Bringing up Baby

When last I left you, I gave an abbreviated account of my delivery experience. Yes, my darlings, I shall go into more detail of the nuances I experienced, but not just yet.

Today is simply another brief rundown of what as occupied my days in the time I have been away.

Post delivery I had another three days in hospital while my blood pressure and such leveled out and the medical team made sure I was not likely to curl up toes and expire on them. Himself slept more deeply than either of us ever thought possible that first evening, but I was more jittery than a rabbit in a cage from the excitement of officially being a mother and the massive amount of adrenaline my body had pumped through my system to push that baby OUT.

Many, many, many people giving advice to new moms will say to let your little one spend the first night in the nursery and have the staff bring your bundle of joy to you for feedings only and take the advantage of free babysitters and sleep. If you are tired, by all means, do this. It is nice to have someone take care of the tike for you while you grab a few z's. Me? I was wide awake. And had no real expectations of sleep any time soon. So, once the nursery had Little Alex cleaned and inspected and given all his pokes and prods required, I had him room in with us every night. I was of the mind that the nurses would wake me up to feed him every two hours anyway and I would be wondering about how he was doing if he were away, so might as well just keep him close.

Friends and family visited often and everyone simply gushed over how adorable and perfect Little Alex was (and is, of course) and how he looked to be an old soul. I must admit, he did not seem a newborn at all. From the very beginning he was looking and acting much older than one would expect. Himself loves to tell the story of how he steeled himself for the oddness of how a newborn looksn how he had to keep reminding himself to keep calm and remember that newborns will have funny shaped heads, and scream a lot, and be odd colors, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. But not so with our little one. True, his head was slightly oblong during the first few hours but even that was barely noticeable. He was a healthy pink almost immediately and his skin was hardly wrinkled. He cried for a minute or two until placed on my chest and when our eyes met, he calmed.

To speak the truth, I barely remember the actual moments of delivery. I remember the sensations, the emotional reactions and being very aware. But the details of everything are long forgotten. It could be from the medications, or simply the blur of so much happening so fast. Either are equally reasonable explanations.

Amazingly, he was very easy to care for that first week. He was predictable in the feedings and had a perfect latch from the very start. There was a hitch in that my production was not satisfying his demands and Little Alex's weight dropped a little more than the normal amount. But, as both of us were healthy otherwise, the hospital sent us home under the strict condition that he be seen by his pediatrician within two days. (They would not process the discharge papers until they spoke with the office confirming my appointment to ensure this.)

Himself is lucky enough to work with a company that offers a full two weeks of paternity leave. Our intentions were for him to take the first week off and save the remaining days for holidays and such. Things did not quite work out that way. Do you know the old quote "Man plans, the Gods laugh"? This is painfully true once children are thrown into the mix.

During Little Alex's second week, his feedings became very difficult. He fussed and screamed and arched away from me after only a few minutes. I was growing confused but at our pediatrician appointments, he was gaining weight well and his latch was still perfect. I couldn't figure out what was going on.

Then the spit-up started.

Now I know babies spit up. And I know it can often look like quite a lot. But this was different. It wasn't the normal spit up, it looked like he had just held the milk in his mouth and pushed it right out. Very odd to me, but I counted it as something I simply hadn't run into when dealing with newborns and simply kept an eye on him guessing it would get more to the normal consistency soon enough. Of course, it didn't. Instead Little Alex started with projectile spit up. Spit up with so much force behind it that it would miss him, my shoulder, and the back of the couch and hit the floor a good foot behind me. THIS was NOT normal.

Himself had returned to work as planned a few days before and I called him up in a tizzy, convinced that something was horrifically wrong with our child. He was infinitely more practical and reminded me to call the doctor to get the baby checked by a true professional before flying into full hysterics.

Listening to his wise advice, I called the pediatrician's office and they had me bring in the little one for an evaluation. Himself left work early to join us being the wonderful and involved father that he is.

When all questions were answered and all explanations of Little Alex's behaviors offered, the doctor informed us that our poor bairn was suffering from Gastroesophageal Reflux Disorder (or GERD for short). Relieved that it was not a serious condition but still downhearted that our little one was in pain when eating, I had myself a little cry shelled out the $76 for infant Zantac.

Loathed to suffer my child to foul tasting medication for the first six months of his life, I also contacted my father's cousin, Kathleen, who is a lactation consultant and natural medicine advocate to see if there was something I could do to help Little Alex's tummy pains and ditch the medication.

Kathleen was our savior. I will do another article on what she advised and how we were able to get Little Alex's GERD under control and drop the Zantac altogether.

Now, Alex is coming up to the three month mark and is thriving beautifully. Himself and I are also back to feeling like we have our lives back again and not the constant chaos that comes with adjusting to the care of a newborn.

Now if only I could find a way to make time stand still for a while to truly enjoy each moment with him....

Hello, Mommy!

OK, so it has been a while....

I have missed you all, my lovelies, but motherhood took some getting used to. So much has happened I hardly know where to begin!

Let's start at the beginning, shall we?

Shortly after my 34 week appointment, things became a bit complicated with the pregnancy. My blood pressure started climbing as did my protein levels. This raised a bit of concern with the good doctor and I was put on a constant watch for Preeclampsia. My activity level had to be reduced and my fluid intake increased, plus a Non-Stress Test for Little Alex. I was growing bigger by the day and becoming very uncomfortable but the wee bairn was not looking like he would be ready to arrive any time soon.

The weeks ticked down but my blood pressure kept creeping higher and higher. The final week before my due date, the good doctor was growing quite concerned and my body was not near enough to a deliverable state; there was talk of induction. Little Alex seemed to take the hint because a few days later, I started having some serious contractions. Two days after that (and two days before my Due Date) I was admitted to the hospital for delivery.

Many expectant mothers worry if they might mistake false labor for true labor and vicea-versa. Believe me, there is no questioning which is which. You will know. Not only is the pain very different, but your instincts will kick in. It was certainly clear to me. The only tricky part of knowing when to go to the hospital for me was the fact that my contractions never got into a predictable rhythm on their own.

The contractions started around 3 am on the Wednesday before my Due Date. I started timing them, as you are supposed to, and they showed to be roughly 60- 90 minutes long each time but they bounced around from being two minutes apart to six minutes apart and then 15 minutes apart. I found this odd, but they were significantly stronger than anything I had ever experienced. So, Himself and I packed the car with our bags, called up the good doctor, explained what I was feeling and was advised to keep timing them. Unless they got stronger, longer, and closer together before 8 she would see me at my regularly scheduled appointment that morning. Of course, they did not change their intensity, frequency or duration and at the appointment I was examined and the good doctor said that Little Alex wasn't coming quite yet but I was certainly in the early stage of labor and that sometime between thirty minutes to three days from that time, we were sure to meet our son. (Three days being the scheduled induction.) I went home, in no less pain, but no closer to "go time". Himself went to work and I spent the rest of the day with my eyes and fingers glued to the stopwatch. Alack, no change.

3 am Thursday rolls around and I cannot stand it anymore. I call the good doctor again and explain what I am feeling and took a guess that the contractions were stronger. They most likely were but the increase was so gradual, I was not completely sure. I simply knew I needed to go to the hospital.

So, with the car already loaded with our birthing gear, away we went in the dark of night, both Himself and I trembling with excitement and fear. (Let's face it, having a baby is a scary thing. A breathtaking, amazing, beautiful, and completely wonderful thing, but a scary thing.) We arrived, found a parking space, decided to leave our bags in the trunk until we had a room, and made our way to the maternity ward. I was affixed to monitors, poked and prodded and set-up with an IV and we all waited to see if I would be admitted or not.

We waited....

. . . and waited . . .

and waited.

My dilation was not progressing, nor were my contractions indicating that labor was progressing. However, my blood pressure was continuing to go up as were my protein levels so it was eventually decided that I would be admitted. We sent word to family and friends that we were officially in birthday countdown and made our way to the labor and delivery room.

Things went well for a while. The contractions were intense but manageable as long as I was able to stand and move my hips to ease the muscles and let my body do what it needed in preparation for delivery. For a time, anyway.

It seemed that I was not destined for a "natural" childbirth as I had worked out in my head. My blood pressure was soaring dangerously high as were my protein levels and I officially crossed over the threshold and into full-fledged preeclampsia. Little Alex was not taking the stress of the irregular contractions well and though not in immediate danger, his little heartbeat was dipping lower than the good doctor felt comfortable with. Things were not looking good and the potential for a truly dangerous situation was rising fast.

With my blood pressure at 177/101 (my normal being 110/70) I had to have Magnesium Sulfate given via IV to lower my BP and prevent seizures. A good thing to avoid. Unfortunately, Magnesium causes random loss of motor control and is a muscle relaxer. This meant I could no longer get out of bed and had to have Pitocin to keep labor progressing. So, my plan for no medication had flown right out the window. But, since preeclampsia has a high risk of seizures and death for both mother and child . . . small price to pay.

The Pitocin did regulate my contractions and once that happened, Little Alex faired much better giving the good doctor and me some much needed positive news. The Magnesium also lowered my blood pressure and protein levels which brought the potential for deadly risk way down. All very very good.

It also raised my pain levels and took away my way of coping with them.

Not so good.

So, with my birth plan already in shambles and my spirit breaking, I went ahead and asked for some pain medication. The nurse gave me a dose of Nubain and I was soon feeling much better about the whole ordeal.

Again, this was short lived.

Though the contractions were regulating and doing as they should in respect to intensity, duration and spacing . . . they were not doing as they were supposed to in terms of dilation. And at the rate I was going, the good doctor knew I would run out of stamina long before it came time to push. So, it became necessary to speed things along and that meant breaking my waters. This also meant the pain would increase dramatically.

Uh oh.

I had been determined not to get an Epidural since day one. Long before, actually. I had refused to even consider it as an option when Himself and I were still simply thinking about someday having children. And I was still wanting to avoid it at all costs. I was terrified of having a needle anywhere near my spine.

My nurse advised me otherwise. She knew what I was in for and strongly recommended I rethink my position on the subject. There was something about her frankness that caught my attention. She had been wonderful and completely open and honest so far. I trusted her advice, but I was still holding out hope that I wouldn't have to give up everything I had planned for my birth experience. So, we all agreed to proceed with the Nubain with orders drawn up and ready to go for the Epidural, if I changed my mind.

So the good doctor gave me my second dose of Nubain, sped up the delivery process and left me in the care of my nurse until the next round of progress checks. I braced myself for my next contraction, determined to bear it through without further pain management interventions.

My darlings, let me enlighten you of something. Do not judge someone's decisions until you make it though their situations. I thought I knew what I was in for. I thought I knew pain. After all, I had broken bones and not realized it. I had suffered a major internal injury that cost me quite a lot of blood and very nearly my life and only an odd discomfort to alert me something was amiss. I had handled things thus far, surely I could handle the pain as is.

Nope. Not even close.

That first contraction after my water broke, I looked the nurse dead in the eye and told her to get the anesthesiologist and get me that epidural. Nothing could have prepared me for the blinding pain that had gripped me. All of my worst fears were nothing compared to it. The thought of having to face hours of such torture was unfathomable. There was no question, no thought. I was not going to be able to do this without an epidural. And for all my worry, it wasn't bad. I felt nothing of the needle or catheter being placed. I couldn't move my legs, but I had difficulty moving them from the Magnesium anyway. I still felt the contractions but there was no real pain with them. I suddenly felt like I was once again capable of surviving the birthing process.

Finally it came time to push, all went smoothly (for the first time in the whole pregnancy) and Little Alexander finally greeted the world at 12:52 AM on May 31st weighing in at 7 pounds and 6 ounces and measuring 21 inches long. Far lighter than we all thought but a decent amount longer.

I shall pause here for now, my dears, and continue filling you in on the events of the last three months very soon.

Until next time!

Yes and....

A big congratulations to my brother-in-law and his comedy group on their successful Kickstarter and the resulting theatre they will be opening soon!

Himself and I were lucky enough to be able to donate a little something to the fund and also attend the celebration show. Which made me re-realize just how much fun improv comedy is, how challenging it is, and how much the philosophy of successful improv can apply to life in general.

One of the foundations of improv is the idea of "yes and". At its essence, the "yes and" idea is one of acceptance, validation, and cooperation. In improv it simply means accepting your fellow actor's idea and then building on it. A simple concept in theory but often quite difficult to actually execute. However, it is the struggle of merging two different ideas, two different minds, that is half of where the comedy comes from and witnessing the effort and being in awe of it that brings such great entertainment to the audience. Yes is always more difficult than no but the rewards are so much deeper and more meaningful because of the challenge and because is brings people with you side by side.

Life is no different. Doing is always more difficult than not doing, accepting is always more difficult than denying. Yes is so much harder than no. But no blocks forward movement. When you say no, when you invalidate someone's idea or offer, you block progression; progression of yourself, progression of the relationship, progression of . . . everything. No kills growth.

"Yes" allows for endless possibilities. By saying yes you are saying that this idea, this action, is important, valid, acceptable, and appreciated. This feeling extends to the person themselves and gives them all of those feelings: importance, validation, acceptance, and appreciation. These feelings strengthen the bonds between people, allowing relationships to strengthen and grow. And this all allows for further ideas to be exchanged without fear of rejection.

"Yes and" takes the joys of yes and builds on them further. It shows cooperation, that you are willing to expose yourself as much as they, that you are willing to take the same risks, to put yourself on the line as much as everyone else. This helps break the fear of failure. "Yes and" means that no one is alone, no one is exposed or at risk because they have someone with them who will accept them for who they are and trust them.

Yes and. It's simple in concept, difficult in execution, but quite possibly the answer to so many problems in our lives and in society. Take the time to stop and think about how you interact with people and events and add a little "yes and" into your life and see if things change.

Does This Baby Make Me Look Fat?

6 weeks to go!

Himself and I had our 34 week doctor's visit yesterday and everything is still right down the perfect line. Little Alex is active and strong (so much so that I haven't slept more than two hours each night while he has a little dance party in my belly) and measuring a tad on the bigger side of normal. Which also means my baby bump is about an inch larger than usual and my weight is about five pounds higher than average. However, the good doctor assures me that the weight is all baby and I'm inclined to agree as the general public are shocked when the find out I am eight months preggers rather than the 6 months they would have guessed by my size. And many have commented that upon looking at my frame straight on from front or back, one could hardly tell I was carrying at all!

I can't say I'm terribly surprised as all the men in on both side of the family tree are taller than average and were a little on the hefty side as infants. Let's just say if I end up pushing out a ten pounder, it won't be a shock.

With D-day fast approaching, Himself and I have started shopping for all the necessities from Little Alex's care. So far, I am having mixed feelings on this activity. I thoroughly enjoy looking at all the adorable gadgets and doo-dads and furniture that fill the stores but the price tags are incredulous. Shopping for a baby on a tight budget is certainly not as much fun as it should be! However, I am finding a few resources (thank you Pintrest, Craigslist, and Freecycle) to help ease the burden. In fact, I now have a few new craft projects to work on for Alex including cloth diapers, diaper covers, and a sling baby carrier. With luck, I have enough fabric already in my stash to have a good lot of items for no cost. And let's be honest, my lovelies, who doesn't love free?

I will post up my progress as it happens both in the crafting world and Little Alexander's check-ups.

Until next time!

Don’t Judge Me

Here it is, my darlings. The ugly truth. I’m going to call myself a bad word. That’s right, a bad bad word. Now I don’t think it’s a bad word but society has claimed otherwise. If you are afraid, look away. Here we go….

I. Am. A Housewife.

There. I’ve said it. And shame on you if you sneer at the term, honestly. You may chose to work, you may have your profession that you earned and are proud of. I sincerely congratulate you for it. You (I assume) worked hard for your place in the workforce and that is to be commended. I too have spend my time in offices, and retail work, and the like. But I discovered, it was not where my heart is. I choose to stay home because it is where I feel happiest. I clean because I enjoy it. I cook because it is my passion. There is a thrill for me in the joy I see in my husband when I have a freshly made meal ready for him when he comes home from work. I have chosen to stay home and tend to my family because it is what I WANT to do.

Do I not have the right to chose this way of life as other women have the right to chose to enter the workforce? Is it not equally as unfair to EXPECT me to hold a 9-5 job simply because it is what most other women do? How is such a thing any different than a few decades ago when women were berated for leaving the home to work instead of holding the “traditional role”?

What then, becomes of us women who don’t want to do what is expected of us, but instead want to have the freedom to do what is our passion and take up that “traditional role”? We are scolded, shamed, called lazy, frowned upon, and constantly asked when we are going to buckle down and get back into the real world. What they fail to see is that THIS is our real world. This is our calling. To pretend to be happy doing anything else is just a lie. A lie we hold to keep other people happy? No thank you!

Remember also, that the choice to be a housewife is a difficult one. There are challenges to balancing career and family, of course. The plight of the working mother is plastered all over the media (along with helpful tips on how to ease the burden). There is the benefit of these burdens being offset by the ease of having a second income. Those of us who stay home and care for our households….

There is a misconceptions that women who stay home spend their day dusting here and there, perhaps folding a few bits of clothing, popping a frozen meal into an oven when Father is on his way home, and spending most of their day chatting with their girlfriends over wine and chocolates, and watching day-time TV. Oh, if only that world truly existed….. Reality is that there is a never ending stream of household chores to be done which you alone have the joy of tending to because, as the argument goes, you are home all day so what else do you have to do? There are also meals to prepare. Meals which you have to be very clever with because, with only one income, money is always tight and balancing all your food groups is a lot harder when you are feeding a full household on half the budget. There’s also other fun nuances of living on one income such as having to mend and make things that most would simply replace or purchase new, and finding ways to stretch out the life of every little thing you use because sometimes you have to pick between buying laundry detergent or milk this week.

  Perhaps that is enough ranting for today. If nothing else, take from this an appreciation for those who cast off expectations and go for what they love. It’s harder to live it than you may think.

T-minus 7 Weeks

My my has time flown! Strange to think that about eight months ago Himself and I were staring at that little blue line with a mixture of disbelief, excitement and (yes, I'll admit it) even a little trepidation.

The simple fact of the matter is that we had every intention of getting the family ball rolling in 2012, we just hadn't quite planned on it being that early. In our ideal world, we would have started trying in September, not calling up OB doctors to confirm a home test. But, life and mother nature had other plans for us and frankly, we're ok with that.

It took Himself a while to get on board the baby train to speak the truth; and I can't blame him one bit. Becoming a parent is a big responsibility. Having a person be completely dependent on you for the necessities of living for the next eighteen or more years? If that doesn't make your heart stop a little then, my friend, you are not ready for that level of commitment. The whole of my first Trimester and even well into my second, Himself was (to put it bluntly) scared out of his wits. I can't blame him, really and there was so little for him to attach to at that point. It took quite some time before my baby bump sprang up and the first six months of the pregnancy I had my head in the toilet every few hours. (Hyperemesis Gravidarum is no picnic my darlings. Even a mild case like mine which only required one trip to the emergency room....) I was tired all the time, and when I wasn't tired, I was nauseous. I couldn't work, I barely ate, and every time I moved my head even the slightest amount, the room wouldn't stop spinning.

 Himself, poor lad, couldn't understand how awful I was feeling and how impossible it was for me to not be pinned to the couch and clinging for dear life until the world stopped moving. It wasn't until (several months in to the pregnancy, mind you) my anti-nausea medication that never really fully worked and I had a particularly bad bout with vomiting that I simply could not take feeling so miserable all the time anymore and called up my doctor. I looked fine and cheerful enough but my lab results were no good. I was dehydrated, almost dangerously so, and got shipped off to the ER for fluids and a stronger medication.

This was his wake up call. For the first time he realized I wasn't simply feeling yucky and tired, but something was seriously not normal about by morning sickness routine. Thankfully, the new medication turned me human again and I was able to at least get back to a normal routine of housework. Not long after (and quite suddenly, if I do say so) my bump popped out and I finally looked the part. Himself and I got to finally see our little one via Ultrasound and that "it" was in fact, a "he." It was barely weeks later that our baby boy was making his presence known not just to me, but to Daddy as well as flutters turned into faint little kicks.

And thus came the real turning point. Once Himself saw the black and white photo of the little thing he helped create, once he felt the life twist and move and bump under his hand, he was hooked. Sure, he teared up months before hand hearing the little heartbeat, but nothing sank in and melted his heart quite like seeing and feeling the son growing inside me.

So, here we are with less than two months to go before we meet our little Alexander and we've done a full role reversal. Himself is practically dancing for joy and dreaming wonderful dreams of life with baby and I am chewing my nails to the quick with worry over every minute detail of parenthood.

Strange how that works, isn't it?