A photo journal comprised of my thoughts on motherhood and other life happenings, as well as some of professional work as a photographer. Southern California is home.
Sunday was my official due date. I picked the latest due date based not on dates (which gave me an earlier due date) but instead on ultrasounds done at seven and eight weeks, which apparently are more accurate. I stuck with the latest date possible for my own piece of mind. I’ve read that second babies typically come earlier and by allowing myself a longer cushion of time it seemed like I was providing myself with the best of safety nets. Though I mentally told myself I needed to prepare to go past my due date, honestly speaking, I didn’t think I actually would. But, here I am with a baby still bakin’ in my womb. Must be a pretty posh life in there.
We spent Sunday on the beach as a family. A family of three. And it dawned one me that even though it feels like this pregnancy is going on forever, Van will be here any day and then we will be four. My midwife said something to me at my last appointment that I truthfully hate to hear. She said, “You know, life is going to get very busy, even hard at times, once Van gets here. Try to relax and enjoy this time with Willy and Hooper”. I say I hate hearing that because it’s so easy for an outsider to say. So easy for an outsider to think logically. I remember people saying the same thing to me before Hooper was born and I vowed never to advise anyone expecting a child to make the most of the time before their child arrives. That’s because once you find out you’re pregnant, you spend the whole pregnancy adjusting your mindset and skillfully planning for the addition. It’s not like you start racing to cross things off your list once you become pregnant… If you planned for it, you do that stuff beforehand and spend the pregnancy, especially the end of the pregnancy, anticipating what’s inevitably going to come. It’s almost impossible to enjoy your time as just a couple because you really have no idea what you’re about to lose.
So as I sat there on the beach with my two guys, it dawned on me that there is a difference between this pregnancy and last: I am able to live in the moment and, as a result, I truly enjoyed our time as a family of three. The thought of it being my due date hardly even passed through my thoughts. I’m trying my best this week to find peace in the wait.
It goes without saying that my google searches have lead me to research on natural labor induction. I want this baby out. And not because my body is throbbing and I’m tired of carrying the extra load (even though this is true)… The pregnancy pains pale in comparison to my fear of a repeat of what happened the first time around: induction, constant monitoring, pitocin, delivering on the operating room table, etc. I fear that the later this pregnancy goes, the more jeopardized my birth plan becomes. Remember I chose a home birth based on the fact that I truly feel it’s what’s safest for me and for my baby. While many misconstrue my decision to be emotional, rest assured that there is plenty of scientific research to back up my decision. With that said, I’ve put a lot of love and care and forethought into my decision and the later I get in pregnancy, the more I see my control over the situation diminishing. I digress.
Inducing labor naturally (isn’t that an oxymoron?) at home is a funny thing. All the sites seem to say the same thing: acupuncture, acupressure, pineapple, evening primrose oil, homeopathics, sex, walking, castor oil, spicy food. But there seems to be an asterix attached to each method that states: These methods will only work if your baby is ready to come out. Let me translate this asterix in more plain English: “Listen you crazy pregnant lady, I know you want your baby to come out. You can try A, B, and C, and even E, F, AND G if it makes you feel better and helps fill your days of waiting. Labor will still happen, however, whenever the f*#$@ it feels like happening. Try this natural induction method instead: WAIT”.
And yet I can’t stop eating pineapple after pineapple in hopes of a puddle of amniotic fluid magically appearing at my feet. I went to get a refill on the homeopathic medicine I’ve been taking. I instructed the homeopathoIogist that I’m now at my due date and need the stronger dose. She gave me the instructions regarding dose and frequency and then said something all too familiar, “If it doesn’t work, then your baby just isn’t ready to come and you can try taking the same dose at the same intervals the next day”. My wheels started spinning, I paid the nine bucks, and I waddled back to my car thinking, “Screw her, she used the asterix. What she is basically telling me is that I can take her shit or leave it and either way my baby will come when he damn well pleases”. I came home and bragged to Willy about my epiphany. He said, “So you didn’t buy the stuff, did you?”. And I said, “Of course I did”. I know, silly. BUT, I explained to Willy that it’s like knowing you’re going to die. You can’t just let death happen, you have to die trying. It’s much too hard to sit here and complacently wait. I have to feel proactive, like I’m working toward the baby coming out. I have to fool myself into thinking I have at least an ounce of control. It’s the only way to stay sane.
I’m confused as to whether I’m giving birth to a teenager or a dependant being because if it’s the latter, shouldn’t I be the one calling the shots? What’s that you say? I have to learn this lesson all over again and forfeit all control? Screw you, pregnancy. Screw you.
The last leg of pregnancy, for me, is an emotional roller coaster. The challenge is detaching myself and letting nature run her course. It’s an odd feeling to be housing a baby but have absolutely no control over when it comes out. Oftentimes I feel like people are looking to me to have some mysterious sixth sense and answer the question of when he’s coming, though I have no more control or insight over it than anyone else. I put a lot of pressure on myself and in a lot of ways I realize I dig my own hole. Van will come whenever he feels fit, I need to trust in that. Easier said than done, I assure you.
Google is my worst best friend, the kind that your mom always warned you was trouble and you knew in your heart of hearts she was right but you still couldn’t seem to turn down an invite to a sleep over. I want so desperately to waste my days researching natural induction methods and signs of impending labor. In an effort to fool myself into thinking labor is just around the corner, I’m fighting the urge to start tracking the time between my braxton hicks, which granted have gotten stronger but are still not the real thing. But the reality is no matter how much time I spend researching this or that, nature reigns all. I have no control and it’s the hardest pill to swallow this late in pregnancy.
I have tons of “what if this” and “what if that” kinda questions, questions that no professional out there can answer… Questions more appropriately asked to the magic eight ball I so naively allowed to control my fate years back when I had beaded curtains separating my closet from my room and glow in the dark stars pasted all over my ceiling. I’m anxious to say the least and it has me on edge. It’s an all too familiar feeling and the more the script seems to match the prior one, the more anxious I become.
I read a rumor the other day that the Beatles “Let it Be”, written by Paul, was written for his mother Mary who was a midwife. Needless to say, I added it to my labor playlist. I’m trying my best to let things be these days, but trust me, it’s a battle.
I’m no pro in knowing what to include in that little suitcase planted at the front door awaiting those infamous words of, “Honey, it’s time!”. I had no plans of even going to hospital the first time around. To be honest, I hadn’t even showered the morning I gave birth. Instead, we hightailed it downtown to our appointment with the backup OB, in his office, and were prompted to go directly from there to the hospital. I had nothing. The following are some things I would have brought…
Toiletries/ overnight stuff // Clothes to bring the baby home in // My labor tunes (keep in mind the hospital may or may not have an iPod deck or a CD player, so pack your own) // Labor snacks // Purse // Granny panties // Camera // Birthing ball // Cell phone and charger
I can tell you from having nothing that it didn’t really matter. The experience is so solidified in my mind as being incredibly momentous and empowering that I can’t say I lost much by not having my pre-determined labor tunes playing or even having it all captured on camera… and for those who know me, you know I have trigger finger. Point being, you and your support team are all you need. Keep it simple.
There has been some moody days this past week. I chalk it up to being displaced while our kitchen was being re-done, then moving back into a dust ball and having to reorganize everything, and oh ya, being 38 weeks pregnant. Almost. There. I remember questioning a few weeks ago if it was “easier”, for lack of better words, giving birth the first time because I didn’t know what I didn’t know. Ignorance is bliss in so many situations. Now I know the pain and subsequent recovery I am in for and I no longer question what is better because I’m pretty sure ignorance was bliss.
Can I share too much information for a second? If you don’t want to hear about the gory preparation for birth, stop reading. I’m terrified of tearing again. I had a stage 3 tear the first time around and recovery was nothing like I expected it to be. I prepared myself mentally for a natural labor and feel like I passed that test with flying colors. But those two weeks following delivery were incredibly painful. My back hurt from my inability to stand or walk upright. I was hunched over all the time and going from a sit to stand hurt like hell. To help prevent tearing this time around, I’ve started doing perineal massage. It’s not fun, hardly the highlight of my day, and just a little reminder of the pain that’s around the corner. I told Willy it feels similar to sticking your fingers in your anus and stretching it from side to side. Sorry for the awful analogy, but it’s only fair that these husbands of ours have some idea of what we have to go through. Honestly, I felt like evening the playing field and actually giving his asshole a little stretch. The first time around I fooled myself into believing that my gymnastics history and ability to do the splits in all three directions would help facilitate labor. Um ya, not the same muscles involved. Not even close. Willy has a friend who claims he read a study about labor pain being equivalent to a man being kicked in the nuts. Over the last few weeks, as I’ve been stretching my perineum, this proclamation has bothered me more and more. Can you imagine if they offered epidurals for men who have been kicked in the nuts? Or coaches to help men through the pain? What a dumb study. In any case, I digress. I’ve been moody this week and a bit resentful that I alone have to go through the pain and recovery that is labor. But truthfully, I’m just terrified. And yet, at the same time, I’m anxious for Van to get here on time… Time is of the essence, you see, because as soon as I go past my due date, my birth plan is subject to change. Again. (You can read Hooper’s birth story here). Sure, it was emotionally exhausting to go so far past my due date the first time but the worst part was that my birth plan went out the window. So I’m struggling with an inner tug-o-war: For a lack of an equivalent analogy, I’m like a man begging to be kicked in the nuts sooner rather than later. And that’s where I’m at.
Physically, there is a venomous snake apparently living in my right upper inner thigh and every now and again he likes to bite me in my groin. The pain is so sharp and unrelenting. It stops me in my tracks and I involuntarily make a face that makes my vegetable eating face appear as though I’m actually enjoying them (I hate vegetables). Willy and I went to the Dodger game the other night and I’m pretty sure the usher there was certain I was in labor. It took the entire first inning just to get to our seats. My midwives have assured me that this is normal and I’ve read of many others that describe the same pain. I know he’s far down there, I feel the pressure, I just wish he’d get off whatever nerve he’s on.
When I was nearing the end of my pregnancy with Hooper, I found myself on the internet reading birth story after birth story. I needed inspiration. I needed a light at the end of the tunnel. I needed confirmation that at some point, this growing little human would make an exit. This time around, I have only a slight advantage in having giving birth once already though I still feel the anxiety in not knowing how Van’s story will start. In any case, I thought I would share Hooper’s birth story and in-turn ask that others leave either a link to or snippet of their own birth stories. I’m in need of a little inspiration today 🙂 Here’s how Hooper’s life started:
Everyone had selected dates they guessed Hooper would arrive. Most were in the latter part of October. My Grandma Lu picked November 2nd, I believe the latest of anyone. Along came his due date of November 5th, and still no Hooper. Suddenly I felt a pressure I had never anticipated. I started to feel like everyone was waiting on me to do something I had no control over. Of course the combination of my own expectations and perhaps pregnancy hormones fed this anxiety. In any case, I started to feel like Hooper was NEVER going to come out of me. I couldn’t even imagine how labor would begin because I felt so darn normal. I found myself on the internet reading birth story after birth story for some sort of hope. I hung onto other women’s stories: “I woke up with contractions”, “Suddenly my water broke”, “I looked at my husband and told him this was it!” I kept imagining how my own story would begin. And then the days kept passing, accounting for one of the most emotionally draining times of my life. Fielding phone calls, text messages, emails, neighbors’ inquiries, and so on in regards to if the baby had arrived only aggravated my own anticipation of Hooper’s arrival. I preferred to dig a hole and live in it at this point in my pregnancy. For such an easy pregnancy to end with this unexpected emotional turmoil was exhausting.
Once we passed the due date, we began following up with the midwives’ back-up OB. We saw Dr.Kline a few times and kept getting the green light to continue waiting. On one end of the spectrum, this meant we got to keep with the intended plan of a natural birth at home. On the other end, it meant I had to continue to endure the waiting game.
Forty-one weeks came and went and suddenly there was what felt like an expiration date placed on his birth: We were told, “You have until next Monday to have this baby at home. If he doesn’t come in that time, we need to induce you at the hospital.” Just when I thought the pressure could build no more. I walked and walked and walked. I tried herbs. I bounced on the birthing ball. I watched entire episodes of “Cops” in the squatting position. I rocked on my hands and knees. I climbed stairs. I bounced down the hallway. I ate lots of pineapple. We went to Los Toros for their spicy salsa. I went to acupuncture. We drove to Studio City for some infamous salad others swore would induce labor. I tried castor oil. Nipple stimulation. I talked to Hooper, begging him to come out. I had Willy sternly plead for the same. Nothing worked and with each passing day labor seemed more and more impossible.
We returned to the OB on Monday, November 15th (41 weeks, 4 days). Hooper underwent another non-stress test. While on the monitor he had a prolonged deceleration, meaning that during one of my contractions his heartbeat dropped for an extended period of time. I remember the OB saying, “Game over. He has to come out.” Off to the hospital we went, tears streaming down my face. I was grieving the loss of my so thoughtfully and passionately planned home birth while also juggling the new worry of Hooper’s ability to withstand the impending labor.
Willy dropped me off at the hospital and there I was, alone, on my way to the labor and delivery department. From this point forth, the story depends on a matter of perspective. Willy would tell quite a different story, but to hear that perspective you will have to talk to him. The following is told from the way in which I experienced it, head buried into the linens n’ all.
My midwife at the time, Sarah, used to use an analogy of a cat in labor. Cats disappear to give birth, hiding out in dark and secluded areas. It made sense to me when considering a home birth that at home was the most natural place to birth. Being asked to push on a hard table under bright fluorescent lights didn’t seem conducive to a natural pushing environment, to me. When I reached the labor and delivery department, the charge nurse greeted me. She put an arm around me and sympathetically said, “I know this isn’t the scenario you planned on.” Tears raced down my face. I was escorted to my room and introduced to my nurse who gave me a gown to change into, started my IV, filled out admission paperwork, and started my Pitocin. When exploring my fears the week prior, this was my number one: hooked up to Pitocin in a hospital. So now not only was I dealing with a major change in plans, but now I was the cat in labor with all eyes on me.
Sarah was the first to arrive. She helped me come to terms with what I had originally envisioned versus where I was now. We talked through the hallway, listened to music, and meditated in preparation for the work that lay ahead. It was difficult for me to get in the “laborland” zone. I knew deep down that I couldn’t mentally go down that road until the pain took me there. In due time, the pain did take me there.
Willy showed up not too long after Sarah. I sensed a bit of relief on Willy’s part that we were in the comfort and safety of a hospital setting. Though he understood my reasons for home birth and we eventually came to see eye to eye, I think the hospital setting offered him security a home birth could not. Nonetheless, he was sympathetic to the loss of the home birth I was dealing with. We spent these hours happily anticipating the arrival of our son and anxiously awaiting the painful contractions that would get us there.
The Pitocin did little in the way of strengthening my contractions. Though they were coming more frequently, they were not painful. I knew without pain, there would be no baby. The nurse would come in every half an hour or so and adjust the Pitocin levels. Sarah suggested having my water broke to speed things up. At 5pm, a nurse midwife came in and broke my water. Within minutes, real labor began. Carly, the midwife apprentice was also by my side. And thank God for her.
Time soon fell by the wayside. Everything started happening so fast. After an hour of what was now painful contractions, I was told I was 4 centimeters. Having come in already dilated to 3cm, I felt discouraged. An entire hour of pain for one whole centimeter? I had many conversations with myself throughout my labor and at this point I was asking myself: Can you really do this? I walked a bit more. Time passed. Next time the nurse came in, I was 6cm. This was the toughest stage for me. It still seemed like a lot of work with little reward. I wanted so desperately to ask for an epidural, but I could not even muster up the effort to put words together to form a sentence. Contractions were coming so fast that all I could mutter was “Pressure!” as the next contraction started. Carly and Willy applied counter pressure to my knees and low back. I cannot explain the relief, I can only say I honestly do not think I could have done it without their help. I was having tetanic contractions as a result of the Pitocin.
Things started moving so fast, the thought of an epidural completely vanished. I knew I was capable of what was ahead. Somewhere around 7cm dilated, my nurse pushed the emergency button because of the tetanic contractions I was having. A slew of people rushed in. Not only was I not getting a break between contractions, but Hooper’s heart rate was dropping as a result. I was given an injection of some sort to slow down my contractions. (Yes, if you are paying close attention, I was given Pitocin to bring on the contractions and later given something else to stop all the contractions). The injection worked for the time being.
Sarah asked my new night shift nurse if it was possible to get out of bed. My previous nurse was a traveling nurse from another state and was not aware of the fact the hospital had battery pack fetal monitors that allow the birthing mother the freedom to walk and move. With the new monitor, I was able to get into the shower. Changing positions is not as easy as it sounds. Each time Sarah asked if I wanted to try a new position, I always gave the thumbs up. I wanted nothing other than to stay in the fetal position and wait for the pain to go away, but I also hung on to the hope that a change in position would bring some relief or new found comfort. Each time, I was wrong. No relief. No comfort. Nothing masks the pain of labor. Changing positions did, however, serve as a distraction. It represented a new goal, no matter how small. My goal with the battery pack monitor was to make it to the shower. Amy, the other midwife, took over at this point and helped me get onto a chair in the shower. I remember thinking, “Wow, all this effort, all this pain, all this discomfort just to be in agony under water”. But, the nurse came in and sure enough, I was 9cm. ALMOST there.
The emergency button was pushed again. The tetanic contractions returned. No break for me and again, Hooper’s heart rate was dropping. We were both working hard. I was given another injection to slow the contractions. I can’t say I remember there being much relief. The contractions still seemed to be coming one on top of another and the pain quickly reached a level that words cannot describe. The sounds that came out of my mouth were so far from being intentional. Rather, the moans and groans were a reaction I seemed to have no control over. I didn’t necessarily have the urge to push, but the contractions seemed to change (not for the better) and my body seemed to be pushing him out whether I liked it or not. Sure enough, I was 10cm.
I saw Dr.Kline enter the room and at that point in time, he looked like an angel. His presence meant one thing to me: I was almost done. Hooper would soon be in my arms.
Determined to make his entrance a memorable one, Hooper’s heart rate dropped again. I remember Amy instructing me to change positions, only this time there was a sternness to her voice. I turned to my left side (again, easier said then done). No improvement. Again, a stern voice instructed me to turn to my right side. No improvement. Next thing I know I am on my hands and knees, naked, being wheeled through the halls to the operating room. I’m hooked back up to a monitor there. My worst fear has become a reality: I am the birthing cat, longing for that dark secluded birthing environment, under the operating room lights. There was an anesthesiologist there asking me questions and I knew very well what this meant: c-section. I also knew Hooper and I had one more chance. The doctor’s last words before heading to the OR were: “Let’s check the heart rate one more time when we get there.” I looked over at Willy who, by this time, was pale white. I think I asked him if he was going to be okay. A nurse noticed the signs of a soon-to-be-passed-out dad, and Willy left the room. Hooper must have heard him because his heart rate was back up. Time to push. Willy returned.
Twenty three minutes later, at 1:49am, I delivered Hooper vaginally. I was a mom and Willy, a dad.
Complete and utter pride took over. I did it. I did it naturally in arguably the most unnatural environment. Giving birth to Hooper was the single most defining experience of my life. It was the most challenging, the most painful, the most euphoric, the most rewarding, and the most physical of feats. I still marvel over how my body was able to conceive, grow, and birth this miracle. Part Willy, part me. An incredible feeling. When I looked at Hooper for the first time, I knew I would never be the same. It took me three months to be able to put this story into words and I’m still not sure I can sufficiently capture the beauty in the ending.
I’ve been near full blown preparation mode this week. Is it weird to admit that I’m saving a few things for the last minute? Otherwise, I feel like I’ll just be waiting around and waiting around was too emotionally strenuous the first time around. With that said, I completed our “emergency plan” and even have instructions on how to make the bed for labor posted by our bedroom door. I also completed what I refer to as the “scavenger hunt” for our home birth preparation. I have things like clean towels, a flashlight, hand mirror, paper towels, a large bowl and other odds and ends tucked away in a corner waiting for their time to serve their purpose. I’ve also begun taking some homeopathics suggested by my midwives to start preparing for labor.
I feel 37 weeks pregnant. Everything is just a little harder and now that summer has officially arrived, the heat is just one more thing that is not my friend. We are almost ready to move back into our house and along with having a beautiful new and improved kitchen, we also have an unbelievably messy and dusty house. Truth be told, my mind is going a mile a minute with all the things I want to do, need to do, and how I would go about doing them, but my body is just not listening. I’ve resorted to making lists of what needs to be done and have even gone so far as making other lists detailing how to do them, but I’m exhausted by the mere thought of walking out the front door to bring the garbage cans in. I told Willy I need an assistant and maybe a midget that could walk in front of me and hold my belly up. So ya, there’s a lot that needs to be done but no energy to do them. That just about sums up this week.
On a positive note, I found the dress I’m wearing at Goodwill for $5 and I think I’ve worn it nearly every day this week. It’s super comfortable and the eyelet trim stole my heart instantly. Score!
As we inch closer to bringing another child into this world, I’m reminded of the difficulties in caring for a newborn. Hooper was not an easy baby. Or maybe its that our expectations needed adjusting. Even in hindsight, I’m still not sure. But it was difficult, that much I know. So as we draw closer to round two, I’m trying my best to keep humor and light heartedness at the forefront. I’m channeling Adam Pally in an effort to keep things in perspective and remember the challenge men have in bonding with their new child immediately.
It wasn’t until Hooper developed some sort of personality that Willy really started to bond with him. It sounds harsh, but it’s part of the reality of the difference, I think, between men and woman. The bond for me was entirely innate and happened so instantly. For Willy, the relationship developed overtime. And I’d argue that it has made him an even better father even though it caused tension and constant adjustments in the beginning. In any case, I hope I’m still able to laugh at his video post birth. I hope I’m not so entirely exhausted that I lose my sense of humor. So yes, I’m channeling Adam Pally.
As a side note, Hooper’s nursery is being featured on one of my favorite kiddo blogs this morning! Check him out over at Modern Kiddo 🙂
FULL F’N TERM, sssccchhhwwhat??! There seem to be three major hurdles throughout pregnancy: the first being getting through the first trimester, the second being the entrance to the third trimester, and the last being making it to the point I’m at today, 36 freakin’ weeks! Boo-yah. Oh how it feels so nice to say this baby *could* come any day. Then again, I remember being here the first time around and having to wait another SIX weeks to meet Hooper. Sure it was worth the wait, but I’m really hoping I just have 3 or 4 more weeks to go.
We’re a displaced family this week as we’ve been staying with my parents while demo and construction on our kitchen is underway. I snapped a few before photos so I will be sure to share the final product. It’s been hard being away from home and I’ve come to the conclusion that having a toddler in any home other than their own is just plain difficult. I know simply by listening what he’s getting into in our own house, but here the possibilities are endless and it’s been draining to say the least. And if I have to mop the floor one more time because Hooper dumped the dog’s water bowl out, I think I might lose my mind. Sarah’s been a whining machine and is almost harder to take care of than Hooper. She too needs to be watched like a hawk, after all it’s practically summer and both of Sarah’s rattlesnake bites have occurred in or near my parent’s yard. So rather than letting her run freely, I have to listen to her whine while my parent’s dog freely enjoys the great outdoors. Speaking of my parent’s dog, she attacked Hooper. It was his fault and she’s old, but nonetheless I’m anxious to be home, can you tell? (No offense, mom, we’re incredibly grateful to have a place to stay 😉
Aside from the exhaustion, I feel good. Van has been moving a lot and my excitement is growing with each passing day. I’ve been having stronger braxton hicks and they seem to be occurring throughout the day now as opposed to mostly in the evening, after a long day of chasing Hooper. He’s taking up much more of my belly now and I can feel him migrating up into my ribs at times. They ought to make a device that pushes down on the uterus to prevent this because I feel like I’m always cupping my hand on the top of my belly to redirect the little guy downward. He hasn’t even popped out yet and I’m already having to set boundaries. Oh boy! All seems well at my midwives appointments, which are now once a week. I’m still measuring small, but again, my midwives feel this is due to the baby being so far down. They are suspecting that the head is already engaged, but I won’t have a vaginal exam until I’m 38 weeks, and only if I chose to have one at that time.
And lastly, I’d like to share this hilarious video of Jim Gaffigan on David Letterman talking about his wife delivering at home. I have a feeling this will be how Willy comes to discuss our home birth, after his anxiety wears off…
Clutso-rama just about sums it up. Maybe it’s the fact that I can’t see the ground from the same view that I used to or maybe it’s that having a baby growing out of your belly throws your balance off. Whatever the case may be, I’m a tripping machine. And not in the 1960’s psychedelic way, but rather in the skinned knee and red-face rush of embarrassment way. I tripped over uneven concrete yesterday and nearly broke the sandals I was wearing. Luckily they didn’t totally bust, but I did have to throw them away when I got home after the toe cramping from trying to keep the sandal on my foot resulted in this weird phenomenon where my toe involuntarily became stick straight and a fierce pain took over. A few weeks back I tripped, and actually fell, while walking the dog. I have a scabbed knee to prove it. Funny thing is that the same thing happened when I was pregnant with Hooper. I had taken Sarah for a walk one day toward the end of my pregnancy, when I was practically ready to shove my own arm up my va-jay-jay and pull that boy out of me. Anyway, I had tripped, fell, skinned my knee and I instantly started crying. I just felt so pathetic. And then once I started crying, I couldn’t stop. I think I even started crying when recounting the event for Willy. This time around, there have been no tears, just skinned knees. So yeah, uneven pavement is not my friend.
With my first pregnancy, I was having so many braxton hicks this week that I was instructed by my midwives to get checked out at the hospital. I cancelled a baby shower my work had planned for me. I was pretty certain I was set to deliver early. In reality, I was pregnant another SEVEN weeks (that’s a month and a half, people!) and the braxton hicks weren’t anything other than braxton hicks. I’m having a lot of braxton hicks this time around too, but I haven’t paid them any attention. I know now what the difference is.
Emotionally, I’ve had passing episodes of fear of the inevitable labor pain. With my first pregnancy, the pain was unknown. With this pregnancy, the pain is known. I’m not sure what’s worse. The fear is very momentary, fortunately, and overall I feel confident in my body’s ability to birth this baby. And, to be honest, my memories from Hooper’s birth are saturated with so many other things other than pain. I remember my mom always telling me that we forget about the pain rather quickly, otherwise we’d never have another child. And it’s true, I can’t remember the pain exactly. I just know it was painful. Fortunately, these feelings are very momentary and all in all, I wouldn’t have chosen the home birth path if it wasn’t something I knew I was capable of or if it were something I didn’t want to experience.
In other news, we’re remodeling our kitchen. Initially we were house hunting for something a little bigger and preferably something with a pool (summers in the Valley are h-h-hot). Ultimately we decided staying where we are would be more economical so we’ve opted to make it the house we envision it to be and stay here for a few more years to enjoy it. So ya, construction should be underway this week. I realize it’s insanely close to my due date, but part of me is so excited to have a distraction… something else to “wait” on other than the ticking clock in my uterus. It’s nice to stay busy. Hopefully it all works out time wise, as I don’t envision giving birth in a dust bowl.
Who said nesting is only for birds? I’m in full nesting mode this week. We’ve transitioned Hooper to his other room, leaving the nursery ready to be messed with. And mess with it, I have. The drawers are stocked with newborn diapers and clothes for the first six months. I know, I rock. Next on the list is to clean. Not just a general clean, but a fierce clean. The kind of cleaning that has your husband wondering what you’re on and others wondering why there are rug burns on your knees. I have a few decorative things to do as well and then it will be set to go. I owe ya’ll a separate post on Hooper’s transition out of the crib and into his big boy bed, but for now just know that he is alive and so are we.
I think the pregnancy gods caught me almost slippin’ last week when I dared to label my pregnancies as “easy”. Seemingly the next day it’s like lightening struck in my right groin. I’m kinda being general when I say right groin. Oh hell, what I really mean is that my f’n vagina hurt, a lot, mostly on the right side. After yelling a few curse words as I tried to turn off my back, because lets face it, lying on your back with a baby in your belly down right sucks a fat one. But every time I tried to turn right or left, well, I became a sailor and cursed at the top of my lungs. Ya’ll should know that I have a sensitive husband. Sensitive not so much in the “did I hurt your feelings?” way, but more like sensitive in the “are you going to die?” way. He’s extreme in his sensitivity. So needless to say, he was overly concerned and asking if I needed to go to the hospital. I sent him to the freezer for an ice pack. Then I went to bed. I try to remind him from time to time that I’m pregnant, not dying. Oh Willy, you really are a precious little thing. The pain was gone when I woke up, but has returned sporatically since then.
My back pain has transformed into stiffness. It’s the inability to bend over and touch my toes or to twist from side to side. It’s that dang thing I’ve been calling “Van” jetting out from my abdomen, really. It’s in the way and it’s causing my back to feel tighter than 1980’s spandex. If I could just get a break from this pregnancy thing for 2 minutes and bust out a good crack, I think relief would flow through my spine like water down a creek. Some mornings I wake up thinking I’m going to birth this baby and before I even sneak a peek at his precious little face I’m gonna reach down, touch my toes, crack my neck from side to side, and then ask that he be placed in my arms. I’m joking, of course, but you get the idea.
As a sidenote, the dress I’m wearing is vintage and I’m in love with it. I originally got it with the intention of adding it to my post pregnancy prize pack but was delighted to find that it’s still suitable even with the baby bump. Next week, however, may be a different story… I think next weeks bump may cause it to bust at the seams.
You may remember a short while ago when Willy and I were struggling with naming this growing boy in my belly. You can read my initial post here. In any event, we’ve decided on a name since then and have yet to waiver. Let me start with the story behind it…
Willy and I had been throwing names back and forth. There were a few that we would always come back to but none of them really resonated or stuck for whatever reason. We were in Hooper’s room playing and listening to music before he went to bed. “Warm Love” (one of my favorite songs) by Van Morrison was playing and I said, “What about Van?”. And well, it stuck. We both love it. So there you have it. His name will be Van. And he will be here next month. Ay-yi-yi.
As a side note, I’ve been looking for an old-school letter “V” similar to the “H” I have in Hooper’s room. In the midst of my hunt I came across these awesome prints by artist Paul Thurlby. I’m not so crazy about the “V” for vicious print, but some of the others became instant favorites. His numbers, illustrations, and typography are also out of this world cool. Here’s some of my favorites:
Pregnancy has such an effect on your view of time. It goes so quickly some weeks and so slow other weeks. As I entered the 8th month, I started to fool myself into thinking I’m almost there. But the reality is that I still have 7 to 9 weeks (remember, I reluctantly plan on a 40-42 week gestation), which seems like a daunting amount of time. And if one more person comes up to me and asks, “Any day now?“, I may just go ahead and sucker punch them. The other nice folk that grab me a shopping cart when they see me, my pregnant belly, and my 18 month old coming toward the grocery store door can stay my friend, and thus avoid the sucker punch.
I’m feeling good this week. I feel incredibly lucky to have what other’s refer to as “easy” pregnancies. I’m sleeping good and am relatively comfortable most days. In fact, I’m usually at a loss for words when someone asks how I’m feeling. The question seems to suggest that I’m suffering from some ailment but more times than not, I simply feel pregnant: Larger than normal and tired from time to time. I guess I should thank my lucky stars tonight.
As a sidenote, I’m in love with my new necklace. It’s from Etsy seller Julie Garland Jewelry.
I had an appointment with my midwife this past week that seemed to confirm that this little boy has dropped. Her eyes grew large when she proclaimed, “he is down in there”. And trust me, it feels like he is nestled in tightly. I told Willy the other day that it feels like there is a bunk bed party in my belly and everyone is partying on the bottom bunk. I’m measuring a bit smaller but am still within normal limits. She thinks this is because the baby is so far down. Heartbeat is great and he moves like crazy.
I’m moving past last weeks post, where I shared many of my worries surrounding becoming a mother to two under the age of two. I needed to make those worries known before I could move on from them. I’m feeling much more capable this week and want to thank those that reached out to support me.
I have a long list of fears associated with becoming a mother to two and they are compounding one on top of each other in my mind this week. I feel the urge to put them down on virtual paper to expose my vulnerabilities so I can more effectively deal with them and move on. I’ve been more emotional/on edge this week and I think these fears are to blame. So here are the top six that have been floating through my mind these days (listed in no particular order):
1. Energy. Will I have the energy to be the mom I want to be? I’m already anxious about returning to work and that’s not happening for quite some time. I worry about waking up “X” amount of times during the night to breastfeed, getting up at 5am, working (and working hard mind you) on my feet for 12 hours, coming home and eating dinner at 8:30 pm, and having the energy to either do it again the next day or mother a toddler and a relatively newborn baby the next day. I’m exhausted just thinking about it.
I’ve had so much time to spend with Hooper these past weeks. We’ve gone to the zoo, park, play dates, beach, and even Hawaii. We’ve had breakfast dates and picnics in the backyard. If I’m tired, I nap when he naps and we both wake up refreshed. Throw working full time and another baby into the mix and I’m haunted by the possibility of not being able to be the mom I want to be and know I can be. It’s got me pretty torn and emotional these days.
2. Breastfeeding. I know now what I’m up against and that’s good and bad. Good because I know the challenge that awaits and bad because even under the best of circumstances it is nothing short of a challenge. I’m fully dedicated and I place very high standards on myself, which makes it even more difficult because I really give myself no other option than to breastfeed. The dreamy part of me fantasizes about even going past the 12 month mark this time, but I’ll see where I’m at when I get there. I had a lot of supply issues the first time around that forced me to ween about that time, which really was a gift from above because I was more than ready to have my ta-tas back to myself.
Hooper took forever on the boob for the first three months. I’d watch half a movie before he was done breastfeeding in a single session. I’m trying to imagine how that’s going to work with Hooper climbing on top of the kitchen table or potty training or any of the other constant interruptions that require my full attention. I imagine many interrupted breastfeeding sessions which inevitably will lead to those oh-so-painful clogged milk ducts which require warm baths and relaxation and well… you know my response to that: ya freakin’ right. ::deep breaths::
3. Attention. Sometimes I feel like the Giving Tree, which I shared in my Mother’s Day post yesterday. It’s about a tree who gives everything to this little boy. The boy eats his apples until there are no apples left and uses his branches until all the branches are gone and eventually the boy gets older and all that’s left of the tree is the stump. The old man then uses the stump to sit on. So yes, sometimes I feel like the giving tree. I worry that I will be spread so thin trying to be the best mom to two children and the best wife and in the midst of trying to find the time to still care for myself, I worry that, I too, will be nothing but a tree stump for others to sit on.
4. Getting out. This one is less of a fear than the others because I realize this as being more temporary than the other worries I’ve shared. Nonetheless, I’m trying to imagine doing something simple like going to the grocery store with both of my little munchkins. For starters, the car seat will take up the space where I normally sit and strap Hooper which means Hooper will have to walk. Sure, he’s fully capable of walking. Walking is not the issue. It’s the keeping-his-hands to himself that will be an issue. I’m imagining apples coming tumbling down one after another and tomato sauce containers crashing to the ground spreading glass and tomato sauce everywhere. With more access to things, I imagine more tantrums when he can’t have what he wants. I’m imagining chaos and then I’m imagining the solution being to remain at home and wait it all out, regardless of a potentially empty fridge and grumbling tummies. Maybe I’ll start a vegetable garden outside. Ha! See, I’m trying to think positively. I’ll stop here. I won’t even mention going out to eat as a family or taking a plane ride anywhere or even going for a walk with the dog.
5. Time to Blog. This one sounds silly in comparison to the others, right? But really, this blog has become very dear to me. It takes care of my unyielding urge to document and is a wonderful venue for me unleash whatever emotions come up. I feel better, for example, just by writing this post. When I’m away from writing for any length of time I have the same feeling as having a sink full of dirty dishes. This little corner of mine here on the worldwide web has become a way to unload and a way to display all I love and cherish. It also warms my heart to relate to other moms who share my same love and struggles with motherhood. Everyone tells me I won’t have time to do things like blog and I’m determined to prove them wrong. But I’m also determined to breastfeed and be the best mom and the best wife… I’m determined to do a lot. I just hope I’m not setting myself up for disappointment by placing too many expectations on myself.
6. Losing my hair. Yup, in the midst of trying to handle, rearrange, and accept everything on your plate, the post-pregnancy hormones do you no favors. When Hooper was about 4 or 5 months I started losing hair around my hairline by the handful. About a month or so later I started to notice what Willy and I referred to as “grow backs”, little sprouting hairs starting to return. It was bittersweet. Sweet to have the hairs coming back, bitter to have little antennas sticking out everywhere. Today, a year or so later my “grow backs” are about bang length. Anything beats the bald look, really. So yes, on top of everything, I’m worried about my hair falling out. Hopefully I’m not pulling it out myself. Ha!
So there you have it. I would love to hear from others who have shared similar fears and how they dealt with them effectively. In the meantime, I’m trying to remind myself that my way of dealing with impending change is to build it up to be the worst case scenario. That way I tend to be pleasantly surprised when things aren’t as hard as I imagined them to be.
Hope everyone had a wonderful Mother’s Day. I’ll share a recap of our lovely Sunday within the next few days. And many congrats to my friend Lisa who birthed her second beautiful baby on Mother’s Day.
Every now and then I need to remind myself I’m pregnant. Like the other morning, after sleeping 9 uninterrupted hours, I asked myself, “Why does it feel like I’ve been hit with a ton of bricks”? Oh yes, because I’m very pregnant. It’s hard to allow myself to rest and nap when I feel like I should have a lot of energy and when there’s a lot of things I’d like to get done. Speaking of sleeping those glorious 9 hours, why is it that you cannot store sleep? If I could just bottle up a few of those hours and save them for a rainy day and by rainy day I mean newborn waking every two hours for the first few months kinda days, then life would be grand. So yes, this week I’m sleeping a lot but more tired than ever and upset by the fact I cannot store sleep.
In other news, all is well at my midwives appointment. They drew blood to rule out any anemia that could be causing the yawning attacks. The baby’s head is down at this point and with any luck he’ll stay nestled in that sweet little position. Oh, and Hawaii was generous to me as far as weight gain is concerned. Twelve weeks to go (remember I plan on a 42 week gestation)… Chugga chugga choo choo.
On a side note, check out our grass. Isn’t that fungus killing it just glorious? With any luck, that will be remedied in the coming weeks.
Willy and I are fairly certain we have decided on a name. You can read about our previous struggles with chosing a name here. With a mutually agreed upon name under our belts, this pregnancy has my full permission to proceed forward. I feel like giving that little guy a tap on the butt while muttering, “hurry on now, hurry on“.
I’ve been having quite a bit of round ligament pain. I remember the sharp pains in my lower abdomen from my first pregnancy but feel they are more frequent and more intense this time around. I’m sure lifting a toddler up and down all day doesn’t help the muscles and ligaments. I’m also noticing a faint pregnancy line forming down the center of my abdomen, which I also had the first time around. I’m peeing more, getting up sometimes three or four times a night. And ever since I got off the plane from Maui I’ve noticed some swelling in my legs. I don’t recall having any swelling with Hooper, so this is new this time around. I’m trying to keep my feet up as much as possible and drink more water… which, of course, inevitably leads to more peeing. It’s a vicious cycle, this pregnancy thing. Otherwise, the weeks are steadily moving and all is good at my midwives appointments, which are every two weeks now.
On the mental front, because lets face it- pregnancy affects us just as much mentally as it does physically, I’ve been feeling a mix of conflicting emotions. With every kick and wiggle I feel a rush of excitement and urgency. I want to meet this baby now. On the other hand, I think about how wonderful things are at the moment. Willy and I both have some degree of freedom. We have evenings together, just the two of us, while Hooper sleeps. We have mornings that start at 7 or 8 or even 9 when Hooper wakes. Because I’m no longer breast feeding, we can leave Hooper for longer periods of time. I’ve enjoyed afternoons by myself at flea markets without any guilt. We’re at such a good place and part of me grieves the fact that all this will be turned upside down when the new baby arrives. I assume these are normal feelings and feel no shame in being honest about them. Our family is going to grow and expand soon enough and with that comes a period of adaptation. We will adapt and all will be well. Would love to hear from other mom’s who have also experienced these emotions…
When I was pregnant with Hooper, my midwife palpated my belly. Her eyebrows raised and a look of surprise came over her face as she proclaimed, “he’s a long boy!”. Fast forward to his birth, where he measured 23 inches. She nailed it, he was a long boy. And that’s just one of many things I love about midwives; they use and trust their hands.
When I went to see my new backup OB, he confessed that he cannot tell the difference between a babies rump and head when he is palpating a woman’s pregnant belly. He also confessed that although he wears one of the most expensive stethoscopes around his neck, he hardly ever uses it and cannot tell the difference in various heart rhythms. Instead, he said, he relies on ultrasound for detecting the baby’s position and an EKG to determine heart rhythm. He’s young and he’s the product of modern day machinery, I mean medicine.
At any rate I recently read a fascinating article, “The Most Scientific Birth Is Often the Least Technological Birth”, written by Alice Dreger, a professor of clinical medical humanities and bioethics at Northwestern University’s Feinberg School of Medicine. She starts the article by sharing the answer she received when asking her medical students what came to mind when they envisioned someone who chose a midwife over an obstetrician. The students described a granola girl. You know, they one’s that look almost Amish and frolic in fields of grass and mix herbs from their gardens in their spare time.
I don’t consider myself a granola girl at all, in fact, I’m slightly offended when someone refers to me as a “hippie” because I’m choosing a home birth. Instead, I consider myself very rational. I also find myself to be a hostage of my own principles. It’s nearly impossible for me to do something I don’t believe in. And I do believe in medicine, otherwise I would not work at a large hospital as a registered nurse. But I believe their is a time and place for medical intervention.
Dreger goes on to make a clear differentiation between science and technology, noting that the scientific literature shows that interventions used during birth actually increase the risk to mother and child instead of decreasing it. A bold statement made by someone both in the academic and medical worlds, no? She states the problem with her medical students is that they think that what it means to be a scientific doctor is to bring to bear the maximum amount of technology on any given patient. And this, she says, makes them dangerous.
It goes without saying that all woman want a healthy outcome when it comes to birthing their child. The problem today, she says, is that no one seems to tell them what the data indicates is the best way to get there.
Recounting her own pregnancy in 2000, she says:
“My mate and I consulted the scientific medical literature to find out how to maximize safety for me and our child, here’s what we learned from the studies available: I should walk a lot during my pregnancy, and also walk around during my labor; doing so would decrease labor time and pain. During pregnancy, I should get regular check-ups of my weight, urine, blood pressure, and belly growth, but should avoid vaginal exams. I should not bother with a prenatal sonogram if my pregnancy continued to be low-risk, because doing so would be extremely unlikely to improve my or my baby’s health, and could well result in further tests that increased risk to us without benefit.
According to the best studies available, when it came time to birth at the end of my low-risk pregnancy, I should not have induction, nor an episiotomy, nor continuous monitoring of the baby’s heartbeat during labor, nor pain medications, and definitely not a c-section. I should give birth in the squatting position, and I should have a doula — a professional labor support person to talk to me throughout the birth. (Studies show that doulas are astonishingly effective at lowering risk, so good that one obstetrician has quipped that if doulas were a drug, it would be illegal not to give one to every pregnant woman.)”
Drawing from several experts in the birth world, Dreger points to the problem in the way birth is conceived in America — as “dangerous, risky, and in need of control to ensure a good outcome.” She also touches on the lack of insurance coverage for births outside of the hospital setting, the misuse of science to support the new technologies of birth, the lack of information provided to woman regarding the dangers in interventions offered, and the limited options women in America have in regards to bringing their child into the world.
I had to fight hard for home birth coverage. I wasn’t even aware that coverage could have been obtained the first time around and thus had to pay out of pocket for something that in hindsight could have been covered had I had more knowledge or had someone presented my options to me. Instead, obtaining home birth coverage was something I did proactively. I made home birth an option for myself, no one presented it on a silver platter. It’s unfortunate because I know a lot of women don’t have the time or energy that I did to put toward it, even if our desires for the best birthing outcome are the same.
Dreger concludes by stating, “We’re all very interested in having healthy babies and it is pretty easy to make the kind of cognitive errors that people make, and attribute to technology benefits that don’t exist. At the same time, when there are problems in a pregnancy, that very same technology can be life-saving. It is easy to make the [problematic mental] leap that technology is always going to be necessary for a good outcome.”
I get that this is a touchy subject. You can check out the comments to her article if you really want to get fired up one way or the other. I get that a home birth is not for everyone. I get that a natural birth is not for everyone. I get that some women are more comfortable birthing in the hospital setting and I get that some prefer an Obstetrician to a Midwife. But my bottom line has never wavered: Women need to be educated. The consequences of many of the interventions throughout labor need to be discussed and options need to be more available.
Well hello third trimester, glad to meet you. Please treat me well. Now that I’ve officially greeted the last leg of this journey, lets move on to the regularly scheduled program.
Every now and again someone will ask me what I’m having. Of course they are referring to boy or girl, but I typically answer with “I’m hoping for a human”. These days, however, I’m beginning to wonder if it is possible for a human to birth an octopus because these kicks, jabs, and wiggles are feeling more like something with 8 legs than 2. I’m having trouble deciphering the baby’s position because just as I get a kick in one spot, another one comes on the opposite side. So yes, now when people ask what I’m having, I respond with “I think an octopus”.
Of course there is always a line of delineation between what one wants and what one needs. While the registry post for baby 2 compiles a list of things we need, this little list here is things we simply want. Let a girl dream, okay?
1. Aren’t these vintage hangers adorable? Etsy has some available like this one or this one, but I really just can’t fathom spending money on something that hides in a closet anyway. Something to keep my eye out for when I’m out treasure hunting.
2. Kid’s Records. We probably listen to Hooper’s records more than our own. I love the old western ones with tunes like “Polly Wolly Doodle” or “Skip to my Lou”. We also love the old Sheriff John records. Most of the ones we own came in the form of hand-me-downs, but it’s also something I keep my eye out for.
3. I think this coat rack would also work as a towel rack in the kid’s bathroom.
4. Vintage Toys. We have a good collection of vintage Fisher Price toys, many of which were my own as a child. I’m always on the lookout for something fun. Etsy has tons of vintage toys available, but you can find them much cheaper in the thrift stores, flea markets, or consignment shops. I rarely use Etsy unless it’s something I can’t find and can’t live without.
5. Vintage Books. My lovely mother-in-law bought Hooper the cutest vintage Zippy the Monkey a while back and I was stoked when I came across this Zippy book. I have a weakness for all vintage children’s books, nothing beats the illustrations and simple stories of a simpler time.
6. Vintage Clothes. It’s hard to rationalize spending much money on clothes in light of the fact that babies grow very fast and that this next baby will have a closet full of hand-me-downs from his big brother. But, of course, I keep my eye out for a good deal or anything so gosh dang cute that I just can’t turn down. I’ll share some of my finds soon, but how ’bout that little train romper? Yummier than a cupcake, no?
7. Vintage Plastic ware. I swear, this has been one of the hardest things to come across. I have a modest collection from Hooper but always have my eye out for cute plates, cups, and/or bowls.
8. Stuffed Fox. Etsy seller Sleepy King has the sweetest handmade plush foxes and owls, oh my. This fox has been one of our favorites for a long time. So cute!
9. Modern High Chair. I’ve wrote many times about how much I love our simple and cheap restaurant style high chair. I don’t take it back at all. Nothing beats the cost and simplicity. But this beautiful high chair? Ya, when money grows on trees I’m using some fallen leaves to pick me up one of these lovely chairs.
