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.

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!

30 Week Ultrasound

I went in for a second ultrasound today. It wasn't in my plans to have more than one when we became pregnant. Bryn's mom is a speech-language pathologist and according to her research there may be concern that those ultrasound waves could damage developing eardrums and ear bones. I have to repeat myself frequently around Alex... it's either too many ultrasounds (my OB was nuts for them) or she's too busy being her. I'm hoping it's the latter.

We had the first ultrasound and I've shared the pictures here; however, there was concern that I had placenta previa. My placenta was very close to my cervix earlier on and they wanted to make sure that it had moved with my growing uterus.

It did!

I didn't realize how scared I was until Tracy, the tech, told me that my placenta was 2 cm from my cervix and I nearly started crying. Bryn had to be at work, so I had Boo with me. I nearly grabbed her and squeezed her - I refrained (that wand pressing down is decent resistance. I think Tracy works out), but Alex could tell I had been scared. She asked what was wrong and I explained what I had been scared of and Alex just curled up in her chair looking scared. Tracy and I soothed her and explained that we were there to make sure that everything was okay. And we showed her on the screen where the placenta is and where my cervix is and Tracy measured it for her - and we were all relieved.

Bryn was upset he couldn't be there with me, and I told Tracy as much. She got out a different wand and looked for the baby's face. We gave Bryn the 3-D pictures of his son's face. He gushed all over them. He'll scan them and post them to his Facebook wall soon and then I'll steal them and post them to the blog.

Scary day turned into a very good day.

Update:

How the Study Actually Went...

I started my day by needing to pee every few hours all night. Since I wasn't allowed to drink, I felt dehydrated and tired. It was very hard to not have something to drink; brushing my teeth helped with the gross mouth feeling for about an hour.

So, first thing that had to happen when I arrived was to strip down and put on the Johnny coat. I had to be weighed. Then the nurse subtracted the weight of the Johnny coat: .2kg. I am so glad I peed before I got on the scale. That reminds me that I need to convert the kg to lb so I know how much I weigh today... Not sure why I care so much. I think I'm still thinking about my job last summer. I fell in love with my weight-loss progress and the kettlebell. The idea of working with a kettlebell right now just hurts...

Okay, so I was weighed and measured and my blood pressure was taken. Then the nice nurse, Rachel, started my IV. I hate needles in my veins in ways you can't quite understand (really long, amusing story for another time). I apologized to Rachel and stared at the wall and out the window and talked to anyone walking in instead of engaging with her. She understood. And then took two vials of blood. The adhesive and the lidocaine made my arm stiff and itchy. 

I was moved to a stretcher and wheeled in to have sonograms done. First, the doctor checked my heart, then he attached three sticky sensors and checked my heart from a different angle. Then he looked at the veins in my right arm (as my left was full of IV). Then he looked at the veins in the back of my right knee.

More blood was taken and then I was given some dye. The IV flush smells like cheap vodka; the dye smells like high school art class - and I was the only one who could smell it. The human body is so fascinating. 

My blood pressure got taken while I was lying down, then I was helped up to sitting and it was taken again. I had been lying on my side long enough that my pelvis hurt while I was sitting up. I actually felt the front separating when I sat up. 

After I was sitting up and they had my baseline sitting pressure I was asked to breathe out for 20 seconds into a gauge and make sure the pressure remained between 50 and 55 - what the numbers mean, I have no idea. I was asked to do this, then remain quiet until the pressure was back to normal, three times. The baby had been wiggling and dancing through most of the tests and blood draws; he didn't seem to like the exhaling exercise. I was finally wheeled back to my room and fed.

I scarfed down the cereal and the mini muffins. I drank a pint of ice water and 4 oz of cranberry juice. I ate a huge banana. People were trying to talk to me and get me to sign stuff... I apologized and talked with my mouth full and got milk on some paperwork. Every woman in the room completely understood. I had been fasting for ten and a half hours. I only had half an hour before I was made to lie down and rest before my MRI. 

I watched the end of Overboard lying on my side and kind of dozing off. Then I got wheeled all the way down to the Radiation department. I'm a bit of a control freak. I drive everywhere. Lying on my side and trying to relax while being wheeled down labyrinthine hallways and seven stories was a little difficult. 

The guys down at the Radiation Department were really sweet. I got foam earplugs and then they put headphones on me and asked what kind of music I liked. I asked for classical, figuring it would be soothing and help me be calm. If I ever have to do something like this again, I'm going to ask for stuff I know all the words to - at least I'd have lyrics to distract me. 

So I got put on the gurney, and since RD is usually pretty cool, they put a blanket on me. Then a cage-like thing got put on my head - which with the headphones on meant I couldn't move my head. And then I got slid into the tube. I had been handed a call button and I clutched it to my chest under the blanket. 

There were several scans. I was brought down at about 11:35 and was wheeled out at 12:30. For the last few scans I was starting to panic. The back of my head hurt where it was on the gurney, but I didn't want to move it (and barely could because of the cage) and screw up the imaging. I was getting really hot with the blanket on me; it felt like it was creeping up and bunching at my neck, just below the  cage. My hips hurt. Being as pregnant as I am, I'm not supposed to lie on my back, but my head had to be positioned as though I were. The strain on my abdomen was getting to me. I would obsess about one uncomfortable thing until I was toying with the call button and then I would think of something else that was uncomfortable. I managed to fix the blanket situation and I wriggled my hips a bit. I waited for a pause in the banging noises to move my head a bit, but it didn't help. Then I thought, "At least I don't have to pee," and instantly had to pee. I had the call button in my hand and was figuring out where to press on it when I was told they were coming to get me. I'm not claustrophobic, but I was glad I could close my eyes and escape. 

I got wheeled back upstairs and was thanked for my participation and released into the wild. 

I agreed to have my placenta sent from Porter to Fletcher Allen for the study. I'm not having any luck finding someone to encapsulate it for me, so it may as well go to the study. I have also agreed to put my MRI into a database for other researchers. 

I've been pretty beat all day. Between the fasting, dehydration, and the blood draws I think I'm a bit wiped out.  Bryn tried to treat me with Misery Love Co. for dinner, but I was too tired to eat. I just didn't feel right. I wasn't unwell; I just wasn't well. I ate about five bites and had to give up. Even the fries didn't cheer me.

I promised the dirty details of the testing, and I have delivered. I have eaten ice cream and drunk lemonade. Maybe some sleep will finally do me some good. 

The Study I Volunteered For

I mentioned this way back in the first post; I'm enrolled in a study at UVM's Clinical Research Center. They are studying preeclampsia: can it be predicted, avoided, and how do we treat it? It's a pretty neat study. It's number 1018 down next to the bottom of this page.

The second visit of the study, for me, is on Wednesday. I will officially be in my second trimester (woot!) and the pregnancy will be more secure. I will only be there for a few hours this time. They will take vials of blood, do a few sonograms of veins and arteries (including the one that feeds my uterus so I may get a view of the baby), and release me into the wild... After, of course, having fed me and collected my pee.

Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday I have to eat what they supply for me. I picked up Sunday and Monday's meals today. Salads and whole wheat pasta dishes. There is a dessert for Sunday night, but not Monday. The macaroni and cheese looks good. I'm almost looking forward to the meals. Almost. I had talked to the woman who made the meals about my food preferences and we discussed my yogurt and nut aversions and that I had been eating egg and cheese on a bagel every morning... We never discussed my bean aversion. There are beans in both dinners. And since they can't measure the nutrients in each individual egg - I have egg substitute for both breakfasts. The salads look beautiful though. Garbanzo beans and all. A courier is coming Monday with my meals for Tuesday.

I will be fasting when I arrive at the hospital at 8am on Wednesday. Not so much as a sip of water. I will have a headache (having ridden the bus there) and demand they hurry up so I can drink.  The first thing I do lately is wake the Boo and prep her snack and breakfast and pour myself a glass of juice. I get some fluids, vitamin C, and a boost of sugar. I will not have my hummingbird fuel on board when I see the happy hospital staff...

I will present to them all of my leftovers and a jug of my pee. They will measure and analyze both of them.

I think I signed up for this study for the same reason I allow training nurses and midwives and doctors to help out during my exams. I want to help people learn. Since I can't teach them myself, I help them in the only way that I can. I really do think that dissecting the frog is not something you can substitute with a diagram. I have an aunt with three kidneys and a friend with one huge one - real-life is so much freakier than a diagram.

I'll let you know how it goes.

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.