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.

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.

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?

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!

Birth Dream

I awoke this morning having dreamed about the baby's birth! It was a lovely dream:

I was in my bed and I worried that I had wet myself in my sleep and then realized my water may have broken. I opened my eyes and was in a white loft apartment in a small city. It was like being upstairs in downtown Rutland again: Big windows letting in lots of light, exposed but painted pipes and duct work, cast iron radiators. I was getting out of a big white bed covered in soft fluffy pillows, sheets, and comforter. The bed was really just a high mattress on the shiny pale hardwood floor. I went to the far corner to the white tiled bathroom and as I was cleaning up I felt a bulge almost like the baby was crowning. So I washed my hands and crawled back to my bed.
There was another woman in my room, on an identical bed, in labor. She was not happy. She was so mad that I was so calm. She said all kinds of things about how long she had been there and how much pain she was in and wanting to know where everyone was... I just tuned her out. I completely ignored her once I figured out she wasn't helpful.
I crawled back to my bed. The comforter was huge and draped over the sides by several feet in every direction. I was on the comforter, with my hands on the mattress at the foot of the bed and I just thought about my breathing. I gently pushed as I exhaled and guided the baby to the floor between my knees and I smiled down at this perfect little person staring back at me. I was tired but his eyes completely captivated me.
Alex's eyes were DARK when she was born. Bryn's eyes were dark when he was born. The boy in my dream had the most arresting blue eyes I have ever seen. Mine were cobalt when I was born and until I was about 6. His were brighter and made his whites seem whiter, not nearly blue like mine did.
He was perfect. He was calm. He never looked away from me. I scooped him up and climbed into the bed all propped up by the big fluffy pillows. I tried to get him to nurse and he latched right on but managed to do it without breaking eye contact with me.
My mom came in and was upset she had missed it. Bryn came in, beaming, and I asked him if I had delivered the placenta yet. Everyone was calm. Everyone was happy. Everything was light and bright and I never took my eyes off my beautiful baby boy...

And then the alarm clock went off.
Happy Friday! (Frigg's Day - Norse goddess of mothers and child birth and skiing. Did I mention it's snowing here?)

First Exam

There are three midwives at Tapestry Midwifery. Heather is the one with whom we started (that just sounds awkward, but I have an ancient English teacher screaming in my head), but she is pregnant and may not be back from her maternity leave before I deliver. Bryn and I decided to rotate through the midwives and get to know all of them as a matter of principle.

Today we met with Martha and her shadow. Alaura (sp?) is a midwife in-training and she sat in on my appointment and took my blood pressure. I was raised in a medical household, so I tend to be completely fine with trainees observing and helping - they have to learn somewhere. I'd rather have a doctor, nurse, or midwife who was allowed to listen, observe, and help than one who was constantly denied the opportunity while still learning. I treated her like a shadow and practically ignored her. I feel a bit guilty about that, but for those of you who have had "female" exams before, I think you may understand my detachment.

Bryn and I started by telling Martha how the pregnancy was progressing and how different this one is than Alex's. Instead of my face clearing up and feeling fantastic, I have completely broken out, I am queasy and exhausted. Martha smiled and gave me the old rote about no two pregnancies being alike. She also said that there are some OTC things I can do for my face and if it comes to it she can recommend a dermatologist consult. I think I'll stick it out. Martha mentioned rosacea and having read about it, I have to agree... I'm really not happy about this. She also mentioned that my blood work came back good, except my iron levels are where she would want them at 28 weeks - I need to step it up. Ugh...

We talked about my last pregnancy and her delivery and my labor and Martha reassured me that Tapestry is probably a much better fit for me than my old cranky OB had been. I don't want to get into Alex's birth story. But Martha had worked with the man who replaced my old OB and we agreed that he was very sweet and worth the hour trip for an annual Pap.

Down to the exam. Blood pressure was done by the shadow 110/74, which is perfectly normal but a bit high for me. But I'M GOING TO HEAR THE BABY! So I laid back, Martha gooped my belly (apologizing that she needed to use the goop, when the baby is bigger and easier to get at they use coconut oil), and ran the microphone over my belly. She had mentioned that it's still a little early and it may take a while to find it yet, but she pressed the mic down and slid it half and inch and "swishswishswishswishswish" loud and clear. I think Bryn came up out of his chair. The look on his face was amazing. He looked shocked and surprised and thrilled and so full of love. I thought he was going to scoop me up abdomen first and press his ear to my belly. We are going to bring Alex to the next appointment so she can hear too.

Obviously not me, but so you know what we were hearing:


And I am in my 12th week, so the heart rate is pretty accurate.

After listening to the baby, Bryn was asked to leave. This is the part of the exam that I dread and is no longer safe for children to read about. This is where I get asked about my past, my triggers, and whether or not I am safe in my current relationship. Ugh... I blamed my flashbacks and nightmares during Alex's pregnancy on the OB asking me those questions - I hadn't been thinking about any of it before he brought it up - it's all his fault! Well... not so much. Obviously. Most women who have been abused or assaulted have control issues and there is no control over what your body is doing during pregnancy or labor or delivery (well, a bit, but not nearly enough) and pregnancy is inherently sexual so all those vulnerabilities resurface and wreak havoc on a pregnant woman's mind. For some women a certain body position will freak her out for others it has situational triggers: showers, mustaches, Aspen cologne... For me there's one of each. I explained about Bryn shaving his face clean and kissing him and I had terrible nightmares, so he grew back his facial hair. Martha "awww"'d and phrased the next question gently, "So you feel safe in your current relationship?" instead of "Do you?" which I think was nice of her.

This next bit is more biological. My chest is clear, my heart sounds good, I got swabbed for chlamydia, the walls of my vagina are healthy and pink, and I have a "lovely" purple cervix. The shadow actually called my cervix "lovely" and I thanked her; it was the nicest thing anyone had ever said about my cervix.

The swab for chlamydia will prevent the baby needing eyedrops. As I will be nursing immediately and eternally (if you've been there you understand), the Vitamin K shot will be unnecessary. Now all I have to do is figure out how to get around the Hep B vaccine. In talking to my mother, the RN, the Hep B is to protect the baby from the hospital. As the kid will be rooming in with me, not mopping up blood, swapping needles, or having unprotected sex, I think I may be able to get out of the hospital without the shot. I hope.

Stuff

So much is on my mind that I'm just going to have a gobbledy-gook post this evening. Sorry about that.

Went for my prenatal blood test today. We went all the way down to Porter Medical Center to do it so we could see the Birthing Center. It's about an hour drive. Today it was snowing. Fifty minutes was good enough, especially considering I didn't know exactly where I was going. Come August, it will either be easier or harder to make it in an hour, being in the heart of Construction Season and all.

The blood draw was easy. I hate blood draws, so the lab tech letting me babble at her was fantastic. I hope Alex's first real blood draw isn't traumatic; I'm pretty sure she's O neg like me. I'd like her to be able to donate blood without inducing trauma on volunteers.

The tour was cool. The Birthing Center is tiny. We were shown the recovery room that one might be moved to if they are really busy. There are two of those. Then we were shown a birthing suite. If it's not busy that would be the room I'm admitted to, labor and deliver, and recover in and the baby would room-in. There are three of those rooms. The nursery is all glass and the nurse reassured us that the baby would only really be there for a heel prick, or in an emergency, that is where the baby would be stabilized before transport.

I live a fifteen minute bus ride from the hospital they would probably transfer the baby (or myself) to, if there were an emergency. Taking public transit from my house is a quicker ride than in a speeding ambulance from Middlebury... I know that birth is normal and natural and has happened all over the world for eons. As a reader and student of the female condition, I have a hard time forgetting that women and infants have died in childbirth, or shortly thereafter, for eons. I was a C-section because my mother's pelvis would not separate. After 46 hours of labor, my delivery was an emergency. I spent a week in the NICU at Mary Hitchcock (a tale worth its own post). Alex was born after my membranes were ruptured for me and the doctor had me on pitocin for a total of 16 hours. I got nine hours off for sleep and one for lunch. I'm a little nervous. I think Bryn is too, but we haven't really articulated our fears to one another. He doesn't like "dwelling" and thinks that bad thoughts can manifest into the things feared. I want to talk about our fears, but I don't want to upset Bryn. He'll just tell me there's nothing to worry about.

I want waffles.

So Dev, I've been reading a bit and I'm not sure I need a doula. At least not this far out. I'll still need to research a bit, but I think I may (oh boy) be fine. I have a fantastic set of midwives - who are beloved of the nursing staff at Porter, by the way. The nurse who gave us the tour asked who we were going with and she just had fantastic things to say about each of the midwives. She loves the midwife we are going with, but she is pregnant so we are going with Martha for our visit next week, which was just fantastic with the nurse, but Anita is really very sweet too, she should know, she used to work in their office. And then there is the fact that my mom's new best friend is a midwife who has offered her more maternal services. Lord knows I'm not letting Mom in for delivery, but her best friend may be welcome. And then there is Bryn. I think the family friend may be what I need. I'll keep researching though.

I think I may be over the worst of the queasy thing. I still have bouts of it, but my main urge is to eat my way through it. What I really want is cantaloupe. Or waffles. I had a mad craving for cheese steak sandwiches two weeks ago. I must have eaten three of them that week. Spinach salads sound good until I go to choose a dressing. I like creamy dressings on my spinach, vinaigrettes don't really cut it, but the smell of the creamy dressings just puts me off. Pretzels were unappealing for a while. That was just weird. Peppermint tea, one sugar, room temperature is the greatest beverage ever. I can even forgo the sugar, just don't make me drink it hot.

I want a Twizzler.

I have a new primary care physician. He's asked me to call him by his first name. I feel old. He's really friendly and super sweet though. He checked me out, told me that the midwives can check my abdomen and breasts, and recommended a new brain care specialist. I was not in the least off-put by his attitude towards my pregnant places - I kind of liked that he was more than happy to defer to the ladies who DO pregnancy. I will see him again in a few months.

The new brain care specialist (I have seen counselors, therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists, etc... I've seen them all for the same thing - my mental health (that I stole the phrase from a Vogon is irrelevant)) is a neat lady in the same office as the new doctor. She let me babble for the first hour. Maybe at tomorrow's meeting she will speak more. She implied that she would, but time will tell. I was working on weaning off of my anti-depressants while I was trying to get pregnant. The stomach virus finished the job. She and I are going to work on keeping me that way, at least until the baby is weaned. That is my goal. I had a rough time last year. Wish me luck.

I've been a bit of a hormonal mess. Bryn can probably speak to it better than I can so I will leave off with the fact that I was bawling yesterday about dishes. I was threatening to pile them in the driveway and run them over with the car rather than wash them. He couldn't understand me through the blubbering and thought I said "tissue", as that was what I was looking at when I spoke. He really didn't get the driving pantomime in reference to the snotty tissue. It wasn't just the dishes, of course. I was also a mess about not hearing him correctly. He teases me but I haven't been able to hear his smile lately; all I hear are the words, which I then have an over-reaction to. So he teases me about not doing the dishes, I freak out on him, he tell me to calm down, I realize I'm over reacting and completely meltdown. Within said meltdown I bring up all the other things that make me unhappy. I have no passion anymore, I can't hear his smile, I can't stand being touched, I have no idea what I'm going to do with my degree, I have no idea how we are going to pay for the trip to Boston, I have no Work-Study money this semester, crap I haven't finished reading Uncle Tom's Cabin, I sleep too much, there's too much laundry, should we cloth diaper the baby?, if I could afford disposables I can afford the diaper service, right?, AAAGGGGHHHHH!!!!! And then I start driving over tissues. It's a good thing Bryn loves me. Alex worries when I cry. Bryn tells her I'm fine and I try to reassure her as well, but I think it may be a bit scary for her.

Anyone have a Fudge Round? Twix? 3 Musketeers?

I think I'm doing better. Next week is the midwife appointment where I may actually lie down on a table and get my belly prodded. I may get a sonogram. We may discover the gender (maybe).

I want a boy. I want a boy badly enough that I'm wondering if I'm willing to have three girls in an effort to get a boy. I am the only daughter of an only daughter of an only daughter. Bryn has female cousins and a sister. He's it for the Milks name. A boy would be so cool. My mom thinks it's cool enough that I'm breaking the only child chain, a boy would be gravy. (Please little Zoe, if you read this, don't be offended. We love you.)

Mmmm.... when is cantaloupe in season again?

Yes, we have names picked out. Yes, if it's a girl her name will be Zoe. Alexandra and Zoe. Get it? I'm not divulging the middle name. I was on a forum when I was pregnant with Alex and we went around one day and shared the names we had chosen for our April babies. A woman who delivered on Alex's due date used my boy name, first and middle, for her son. I was so offended. I looked back and she was going to call him Micheal. I suppose it means I have better taste, but it was weird and I felt robbed. Suffice to say, I'm not really worried about anyone stealing the names so much as I want there to be a bit of surprise. On a side note, neither of our mothers like the girl name. We're sticking to our guns though. We think it's perfect.

I think I've blathered enough for one post. I'm off to find some ice cream. Or an apple. Fruit leather?

Birth Plan

I wrote up a birth plan.
Earth Mama Angel Baby, on top of having some really fantastic healthy products, offered up the form. It was weird when I received it, until I realized that it only showed the choices I had made and none of the things I had decided against.

I think that having what I want in writing, and in my midwife's hand, will empower me to have the birth I want instead of the one my doctor wants to give me. Alex's birth was ... a little on the traumatic side.

I thought Alex and I were going to be fine. I was not allowed to think this for the last day of labor. I had been given pitocin. My membranes had been ruptured. I was forced to wear the external fetal monitor that refused to stay still and confined me to the bed, itched, and constantly threw the nurses into a tizzy by picking up my heart and not Alex's. I got to squat up to a point, then I was manhandled onto my back with my feet in stirrups. One of the nurses grabbed my left knee and told Alex's dad (former varsity football player, varsity wrestler, physical laborer) to pull on my right, "Don't worry, you can't hurt her. Pull!" Needless to say, my right hip has never been the same. I was given an episiotomy against my express wishes. I did not see my daughter until an hour after her delivery, though she never left the room. The only thing about the entire experience (other than Alex) that made me smile was this weird endorphin rush - I had stripped down naked: my bra was hanging from the IV stand. I asked the pediatrician, "Dr. Hall, now that you've seen me naked, may I call you Elliot?" He smiled back and said, "Just for tonight," and handed me my perfect baby. He was a fantastic pediatrician. I really miss him.

I hope that this birth goes better. I have very high hopes.