Is this PPD?

I've been medicated for depression since 2001. I was taken off them before I got pregnant with Alex, and stayed off them until she was weaned at 27 months. I was taking them until I got the stomach flu at 10 weeks pregnant with Atticus and couldn't keep anything down. Knowing I have a history of depression, I have been seeing a brain care specialist for months now and everyone is monitoring me for Postpartum Depression (PPD).

I'm not sure, but I think I'm coming down with it.

Everyone, medical, thought I was doing really well. I haven't had an appointment to see anyone in nearly 2 weeks. This week, I feel like I'm falling apart. I'm not sure what happened...

I'm still doing the good mommy stuff. He's got clean diapers, no diaper rash. Feed on demand - started feeling guilty about the pacifier, so we're nursing more (An author I read recently described nursing as being nibbled to death by caterpillars. I enjoy it more than that, but I can see the comparison). Feeling guilty about not pumping, so I haven't put it away. It's still here in the living room. Staring at me.

My nipple actually split the last time I used it, so I have to get my guts up to put it to my breast again. The split has healed; but there's nothing like watching blood and milk getting sucked out of your body, threatening to contaminate the precious half ounce you did manage to pump over the last 40 minutes... Yeah. Pumping and me still aren't buddies. Alex was well fed. She was 90th percentile for length and weight, she was constantly nursing, and I could get maybe half an ounce after pumping for 30 minutes. Atticus... our nursing relationship is weird - I'll blog it later, but I'm sure it's feeding into this PPD thing. And the pumping is even harder this time.

Without a supply of milk for him, I have to take him everywhere. That includes class. My professor is really sweet about it. When Atticus was really wee, he'd sleep and nurse through class. As he's getting bigger, he's less quiet and our nursing relationship is more fraught, so I take him out of the room to nurse. I'm missing class. I'm so embarrassed. I know my course grade is suffering. But at least my professor let me stick it out.

Since Atticus was late and I got mastitis the second week, I missed the first two weeks of class. The other course I was enrolled in, I was told to withdraw. I had already missed too much. Since I was no longer on track to get all my coursework done, I am no longer graduating in May. I'm taking two courses in the spring and another two in the fall. Because I am no longer enrolled in the correct number of courses, some of my financial aid has been withdrawn. I can't make rent in December.

The financial aid thing is a bummer. Since Bryn and I got married (I kind of waited to marry him because of this), I'm not sure how eligible I am for financial aid anymore. I filled out my last FAFSA before we got married, and now it's not my last FAFSA. Keep your fingers crossed for us, folks.

Money shouldn't be that big an issue. Bryn is working darn near full time now. The hourly rate isn't awesome, but it's more than $10/hour and more than 30 hours per week. It's not much, but we can make it through - we get food stamps. We get more food stamps than I think is ethical, but we manage to spend every cent every month. On top of that I get WIC. But money is an issue. Alex's child support isn't getting paid, so I have absolutely no money in the bank. I haven't for months. If I need money, I have to ask Bryn. I can't so much as treat myself to a cup of coffee in a nice cafe. I can't get Alex new shoes. I can't get the oil changed in the car. I can't pay the gas bill or the electric. I can't do anything without asking Bryn for money. And the first thing he asks is if I've spent all of the money he transferred last time. I haven't had more than $10 in my account for more than a few days (waiting for autopay on my phone) since July. Bryn's birthday is next week. His first since we got married. Am I really going to spend his money buying him a present? Last year, without the child support, this wasn't an issue - I had my financial aid. This year? I just want to know that my bills are getting paid. Is it cold in here?

So, my thesis fell through, for a lot of reasons. I knew what I wanted to do; everyone on my committee tweaked it until I didn't really recognize it. I did the reading that they wanted and discovered that what they wanted was stupid (like I thought) and I couldn't make a five page paper, let alone sixty-five, about how stupid my thesis was. I still think my original idea would work, but now I can't prove it. No one wanted to read it. Thesis option has been scratched. Since I'm not writing a thesis anymore, I need to take more courses and take broader comprehensive exams. So we're here in Burlington for another semester, at least.

I hate Burlington. Everything is more expensive than it needs to be. I have so few friends up here that I am surrounded by people and completely isolated at the same time. I am tethered to the house by my homework and the baby. Housework needs to get done increasingly by me now that Bryn is working so much. And no one just drops in. I miss having friends who would just drop by. I miss having friends I could drop in on. I don't know where a single one of my friends lives up here. Doesn't matter. They all have jobs too.

Family.
My mother moved up here! That was cool. She just finally got a job. Second day? She wakes up from a dead sleep with a sore throat. She gets to try again next week. I'm really worried. She has a history of absenteeism, and I don't want it following her to the new job. I worry about her health, but what is the English major going to tell the Registered Nurse?
My father still hasn't seen Atticus. He lives two hours away and hasn't made the trip. But he did write a check for his lifetime hunting and fishing license, so there's that. I haven't called him in months. Not even for his birthday. Daughter of the freaking year... I just hate the guilt-trips.
Bryn's mom... She came (from freaking Florida, Dad) to see Atticus; but she's gone home now.
Alex is awesome. Until she makes me want to throw her outside. The morning clothes argument. The afternoon homework struggle. The nightly bedtime battle. Thank God Nana lives nearby now.

Bryn. He's not a mind reader. He's a good man trying to make the best out of a bad situation. He works hard and he comes home tired and sore. I just want to curl up with him and let everything else go to hell. But he needs some alone time and time with his friends, and the baby and Alex need tending to...

I just wish I felt necessary. Bryn could handle the mornings without me if he got up earlier. And he could go to bed earlier if he weren't waiting up for me. I stress him out and make him worry; that's not contributing. I feed the baby. That's all I can do that Bryn can't do better on his own.

He knows that I'm not right. We just talked about it. He's been worried for three weeks now. I don't eat much. I don't hydrate. I shower on Wednesday and sometime during the weekend. I'm still going to class and getting all my homework done, but that's about it. The kitchen is gross. Mom being around has been helpful - she does dishes and laundry. She also holds the baby so I can do some stuff. But she isn't always here. And sometimes I need to go out.

Yesterday, I found myself running errands in three day old jeans and my hair was still in the ratty ponytail I'd put up the night before. I cleaned up a bit and took Al to caramel apple dipping, then ran home to start supper. Bryn got home, Al got home, and supper was still cooking. Then we had to leave for bowling with our resident advisors. Alex really wanted to go. We had promised... I took supper out of the oven and we went bowling.

It was nice getting out with everyone. And we weren't sitting in the dark ignoring each other. I didn't even score a 50... Bryn did really well. Alex did really well. I want to go again and prove that I can do better. I used to average between 150 and 175... But that was years ago.

I dropped Bryn and Al at home and went to a party. It was nice being out with people from the program (I guess I do know where one person lives...) and beyond. English people and queer folk were invited for board game night. I had to bring Atticus. I was dehydrated so I was confined to water. I was lousy at the board game and I was working on a headache, but I had fun. I think I talked too much. It's been a while since I talked to grown ups other than Bryn or Mom.

Today at a child's birthday party I think I was obviously not with it. The mom kept trying to include me in conversation and she smiled at me a lot. Alex's present was the smallest (and cheapest) and she specifically came over to compliment the game and thank me. I mean, I thought it was neat, but it wasn't that cool. And in hindsight, not a birthday party present. Too small, not showy enough. Al wasn't having much fun, which didn't help my mood. Store cake frosting gives Al a stomach ache, so she hates cake time. She's only ice skated once before, so falling down hurt but she was a trooper. I also failed to get her properly prepared. No hat, no gloves, no helmet. She got a loaner helmet. Remind me to check her for lice tomorrow. At the end of the party the mom thanked me for coming and hugged me. I nearly started crying. I was done. I'd nursed the baby twice, tended to Al's needs and whims, and comforted her poor feet, knees, and hands, stroked her ego and pointed out that no one finished their piece of cake. Al would not shut up most of the way home. I was so done. I just wanted to be done. I fell into Bryn's arms when we got home.

I wanted a nap. I hate that all I want to do is curl up in bed and watch Monsters Inc.

I have an appointment with my brain care specialist on Tuesday. Bryn and I think I need to go back on medication. I've been worse, but we need to get this now. Two or three weeks ago would have been better, but you work with what you've got.

If it were just the situational stuff, I'd be perfectly entitled to being down. Having just had a baby... why does that make me feel guilty about being down? I've always advocated for PPD selfcare, awareness, acceptance and love. It's hard to do it for myself.

New Purpose

Atticus is no longer a belly-dweller. I want to keep writing, for what it's worth. I have even less free-time...

Alex's baby book is embarrassing. I filed out two pages and failed to tape her bracelet in, so it falls out when anyone moves it. In my defense, I was in a bad place when I had Alex and I never took the time to amend it. I'd like to use this blog to redeem myself.

I was thinking that I could keep you all posted on the doings of the kids (she's at school, he's nurse-napping in my lap), and take some time to examine a specific topic (diapers and nursing are composing themselves as I type this).

As always, thrilled to get comments or prompts for posts.

Thanks for reading thus far, I appreciate it.

August 27, 2012 1:07am

Less than 20 hours after my water broke my baby boy came into the world.

I woke up at 5:30 thinking I had wet the bed. It wasn't wet, but I went to the bathroom just in case. I uncleanched my Kegel and there was a gush of fluid. I made no mess! I woke up Bryn and despite not having contractions to speak of and Martha's advice to rest, we were both awake and making sure we had everything we needed all packed up.

Boo woke up easily and we got her dressed and ready. My contractions got harder and regular at about 5 minutes apart. We called the midwife again and headed to the hospital.

En route I called and texted everyone who needed to know. My mom would meet us there. Bryn's mom was concerned for me but wanted to know how Bryn was holding up. Bryn's sister was MIA. This was not good. She was on Boo Duty. Turned out she was in class and would meet us at the hospital ASAP after class was done.

As it was a Sunday morning, there was no one at registration or information. I'm glad we had toured the hospital recently; we found the Birth Center without a problem.

I wasn't much more dilated than I had been on Friday, but I was 75% effaced. I walked. I sat. I watched TV with Boo. I played Uno. Bryn took me for a walk in the hospital proper. We looked at the art on the walls. We looked at the pretty garden. I didn't want to go out; it was too hot. We walked down the ramp towards the cafeteria and took the stairs back up. And we did it again. I tried to squat, but it just didn't feel right and I couldn't get back up. I wasn't getting anywhere. We talked about Pitocin.

I let the Pitocin conversation marinate for four hours.

I was at 2 cm at 11 am
I was at 2 cm at 3 pm
I agreed to the Pitocin at 7 pm

I resisted the Pitocin because it felt like failure. It felt like I was conceding. I was agreeing that I could not birth a child without medical intervention. My body, as rounded and feminine as it was, could not, on its own, give birth to a baby. I was also agreeing to a needle in my arm, a monitor on my ample waist, and a monitor for the baby. Instead of the happy-hippy ideal I had envisioned, I was getting a medicalized, monitored, machine-that-goes-ping birth. I'm not sure which I found more demoralizing, the failure of my body or the loss of my dream.

If I had been happy with Alex's birth, I may not have fought so long. As it was, I felt anger every time I thought about her birth. Artificially ruptured membranes, Pitocin, machine-that-goes-ping, IV fluids, episiotomy, and not seeing her for an hour after her birth all equaled me hating the birthing process - which was why I went with a midwife this time. To avoid all of that. The midwife nudged in the early afternoon, and then we flat out talked about it. Then I cried to Bryn about it.

Then I saw the worry and pain in his eyes during my contractions and when he saw the disappointment in my eyes every few hours when I was given the news that I hadn't dilated any further. I saw the worry and pain I was feeling reflected in his eyes and I knew that I needed the drug.

At 7:30 pm my drip was started.

This is when it was suggested that I labor in the tub. Hooked up to an IV stand, two elastic belts, hand itchy, contractions every three minutes is not when I would consider it to be the perfect time for a bath. Midwives are weird that way.

I was in the tub for less than an hour, shifting positions every few contractions, when I was told I had to get out of the tub. ...first you want me in the tub, now you want me out of the tub... I resisted just about everything the midwife asked me to do. Every position change was delayed by a couple of contractions. My main fear was that I would be mid-shift and a contraction would hit. I was afraid of being in an awkward position and being that much more uncomfortable if I was caught off guard like that.

At about 11:30 pm I was finally dilated to 9 cm.
At 12:30 am I had my midwife up to her elbow pushing my cervix out of the way while I was blowing instead of pushing. I really wanted to push. I mean, if you have never been in labor you will never know the difference between wanting to do something and needing to do something. There is a difference between wanting to push and needing to push. That line is filament thin and once broached, being told you can't makes one slightly homicidal.


At one point my midwife told me to try being on my knees. Suddenly, I felt really good about where everything was going. This was the position of my dream! I wound up (after dodging my IV line and threading around the fetal monitor line) on my knees leaning over the back of the raised head of the bed. I still wasn't allowed to push with every contraction - I wasn't fully dilated - but I was closer to my ideal birth position.

While I was on my knees I was alternately pushing and blowing through contractions. Martha wanted me to motorboat with my mouth. If your mouth is relaxed, the rest of your muscles tend to follow that cue. She wanted my cervix to relax so she could push it out of the way. I can't motorboat when I'm not stressed out. I just can't. I wound up just saying, "Bubububububububub..." and making Bryn and Martha giggle. It became a weird mantra for me to focus on instead of pushing. Om never meant anything to me; apparently, Bububub does.

I was Bububub-ing a lot, and not doing much pushing. I was getting pretty ticked off. Then I heard it! A baby crying! The woman next door had stopped screaming and I could hear her baby crying. If I listen to Martha and keep my focus, I'll have a baby too! Baby! There is a baby at the end of all this pain! Focus!

I needed to change position again. I was so focused on the baby, I didn't mind, much. I did have a contraction while rolling and navigating the lines and leads connecting me to the machines. It was just as miserable as I'd imagined.

I wound up on my back, slightly propped up. Not what I'd thought ideal, but everyone seemed to like it better. Martha, not the contractions, nor the cervix, was making me uncomfortable. She was trying to widen my pelvis and was sitting on the bed, with her hand in my foreshortened vagina and smack up against my bent right leg. I fought very hard against my desire to straighten that leg and send her onto the floor. I hated her hand. I was hating her. It was all her fault. It was her fault I had the Pitocin, it was her fault I was on my back, it was her fault I couldn't push, and it was her fault I was so uncomfortable. And then, I was allowed to push!

I don't remember how many times I pushed, but I ignored a lot of directions to push again. Sometimes I could only push once in a contraction, I was just too tired. I remember watching my mom. She was standing at the far side of the room, against the wall, with her hands at the small of her back. That is her pose when she's uncomfortable or unhappy. Something was wrong. I asked her if she was alright. She said she was fine and I had another contraction.

I pushed and pushed and eventually there was a baby on the bed with me. I was not really with it. I saw Bryn smiling and crying and cutting the umbilical cord. I thought we were going to wait for it to stop pulsing. Had it stopped pulsing already? You're restarting the Pitocin to help me deliver the placenta? I didn't speak. I was too foggy. Baby! Where is he? I can hear him! Martha was checking my placenta. It was whole. Here's the baby. Huh?

He was awake and alert, but with no desire to latch and nurse. That's okay, we'd get to that later.

Apparently, the Pitocin had been stopped at 10:30. I'd done the last 5 cm on my own. But the baby's heart rate had been dipping with every contraction at about the same time, that was why a lead had been put on his little head at that time. I was so concerned about the lead in his head that I hadn't noticed that my medicine had been stopped. The lead in his head was what was making everyone so anxious. Well, it was the numbers the lead was providing. His heart rate would dip to nearly 40 during contractions at the end. It would bounce back up, but it was really concerning everyone who could see the monitor. The rate didn't fall so much while I was on my back. Yes, I felt less productive, but it put less stress on the baby. Fair trade off.

Bryn cut the cord while it was still pulsing because the baby had to go to the warming table and be checked by the pediatrician who had swooped in with a pediatrics nurse at the last minute. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He hadn't even time to throw on a white coat. The baby's initial APGAR was a 3. They gave him a little oxygen and his second APGAR was a 9. The pediatrician looked just as happy as Bryn when he handed over my baby boy.

My perfectly healthy, beautiful baby boy.

Sleep; or Why I Don't

Everyone knows that pregnant women don't sleep well. It all gets chalked up to the squashed bladder and the basketball strapped to the abdomen, but it's so much more than that.

First of all, for me, is the fact that I am a face-sleeper. I normally sleep flat on my stomach with my head under the pillow. Bryn thinks this is terribly weird and it worried him at first. Yes, I can breathe. No, the boobs don't get in the way. (But they will the entire time I'm nursing)

Now that there is a belly, I have to sleep either on one side or the other. Back sleeping is not an option. For those of you who don't know: sleeping on ones back while pregnant can pinch an artery and squishes lots of organs and, for whatever reason, makes it hard to breathe. And it's impossible to sit up from flat on your back. So, left or right are the only options.

Now, all health care professionals are going to tell a pregnant woman to sleep on her left side. That artery in her back is least compressed and the blood flow to the uterus is best if she lies on her left side. I slept on my left exclusively for the nine months I was pregnant with Alex. I can't do that any more.

Since I have to get up every couple of hours to pee anyway, I switch sides. I start on my left, but depending on how many times I get up in the night, I may finish the night on my right.

Not only does my hip get sore, my ear hurts. If you didn't know me as a child, you may not know quite how far my ears stick out. Lying on them hurts that cartilage that makes them stick out.

And if I'm not careful with how I position my arm, while lying on my left, the top one gets tingly and I lose the sensation in my fingers. I have an old shoulder injury that makes positioning my right arm crucial or it's uncomfortable for the rest of the day.

Then there's the heat thing. A pregnant woman's volume of blood is a lot greater than it was a year ago. I'm a freaking furnace. I remember being hot with Alex, but at least in March and April, I could just turn down the heat or open the window. I sleep with a fan pointed directly at me. (Since I can't take my allergy meds, this dries out the stuff in my nose and makes my nose hurt - so not directly related to sleep, but makes it harder for me to get a good stretch of it since I need to clear out my nose so I can breathe without drooling) I still sweat a lot, even with the fan. I get up to pee and the pillow needs to be flipped over because it is all cold and damp. The body pillow I put between my breasts also needs to be flipped, for the same reason.

The body pillow. It needs to go between my breasts or they are smooched against one another and they just pool sweat. It runs from between them and I get rashy. The pillow also has to go between my knees and ankles so my hips don't ache quite so badly. It also keeps me away from my husband... I don't like that part. However, considering how much heat I throw, he doesn't want to snuggle with me anyway, so it's not a really big deal. I guess.

And there's the peeing. I need to get up somewhere between every 45 minutes and 3 hours. I am grateful for the 3 hour stretches. Getting from horizontal to vertical takes a lot of energy and logistics. This leg has to go here before that leg can go there and this arm has to support the whole structure before you can lean that way. And then when you get to the bathroom, the trickle that is produced is so unsatisfying that you sit there longer than you need to and your legs fall asleep because you did too, accidentally. You know there has to be more pee - that tiny amount could not have been the urgency that got you out of bed. Seriously.

And then you have to climb back into bed and try to get comfortable all over again, except now your spot is all cold and damp from the sweat. But at least, by this point, you're exhausted and drop right off to sleep. Usually.

The Due Date

Woke this morning to a call from the midwife's office asking me to meet her at the birthing center 2.5 hours earlier than my appointment was scheduled for originally.

We were rushing to get out the door when we got a call to meet her at the same time but at her office. We all breathed a sigh of relief and were still 5 minutes late.

I timed my contractions the entire way down there and they were about 7 minutes apart. We sat down to talk and she told me to stop timing them - it was making me crazy. She watched a contraction and we talked about how to breathe through them. By watching me, she knew I wasn't there yet. The system was "tuning up". I'd really like the overture to begin...

She did another internal and I'm still at 1 cm, but I'm about 50% effaced. BP was 120/60 just post contraction, so I'm feeling pretty good. My weight went down by 2 pounds from last week. 

This morning, I was queasy and (sorry, TMI) had the poops, so I was really hopeful that today was going to be the day. 

Contractions aren't regular. They aren't hard. They are down the front. I get a few that hurt down into my pelvis, but they are pretty rare. 

I kind of just want to hide in the house, curled up, watching movies, or playing Uno. I cry a lot. Jerry Nelson dying didn't help. I want Alex to have fun and go out. I want Bryn to get on with his day. But if I'm alone all I do is sleep. Or dwell.

Maybe I should get a babysitter for Alex tomorrow and take Bryn out to a movie and/or dinner. 

I'm terrified of missing the first days of classes... I have no contingency plan. This wasn't supposed to happen. The baby was supposed to be "early" or on time - he's a second birth. Bryn has a job interview. Alex has an open house for her new class. Stuff has to happen and ... stressing out is not going to help. But I can't really help it. 

I'll keep you posted.

Still Pregnant...

We have passed my original due date of August 21st. We are on the eve of the "official" due date. I have been having contractions for about four days now. We all sat around waiting on Tuesday. I really wanted to have the baby on Tuesday. I'm not sure why... Well maybe I have a few reasons.

I liked the idea of having a roaring Leo demanding to be the center of attention. I liked the idea of having a week before my classes started again to get used to having the little guy in the house. I just really wanted to have him on Tuesday. I was even ready... He had been pretty quiet, I had very little appetite, I had nothing in my digestive system to speak of; it felt right. Contractions never got closer together than 10 minutes and I could talk through all of them. 

Yesterday, Bryn convinced me to get out of the house and get my mind off of it. We walked around downtown for a little bit. Not much of an appetite. Stronger contractions, but still 14 minutes apart...

Today, I said to heck with it and told Bryn that I planned to go run a whole bunch of errands - on the bus. He vetoed the bus idea and we all went to Big Lots. I went for printer paper. We spent over $70. Good thing we brought the car. Then we took Alex to see ParaNorman. Bryn and I both figured it was our last chance for us to do something just for her for a while. We didn't tell her about it until we pulled up to the theater for fear I'd go into labor and disappoint her. It was a really good movie and she enjoyed it (even though she was scared through a lot of it). She also got a nosebleed in the middle of the movie. That was pretty upsetting too. 

I fell asleep in my chair after dinner, so Bryn sent me and Boo to bed at the same time. I tucked her in  and tried to go to sleep myself. Didn't work. I snuggled with Bryn for a bit. I cried. I whined. I'm uncomfortable. The belly is in the way of everything. My hips hurt. My pelvis hurts. My wedding ring is getting hard to take off. I'm hot. Contractions are about 10 minutes apart... 2 more minutes, consistently, and I can call the midwife. But no... and the last one was 20 minutes ago... I'm not sure I'm ever having this baby. 

Midwife appointment tomorrow afternoon. I'll keep you posted.

Quick Update

Went to the midwife today. I've gained 7 pounds in the last week. It's all water-weight, but it cracked Bryn up. I just kept nudging the little weight and he kept saying, "no...", "no...", "you're kidding...", "really?", "no...", "How did you do that?" I had no answer for him, other than, "I just had a banana."

The midwife was not surprised. She says that I'm going to sweat it all out in the first week or so... Like I'm not sweating enough as it is.

I asked for a cervix check. I know that it doesn't predict anything. I know that I could walk around for weeks dilated to 3cm, but I wanted to know. I wanted to know if I was doing anything productive. I'm about 1cm and 25% effaced. My cervix is positioned correctly and the midwife could feel the baby's head and he's positioned well. I cramped a bit after she poked at me, but it wasn't too bad.

I've had about four contractions today. The closest together they've been is 25 minutes.

We toured the birth center again. The nice nurse who showed us around reiterated the midwife's advice: rest, drink, eat. Nap, snack, drink. Be rested, hydrated, and have calorie reserves. Not really a problem. I'm always tired. Always hungry. Always thirsty. I put on a movie that I kind of want to watch and fall asleep before the opening credits are over.

Hopefully, I'll get to spend some time in the hospital in the next few days. I'll keep you posted.

One Week Until My Due Date

When the kid actually decides to make an appearance is anybody's guess. Bryn thinks it's going to be the 21st. I've been having mild contractions in the evenings for a few nights now. Nothing major, just generally uncomfortable. They are just Braxton Hicks, but they are making me hyper aware of how prepared we are.

We have the bed set up. We have the cradle set up. We have clean, folded, organized clothes. We have 80 cloth diapers and two packages of Seventh Generation disposables. We have diaper service set-up. I have a bag packed and in the car. I packed one for the baby and that is in the car. I packed a garbage bag with towels and twine and put that in the car. Bryn packed a bag last night and that will go in the car today. I'll help Alex pack a bag today to put in the car. Bryn and I have toured the Birthing Center and plan to see it again with Alex today. They have a scheduled induction today, but a quick swing through shouldn't be too disruptive.

I just want to have it over with. I just want to be done with it. I want a baby in my arms. I want my body back. I want to be capable of sleeping through the night (I know it won't happen, but I want to be capable of being denied a good night's sleep). I am sick of not being comfortable. I am tired of needing to pee every hour. I miss sleeping on my stomach. I miss sleeping with my husband - I am too hot to want to touch him in my sleep and half the time my "boyfriend" (what Bryn calls my bodypillow) is between us. I miss hugging my husband. I miss picking up my Boo. I miss my feet.

Maybe this will be my last prenatal blog post. One can only hope.

In Homage to My Boo

I have a wonderful little girl. She is bright, funny, silly, thoughtful, helpful, and tends to be pretty. She's in love with pretty dresses and flip-flops. She has a crush on a sweet boy from her first grade class. She loves cute animals and wants a kitten. She knows our limitations and is okay with another fish. If she asks for something and is told, "No," she is okay with it. She appreciates an explanation but is accepting either way. She has never whined when not allowed something. She has never thrown a tantrum in public.

This is not to say that she hasn't whined - it's usually because she has to do something she doesn't want to do, like clean her room or go shopping. She threw a tantrum once when she was wee and I don't remember what it was about, but I stepped over her and continued doing what I was doing. She stopped and asked if she could help.

I have the most wonderful little girl in the world living under my roof and I am privileged to be her mother. I have hardly done her the service she deserves. I do not spend as much time with her as I should. I do not read to her as much as I should. I do not listen to her as much as I should. I should let her help me more. I should trust her more than I do. She still does weird little kid things and I still see her as little, but she is quickly getting big. She starts second grade in two weeks. She's going to be one of the big fish in her little school.

She is going to be the world's best big sister. I love my Boo.

Self-centered Post

I'm going to be brief for once.

I have a baby registry. I don't actually expect anything from anyone; but I figured I'd let everyone know that I had one after all the hemming and hawing I did a few months ago. The benefit is that if I don't get everything on the list I can purchase the items myself at 10% off... the downside, is that I have to buy them all at once to get the discount... Ah well.

I've also, finally, decided on how to commemorate this pregnancy: Doodles!
It's temporary, like a cast. It makes a great canvas, like a cast. Why not treat it kind of like a cast? Since I'm not keeping the cast - I'm taking pictures:

The canvas is not small.

Alex drew the first one. It's a family portrait. We are all royal and all have crowns. Alex gets a rainbow as well.

Big shiny belly from head on.

Bryn did this one last night. I love it. And check it out: MY FEET! Haven't seen them in ages.

I invited a friend over to draw on my belly this afternoon. I haven't uploaded the pictures yet, but it's very pretty. I think I'm going to start a Google album of them. I've already uploaded these four to my Facebook. 

If you live nearby and want to doodle on my belly, let me know. I'm pretty accommodating, if ticklish.

Update: here is the one my friend doodled on Sunday, my "tramp stamp":

Anxiety

The diapers arrived this morning. I have 80 small prefolds, a diaper can with liner, 2 brand new Snappis, a tiny bottle of baby powder, a little tin of diaper salve, a new cloth shopping bag, and a thing. It's a little wafer of something in a plastic package. I'm not sure what it is; I should probably email the nice lady from the diaper service about it...

Eighty diapers is a lot of diapers. I had to do some serious rearranging of stuff. But I also now have diapers so I packed the baby's hospital bag.

My hospital bag is already in the car. I'm bringing my own johnny coat. It's been washed so many times that it's super soft, unlike the new ones that hospitals stock. I've also packed my black wrap dress, old but clean panties, the super soft and comfy sleeping/nursing bra that Bryn's mom sent me, toothbrush & toothpaste, Tylenol, comb and hair ties, and the really sweet pj set my mom got me. I probably won't wear all of the set - I'd hate to get it messed up with bodily fluids, but it has a short nursing top and a jacket for keeping me warm.

We have a cosleeper, we just have to set it up. We have a cradle in the living room, we're just waiting on a mattress for it. I found the Amby and washed all the bedding and set it up in the living room. I took it apart again because it takes up a lot of room. Push comes to shove: the cradle can go into storage and the Amby can go where the cradle is now. So we do have a place for the baby to sleep if he comes this afternoon.

We have diapers, clothes, a bed, a sling, I'm making colostrum (I leaked a bit last night)... Why am I so scared?

The midwife and my therapist both say it's because I've done it before. The first time, you don't know what to expect. What does a contraction feel like? How much could it possibly hurt? How long could it possibly go on? Women have been giving birth for millenia, how hard could it be? And that's just labor and delivery stuff. That doesn't even include the baby stuff.

I think I've mentioned that Bryn is looking for work. His contract wasn't renewed, so he's on unemployment. But that didn't kick in until last week because he had to go through an adjudication period before his waiting period. My ex-husband hasn't paid child support since May. The Office of Child Support sent me paperwork about taking him to court. Again. My loan disbursement isn't due for at least another week. This all might have something to do with the anxiety, on top of the stuff I know to expect.

I will not have Pitocin this time, so that should make my contractions more bearable. The lack of pitocin should also make my labor more productive. Since I won't have the pitocin, I won't need the Stadol, which should mean that the baby won't have a slow heart rate. Hopefully, this time there won't be meconium in the waters. Hopefully, this time I won't need an episiotomy. Hopefully, this time the baby will cry and I'll be able to hold him within an hour of birth.

I'm just anxious. I was up for over an hour last night just trying to breathe and stop crying. We all know everything is okay. Bryn tries very hard to soothe me. Alex is excited. Why can't I stop panicking and enjoy this?

Less than 3 weeks to go...

Saturday, Bryn and Boo and I went swimming in the lake. The belly was just too heavy to stay upright as I left the water. I stayed sitting in the shallows for nearly an hour playing with rocks and shells. When Bryn finally convinced me to get out of the water, the baby had truly settled into my pelvis.

The waddle is pronounced. I sleep in the direct line of a fan because I sweat so much at night. I'm hungry, but I have no place for the food to go. I'm tired all the time.

My mom's best friend called her yesterday to tell my mom to tell me to put 3 or 4 towels in a kitchen garbage bag to keep in the car. When I go into labor, put the bag over the seat and the towels over the bag. "She'll never get the amniotic fluid out of the upholstery. Trust me." Aunt Elaine has three kids. She also recommended a length of twine for the cord since the drive to the hospital is so long.

There is so much to do and I just don't have the energy to do it. I just want to sleep all the time. Things still need to get put into the storage unit. Bryn wants to take things to consignment. There are so many things that just don't have a place in our tiny little place.

We still need a mattress for the cradle in the living room. I need to get rid of my bedside table so that we can put the co-sleeper next to the bed. All the sheets and blankets are clean, I just need to get the beds set up. I need to get enough room in the living room to set up the Amby and make sure it's still in good order.

And the place needs to be vacuumed. And Alex needs to clean her room. And the laundry needs to get done. First, I need to pee and take a nap.

Frightfully Biological - feel free to skip this one

I am completely fascinated by what my body is doing. This post is going to be a bit more graphic than the rest of the posts I've written before. Either skip it or brace yourself.

The day after - more pink than red. Still painful.

I'll ease my way into this... I sunburn very easily now. I used to burn occasionally, but I think I've burned my shoulders at least three times so far this summer. Today I did something terribly dumb. I was weeding in the garden and my dress (yes, I garden in dresses and skirts. They are very comfortable and when I stand up in the breeze, very refreshing) crept above my knees. I was sitting on an upturned bucket, so the belly could go between my legs when I bent over. It must have been the angle of the sun, but the tops of my knees are bright red, hot, and tender.  My calves and shins are fine.  The parts of my knees that I kneel on are fine. I never noticed how much I actually slap my knees until today. Who does that?

My neck is holding them up. You don't
want to know where they are before I tie
them up. 

I've written about my breasts before. They are getting bigger and heavier. They are so heavy that holding them up is painful - my shoulders, my neck, the places where my bras rub - all hurt at the end of the day. Then I take the bra off and they get really heavy... seriously, I can't win. Bryn will occasionally walk up behind me and cup them for me when I seem tired. He has no idea how good it feels for them to be held up independently of my body. Hence the bathing suit. 

Swimming, as previously mentioned, makes me buoyant (but if the belly floats too high it gets hard to breathe). It also makes my breasts buoyant. I suffer through the halter top so I can get in the water. 

Attached to my breasts are my nipples and areolas (I warned you). The areolas have become enormous and are turning pink. It is getting really hard to hide them in my lower cut tops, bras, and the bathing suit. Bryn is usually poking at them and tugging at my tops to tuck them into whatever they've escaped from. I don't notice anymore. God help us when I start nursing again...

Speaking of, I've started making colostrum. I didn't leak at all with Alex, but when I wake up in the morning or undress at the end of the day my nipples and areolas have a bit of slightly sticky colostrum on them and in the little creases of my nipples. Okay, that was more gross than I intended, but I think it's so neat. I'm already making the baby's first meal, and he's not even here yet. Just like me to screw up the timing of a meal though... 

Moving south... Vurps. The gas thing has been mentioned. It's still a problem, but worse is the vurp thing that's begun with more frequency. With my stomach so close to my mouth lying down is scary if I've eaten recently. Let's face it: I've usually eaten recently. My whole digestive tract is uncomfortable, actually. If it comes out the top, it's gross and makes me queasy; if it comes out the bottom, it hurt. 

Everything between my legs is tender. Swollen, pink, and always damp. Everything. I started wearing pantyliners because I was sick of having to change my panties in the middle of the afternoon.

I've been sitting on a 65cm yoga ball for the last week or so, and it's helping with my pelvic pain. I think I need a bigger ball, though, especially if I'm going to be sitting at the computer on it. I still need to sit in the recliner on a regular basis though... My feet actually got swollen last week. It was scary. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before. I'd been doing dishes and sitting at the computer and I went to put my flip-flops on and they were tight. I got home and put my feet up. My ankles were puffy. It was weird. Bryn didn't really notice, but I could feel it.

The peeing thing... I pee a lot. Last night I was up every 45 minutes or so. I would sleep a lot better if I weren't constantly peeing. At about 4am I contemplated just sleeping in the tub. But at least when I get up I can get back into bed and sleep on the other side. My hips get sore if I lay on one side for too long. Heck, my butt gets sore if I sit for too long - but then my back and hips hurt if I stand or walk for too long - and "too long" is really subjective. My five minute showers, while I'm busy scrubbing, are totally okay. Standing in line at the supermarket, not so much.

Speaking of standing: I can't do dishes anymore! I can't reach the bottom of the sink for the belly. I tried doing them sideways, but that put a weird strain on my shoulders and back and I needed to have a foot up on a stool. It was torturous and awkward and Bryn has taken over for me.

The kid, himself... he has taken to squirming. He wriggles and writhes under my ribs, under my books, on top of my bladder, into my stomach and lungs... Sometimes he will move suddenly and sharply and catch me off guard and I gasp and startle everyone around me. He threw me off balance once and I caught myself against a wall. Pregnant women should not walk swiftly - a good plodding waddle is fast enough. If the gyro-scoping kid acts up, you're less likely to fall. I think he's getting ready to arrive. I wish I were more ready...

What I Did On Summer Vacation

Or: Why I'm glad we're almost done with summer.

So, this summer has, so far, been awful - with a few bright spots.

My wallet got stolen off of my dining room table while I was napping in the bedroom.

Alex got head lice.

I ran over a chipmunk.

Alex got bitten by a spider while camping and her eye swelled up and needed antibiotics.

Mom took her off the antibiotics because she feared that the antibiotics brought on Al's nosebleed, four days into treatment.

Alex has had four more nosebleeds.

Bryn's work contract was not renewed and he has been looking for a new job for over a month now.

His unemployment is being held up because he worked for an educational institution and therefore needs to go through adjudication before he even starts the unpaid week of unemployment.

My ex-husband hasn't paid child support since May.

Bryn was diagnosed with high blood pressure.

His doctor wants him to go on a pretty strict diet and I'm trying to be supportive and eat like him (90% fresh fruits and veggies and protein, 10% carbohydrates). I really love carbohydrates though.

Our insurance doesn't fully cover all the work that need to be done on Bryn's teeth.

I miscalculated how much I need for the diaper service. I'm $100 short.

My first reader for my thesis backed out and no one stepped up to the plate of their own volition. I was rescued - but it was a terrible three weeks until that happened.

We had to go settle Bryn's father's estate - and that didn't go well.

We need to get lifts for the baby's bed so that it's level with our bed.

We need tools we don't have to fix the baby's cradle.

It's rained so much that the vegetables in our garden have swollen before ripening.

My feet have been swelling too.

I need to flip over my pillow every two hours (when I get up to pee) because I've soaked it with sweat.

And now I'm reaching... It's just felt pretty crappy for a few months around here. I guess I just wanted to vent a bit.

We have four weeks to make the place baby ready. I'll read for my thesis. Visit Mom and wash all the baby's clothes. Bryn will bring back a piece of furniture for more storage and some tools to help him with the cradle.

Everything is going to get better.

My therapist would be so proud.

Bumpy Canadian Roads and Other Concerns

We made it to Canada safely.

We were at the airport an hour early for our 45 minute flight to Newark. Bryn and I got to see my brother and his wife for most of our 4 hour layover in New Jersey. That was really nice. The big brother gave me grief about my grey hair, but I smacked him, so it's all good now.

We sat on the tarmac for over half an hour while the ground crew hauled out all the luggage looking for bags from a family of four who were not on our flight anymore. The pregnant lady with the tiny bladder was not amused. Two hours later, we were in Halifax. Two hours later, we were at the house.

Three hours in the air, two hours in the car, four hours in Newark and we shaved nearly seven hours off the usual time to make it up here. Bryn said he'd have rather driven. Aside from getting to see my brother and his wife, I'm inclined to agree. I like the scenery, the navigating, the Tim Horton's. But I do like flying, even after 9/11. I was positively giddy leaving the runway the first time. Bryn kept telling me to calm down, but he smiled when he said it.

We are here to settle Bryn's father's estate. Bob died last August, three weeks after Bryn and I had started trying to conceive, one week into our frantic move to Burlington. Needless to say, this has been a really rough time for Bryn. His father will never meet our son. His father will never see us settled into a real home. He will never have Yankee Thanksgiving with us. Nor will our son get to ride on the tractor with Grumpy Bob (the nickname Bryn's nephew gave him many years ago), or go fishing with him, or just sit in the truck having an ice cream cone. Grumpy Bob will never teach him to drive a nail or change his own oil. Bryn had obviously planned on teaching these things to our son (and Alex), but they were the things his father had taught him, and the values that his father had instilled within him that will never be shared in person. I was very fond of Bob. We had a very comfortable relationship. I am very pissed off that he is dead.

Anyway...

Bryn and I were pretty stressed out come the second day of this trip. Things were missing, feelings were hurt, and I haven't been sleeping well. Bryn's sister decided we needed to go to the beach. As much as I hate my bathing suit, I had to agree with her. Cool water fixes many ills.

There is something wonderfully practical about Nova Scotians. They farm or they fish, historically at least. The shorelines are largely undeveloped and the water is cool enough that very few people go to the beach. We were there two hours and about fifteen minutes before we left a couple of girls showed up with a blanket. That's it. Two hundred yards to the western point and as far as I could see to the east - no one else. Just us.

Let me describe the beach. We parked just off the "road", which was really two ruts through the rough. Climb a slight rise through the sea grass to a swath of rocks that go all the way that way and all the way the other way, but it's only about thirty yards wide. The rocks are almost all rounded with a few pieces of rectangular sandstone and all between softball and kickball sized. The rocks in Nova Scotia are wonderful. They are completely colorblind. Pure white ones nestled amongst the blue, grey, black and pink ones. Pale blue, slate blue, dark blue; pale pink, rose pink, orange-pink; light grey, dark grey, grey with stark white stripes all there together not caring who they trip. Then there is a coarse sand beach with small rounded pebbles thrown in for good measure and one or two bigger rocks just so you can't put down a blanket without covering one. Then the water line starts. Lots of the little pebbles with the rough sand for about five feet. Then the bigger rocks start again for another five to ten feet. Then sand. Not rough sand, like the beach, but soft silky sand like you want to dig your toes into or make sand castles with - except it's at least three feet underwater.

The water. Bryn, standing chest deep, could see his toes. Me going in as far as my toes made me gasp.  I did brave it though. Walking across the rocks under the water was a little scary. They shifted with the waves and under my weight. Not knowing the beach and how far out the rocks went and how shallow it was further out made traversing them scary and a little dangerous. Gratefully, I am buoyant. I got to my navel and made a very shallow dive. After having been in the warmth of the sun, with it beating on my shoulders, that water was COLD! My fingers hurt. Oddly, my toes were fine.

Swimming in the ocean is so different than swimming in lakes and ponds. Rivers are close, but salt water cleanses the soul in a way that no other water does. Just bobbing and floating along healed a lot of what needed to be healed Tuesday afternoon. Maybe we can stop again Saturday morning.

I was buoyant and happy. Coming out of the water over the rocks was awful. Not only were the rocks shifting, but I was suddenly much heavier. The baby seemed to be riding much lower. I was off balance and scared. I actually plopped down in the water and told Bryn I was staying because I couldn't do it. I couldn't walk across those rocks with all that off balance weight. Bryn came and gave me his arm. I was still unhappy.

We sat on the beach for a bit and then decided we should head back to the house. We all jumped in for one more quick dip. This one was quicker, but it took no time to get submerged. Cold Northern Atlantic waters be damned. We all got soaked and happy.

Getting out was even worse this time. My pelvis started the separation thing the instant my stomach was out of the water. My hips hurt. I wanted to be on my hands and knees and just crawl. I was in a lot of pain. And I still needed to get back across the sand and the rocks and more sand to get to the car. Bryn held my arm and nudged me to walk in the sea grass rather than on the sand where my shifting weight on the shifting sands made my pelvis scream and terrified Bryn that I was going to fall. My mantra, "I'm fine," was repeated for both of our benefits. I tried to say it with conviction. I told Bryn it was a good thing. He started saying, "Peeled grape," with as much conviction as he could muster. We made it back to the car. Getting in hurt, but sitting was good.

We had to go out to dinner. The realtor was showing the house at six, so we decided to go to an Indian restaurant in town that had been getting rave reviews. I was slightly uncomfortable on the trip into town, but the worst part is that the trip takes about half an hour and I stiffen up in less time than that. Bryn has taken to giving me the passenger seat and sitting behind me because he is convinced it's easier for me to get in and out of the front seat. I don't know if he's right or not, but it's nice having him behind me to hold my shoulder.

We parked just beyond the restaurant and Bryn heaved me out of the car. By the time we got to the restaurant I was pretty limbered up. It was closed. No hours were posted. No Closed sign in the window; just dark and locked up tighter than a drum. So we debated going back the way we came to an Italian restaurant or keep going to the restaurant that we had eaten at after the wake last year. We went to the one with a bit of history for us.

The walk went well. Dinner was lovely. Dessert was fantastic. Turns out that it was bought by new people in May and they just reopened a couple of weeks ago. I don't know if it's the pregnancy or what, but I got halfway through my sandwich and decided that I wanted Bryn's mashed potatoes. He switched plates with me. Something about denying the incubator of his only child nothing. I'm glad he liked my sandwich.

I was stiff from the restaurant, so everyone went on ahead of us. Bryn, as usual, stayed by my side and walked the extra five feet to the button for the crosswalk. He held my arm when I was wobbly and helped me down into the car.

When we were about five miles from the house (thank you Mother Webb for your roadside signage) I got a sharp constant pain from what I can only assume was my round ligament. It went from my groin, around my hip, and all the way up my left side to my rib cage. It hurt so badly that I couldn't speak. I just gasped and clutched the armrest. My toes were curled the entire ride home. Bryn had his hand on my shoulder, as usual, and I just clung to it. There was nothing else to be done. It ebbed a bit after a few minutes, but the pain remained until after we arrived at the house. I remember saying something about delivering in Middlebury and Bryn conversed with his step-mother and sister about where we will be delivering, where our closest hospital is, etc... It kept the focus off of me, which is all I really cared about.

We got to the house and I was hoisted out by Bryn. I sent him into the house to get my belly-strap and I walked up and down the driveway as well as I was able. It occurred to me that it was the first time in a long time that I hadn't worn a belly-band, or something similar, all day. Bryn was disappointed in me that I had left my brand new belly support at home. It had come in the mail on Friday and I misplaced it almost immediately.

I slept poorly. There are swalls in the upstairs bedroom. I had to get up four times last night and I hit my head on the slanted ceiling/wall at least once. The rise on the stairs is such that I have to crawl up them with my hands on the step ahead of me. I have to go down them sideways. And the railing is so loose that I want to pull it like a tooth. I'm sure it would come. And the bed is tiny and creaky. It's a double that sags a bit in the middle and the frame is not built to support the weight of both my husband and myself. Bryn has offered to put the mattress on the floor, but that would just make it harder to get up out of it.

This morning, just as Monday morning, I got my last two hours sleeping on a loveseat because I couldn't bear the thought of crawling up the stairs, ducking my head, creaking into the overly hot bed, and trying to fall back to sleep again. I just couldn't do it one more time. I was rewarded with screwed up pregnancy dreams. They were very weird. I may post about them later.

Anyway. Canada. I love Canada. I will gladly return when all is said and done. Right now. I really want to go home.

Well, Thursday was lousy...

I have mentioned my midwife and the office and sung their praises to the heavens. I know that everyone in that practice has my best interests at heart. That said, my last appointment was really frustrating.
Bryn and I wanted to get pregnant before I tried to find a job. I've explained this before. We cut it really close to the beginning of my school year with this pregnancy, though. My due date is the Thursday before classes start on Tuesday. This upset my midwife. She wants me to think about deferring for a semester.
I would love to defer for a semester. However, it's not an option. We would lose my loans and we would lose our home. Those things cannot happen. I must remain a "full-time" graduate student in order to keep my money and my home. I also have a thesis I must work on to stay on track. And quite frankly, I want to get the hell out of Burlington and UVM as soon as possible. Martha didn't seem to get it. She just kept pushing for 12 weeks of bonding.
I want that more than anything in the world, but it's not going to happen. I will be wearing the baby to class, nursing in class, reading and writing with the babe in my arms. I know this. I have to do this - it's not an option. Bryn is stressed out enough and didn't need to hear any of this. He confided to wanting to throw pillows at Martha through most of the meeting; she just didn't seem to be hearing what we were telling her. How do you not hear: homeless and penniless with an infant and 7 year old if we take your advice? There was very little compassion for our situation, just insinuation that I was being selfish and unrealistic.
Bryn has been pretty stressed out anyway. Today was his last day of work - his contract was not renewed and he has only received one call back about a job in the last three weeks. His doctor is concerned about his blood pressure. We have to go to Canada on Sunday to settle his father's estate. Arguing with the midwife was not something we needed to add to his To Do list. His BP yesterday was 162/112. Needless to say, I didn't want to add to his aggravation.
When we went to bed last night, I had to spend a little too much time in the bathroom. After four trips to the bathroom, unbearable cramping, and completely voided bowels, I curled up in the recliner for a couple hours of sleep. I got one. Braxton-Hicks contractions suck. From 2am-7am, I was in a lot of pain. I kept denying that they were contractions. They were irregular. They were weirdly timed. They just felt "off". It was easier to tell myself I'd had some bad brisket for lunch.
Bryn felt sorry for me and I just mumbled that I loved him and sent him to work. I crawled back into bed praying that the contractions wouldn't start again. Alex crawled into bed with me at about 10 and watched Sesame Street for an hour before asking for breakfast. So I got 2 hours of sleep.
After talking to the nurse at the midwife's, who told me my iron was low and I need to supplement, she confirmed that I'd been having contractions. Yes, the voiding of the bowels is normal. The nausea that accompanies the contractions is normal. Why don't I remember this?
When Bryn got home from work I told him that they were contractions and he was upset that I had kept that information from him. He appreciated that I let him sleep and that I didn't want to stress him out any more than he already was; but if I was scared and in pain he didn't want me to be alone. All I could think about while I was in pain was that he'd had a dream about me going into labor before the Canada trip and he was all stressed out the next day.
Anyway, Thursday sucked - and I'm including through 7am Friday morning because I hadn't slept yet.
It's over now. And I am grateful.

Other Births I've Known...

So I wasn't actually there for most of them, but I've heard some great birth stories in my time. I'll start with the one I'm most familiar with, my own.

Mom had a great pregnancy. She was chopping firewood the week before she went into labor. She contracted poison ivy in the dead of winter making rubbings of gravestones in Pennsylvania just a few months before I was born. She had planned me. She made appointments with Dad to conceive me. Apparently, I was transverse through most of the pregnancy. I was manually manipulated to be head down and about halfway home I'd flip around to where I was comfy again.
When Mom was admitted to Mary Hitchcock, the nurse told her that she'd never deliver me vaginally. 46 hours later, the head of obstetrics and the head of anesthesiology attended my "emergency" c-section. Since my grandmother couldn't get there for her, my mother had a picture of her young mother holding her in a plastic bag under her pillow through the surgery.
The cord was wrapped around my neck 3 times. Even if Mom's pelvis had spread enough, I would have choked myself. I spent about a week in the NICU.
As a nurse, my mom was the focus of attention in the maternity ward. The baby nurses (what she calls newbies) were using her like a guinea pig. The tried every breast pump they could find on her. After a while, Mom asked what they were doing with all the milk they'd pumped. One of the baby nurses told her, very sheepishly, that they were giving it to the preemies. They hadn't told her or the other mothers for fear that someone would object. It was just that they tolerated it so much better and they thrived on it. Mom offered to nurse them, but it was felt that that was a bit too much. Mom didn't object to pumping after that.

My mom's best friend had three kids and all I remember about the stories is that they were all gushers. She ruined rugs when her water broke. Not helpful in the birthing story area, but darned amusing.

My grandmother had my mother in Philadelphia, I think. She was in the hospital overnight. She was heavily medicated, but not before learning about baseball. Apparently, Gram was alone in the maternity ward and a young attending physician was tasked with sitting with her. The Phillies were playing and they listened to the game on his little radio and he taught her about baseball. She never became a fan of "good" teams; but she took me to my first professional ball game. We watched a lot of baseball together. If her team made it to the World Series, she would hide in the closet and peek her head out for updates periodically.
I'm not sure why, but she never taught my mother about baseball. She taught me.

Her mother, my great-grandmother had no idea she was having a baby. She was in her forties and had been married since she was a young woman. She assumed she was going through "the change". She was a heavy-set woman and assumed a few things about her diet and her indigestion, but eventually called over her sister. Her sister called over the next door neighbor lady, a midwife. The consensus was that she was in enough pain that they should call the doctor. Apparently, he was in the house less than five minutes before exclaiming, "There are three women in this house and not one of you recognizes a woman in labor!?!"
My grandmother was born that night and she was so small that she fit in her father's overcoat pocket. She was yellow. A young cousin was allowed to name her, and she did, after her French china doll: Beatrice.
Since they had not prepared for her and they didn't expect her to survive, she was put in a well padded drawer on the open oven door to keep her warm and the doctor said he'd be back in the morning to pronounce her.
He walked in the door the next morning and was greeted with a screaming infant. She'd made it (and she never shut-up again. And we wouldn't have wanted it any other way.). He told my great-grandmother that she'd better feed her or she really wouldn't survive.

My best friend and birth coach for Alex had two children before I had Alex. The first, she was in labor for 4 hours - start to finish. The second only took 2. She said something about peeled grapes that I don't think I will ever fully understand. For someone who experienced such short and complication free deliveries, she was an amazing birth coach for me.

Alex's birth was long, protracted, and not something I would like to repeat. It could have been much worse, granted, but it could have been better.
Contractions started on Thursday evening. They were finally about 3 minutes apart by 3pm on Saturday. I went into the hospital and was told that I was fully effaced, but only 2cm dilated. At 6pm, my doctor ordered Pitocin. At midnight, he told a nurse to restart my Pitocin and she told him that she would - right after I got a good night's sleep. I was only at 4cm. He came to see me in the morning while I was having breakfast. He complained that I was still not back on the Pitocin and only at 5cm. The nurse (different one) told him that she would restart it after I'd finished breakfast. Some time in the pain haze that was Sunday, the doctor ruptured my membranes. There was meconium in the fluid. At about noon, I was given Stadol to alleviate the pain of the contractions. By 6pm, I was taken off of both medications. It was just me and my contractions.
I was very happy pushing in a squatting position, but eventually I was manhandled onto my back. A nurse had my left leg and she directed Alex's father to take my right. She told him to pull - he couldn't hurt me. I felt a coldness on my perineum and my baby was born at 9pm. She didn't cry.
I asked the doctor what he was still doing between my legs, which were now in stirrups. He was closing the episiotomy I had expressly asked him not to give me.
I was foggy and hazy for a while, but when she was finally handed to me at 10pm I was in good spirits. I had  delivered Alex naked. When the pediatrician was on his way out I asked him if, since he had seen me naked, could I call him Elliot, he replied that I could, just for that night and left. My little girl was perfect in every way.

I have spoken to a few midwives about Alex's delivery and the consensus seems to be that the episiotomy was probably needed, but someone should have said something to me. The Pitocin probably could have been avoided, and if the Pitocin hadn't been administered there likely wouldn't have been a need for the Stadol. We all agreed that the nurses were wonderful for letting me rest and eat.

I have discussed Alex's birth with my midwife and we are in agreement that we will try for a less medicated birth. We have also agreed that if anything medical needs to happen, I will get talked to before it happens. I'm not just going to be a vessel; I will be part of the delivery team this time. And I will nurse within the first hour. Everything is going to be perfect. I've seen it!

Summertime is Here!

Summertime - Billie Holiday from Amos Mulder on Vimeo.


The heatwave has hit the Northeast. Yesterday was in the mid-90's and today was even hotter. I don't think it hit 100, but it was more humid today. We've managed to stay out of the heat for the most part, but it's been tricky.

Yesterday, I had to get the oil changed in my vehicle. My mechanic apologized that he couldn't get us in and out and let me borrow a shop car. A 2002 Audi A6. I was in love. Alex adored it. The A/C was fantastic! Quick and cold. And the car cooled quickly with the sunroof open. After we picked up the Audi we had to take Bryn to his doctor appointment. It was an intake - they had never met before, so it was a nice long appointment and Alex and I got to sit in the A/C and read for over an hour in the dead heat of the afternoon. We had linner (lunch/dinner) at a favorite cafe - including ice cream for dessert. We sat in the cool, dark cafe and finished our desserts because I didn't want Alex getting ice cream on the leather seats. Who am I kidding? I just wanted to eat mine in peace.

It cooled off a bit in the evening and we went down to the garden after the sun went below the trees. We weeded and watered until it got dark enough to not tell the difference between weed and seedling. There was heat lightening leaping from cloud to cloud and I was hopeful for a thunderstorm, but it didn't come. Alex was filthy, as usual, after a few hours in the garden. Her overalls were crunchy.

Bending over isn't comfortable, so I sit when I weed. I weed as much as I can reach and then scoot down a bit. Washing Alex in the tub is also problematic. Yes, I know she's seven. She has real issues with her hair. She comes back from her father's with an itchy head because they let her wash her own hair and she hates rinsing. She can wash herself bodily, but let's face it: It's a lot faster when I do it - when I can reach her. She scoots to the far side of the tub when I go to wash her. I don't think it's deliberate, but I did grab her by the ankle and drag her back to where I could get at her last night. Bending into the tub just drives the baby into my chest and makes it hard to breathe and leaning forward puts strain on my lower back.

She and I went back to the garden this morning to water again before the heat of the day. She managed to get filthy again. And I took her straight to the market. Walking through those doors was heaven. We spent an hour wandering up and down the aisles in the least efficient order. If you think that spending an hour in the supermarket is easy, keep in mind that the market I took her to is a Mac's Market. In Vermont, Mac's is a convenience store. The one in Essex Junction is epic, but it's still pretty small. Yes, there is a butcher and a deli and an organic section, but options are usually between one brand name and ShureFine brand, and the refrigerated aisle is dairy on one side and beer on the other with a bit of soda on the end.

Once we finished off there I took her to the other end of the plaza to the Rite-Aid. Alex had been a sweetie the last time we were there and I denied her a toy she wanted because she had dawdled and waited to bring it to the register until after I had checked out. She just put it back and we got on with our day. Since she was so awesome I decided that she deserved the toy and a couple of water guns to play with in the heat. The fans were all on and pointed at the door going in - it was heaven after the walk down the sidewalk.

Then we went to the bakery in the middle of the plaza. There's a lunch counter at the back! And I picked up a loaf of day old monkey bread for $2. We came home, had a little lunch, and went to the lake.

Maternity bathing suits are terrible. Or at least all the ones I've found are terrible. I finally found one that fit and bought it for the trip I took to Boston in April. The picture above is from a dressing room in March - imagine how it fits now. I never wore it in Boston. My breasts are too big now. They barely fit inside the cups and I'm not sure who decided that bathing suits for big breasted girls need to be halter tops - but they need to stop and be taught a lesson in gravity. Big boobs are heavy boobs and they need to be held up - preferably NOT by my neck. Albatrosses, the both of them. Alex actually giggled and followed the lines in my skin where my bra leaves indentations last night. That was fun. I'm contemplating just getting a bikini. I haven't worn one in over a decade; it might be fun.

Water. I'm not going to talk about the pain my feet are still in from walking across the sand. I'm not going to talk about the grossness of the lake water. I will mention buoyancy. Once I was finally in the water I felt like a new woman. It was heaven. I could walk forever. My hips didn't hurt. My back didn't hurt. My pelvis didn't hurt. I didn't even know that my pelvis had been hurting! It all felt so good. The belly just lifted up in the water and I was nearly weightless. It was decidedly weird when a wake came by and I was only partially submerged. We left over 5 hours ago and I want to go back. 


My feet hurt. My butt hurts. I just ache everywhere. I think I got a sunburn, which doesn't help. Yes, I put on sunblock - but it was old and I probably spent too long in the water. I'll use Alex's from now on. 


Other stuff, other than the heat: I passed my glucose test! I was not as up on my iron as I had been ten days earlier. I think that my iron really fluctuates depending on what I've eaten in the past few days. I tend to get cravings for red meat and spinach on a regular basis, so I haven't taken supplements lately, but I do have them if I have another dizzy spell.

This probably deserves it's own post, but it happened today and it happened in the heatwave, so it's here.
There was a blanket of three Muslim women and their babies in the shade that we walked past on our way back to the car. Their older children were in the water nearby. There are a lot of Muslims in the area: students and refugees alike. I have no idea how they survive all covered up like that. Long sleeves, long skirts or loose slacks, and the head coverings. I wear a sunhat, but that's for shade! Anyway, there were three babies with the women and Alex just squealed! They were adorable babies and I just melted. One woman had hers at her breast, nursing, this tiny little babe. She is a month old. Full head of hair and a concentrated nurser! After we left, Bryn realized he'd been staring. He hoped he hadn't made the mother uncomfortable. The mother was too busy smiling and talking about her baby and asking about mine. We just kept congratulating each other! Alex really wanted to see the baby's face, but she kept a good distance. She did bounce a lot though.

I think there is something very interesting about a culture where the women keep so modest that their arms and legs are covered, even in this heat; but nursing the baby out in the open, with her breast out, no cover on the baby, she was radiant.

Diapers 101

I went to the Cloth Diapers 101 on Saturday. Boy, are diapers complicated! Jessie is really sweet and really knows her diapers.

A few of the things I learned Saturday:

1. I can't do pocket diapers - my hand gets stuck trying to re-tuck them.


2. Pre-folds are probably the way to go until the baby starts crawling.

3. Number 2 means that I'm going to need some more diaper covers.

4. All-in-ones, which I thought I'd never want, are really cute and probably a good idea if I leave the baby with people uncomfortable with cloth diapers.


5. Given that I can't customize cycles on the machines at the laudromat (just rinse, just spin, etc.), I may be better off using a diaper service. Lots of wasted water and energy - and $3.75 for one load of diapers to get washed appropriately seems excessive. It is cheaper than the diaper service, if you don't think about the cost of the detergent and the time that goes into it (3 cycles x 38 minutes = nearly 2 hours of washing).

6. I get $10 off my first order through Jessie if I use the code she gave me at the class. That makes the class free, essentially. Or I could just get a really cute cover for cheap!

7. I can add stuff from Diaper Days to my Amazon Baby! Wishlist.

I really liked the class and Jessie. It was nice getting out and thinking about baby stuff by myself. I love doing the baby thing with Bryn; but I'm not sure I would have played dress-up with the doll quite so long if he'd been there.

Pregnancy Symptoms

I've been thinking about this for a while and have decided against calling it: So you think you want to be pregnant? Because those of you who want kids will have kids. Pregnancy is only nine months (or ten, depending on how you count). Those of you who have done this may laugh and remember this stuff - or maybe it wasn't your issue so you're just grateful it didn't happen to you.

Yesterday brought up some interesting symptoms that I hadn't thought about since I was round with Alex.

While laying on the gurney during the study I was asked to twist in certain ways so as to better accommodate the testing and to not put the baby (or me) in harm's way. I was on my left side a lot, but frequently they needed my right arm or leg or they needed my head to be straight up and down. That put a lot of strain on the right side of my abdomen. One would think that it would pull the muscles on the left, but those aren't the ones being twisted. Subsequently, my right side has been bothering me since yesterday morning. Last night I tried to roll over. Being pregnant, I have to be semi-awake to do that anyway, but I did it without being awake enough and pulled that muscle all over again. That woke me right up! And of course, now that I'm awake, I have to pee. Sitting up hurt that muscle all over again...

I mentioned that I felt my pelvis separate when I sat up on the gurney. I'm not sure how to describe that to someone who hasn't experienced it. It's like an ache that's burning cold right where the bones come together in the front. It passes. It will happen again with more frequency as I get closer to delivering. I almost find it comforting. It's my body preparing for the delivery. Then again, it hurts like heck and nothing makes it feel better except time.

While I was forced to lie still in the MRI tube I kept tasting banana. It was one bit of uncomfortableness (I'm earning my Master's in English - it's a word now) that I tried to avoid dwelling on. Lying down flat, without a pillow, makes the last thing I ate remarkably close to my mouth. Bryn saw a side-view diagram of a pregnant woman next to a woman who is not pregnant. Yes, my stomach is squashed up into my rib cage and makes my esophagus feel like it's backed up. Blech. Makes eating as much as I want to eat - which would be All the food - really hard.



I was washing dishes today. I'm okay if there aren't too many. I found a pizza box under them today. You still can't get at my toaster oven, but the kid's bath toys are clean. Anyway, my hips and shoulders started hurting. I tend to favor my right leg when I stand and then that hips starts to ache. When I switched legs the right hip actually hurt worse... Between my shoulders and my hips I started complaining out loud and Bryn brought me my industrial strength belly band. It is nearly 4" wide of heavy-duty elastic and has a Velcro closure, then there are supplemental elastics with Velcro to snug it up harder. I like corsets so I actually find this band to be pretty comfortable. It also insists that I stand up straight. Standing up straight, I can't reach the bottom of the sink for the belly. I also forgot to take off the band before sitting down. I thought I was going to die. If I had sat on a stool, instead of in a chair, and taken off the band it would have flown across the room and hurt someone.

Bryn put this amazing balsamic vinegar on our strawberries tonight. Alex ate nearly half the quart by herself. I had a small bowl and needed the whipped cream to cut the vinegar. It's strange what I can no longer tolerate.

Interestingly enough, I can still sit criss-cross applesauce (Indian-style isn't PC) and it doesn't bother my hips or my pubic bone. Getting out of that position, on the other hand, hurts both.

In the supermarket, Bryn talked on the phone with the father of the family we are picnicking with tomorrow. And he stood still to do it. I sat on the edge of the cheese case. I walked in circles around the cheese case. I gave up and went to find paper towels and instant decaf iced tea. My hips, legs and lower back cannot tolerate just standing anymore. Even leaning against the cart wasn't comfortable. I had to be moving. Moving with purpose is less depressing than circling the brie.

My face has broken out into rosacea - thanks Mom. It tends to be latent until a hormone shift. Since it didn't happen with Alex, I figured I was safe. Nope. My face is red, broken out, dry and flaky, and itches. Nothing helps very much. When I put on make-up to try to disguise it (which will only make it worse the next day), the cream or powder will find the edges of the flaky skin that didn't come off scrubbing and make me look even more obvious.

Something else that has become more obvious is my chin. I've had whiskers on my chin for years now. It started when I gained a lot of weight in the late 90's with one or two hairs. I'm now beyond counting them and am contemplating the Father's Day specials on electric shavers... Apparently, this is one of the symptoms of my PCOS. The same PCOS that was supposed to keep me from being fertile. Interestingly, one of the triggers for PCOS is being overweight, but one of the symptoms is difficulty losing weight. There are books about how to lose weight if you have PCOS because it's supposed to be different than other types of fat. It would explain why when my family went on the Atkins Diet everyone else lost weight and I gained 12 pounds...

Fortunately, I have never had the Mask of Pregnancy, my vision hasn't changed substantially, and my feet haven't grown. My nose may have. I haven't had swollen extremities for which I am very grateful - I had a friend whose wedding ring needed to be cut off of her. I don't get so much as cankles. No varicose veins - knock wood. Yes, I get a little backed up. Yes, I burp and fart a lot. My digestion, like that of all pregnant women, has slowed down to ensure as much nutritional absorption as possible. That delay causes gas.

My emotions are on a pendulum... I feel for Bryn. I was a pain in the ass this afternoon. I was having some me-time. That means that I was at a class on cloth diapering while I sent Bryn to keep an eye on Alex while she was at the hospital for the Sibling Class. I got out of my class and decided to stop at the bagel place for a sandwich. I was going to go home, put my feet up, and eat my tasty sandwich. But what I did in reality was text Bryn from the sandwich line if he wanted me to pick them up and if they were hungry. Yes, he wanted me to pick them up. No, he wasn't hungry but Alex was. And if I pick them up instead of making them take the bus we could head straight to the supermarket. There went my plans. I also now felt rushed, like I had to beat the bus to them in order to be a good mom/wife. The way the line crept, that wasn't going to happen. But I could refrain from stopping at home and picking up the coupons and shopping bags - that would save time... Bryn and I were texting back and forth and I thought everything was fine. While I was waiting for Alex's bagel, I unwrapped my sandwich in the hopes of having a bite. Pregnant ladies are always hungry - it gets worse if the food is Right There and they can't get at it. I'm juggling the now unwrapped sandwich, the drinks for all three of us, and the newly acquired bagel, while trying to find my car keys when Bryn calls. WTF!?!?! And of course, since he's calling me it has to be an emergency! So I drop everything in the car - including the insides of half my sandwich on the running board so I can find my now ringing phone. Missed call. GAH! I'm now blaming Bryn for trying to starve me. Someone had better be bleeding. Actually, they are at the hospital; it had better be more important than bleeding. Needless to say, it was much less important than bleeding and I was annoyed and frustrated when I got off the phone. My sandwich, like all good sandwiches, deserved to be eaten with full attention, two hands, and easy access to a napkin. I was praying for red lights so I could reassemble it into something I could eat while driving. I was not a happy camper when I got to the hospital.
My sainted Bryn finally got me to explain what was wrong once we got to the supermarket. I clung to him and explained that I suck at taking care of myself and I need him to do it for me. I explained about my plans and how I screwed up and texted him. He hugged me back and kissed me on the top of the head and agreed that I suck at taking care of my own needs first. He promised he would try to help me out in the future, if I talk to him. He can't help if he doesn't know I need helping. A little while later he got a call from the friend and I paced like a petulant child, but that was a different matter all together.