time to have a baby. The nurse called for the doctor and while we waited she showed Zac how he was going to help me push by holding my legs. The nurse explained how she wanted me to breathe and push. It sounded simple enough. Big inhale, push, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, quick exhale, quick inhale, push, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, quick inhale, quick exhale, push, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, big exhale. Wait for another contraction. The nurse cautioned Zac and I that the pushing part sometimes takes quite awhile. She said that it wasn't uncommon to need to push for an hour or so. Somehow in the back of my head I thought, "An hour, eh? Doubt it."
We practiced pushing twice. That is, the nurse and Zac each grabbed a leg and I pushed with all my might. After the second push the nurse said, surprised and a little alarmed, "Um, okay. Stop pushing. The baby is right there and we need the doctor to get in here." Quickly the doctor and a host of supporting personnel flooded the room. The doctor got set up and everyone took their ready positions. The nurse and Zac grabbed my legs and the doctor gave me the okay to resume pushing. One push cycle. A few breaths. Another push cycle. A few breaths. "One more should do it," the doctor assured me.
Big inhale
Push, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. . . .
Baby.
Baby crying.
A boy.
Our boy.
Archer.
I looked at Zac and he looked at me. Our son was here. We said nothing. I think we were too stunned to speak.
They placed our baby on my belly and wiped him down as he cried. There was no worrisome pause, waiting for the baby to cry. He came out, loudly announcing his arrival. He looked amazing. Pink. Healthy. Strong.
After a few minutes of staring at him, they took Archer over to the warming crib next to me and started all of the assessments and procedures that needed to happen. Zac went with the baby, taking photos and helping the nurse as needed. I lay there, overwhelmed. I had expected to feel a flood of maternal love upon seeing our baby. I expected to feel something primal, something instinctual that would link me to this new little life that was equal parts me and my husband. But I didn't. I felt . . . scared. I was scared that we wouldn't know what to do. I was scared that we had made the wrong decision by pursing fertility treatments. Maybe we weren't supposed to be parents. Maybe we wouldn't enjoy being parents and end up resenting our son. I was overwhelmed with the knowledge that my life as I had known it was over. I instantly felt ashamed that I felt that way. What was wrong with me? Why didn't I hear the call of maternal love and connection to my son immediately? Wasn't I supposed to be ecstatic and crying tears of joy?
When they brought Archer back I couldn't take my eyes off him. He was staring up at me, with giant, dark eyes. He seemed incredibly calm for someone who had just been squeezed through a birth canal. If I hadn't immediately feel a maternal tug inside of me upon his birth, I certainly felt sympathy for the little guy at that moment. All three of us, Zac, Archer and me, we were all dazed and confused. We were all new at this. New dad. New mom. New person. New family. None of us knew how this family thing was going to work.
"But I promise you this, little guy," I thought to myself, "your dad and I will try our best. So I guess we've got that."
So, how did we get here? What's our birth story? (That's what most people want to know.) Archer was due on January 17th. At my appointment on the 16th, the OB (not my usual doctor, who was on a week's vacation) announced that he thought I should get scheduled to be induced the following Saturday. That caused me all sorts of stress that subsequent week as I prayed to go in to labor naturally. I watched each day pass on the calendar with increasing dread. I know plenty of women who have been induced, but I wanted to avoid it if I could. On Thursday I called my OB (back from vacation) and expressed my concerns and anxiety about the Saturday appointment. My OB explained that I was still in the window of having a normal, term pregnancy and that if I wasn't ready to be induced on Saturday, then I shouldn't be induced. (I need to reiterate how much I adore my OB - he is exactly the type of doctor that I wish everyone could have. If we were to have a second child I would need to have him as my OB again because I don't think anyone else could measure up.) He suggested I keep the Saturday appointment at Labor and Delivery (L&D) as more of a "check-up" just to see where I was at.
Saturday morning Zac and I packed the car as if we were going to the hospital to have a baby, just in case. On the way in to L&D I told Zac that I needed to pee. Now. I barely made it into a nearby bathroom and almost peed all over myself. The urge to pee wasn't new - I was 41 weeks pregnant, after all. I just figured it was only inevitable that at some point I'd wet my pants. While I was a bit mortified and exasperated, I didn't think much of it. At the appointment the doctor examined me and announced that I hadn't dilated any more than the last two appointments. (Still sitting at 1cm.) He suggested that we go home and wait until Monday or Tuesday to come back in to see where I was at, but needed to check a couple more things before he let us leave. He pulled out the ultrasound machine and looked around my belly to check on amniotic fluid. His brow furrowed as he searched and searched. He looked up at us and said, "You really have no amniotic fluid left. You haven't experienced or noticed any leaking?" Zac looked at me and said, "Are you sure that wasn't your water breaking in the bathroom?" Turns out, it was. I don't know what I expected my water breaking to be like, but I was expecting something more than the sudden urge to pee. (And it certainly wasn't like anything I've ever seen on "General Hospital" where the breaking of the waters usually is accompanied by a natural disaster, vehicular collision or at a remote cabin in the woods with no medical personnel.) The doctor, who had a moment earlier said that we might be going home, shrugged and said, "Well, looks like, 'Welcome to Labor and Delivery'."
Our appointment was at 9:00am on Saturday. Archer arrived at 5:23am the following morning. I can't complain about the 20 hours that it took for him to arrive. I was able to be up and walking around for most of Saturday. My biggest goal was to stay out of that darn hospital bed as long as possible. Even when the evening rolled around and I had to be tethered to some monitors at all times, the 10-foot cords allowed me the ability to stand near my bed, pace a little, do a few squats and sway. Zac and I used these early evening hours to finally decide on a name for our baby. (Nothing like the pressure of the last minute to force you to make a decision.) They continued to gently increase my Pitocin each hour or so and the contractions settled into a nice, steady increase in frequency and intensity. Finally as we got closer to midnight, Zac fell asleep on the fold out chair in the room. I dozed a little, but finally around 12:30am I decided it was time for an epidural. I had made it to six centimeters and the pain, while not unbearable, was tough to get through. I had heard that the intensity level of contractions doesn't increase much after about the five centimeter mark, but that the increased frequency is what made the perception of pain feel overwhelming. I decided I didn't need to be a hero. I was tired. I hadn't slept well the night before our appointment - the anxiety of the potential inducement had kept me tossing and turning. Now it was approaching 1:00am and I knew we still had a ways to go. I wanted some rest, to put myself in the best position possible to do the hard work that was coming.
When the epidural team came in, Zac was a bit startled. Granted, that was mostly because he had been asleep and suddenly an additional three to five people were coming in and out of the room. He helped me breathe through the contractions so I could be as still as possible for the insertion of the epidural. The procedure was successful and, as my lower half numbed, Zac and I went back to "sleep" as we waited until I hit the magic 10 centimeters. The epidural guys did a great job. I was numb, but could still feel when I was having a contraction and still had some control over my muscles. Basically the pain was gone, but I had enough sensation to have an idea of what was going on.
A little after 4:00am the nurse visited to check on my progress. She announced, "Oh my, you're ready to go." That surprised me. I assumed that the epidural would slow my progress down, but I had continued to dilate about a centimeter an hour while I had slept. I was equally pleased to know that the end of this part of the process was almost done but I couldn't help but be a little nervous at how the pushing was going to go. I had heard horror stories of women pushing forever, only to end up exhausted and needing a C-section. I also knew there were still plenty of opportunities for complications. Hemorrhaging, the cord around the baby's neck, etc. But I was ready. I spent almost my entire pregnancy working out to keep my body strong. I had experienced a charmed pregnancy and first part of the labor process. I was cautiously optimistic that perhaps my good fortune would continue.
My conversation with the examining nurse had roused Zac from his slumber (bless his heart, that man can sleep like the dead anywhere at anytime) and I could tell that he was nervous when he realized that it was time to have a baby. The nurse called for the doctor and while we waited she showed Zac how he was going to help me push by holding my legs. The nurse explained how she wanted me to breathe and push. It sounded simple enough. Big inhale, push, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, quick exhale, quick inhale, push, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, quick inhale, quick exhale, push, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, big exhale. Wait for another contraction. The nurse cautioned Zac and I that the pushing part sometimes takes quite awhile. She said that it wasn't uncommon to need to push for an hour or so. Somehow in the back of my head I thought, "An hour, eh? Doubt it."
We practiced pushing twice. That is, the nurse and Zac each grabbed a leg and I pushed with all my might. After the second push the nurse said, surprised and a little alarmed, "Um, okay. Stop pushing. The baby is right there and we need the doctor to get in here." Quickly the doctor and a host of supporting personnel flooded the room. The doctor got set up and everyone took their ready positions. The nurse and Zac grabbed my legs and the doctor gave me the okay to resume pushing. One push cycle. A few breaths. Another push cycle. A few breaths. "One more should do it," the doctor assured me.
Big inhale
Push, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. . . .
Baby.
Baby crying.
A boy.
Our boy.
Archer.
I looked at Zac and he looked at me. Our son was here. We said nothing. I think we were too stunned to speak.
They placed our baby on my belly and wiped him down as he cried. There was no worrisome pause, waiting for the baby to cry. He came out, loudly announcing his arrival. He looked amazing. Pink. Healthy. Strong.
After a few minutes of staring at him, they took Archer over to the warming crib next to me and started all of the assessments and procedures that needed to happen. Zac went with the baby, taking photos and helping the nurse as needed. I lay there, overwhelmed. I had expected to feel a flood of maternal love upon seeing our baby. I expected to feel something primal, something instinctual that would link me to this new little life that was equal parts me and my husband. But I didn't. I felt . . . scared. I was scared that we wouldn't know what to do. I was scared that we had made the wrong decision by pursing fertility treatments. Maybe we weren't supposed to be parents. Maybe we wouldn't enjoy being parents and end up resenting our son. I was overwhelmed with the knowledge that my life as I had known it was over. I instantly felt ashamed that I felt that way. What was wrong with me? Why didn't I hear the call of maternal love and connection to my son immediately? Wasn't I supposed to be ecstatic and crying tears of joy?
When they brought Archer back I couldn't take my eyes off him. He was staring up at me, with giant, dark eyes. He seemed incredibly calm for someone who had just been squeezed through a birth canal. If I hadn't immediately feel a maternal tug inside of me upon his birth, I certainly felt sympathy for the little guy at that moment. All three of us, Zac, Archer and me, we were all dazed and confused. We were all new at this. New dad. New mom. New person. New family. None of us knew how this family thing was going to work.
"But I promise you this, little guy," I thought to myself, "your dad and I will try our best. So I guess we've got that."
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Hello world
Boy, oh boy. Look what the stork delivered on Sunday, the 26th.
Archer.
Stories to come, once we're in a routine and more rested.
Saturday, January 18, 2014
Fortune Cookie Madness
Admission: I have gone out for Chinese food two times in the last three days. (Of course that's only if you count Panda Express as Chinese Food.) This was the fortune I received on Thursday:
I laughed out loud when I read this one and promptly emailed this photo to Zac. (Which resulted in Zac laughing as well.) My labors? Yeah, I've been trying to get those to start for a week now. But it was nice to know that when they did happen I'd bear sweet fruit, which I read to mean a healthy baby.
Today (Saturday) is one day past my due date. I've been growing impatient for the aforementioned "labors" to kick in. Impatient, frustrated and antsy. So when I got this fortune this evening, all I could do was laugh again:
Seriously? Is this some sort of coordinated fortune cookie joke?
Monday, January 13, 2014
Waiting, waiting
I'm less than a week away from my due date. I had an appointment last week with my OB to see where things stood. He was happy that things were moving along and he didn't think we would make it to my due date. Looking at the statement now, I wish he hadn't said that. I've spent the last four or five days hoping that labor would kick into a higher gear but it hasn't happened. As a result, I'm kind of at a loss as to what I should do with myself. I've already put myself on maternity leave from my job. If I would have known I had almost another full week of work availability, I would have kept on earning a paycheck. However, I didn't want to be half-way through an assignment only to have the baby and then stress out about finishing before the end of the month. So without employment to consume my time, I've been using the last few days to "nest" which hasn't really been compelled by some sort of instinctual motivation but instead by simple boredom.
Today I made scones for breakfast because at least that killed some time. The house is prepared. The baby's room is ready. The Christmas decorations are back in storage. (Save a few "winter" decorations that I like to have out that remind me of the time of year.) The laundry is washed, folded and put away. The bathrooms are clean. The kitchen is tidied and mopped. And I don't need to vacuum again. In the evenings I've been working on a cross-stitch piece that has been an on-and-off project for a couple of years. I finally cleaned, starched and blocked some crocheted snowflakes that have been sitting around. I sewed some liners for the baskets underneath the diaper changing table. I rearranged things in the guest room, knowing that we will have a parade of company starting in a few weeks. I went through my clothes (and had Zac do the same) to purge things to be donated or simply thrown away.
I'm actually at the point where I could attempt to organize or do something with the boxes of photographs I have stacked in the closet, but there really isn't any level of boredom in this mortal realm that could motivate me to tackle that undesirable project. Maybe I'll just keep on working on the cross-stitch.
As each day passes and I get more and more impatient. Last night a friend asked me if I was nervous about the process of having the baby. No, not nervous. Sure, I've had absurd anxiety dreams the last few nights (e.g. baby is born and for some reason Zac and I forget to feed the baby for 24 hours) but during the day I don't really think about the labor and delivery. In this case perhaps ignorance is bliss. You don't know what you don't know. I have no reason to fear labor and delivery because I have no idea what it's like. And even if this was my second or third child, each delivery has the potential to be an entirely different experience. I simply want to come through the process with a healthy baby and a healthy me. How we get there isn't really important to me. I'm just ready to get there.
I wonder what else I can bake/cook this morning . . .
Friday, January 3, 2014
It's a new year
Back when I was in K-12, my parents, sister and I regularly went to our cabin to celebrate the New Year. Some years our aunt, uncle and cousins came with. Some years we asked a friend from school to come with instead. Every year there was some junk food and snacks, card games, cold weather, and some possibly illegal sparklers and/or fireworks. The cabin was heated by a old Ben Franklin wood burning stove and often in the evenings we would sit around it for awhile, being cozy and warm. I remember being at the cabin for New Year's Eve, 1989, and saying aloud, "1990 doesn't even sound like a year." It was strange to my ear, "The 1990s." This is probably because my entire conscious life had been in the 1980s. The recognition of the changing of a decade was new to me. There have been a few decades that have passed since 1989 - heck, we even moved into a new century - but I feel like this New Year will be a bigger change than most that have come before. My due date is in about two weeks. Babies tend to show up when they're good and ready, but in the end there is no way we're completing first month of 2014 without becoming parents. It is hard to wrap my mind around.
As I put together our Christmas Cards this year I spent time going through our photos and our calendar, reminding myself of what all we did these past 12 months. Of course, just like the last three years, the wall calendar in the kitchen reflected the voluminous medical appointments associated with our journey towards parenthood. We had done an IUI in January 2013. It wasn't successful. We spent the first part of the year trying to figure out when we were going to stop trying, how many more IUIs we were willing to attempt. I started acupuncture around that time, my Hail Mary, my "at least I tried just about everything." In April, Megan and Paul came to visit. Right after they left, we tried another IUI. This one seemed to work. We waited, not trying to spend too much time wondering if we'd make it past the six-week mark. Well, we're past the 36-week mark at this point.
On one hand I feel like I've been pregnant forever. I remember those first weeks and months:
The first few ultrasounds, and steeling myself for potentially bad news each time but trying to be hopeful.
Going camping, laying in a tent in the woods, wondering when (if?) the morning sickness would kick in.
One of my girlfriends figuring it out early on when I waived off a glass of wine, and my inability (or desire) to lie to her.
Zac coming home and telling me that he had told his boss about the pregnancy in order to make sure he was available as possible for doctor's appointments.
Attending a family wedding over Memorial Day weekend, wondering if we'd be able to keep our secret - not wanting to distract from the focus of the wedding and not wanting to tell our families just yet.
The first few months were spent slowly disseminating the information about the pregnancy to maybe one or two people at a time, depending on the circumstance. Finally we were able to tell our families, and announce it on Facebook. The flood of love and support was overwhelming and I settled into being pregnant. Weeks pass. Months. A full three-quarters of a year. And now here we are, really any day from bringing this baby into the world. A lot of life happens in nine (really 10) months - Zac and I went places and did things all while my body changed and the baby grew. At this point I feel I have forgotten what is like to NOT be pregnant.
On the other hand, how can it be that it's already time to have the baby? It went so quickly. All of those events that happened on the calendar are still fresh in my mind. Why does time seem to elapse more rapidly with each year? That seems to be my adult life in a nutshell - I blink and months go by. I can only imagine that will continue once the baby arrives, when every day brings something new and amazing.
I wish everyone a happy and healthy 2014. May you know prosperity and peace in your lives and, most importantly, joy. I wish you all the most joy that your hearts can hold and then some.
As I put together our Christmas Cards this year I spent time going through our photos and our calendar, reminding myself of what all we did these past 12 months. Of course, just like the last three years, the wall calendar in the kitchen reflected the voluminous medical appointments associated with our journey towards parenthood. We had done an IUI in January 2013. It wasn't successful. We spent the first part of the year trying to figure out when we were going to stop trying, how many more IUIs we were willing to attempt. I started acupuncture around that time, my Hail Mary, my "at least I tried just about everything." In April, Megan and Paul came to visit. Right after they left, we tried another IUI. This one seemed to work. We waited, not trying to spend too much time wondering if we'd make it past the six-week mark. Well, we're past the 36-week mark at this point.
On one hand I feel like I've been pregnant forever. I remember those first weeks and months:
The first few ultrasounds, and steeling myself for potentially bad news each time but trying to be hopeful.
Going camping, laying in a tent in the woods, wondering when (if?) the morning sickness would kick in.
One of my girlfriends figuring it out early on when I waived off a glass of wine, and my inability (or desire) to lie to her.
Zac coming home and telling me that he had told his boss about the pregnancy in order to make sure he was available as possible for doctor's appointments.
Attending a family wedding over Memorial Day weekend, wondering if we'd be able to keep our secret - not wanting to distract from the focus of the wedding and not wanting to tell our families just yet.
The first few months were spent slowly disseminating the information about the pregnancy to maybe one or two people at a time, depending on the circumstance. Finally we were able to tell our families, and announce it on Facebook. The flood of love and support was overwhelming and I settled into being pregnant. Weeks pass. Months. A full three-quarters of a year. And now here we are, really any day from bringing this baby into the world. A lot of life happens in nine (really 10) months - Zac and I went places and did things all while my body changed and the baby grew. At this point I feel I have forgotten what is like to NOT be pregnant.
On the other hand, how can it be that it's already time to have the baby? It went so quickly. All of those events that happened on the calendar are still fresh in my mind. Why does time seem to elapse more rapidly with each year? That seems to be my adult life in a nutshell - I blink and months go by. I can only imagine that will continue once the baby arrives, when every day brings something new and amazing.
I wish everyone a happy and healthy 2014. May you know prosperity and peace in your lives and, most importantly, joy. I wish you all the most joy that your hearts can hold and then some.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Class is in session
Approximately 35 weeks along . . .
Two weekends ago was all baby, all the time. We started out on Friday taking a tour of the Labor & Delivery (L&D) unit at Navy Medical Center San Diego (NMCSD). It was an opportunity to see the facilities and meet some of the staff that may be around when it comes time to deliver. NMCSD seems like a nice enough place and the staff seems to genuinely enjoy their jobs. As someone who has never been admitted to a hospital, or really even spent much time in a hospital visiting others, I was surprised at how impersonal it seemed. Yes, they tried to decorate L&D to make it more relaxing and "homey" but it still felt . . . sterile. In more ways than one. I understand that it's the nature of hospitals, but the antiseptic smell that permeates everything doesn't make me feel "healthy" or "natural". There's really nothing soothing, relaxing or healing about chemical smells, fluorescent lighting and the constant sound of electronic monitors going off. At least the actual birthing rooms have lighting that's less harsh. I can certainly see the appeal of a home birth or those high-end birthing centers after visiting NMCSD. Yes, having all of that technology and specialists around in case something goes wrong is great but it certainly seems to come at a cost. Cost of what, I can't quite articulate. I'm sure I'll have other things on my mind when the time comes to deliver and the subsequent 24 hours, but I can understand why moms would want to leave the hospital as soon as possible after having a baby.
On Saturday and Sunday Zac and I attended a birthing class at a different San Diego hospital. I discovered much too late into this pregnancy that many birthing classes are anywhere from six to twelve weeks long. Truthfully, I'm glad we went with the two-day class. I've talked to other friends who have taken the longer classes and frankly the additional hours of class work are mainly devoted to practicing breathing and relaxation. While that's what some people want, neither Zac nor I would have enjoyed that many sessions of the same thing over and over. Our two-day class hit the major topics: stages of labor, breathing, pain relief and epidurals, Cesarean sections, breastfeeding, postpartum care, plus a few others.
There were 10 other couples in the class, all of us first-time parents. It was a friendly group where everyone seemed to have a pretty good sense of humor about the absurdity of what we were all about to go through. Unfortunately there was one woman in the class who was the quintessential Negative Nancy. Apparently every single one of her girlfriends had nightmarish delivery experiences. Everything that could go wrong with late-term pregnancy and delivery had happened to the women in her life. She seemed to relish sharing each and every horror story about evil doctors, bitchy nurses, rare complications and gruesome happenings to moms and babies. Luckily most of the people in the class didn't pay her fear-mongering much heed. By the end of the two days, most of us simply rolled our eyes each time she started in on one of her stories. I felt bad for the nurse who taught the class - she did the best that she could to contain Nancy's negativity. On the one hand the nurse had to acknowledge that yes, sometimes there are complications and, yes, sometimes you don't always get along with the staff on hand, but she adeptly countered that most of the time things go smoothly and that you can always request to have another doctor or nurse.
It was certainly a worthwhile two days. I was moved to tears on at least three separate occasions, all of which were caused by video clips we watched in the class. At the beginning of the first day we watched a clip from Bill Cosby's epic 1983 comedy routine "Bill Cosby, Himself." He spent a good 10 minutes or so describing the experience that he and his wife had for the delivery of their first-born. I was almost afraid I was going to go in to labor simply from laughing too hard. Everyone in the class was roaring. Bill Cosby really is a comedy genius, and I would seriously consider watching his routines while I work through labor. (Although I'm not sure how my laughing would interfere or aid my breathing.) The other two times I got a little misty was at the end of two hospital-produced video clips relating to child birth. In one of them the father spoke of his feelings about being there for the process and meeting his child for the first time. He talked about how proud he was of his wife and how quickly he fell in love with his child. In the other video, the new moms talked about the experience of childbirth and how, regardless of how they had their child (c-section, natural, epidural) they felt an amazing sense of accomplishment and joy. It was hard not to have my hormonally super-charged emotions get the best of me and so a few happy tears rolled down my cheeks.
At this point I'm awaiting my 36-week appointment to see where I'm at. I believe at this point I start going in every week to check on things. I suppose Zac and I are as ready as we can be. There's a place for the baby to sleep, I've got a pair of breasts and there's some formula in the cabinet if breastfeeding doesn't work out. There are diapers and drawers full of clothing awaiting the wee one. We also have running water and soap. That seems to cover the main requirements of feeding, clothing, diapering and cleaning the child, so whether Baby arrives in one week, three weeks or five, we're set up to welcome a baby into our home. There is only so much classes can do for new parents - most of what we will learn will be on our own, through trial and error. But I am optimistic that we will try our best, and that's a good place to start from.
So for now we spend most of our evenings enjoying the quiet and relishing sleeping in on the weekends, luxuries that will soon be a thing of the past. A sense of calm has descended on the house. Most of it is probably attributable to the Christmas tree which twinkles happily in the living room. It's hard not be relaxed and happy when bathed in the glow of Christmas lights. Zac's work schedule is slowing down for the holiday season and we're now able to spend more time together, which is the best gift of all - especially this year. Baby will be here before we know it.
Two weekends ago was all baby, all the time. We started out on Friday taking a tour of the Labor & Delivery (L&D) unit at Navy Medical Center San Diego (NMCSD). It was an opportunity to see the facilities and meet some of the staff that may be around when it comes time to deliver. NMCSD seems like a nice enough place and the staff seems to genuinely enjoy their jobs. As someone who has never been admitted to a hospital, or really even spent much time in a hospital visiting others, I was surprised at how impersonal it seemed. Yes, they tried to decorate L&D to make it more relaxing and "homey" but it still felt . . . sterile. In more ways than one. I understand that it's the nature of hospitals, but the antiseptic smell that permeates everything doesn't make me feel "healthy" or "natural". There's really nothing soothing, relaxing or healing about chemical smells, fluorescent lighting and the constant sound of electronic monitors going off. At least the actual birthing rooms have lighting that's less harsh. I can certainly see the appeal of a home birth or those high-end birthing centers after visiting NMCSD. Yes, having all of that technology and specialists around in case something goes wrong is great but it certainly seems to come at a cost. Cost of what, I can't quite articulate. I'm sure I'll have other things on my mind when the time comes to deliver and the subsequent 24 hours, but I can understand why moms would want to leave the hospital as soon as possible after having a baby.
On Saturday and Sunday Zac and I attended a birthing class at a different San Diego hospital. I discovered much too late into this pregnancy that many birthing classes are anywhere from six to twelve weeks long. Truthfully, I'm glad we went with the two-day class. I've talked to other friends who have taken the longer classes and frankly the additional hours of class work are mainly devoted to practicing breathing and relaxation. While that's what some people want, neither Zac nor I would have enjoyed that many sessions of the same thing over and over. Our two-day class hit the major topics: stages of labor, breathing, pain relief and epidurals, Cesarean sections, breastfeeding, postpartum care, plus a few others.
There were 10 other couples in the class, all of us first-time parents. It was a friendly group where everyone seemed to have a pretty good sense of humor about the absurdity of what we were all about to go through. Unfortunately there was one woman in the class who was the quintessential Negative Nancy. Apparently every single one of her girlfriends had nightmarish delivery experiences. Everything that could go wrong with late-term pregnancy and delivery had happened to the women in her life. She seemed to relish sharing each and every horror story about evil doctors, bitchy nurses, rare complications and gruesome happenings to moms and babies. Luckily most of the people in the class didn't pay her fear-mongering much heed. By the end of the two days, most of us simply rolled our eyes each time she started in on one of her stories. I felt bad for the nurse who taught the class - she did the best that she could to contain Nancy's negativity. On the one hand the nurse had to acknowledge that yes, sometimes there are complications and, yes, sometimes you don't always get along with the staff on hand, but she adeptly countered that most of the time things go smoothly and that you can always request to have another doctor or nurse.
It was certainly a worthwhile two days. I was moved to tears on at least three separate occasions, all of which were caused by video clips we watched in the class. At the beginning of the first day we watched a clip from Bill Cosby's epic 1983 comedy routine "Bill Cosby, Himself." He spent a good 10 minutes or so describing the experience that he and his wife had for the delivery of their first-born. I was almost afraid I was going to go in to labor simply from laughing too hard. Everyone in the class was roaring. Bill Cosby really is a comedy genius, and I would seriously consider watching his routines while I work through labor. (Although I'm not sure how my laughing would interfere or aid my breathing.) The other two times I got a little misty was at the end of two hospital-produced video clips relating to child birth. In one of them the father spoke of his feelings about being there for the process and meeting his child for the first time. He talked about how proud he was of his wife and how quickly he fell in love with his child. In the other video, the new moms talked about the experience of childbirth and how, regardless of how they had their child (c-section, natural, epidural) they felt an amazing sense of accomplishment and joy. It was hard not to have my hormonally super-charged emotions get the best of me and so a few happy tears rolled down my cheeks.
At this point I'm awaiting my 36-week appointment to see where I'm at. I believe at this point I start going in every week to check on things. I suppose Zac and I are as ready as we can be. There's a place for the baby to sleep, I've got a pair of breasts and there's some formula in the cabinet if breastfeeding doesn't work out. There are diapers and drawers full of clothing awaiting the wee one. We also have running water and soap. That seems to cover the main requirements of feeding, clothing, diapering and cleaning the child, so whether Baby arrives in one week, three weeks or five, we're set up to welcome a baby into our home. There is only so much classes can do for new parents - most of what we will learn will be on our own, through trial and error. But I am optimistic that we will try our best, and that's a good place to start from.
So for now we spend most of our evenings enjoying the quiet and relishing sleeping in on the weekends, luxuries that will soon be a thing of the past. A sense of calm has descended on the house. Most of it is probably attributable to the Christmas tree which twinkles happily in the living room. It's hard not be relaxed and happy when bathed in the glow of Christmas lights. Zac's work schedule is slowing down for the holiday season and we're now able to spend more time together, which is the best gift of all - especially this year. Baby will be here before we know it.
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