Infant Mortality Rate

Have you ever looked up infant mortality rate in the United States? The results are shocking. You’ll find yourself scrolling further than you think to find the US’s home on the list. According to the CIA’s world factbook, we are ranked 48th in 2011, behind Cuba. Behind Cuba, people! 
Willy and I visited Cuba in 2010.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We travelled there legally with humanitarian licenses. Ironically enough, we were responsible for bringing medical supplies to a mission in Havana. Ironically, these supplies included things like prenatal vitamins. Yes, you are understanding me correctly. We, US citizens, supplied Cuba with prenatal vitamins. Yes, Cuba’s infant mortality rate is lower than the infant mortality rate in the US. Interesting, no?

The other day we met with a realtor to discuss the option of selling our home. We mentioned Zillow in the conversation and the guy rolled his eyes. This was the second realtor we talked to that rolled their eyes upon mentioning Zillow. So we questioned the eye roll and his response was something along the line of too much information being provided to people that are not educated enough to filter it correctly. Information overload.
Back to the infant mortality rate.
The rate of medical intervention in the US is presumably higher than the rate in Cuba. Would anyone argue against this? I think birth in the US has become too medical. I think there are more interventions because there is more monitoring. This sounds like a crazy statement, I know. But there’s been lots of research done to support this claim. The following excerpt was taken from an interview with Dr. Alex Friedman:
There are numerous reasons that one of three U.S. births now is by cesarean, but Dr. Alex Friedman blames some on an imprecise monitor strapped to laboring women. Too often, he has sliced open a mother’s abdomen fearing the worst, only to pull out a pink, screaming bundle.
“Everyone knows it’s a bad test,” said Friedman of the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania. “You haven’t done the patient a big service by doing an unnecessary surgery.”
Electronic fetal monitors record changes in the baby’s heart rate, a possible sign of too little oxygen. They became a tradition — now used in 85 percent of births — years before research could prove how well they work.
Guidelines issued last summer, aiming to help doctors better interpret which tests are worrisome, acknowledge the monitors haven’t reduced deaths or cerebral palsy. But they do increase the chances of a C-section. While they should be used in high-risk women, the guidelines say the low-risk could fare as well if a nurse regularly checked the baby’s heart rate.
Information overload.
In looking at the US infant mortality rate versus Cuba, I do think it is only fair to look at the counter argument. Because we have more medical technology the number of high risk babies born is higher in the US. I found the following information here.
In the United States if an infant is born weighing only 400 grams and not breathing, a doctor will likely spend lot of time and money trying to revive that infant. If the infant does not survive — and the mortality rate for such infants is in excess of 50 percent — that sequence of events will be recorded as a live birth and then a death. In many countries, however, (including many European countries) such severe medical intervention would not be attempted and, moreover, regardless of whether or not it was, this would be recorded as a fetal death rather than a live birth. That unfortunate infant would never show up in infant mortality statistics.

In any event, when I research birth I look for information as it relates to me. If I happen to go into preterm labor at 20 weeks, my midwives will certainly not support or participate in a home birth. I would be in the hospital kissing the fetal monitor and thanking the doctor for any interventions that could potentially save my baby. But if my pregnancy remains low risk and if I remain healthy, I feel strongly that delivering at home is safest for me and, perhaps more importantly, for my baby.

13 weeks

We had our first appointment with the midwives this week and I have mixed emotions about how it went. For me, it was great. It was a familiar environment with familiar faces with supportive people that see birth and the birthing process through the same lens as me. For Willy, it felt like torture. I felt like I had to drag him with me and reiterate all the reasons why I believe a home birth is the best option for me. We’ve had this argument, or conversation rather, many times and each time it seems to land us in the same place: You know, those silent car rides when more is said with an eye roll than with a single word. We both believe adamantly about what we believe and he says getting him to believe a home birth is the best choice is like getting me to believe a hospital birth is the best choice. And that ain’t happening. So where to go from here is the question? We talked some more on the long drive home and have come to a tentative place of agreement, but it feels empty without having full support behind it.
With that said, I’m hoping to hear from others that have had or contemplated having a home birth. Did your partner agree with your decision? How did you come to a decision as to what was best? I’d love to hear more about your experience… Especially from the father’s perspective.
Oh ya, and we heard that little pounding heart and in those few moments all was p e r f e c t.

Arizona, Part Three

The first time I went with Willy to Arizona, we had been dating for a few months and all I could concentrate on was the awful smell of cow shit. I wondered how I was going to fall asleep surrounded by what smelled like a giant porta potty.
When we arrived at my in-laws this time around, Willy took a big whiff in, looked to me and asked, “Don’t you just love that smell?”. I felt my nose curl up in disgust until I smelled something lingering beneath that porta potty stench. It’s nostalgia. Which is probably why Willy craves it under his nostrils. It’s not the smell of the cows excrement, it’s the smell of home. Of farm life, of blooming flowers, of hay, of trackers combing the fields, and the endless Arizona sun shining through the glass bringing the warmth that only a familiar home can bring.
Time spent with family is so much richer as a mother. The happiness it brings me to watch Hooper interact with those we love and who had a hand in raising us is simply not tangible.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

11 Weeks

Back acne is in, have you heard? Yup, you better go out and find the nearest 16 year old and rub up against their face in hope that it just may be contagious. That’s how in it is. I had no skin issues with my first pregnancy. In fact, I recall not having a single pimple anywhere for the entire 9 months. That’s why I think this baby is a girl. There is an old wive’s tale that links acne with girls, right? Something like they steal your beauty. Buh humbug. I also didn’t have any nausea with my first pregnancy and though it seems to have come and gone already, I did have some evening sickness this time around. I ate so logically with Hooper. I ate what was good for me, even if I didn’t care for it. Not this time around. I eat much more emotionally. I make excuses like, “oh that doesn’t sound good to me”… But what I should say is that sounds good for me, but not to me. I keep making the promise that today I am going to start eating more logically and less emotionally. More signs pointing to a girl, perhaps?
Willy insisted on knowing the sex with our first pregnancy. And in all honesty, I was pretty excited to know too even though I always imagined it to be a surprise. This time around, I’ve insisted on getting my surprise. But part of me wants to know oh so bad.
Did you find out the sex of your baby before birth? Is the surprise worth it?

10 Weeks

 

 

 

Has pregnancy sensitivity (this should be a diagnosed condition) officially set it? I’ve been looking for a new pair of black leggings. Seems like an easy feat, right? My current pair work good with tunics and dresses, but require a censor (if you know what I mean) when wearing anything that reveals the boo-tay or ha-ha region. So we were out shopping last night for last minute Christmas stuff. Yes, I am that person despite my promise not to be each year. I saw the maternity store, the store I down-right-refused to enter with my first pregnancy. I made it my goal the first time around to make normal clothes work. And I did. I think there was one exception: A wedding at 35 weeks and well, nothing fit. Anyway, enter the maternity store. First annoying question/assumption: “I’m sure you shopped with us the first time around (she’s glancing at Hooper), riiiight?” Okay, now this is awkward because I reply, “Nope”. She’s eager to show me everything in the store, simultaneously pointing out all the wonderful Holiday sales, yada yada yada. I just want leggings. Truth be told, not even specifically maternity leggings. Just leggings that don’t require a censor. She finally takes me to the leggings section, pointing out they are buy one get one half off. Blah, blah, blah. I just need one pair. She confirms that they require no censor, so I’m sold. Ready to get the heck out of this store. She rings me up. Forty two dollars. FORTY TWO DOLLARS?! Now I’m regretting having not looked at the price tag and making the assumption that all leggings are somewhere in the $20 or under range. Apparently the censor costs $22. The wheels of annoyance are spinning harder now that I realize I’ll be having to make another trip back to this dreaded establishment to return forty dollar leggings. Then she does a little look over her shoulder to be sure my husband can’t hear, tilts her head to the side, and whispers, “How are you doing on stretch mark cream?” Pregnancy sensitivity. It needs to be a diagnosis people! See, I know she’s trying to be nice but I feel offended. What I feel like saying is: “Lady, I’m ten weeks pregnant first of all. You see my 13 month old in the stroller second of all. Shit hasn’t started stretching that much yet and shit has already been stretched before.” I politely say no thank you and leave with a newly established down-right-refusal to go the maternity store route again.
Am I crazy? Too sensitive? Do you remember being sensitive during your pregnancies? I think I will compile a list of things you don’t say or ask to pregnant woman. I remember someone asking me when I was pregnant with Hooper if I was having twins. Just for the record, there is some ridiculous 2% chance or something of having twins. As a stranger, why take that 2% chance of being right when you have a 98% chance of offending someone? Pregnancy sensitivity.

Pregnant Chicken

As a first time mom-to-be I can’t help but be overwhelmed with all that I read. It seems the more I read, the more there is to fret about. I remember texting Ashley frantically a few weeks ago, “I just ate a Cold Cut at Subway—now what?!” Well…my sister-in-law just shared an encouraging website with me. The author goes on to dispel some of those crazy rumors including, “Can I eat sushi?” and “Can I fly while pregnant?” And she is absolutely hilarious. Without further adieu, I present Pregnant Chicken: Keeping Pregnancy Sunny Side Up.
Thanks for sharing Lisa!

Then & Now – 8 weeks

When I saw my first positive pregnancy with Hooper, I called an OB right away. Since we had been planning to get pregnant, I asked a few friends for their OB/GYN recommendations. I went with Dr. S purely because my friend had delivered two children vaginally in his care. With the statistics today pointing to a 1 in 3 c-section rate, this was what was most important to me. Back to my point. I was on the phone with the office, gitty with excitement, making my first appointment to come in. They scheduled my first appointment for the following week, at five weeks. They did an ultrasound. We saw what appeared to be a little yolk sac. We were in love. Instantly. Dr. S muttered something about not seeing the embryonic pole and left us with parting words that still make me cringe, “I wouldn’t celebrate just yet”. We made our next appointment and left with confusion and a little speck of fear. What followed was blood test after blood test tracing my HcG level, which was always high and always increasing. In hindsight, I had nothing to worry about. What we saw on the ultrasound at five weeks is pretty typical for what an ultrasound at five weeks should show. Maybe I’m skeptical, but I still wonder if it was his ploy to suck us in under his wings of fear.
We went along with him for a few more weeks before we changed our care and were seen by two wonderful midwives.
Fast forward.
When I saw my first pregnancy test this time around, I smiled. I wrapped it up in a box, put the box in a shirt, but plastic cling wrap around the shirt, taped the cling wrap, put it in a box, and wrapped the box in wrapping paper. Then I gave it to Willy. And then we celebrated together. I sent a text message a few weeks later to our midwife and told her the good news. She gave us the option of getting an early ultrasound for dating purposes or just coming in after the holidays. We opted to have the ultrasound since it wasn’t too long after I started my periods again (I was breastfeeding) and we weren’t completely sure of our dates.
We went to the midwives backup OB, Dr. K yesterday. And I had my first ultrasound, at 8 weeks. Not only did we see a yolk sac, but we also saw a little fetus and heard a little heart pounding. Music to our ears. We had a short discussion about going for another home birth (it didn’t work out the first time around) and surprisingly got a dose of reassurance. Yes, you are reading it correctly. An OB/GYN advised us that a home birth could be the best option for us.
We left with excitement. No fear.

The Six Week Bean Spill

The six week checklist:
-Make announcement to parents: check.
-Nausea: check.
This past weekend was Hooper’s first birthday party. We figured since we would have the both sets of parents together, it would be a good time to share our news. I’m not sure what I expected with the lets take a picture and on the count of three say “Ashley’s pregnant” approach. Scratch that. I know exactly what I expected. I expected hips and hoorays. Explosions of excitement. Gayness. Disguises thrown up in the air. Chins dropped to the floor. Instead, we got this:
Why am I the only one with my chin anywhere near the floor? I mean look at everyone, still posing for the photo.
Wait for it.
Wait for it.
Starting to sink in…
Are you guys SERIOUS?!?
Enough of this picture posing stuff, let’s celebrate!
Sometimes big news just takes a minute to sink in.
Turns out they didn’t believe us. Thought we were kidding. So there you have it. Dumbfoundedness followed by wide-eyed, heads thrown back, chin to the floor elation. Classic.
And this new nausea? Classic as well.

5 Weeks

The other day we were playing in the front yard. Our neighbor was also outside with her young boy. The boys stared curiously at one another while the grown-ups made small talk. The small talk went something like this:
Neighbor: “My other son is 10 years old. I wish they were closer in age.”
Me: “Ya, it’s hard to return to the diaper stage once you’re so far beyond it”.
Neighbor: “Are you guys starting to think of having another one soon?”
Me: “Actually, I’m pregnant.”
I don’t know my neighbor’s name, hence me calling her “neighbor”. My mom doesn’t even know I’m pregnant yet. It seems like we need some elaborate-thought-out hoax to tell my parents. I guess that’s why it’s easier to tell complete strangers.
When did you spill the beans you were pregnant? Did you tell strangers or acquaintances before telling family?