Buono primo compleanno al mio bambino (happy first birthday to my baby),
A year ago today, you arrived into our lives, making my life fuller and happier than ever before. My sweet boy, you have been a joy in our lives. You have added smiles and giggles and even more fun to our household. A bit more chaos, too, but it's been fun chaos.
This last year has been absolutely wonderful. You love to watch what's going on around you, you love to laugh and lately you've been loving crawling into whatever is going on. You seem constantly entertained by your sister, your pets and your parents, and you are starting to become a major part of the daily entertainment. Really, you just seem to enjoy life and everything around you. You do get upset and fuss, but not nearly as much as you smile and laugh.
Today, I took the day off to spend with you. You decided to start the day really early, and woke up at 5:15. I nursed you at 5:30 and put you back in your crib to play for a half hour while I dozed for a little longer. Once we got up, we spent some sweet time together while I got ready for the day and went downstairs to start breakfast. Your sister woke up while we were downstairs, and our normal chaotic morning ensued. I dropped your sister off at school, while the nanny put you down for a nap.
After you woke up, we drove up to Baltimore and went to the National Aquarium! You did great for most of the hour drive. We had some lunch out, then I put you in my Moby wrap, and off we went to see all the marine animals. Although you really only say variations of "da na" lately, I wouldn't be surprised if you started your "eff" or "shh" sounds, considering how many times I pointed out the fish to you! We saw sting rays, frogs, sharks, jellyfish, dolphins and so many fish. You really seemed to enjoy seeing all the new sights, as well as the people all around us. You are quite the people watcher! And I know you love to be in a sling or wrap, cuddled up to me.
You took a nice nap in the car, and when we got home, you got a bunch of fun presents. Then, it was dinner, playing with Daddy while I put your sister to bed, and then nursing and Mommy putting you to bed.
We had a great day together, and I am excited to start a tradition of going to the aquarium for our Mommy-Son days together for your birthday.
It's been an amazing year, and Daddy and I can't wait to see all the incredible things you will do in the next year. We are so thankful to God that you are part of our family. We all love you so much.
Ti amiamo,
Mama, Daddy and Pumpkin
Monday, June 14, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Labor and Delivery the Second Time
A year ago today, June 13th, I went into labor with the Pookie. I didn't deliver him until June 14th, but in honor of the anniversary of going into labor with him, I finally finished and am posting his birth story. True to myself, it is long and wordy. But hopefully entertaining. While the labor and delivery of the Pumpkin felt like a sitcom, I would say that the labor and delivery of the Pookie was much more of a drama. There was a lot that went on, as I apparently don't have easy labor and deliveries.
After all my back and forth over how I wanted to try to deliver the Pookie, I decided to try for a VBAC. With Londo and our doctor on board, I started to prep for labor. My goal was going to be to go as long as I could without any pain medication in the hopes that that would help me get beyond the 8 cm where I stalled with the Pumpkin. I had hoped that I would be able to labor at home for a good long while. After all, each labor and delivery (just like each pregnancy) is different, right? So what are the chances that my water would break as early as last time, necessitating our heading right to the hospital because I'm positive (again) for Group B Strep?
At 5:30 am on Saturday, June 13th, the Pumpkin came into our bedroom, said "Hi Daddy, hi Mommy," climbed in our bed, grabbed tight to Londo's head and fell back to sleep. Since I was awake, I made yet another trip to the bathroom. When I climbed back into bed, I felt something odd. I thought to myself, "How could I have peed my pants? I just went to the bathroom!" I got back up, felt a little something more, made some sort of frustrated noise/exclamation, and hurried to the bathroom. Londo asked what was wrong. I said, "I think I peed my pants."
But we both knew. Even pregnant, I had not been peeing my pants unless I was sneezing or laughing or gagging (while brushing my teeth--ugh!). But just getting into or out of bed? Nope, that wasn't what was going on.
My water had broken. It was absolutely clear a few moments later. I admitted it to Londo, who had been lying in bed wide awake just waiting for me to admit it. But I did not have any contractions yet. So I wasn't in a hurry, even though I was positive for Group B Strep*. Londo was up and moving as soon as I gave him the word that it was my water that had broken. Londo was trying to hurry me, and I was taking my time. So we were off to a good start. hehe.
First I called the doctor's office, which connected to their paging service. The doctor who was on call was my primary doctor, and he called back promptly--and sleepily. He said to head over to the hospital, as we knew he would. I called my mom and asked her to come over and stay with the Pumpkin until my inlaws could drive up from their house 5-6 hours away. Then Londo called his parents and told them I was in labor and could they come up. This was the plan, so no surprises other than the boy was coming a week early (I was totally expecting him to be late, like the Pumpkin was). I finished packing my bag, while the Pupmpkin watched some TV and Londo got some last minute things.
Once my mom got to our house, we headed to the hospital. As I said, I hadn't been in a hurry and I hadn't rushed my mom either, but I had started feeling the contractions. We didn't get to the hospital until close to 8:00 am, and I was starting to get contractions pretty regularly every 10 minutes at that point. We checked in, and they brought me back to a labor and delivery room. They hooked me up to the monitoring machines, where I stayed for an hour lying in bed.
As I was lying there, my contractions slowed down and came less frequently. Once they let me off the machines, they said it was okay for me to walk around to help the contractions going and the labor into the active phase. I spent the next 6 or so hours walking with Londo around the hospital's third floor, stopping back in the room for 15 minutes every hour to be monitored. We did a lot of walking. My legs were hurting. My feet were hurting. My back was hurting. I was starving since the last time I'd eaten was a couple scoops of ice cream at 8:00 pm the night before**. I'm sure Londo was hurting too, but he didn't dare complain. However, my contractions? They were weak and only regular when I was walking. I still wasn't in active labor. I was in the kind of labor they normally send you home during, except my water had broken so I had to stay there.
Finally, after miles of walking and many popsicles, I was getting regular, strong contractions every couple of minutes. I was finally in active labor and 2 cm dilated. Still, I kept walking as much as I could. At this point, I was just walking around the maternity ward, up and down the same hallway. When my contractions were close enough together that I couldn't go more than a few steps without doubling over in pain, Londo and I thought for sure I must be very dilated. We headed back to the room, in slow painful steps. When my doctor next checked me, I was only 4 cm dialated.
I continued to labor standing and walking around my bed. When I lied down, the contractions slowed, or at least didn't keep progressing. I lied down, stood and walked around that bed for another hour or two. During which I dilated only a half cm to a cm.
At this point, I was so tired and hungry, on top of real strong contractions that made it hard to do anything but lie down. And even though I was barely progressing, the contractions were becoming overwhelming. I went back and forth as to whether or not I wanted an epidural yet. But it came to a point when I was just overwhelmed and asked for the epidural.
The anesthesiologist came pretty quickly. I wish I could say that I was doing better in no time, but I wasn't. Because it only worked on half my body. So my left side felt much better, but my right side was still having intense pain. They had me lie on my right side for a while, hooked up to the machines and in great discomfort, saying that it should help the drugs get into that side of my system. I laid there for a about an hour without it taking on my right side. Londo started insisting that the anesthesiologist come back to see what could be done. I was really concerned about the idea of him taking the epidural out and reinserting it, but the nurse said he might be able to do something else that would help it. The anesthesiologist came back after another half hour, he turned up the dosage on the drugs, and my body was flooded on both sides with sweet relief.
I felt a ton better at this point, but I started wondering if my contractions were slowing down and/or get weaker. When the doctor checked in on us, I mentioned this to him. He showed me on the monitor that I was still having pretty strong contractions. But I was barely progressing. I was 6 cm dilated, and just not getting any further.
When your water breaks, the doctors say that you have 24 hours to labor before they start talking about c-sections. This is due the risk of infection, which increases once the water breaks. In the case of women who have Group B Strep, they have us on antibiotics, but they are still very concerned.
So the clock was ticking. It was getting late at night. I believe it was around 10:30, maybe close to 11:00 at night when my doctor finally said he thought it best to do a c-section. I did not want to hear this, and I questioned him about it. He pointed out that I just wasn't progressing and showing no signs of starting to. In addition, like what had happened in my last labor (though I had forgotten about it until it started happening in this labor), the lip of cervix had been swollen and getting worse. The doctor simply didn't think I would be able to deliver vaginally. But I knew we still had time until the 24 hour mark, so I asked him to give me another hour to come to terms with giving up on my attempt at having a VBAC. I also joked that I was hoping to make it until the 14th, so the baby wouldn't be born on the 13th--an unlucky number and sucky birthday when it's a Friday. He agreed to check back in an hour.
At that point, my inlaws had been with the Pumpkin for hours, and Londo had called my mom to come to the hospital to be on stand by. You see, perhaps the worst aspect of getting the c-section when I had the Pumpkin was the recovery time in the recovery room. Even though I had a nice nurse who checked in on me, Londo was hurried off with the baby to be cleaned off in the nursery and I was left pretty much alone. It was like a desert in my mouth, I desperately wanted to sit up, and I had no idea what was going on with my baby. I didn't get to nurse my daughter until about 2 hours after her birth. It was really an awful 2 hours, I was determined that it would not go like that if I had another c-section. So I had asked my mom to be with me in the recovery room, as well as asked for Londo and the baby to be there so I could breastfeed much sooner after the birth.
Back to the Pookie's delivery... My mom had been in the waiting room for a couple hours. When the doctor left my room, I asked the nurse if she could send my mom back. Once the nurse had finished checking my vitals, she asked my mom to come back. Londo, my mom and I started talking about the impending c-section. I was trying to come to terms with it, but to be honest, I was still hoping for some way out of it. Some way to make the labor progress, either by design or by luck. As I said, I was tired and hungry and feeling kind of woozy. In fact, in the five minutes we were talking, I was starting to feel what I would call a bit delirious.
The doctor came back in the room. I think he'd been gone 10 minutes or less. He looked at me and said, "I can't give you that hour to think about the c-section. You have a very high fever and we need to prep you now."
Apparently, when the nurse was checking my vitals, Londo pointed out to her that I was spiking a fever. When she left the room, she notified the doctor. My fever was 101 point something, and rising fast.
And that was that. I did want that VBAC, and I was so disappointed that I was having another c-section. But let me tell you, I was totally out of it. I felt, well, feverish the entire time they prepped me. All the arguments I wanted to make for the VBAC no longer were significant. I was definitely getting an infection of some sort causing the fever, and I DID NOT want to risk the baby.
It took about a half hour to prep me and get me into the surgery room, which was all a feverish blur to me. When I got in there, my fever was 103.5. Not good. Oh, and I was really nauseous. When they transferred me from the bed they wheel you down on to the surgery bed, I threw up all those popsicle and ice chips. Even though they put the anti-nausea medicine in the IV, I still felt nauseous. And then there were the uncontrollable shivers. Again. This time, they were really bad, probably because they gave me a lot of the anti-nausea medicine. When my doctor was just about to begin the actual surgery, he looked at me over the curtain and asked me to try really hard to control the shivering because they had to start the surgery. I did my best, which apparently was good enough.
Londo was supportive through the whole thing, even though I know he was really worried about me and the baby. You never want to see a loved one with a really high fever, but I'm guessing you especially don't when it's at such a critical time of health for mother and baby.
The surgery seemed to take a long time, and I had troubling going to my happy place in my mind (the beach, if you were wondering). They got the baby boy out, but I didn't hear any cries right away. I asked Londo if he was okay cause I didn't hear him. He said he thought so, was pretty sure. Thinking back, I'm wondering why they didn't announce his birth or in some way immediately assure us he was born and healthy. I don't think they did that for the Pumpkin either, but we heard her right off. I wonder if this is true for all births, all c-sections or what.
Anyway, it was a healthy baby boy! He was born at 12:38 am on June 14th, weighing 7 lbs 12 ozs and 21.25 inches long. We just barely made it to the 14th, and really, it hardly mattered once my fever started spiking.
They cleaned him up a bit, and gave him to Londo, who waited next to me. They closed me up, cleaned up and were just about to take me to recovery when they realized the needle count was off. Did I mention they had prepped the room in a hurry because of my spiking fever? Yeah, well they had written on the board where they track these things that there were 8 needles, yet there were only seven counted after the surgery. GREEEAAAT! There were only 7 needle packages counted, but they still had to be sure. So they called down to radiology to bring up an x-ray machine to make sure there wasn't some extra needle still inside me.
My shivering was dying down, and my nausea was getting better, but I can't say I was comfortable. Still Londo was there with the baby until they finally got the x-ray machine up, which seemed like forever with everyone just kind of waiting there. They took the x-rays, and I had to wait there with the doctor and nurses until they called up the results. They didn't find anything, and I was cleared to leave the room.
They wheeled me back the recovery room, where Londo was waiting with the baby and my mom. That time waiting in the surgery room was actually okay, because by this point I was not shivering and not really nauseous. My fever had come down, and I was able to sit up right away. Londo handed me my beautiful baby boy, and I was able to nurse him right then. If I recall correctly, I didn't realize that they would let me nurse him then, so I was thrilled when the nurse suggested it, adding that there was no rush to get him cleaned up more and didn't I say I wanted to nurse him as soon as possible. Yes I did.
I took my little baby boy into my arms and felt a surge of intense love. I nursed him right away, with him latching on like an old pro. I unbundled his little body from the swaddle so that I could feel him skin to skin. He was one of the two most beautiful things I had ever seen in my life.
Once he was nursed and I had a chance to bond with him, the nurse and Londo took the baby to the nursery to get his bath and do those things they do. My mom sat in a chair by my bed, keeping me company and making sure I had ice chips and a little water to drink. It was so much better than the previous recovery.
When they deemed me "recovered," my mom walked with me as I was wheeled to my own Mother and Baby Suite, where Londo and the baby already were waiting for me. I think it was like 2 something in the morning, and we were all totally exhausted. My mom didn't stay much longer. Then it was us three, in that room together, our family expanded. Our new addition settling in with his parents.
At that time, it no longer mattered that I didn't succeed in the VBAC attempt. My hours of hunger and exhausting walking of the hospital were nothing. My fever was a thing of the past. All of that had brought me my beautiful baby boy.
Worth. Every. Second.
*If you are positive for GBS, the doctors want you to get into the hospital soon after your water breaks so that they can get you on antibiotics. We knew this from the labor and delivery of the Pumpkin.
**I didn't eat before going to the hospital because of the likelihood I would need a c-section. I was not going to chance it considering how nauseous I had been on the operating table when I had the c-section for the Pumpkin.
After all my back and forth over how I wanted to try to deliver the Pookie, I decided to try for a VBAC. With Londo and our doctor on board, I started to prep for labor. My goal was going to be to go as long as I could without any pain medication in the hopes that that would help me get beyond the 8 cm where I stalled with the Pumpkin. I had hoped that I would be able to labor at home for a good long while. After all, each labor and delivery (just like each pregnancy) is different, right? So what are the chances that my water would break as early as last time, necessitating our heading right to the hospital because I'm positive (again) for Group B Strep?
At 5:30 am on Saturday, June 13th, the Pumpkin came into our bedroom, said "Hi Daddy, hi Mommy," climbed in our bed, grabbed tight to Londo's head and fell back to sleep. Since I was awake, I made yet another trip to the bathroom. When I climbed back into bed, I felt something odd. I thought to myself, "How could I have peed my pants? I just went to the bathroom!" I got back up, felt a little something more, made some sort of frustrated noise/exclamation, and hurried to the bathroom. Londo asked what was wrong. I said, "I think I peed my pants."
But we both knew. Even pregnant, I had not been peeing my pants unless I was sneezing or laughing or gagging (while brushing my teeth--ugh!). But just getting into or out of bed? Nope, that wasn't what was going on.
My water had broken. It was absolutely clear a few moments later. I admitted it to Londo, who had been lying in bed wide awake just waiting for me to admit it. But I did not have any contractions yet. So I wasn't in a hurry, even though I was positive for Group B Strep*. Londo was up and moving as soon as I gave him the word that it was my water that had broken. Londo was trying to hurry me, and I was taking my time. So we were off to a good start. hehe.
First I called the doctor's office, which connected to their paging service. The doctor who was on call was my primary doctor, and he called back promptly--and sleepily. He said to head over to the hospital, as we knew he would. I called my mom and asked her to come over and stay with the Pumpkin until my inlaws could drive up from their house 5-6 hours away. Then Londo called his parents and told them I was in labor and could they come up. This was the plan, so no surprises other than the boy was coming a week early (I was totally expecting him to be late, like the Pumpkin was). I finished packing my bag, while the Pupmpkin watched some TV and Londo got some last minute things.
Once my mom got to our house, we headed to the hospital. As I said, I hadn't been in a hurry and I hadn't rushed my mom either, but I had started feeling the contractions. We didn't get to the hospital until close to 8:00 am, and I was starting to get contractions pretty regularly every 10 minutes at that point. We checked in, and they brought me back to a labor and delivery room. They hooked me up to the monitoring machines, where I stayed for an hour lying in bed.
As I was lying there, my contractions slowed down and came less frequently. Once they let me off the machines, they said it was okay for me to walk around to help the contractions going and the labor into the active phase. I spent the next 6 or so hours walking with Londo around the hospital's third floor, stopping back in the room for 15 minutes every hour to be monitored. We did a lot of walking. My legs were hurting. My feet were hurting. My back was hurting. I was starving since the last time I'd eaten was a couple scoops of ice cream at 8:00 pm the night before**. I'm sure Londo was hurting too, but he didn't dare complain. However, my contractions? They were weak and only regular when I was walking. I still wasn't in active labor. I was in the kind of labor they normally send you home during, except my water had broken so I had to stay there.
Finally, after miles of walking and many popsicles, I was getting regular, strong contractions every couple of minutes. I was finally in active labor and 2 cm dilated. Still, I kept walking as much as I could. At this point, I was just walking around the maternity ward, up and down the same hallway. When my contractions were close enough together that I couldn't go more than a few steps without doubling over in pain, Londo and I thought for sure I must be very dilated. We headed back to the room, in slow painful steps. When my doctor next checked me, I was only 4 cm dialated.
I continued to labor standing and walking around my bed. When I lied down, the contractions slowed, or at least didn't keep progressing. I lied down, stood and walked around that bed for another hour or two. During which I dilated only a half cm to a cm.
At this point, I was so tired and hungry, on top of real strong contractions that made it hard to do anything but lie down. And even though I was barely progressing, the contractions were becoming overwhelming. I went back and forth as to whether or not I wanted an epidural yet. But it came to a point when I was just overwhelmed and asked for the epidural.
The anesthesiologist came pretty quickly. I wish I could say that I was doing better in no time, but I wasn't. Because it only worked on half my body. So my left side felt much better, but my right side was still having intense pain. They had me lie on my right side for a while, hooked up to the machines and in great discomfort, saying that it should help the drugs get into that side of my system. I laid there for a about an hour without it taking on my right side. Londo started insisting that the anesthesiologist come back to see what could be done. I was really concerned about the idea of him taking the epidural out and reinserting it, but the nurse said he might be able to do something else that would help it. The anesthesiologist came back after another half hour, he turned up the dosage on the drugs, and my body was flooded on both sides with sweet relief.
I felt a ton better at this point, but I started wondering if my contractions were slowing down and/or get weaker. When the doctor checked in on us, I mentioned this to him. He showed me on the monitor that I was still having pretty strong contractions. But I was barely progressing. I was 6 cm dilated, and just not getting any further.
When your water breaks, the doctors say that you have 24 hours to labor before they start talking about c-sections. This is due the risk of infection, which increases once the water breaks. In the case of women who have Group B Strep, they have us on antibiotics, but they are still very concerned.
So the clock was ticking. It was getting late at night. I believe it was around 10:30, maybe close to 11:00 at night when my doctor finally said he thought it best to do a c-section. I did not want to hear this, and I questioned him about it. He pointed out that I just wasn't progressing and showing no signs of starting to. In addition, like what had happened in my last labor (though I had forgotten about it until it started happening in this labor), the lip of cervix had been swollen and getting worse. The doctor simply didn't think I would be able to deliver vaginally. But I knew we still had time until the 24 hour mark, so I asked him to give me another hour to come to terms with giving up on my attempt at having a VBAC. I also joked that I was hoping to make it until the 14th, so the baby wouldn't be born on the 13th--an unlucky number and sucky birthday when it's a Friday. He agreed to check back in an hour.
At that point, my inlaws had been with the Pumpkin for hours, and Londo had called my mom to come to the hospital to be on stand by. You see, perhaps the worst aspect of getting the c-section when I had the Pumpkin was the recovery time in the recovery room. Even though I had a nice nurse who checked in on me, Londo was hurried off with the baby to be cleaned off in the nursery and I was left pretty much alone. It was like a desert in my mouth, I desperately wanted to sit up, and I had no idea what was going on with my baby. I didn't get to nurse my daughter until about 2 hours after her birth. It was really an awful 2 hours, I was determined that it would not go like that if I had another c-section. So I had asked my mom to be with me in the recovery room, as well as asked for Londo and the baby to be there so I could breastfeed much sooner after the birth.
Back to the Pookie's delivery... My mom had been in the waiting room for a couple hours. When the doctor left my room, I asked the nurse if she could send my mom back. Once the nurse had finished checking my vitals, she asked my mom to come back. Londo, my mom and I started talking about the impending c-section. I was trying to come to terms with it, but to be honest, I was still hoping for some way out of it. Some way to make the labor progress, either by design or by luck. As I said, I was tired and hungry and feeling kind of woozy. In fact, in the five minutes we were talking, I was starting to feel what I would call a bit delirious.
The doctor came back in the room. I think he'd been gone 10 minutes or less. He looked at me and said, "I can't give you that hour to think about the c-section. You have a very high fever and we need to prep you now."
Apparently, when the nurse was checking my vitals, Londo pointed out to her that I was spiking a fever. When she left the room, she notified the doctor. My fever was 101 point something, and rising fast.
And that was that. I did want that VBAC, and I was so disappointed that I was having another c-section. But let me tell you, I was totally out of it. I felt, well, feverish the entire time they prepped me. All the arguments I wanted to make for the VBAC no longer were significant. I was definitely getting an infection of some sort causing the fever, and I DID NOT want to risk the baby.
It took about a half hour to prep me and get me into the surgery room, which was all a feverish blur to me. When I got in there, my fever was 103.5. Not good. Oh, and I was really nauseous. When they transferred me from the bed they wheel you down on to the surgery bed, I threw up all those popsicle and ice chips. Even though they put the anti-nausea medicine in the IV, I still felt nauseous. And then there were the uncontrollable shivers. Again. This time, they were really bad, probably because they gave me a lot of the anti-nausea medicine. When my doctor was just about to begin the actual surgery, he looked at me over the curtain and asked me to try really hard to control the shivering because they had to start the surgery. I did my best, which apparently was good enough.
Londo was supportive through the whole thing, even though I know he was really worried about me and the baby. You never want to see a loved one with a really high fever, but I'm guessing you especially don't when it's at such a critical time of health for mother and baby.
The surgery seemed to take a long time, and I had troubling going to my happy place in my mind (the beach, if you were wondering). They got the baby boy out, but I didn't hear any cries right away. I asked Londo if he was okay cause I didn't hear him. He said he thought so, was pretty sure. Thinking back, I'm wondering why they didn't announce his birth or in some way immediately assure us he was born and healthy. I don't think they did that for the Pumpkin either, but we heard her right off. I wonder if this is true for all births, all c-sections or what.
Anyway, it was a healthy baby boy! He was born at 12:38 am on June 14th, weighing 7 lbs 12 ozs and 21.25 inches long. We just barely made it to the 14th, and really, it hardly mattered once my fever started spiking.
They cleaned him up a bit, and gave him to Londo, who waited next to me. They closed me up, cleaned up and were just about to take me to recovery when they realized the needle count was off. Did I mention they had prepped the room in a hurry because of my spiking fever? Yeah, well they had written on the board where they track these things that there were 8 needles, yet there were only seven counted after the surgery. GREEEAAAT! There were only 7 needle packages counted, but they still had to be sure. So they called down to radiology to bring up an x-ray machine to make sure there wasn't some extra needle still inside me.
My shivering was dying down, and my nausea was getting better, but I can't say I was comfortable. Still Londo was there with the baby until they finally got the x-ray machine up, which seemed like forever with everyone just kind of waiting there. They took the x-rays, and I had to wait there with the doctor and nurses until they called up the results. They didn't find anything, and I was cleared to leave the room.
They wheeled me back the recovery room, where Londo was waiting with the baby and my mom. That time waiting in the surgery room was actually okay, because by this point I was not shivering and not really nauseous. My fever had come down, and I was able to sit up right away. Londo handed me my beautiful baby boy, and I was able to nurse him right then. If I recall correctly, I didn't realize that they would let me nurse him then, so I was thrilled when the nurse suggested it, adding that there was no rush to get him cleaned up more and didn't I say I wanted to nurse him as soon as possible. Yes I did.
I took my little baby boy into my arms and felt a surge of intense love. I nursed him right away, with him latching on like an old pro. I unbundled his little body from the swaddle so that I could feel him skin to skin. He was one of the two most beautiful things I had ever seen in my life.
Once he was nursed and I had a chance to bond with him, the nurse and Londo took the baby to the nursery to get his bath and do those things they do. My mom sat in a chair by my bed, keeping me company and making sure I had ice chips and a little water to drink. It was so much better than the previous recovery.
When they deemed me "recovered," my mom walked with me as I was wheeled to my own Mother and Baby Suite, where Londo and the baby already were waiting for me. I think it was like 2 something in the morning, and we were all totally exhausted. My mom didn't stay much longer. Then it was us three, in that room together, our family expanded. Our new addition settling in with his parents.
At that time, it no longer mattered that I didn't succeed in the VBAC attempt. My hours of hunger and exhausting walking of the hospital were nothing. My fever was a thing of the past. All of that had brought me my beautiful baby boy.
Worth. Every. Second.
*If you are positive for GBS, the doctors want you to get into the hospital soon after your water breaks so that they can get you on antibiotics. We knew this from the labor and delivery of the Pumpkin.
**I didn't eat before going to the hospital because of the likelihood I would need a c-section. I was not going to chance it considering how nauseous I had been on the operating table when I had the c-section for the Pumpkin.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Pumped to Have Pumped (and to Have Stopped)
The Pookie will be one next Monday. (Can you believe that?) And it’s a good thing we are so close to his birthday, typically when babies get the go-ahead for cow’s milk, because I have not been pumping enough milk for him during the day for the last month. This time, pumping has not been as rough for me as it was last time, but I simply have not been pumping enough milk! Thankfully I had built up a pretty good freezer supply, because over the last month the Pookie has had at least one bottle of milk from the freezer a day.
The week before we went of vacation, I counted out how many bags were left and how many days until his one year appointment with the pediatrician, when I was hoping to the doc would say we could start him on cow’s milk. It was going to be close. But if I upped my pumping to 3 times a day, for 30-45 minutes each time and if I pumped over the vacation a few times, we could probably make it.
Of course, that didn't happen. Twice, I was able to pump 3 times, but even that didn't produce enough for the two 4.5 ounce bottles the Pookie takes a day. And on vacation? What can I say... I just didn't do it.
So this last Monday, my first day back to work after our vacation, I pumped twice for 30-40 minutes and got... 2 ounces of milk. Not even enough for ONE of his bottles. I was disappointed and frustrated and stressed. We were down to 4 bags of frozen milk. That would definitely NOT get me to his doctor's appointment next Tuesday.
I thought about what my sister had said, that there wasn't some magical thing that happens on their first birthday that makes them suddenly able to handle cow's milk. What if I started him on cow's milk a week early?
Tuesday morning, with my pumped cleaned and packed, I called the nurse at the pediatricians' office on my commute into work and asked her if it was okay to start the Pookie on cow's milk. We went through some factors, and she said it should be fine, give it a try. I called my hubby and the nanny, and gave them the news. His second bottle of the day was cow's milk, and he did fine.
I didn't pump all day! That was my very first day at work without pumping! I was done pumping for the second time, and it was wonderful. I will still continue to nurse him in the mornings and evenings, as I did with the Pumpkin, but it is so nice to not have to pump during the day.
Yesterday, I wore a dress to work! That was the first time in over a year that I was able to wear a dress to work (since my cute maternity dresses, which I actually miss a lot). In fact, that might have been the first time I wore a dress at all since the Pookie was born. I love dresses, and it was fabulous to be able to wear one again. Also? I have been wearing real! bras!
I'm so glad that I pumped for the Pookie. I am proud that we got through the whole year without needing to supplement, because that is a hard thing to do. In the last 9 months, I have been working on a client site, without access to the Mother's Room my company provides at it's main offices (which I was able to use for the Pumpkin). My desk is a cubicle surrounded by my mostly male coworkers.
I have been to numerous rooms, getting shifted around from whichever room happened to be available at the time. I've had to push and prod to ensure I (and the other nursing mom and soon-to-be-nursing mom) would have a private room with a lockable door where I (and we) could pump. I have pumped in rooms used for storage, surrounded by boxes and extra supplies. I have pumped with my shirt lifted up in freezing cold rooms, empty of everything but a desk and chair. I have pumped in rooms with windows whose blinds wouldn't shut all the way. I've had to figure out when a person with an office would be in meetings so I could use their office to pump. I've had to juggle my schedules and meetings around my pumping time. I've had to figure out what work I can bring with me to rooms that didn't have internet access. I've done a lot to ensure that I (and the other nursing women on this project) was able to pump my milk for my baby.
And I'm a lucky one. Everyone I work with, men and women, people with and without children, everyone supported me in this endeavor. Everyone worked to make sure I would have a place to go when I needed it, and that the place would NEVER be a bathroom or my car or my open cubicle. Even with this support and ability to find a place, it wasn't easy. It was a chore. It was sometimes painful. It would often disruptive of my work schedule.
But it was so worth it to me and my baby. I encourage all mothers to try to make it work as best they can. And I insist that all companies and employers make sure that nursing moms have the opportunity to make it work, and ideally make it even easy for them to pump. Not only does it feel great to have accomplished this feat, but the more women who figure out how to pump at work help it become more and more acceptable, which means that mothers returning to work can still provide what is the natural food and nourishment for their babies. And who wouldn't want that?
The week before we went of vacation, I counted out how many bags were left and how many days until his one year appointment with the pediatrician, when I was hoping to the doc would say we could start him on cow’s milk. It was going to be close. But if I upped my pumping to 3 times a day, for 30-45 minutes each time and if I pumped over the vacation a few times, we could probably make it.
Of course, that didn't happen. Twice, I was able to pump 3 times, but even that didn't produce enough for the two 4.5 ounce bottles the Pookie takes a day. And on vacation? What can I say... I just didn't do it.
So this last Monday, my first day back to work after our vacation, I pumped twice for 30-40 minutes and got... 2 ounces of milk. Not even enough for ONE of his bottles. I was disappointed and frustrated and stressed. We were down to 4 bags of frozen milk. That would definitely NOT get me to his doctor's appointment next Tuesday.
I thought about what my sister had said, that there wasn't some magical thing that happens on their first birthday that makes them suddenly able to handle cow's milk. What if I started him on cow's milk a week early?
Tuesday morning, with my pumped cleaned and packed, I called the nurse at the pediatricians' office on my commute into work and asked her if it was okay to start the Pookie on cow's milk. We went through some factors, and she said it should be fine, give it a try. I called my hubby and the nanny, and gave them the news. His second bottle of the day was cow's milk, and he did fine.
I didn't pump all day! That was my very first day at work without pumping! I was done pumping for the second time, and it was wonderful. I will still continue to nurse him in the mornings and evenings, as I did with the Pumpkin, but it is so nice to not have to pump during the day.
Yesterday, I wore a dress to work! That was the first time in over a year that I was able to wear a dress to work (since my cute maternity dresses, which I actually miss a lot). In fact, that might have been the first time I wore a dress at all since the Pookie was born. I love dresses, and it was fabulous to be able to wear one again. Also? I have been wearing real! bras!
I'm so glad that I pumped for the Pookie. I am proud that we got through the whole year without needing to supplement, because that is a hard thing to do. In the last 9 months, I have been working on a client site, without access to the Mother's Room my company provides at it's main offices (which I was able to use for the Pumpkin). My desk is a cubicle surrounded by my mostly male coworkers.
I have been to numerous rooms, getting shifted around from whichever room happened to be available at the time. I've had to push and prod to ensure I (and the other nursing mom and soon-to-be-nursing mom) would have a private room with a lockable door where I (and we) could pump. I have pumped in rooms used for storage, surrounded by boxes and extra supplies. I have pumped with my shirt lifted up in freezing cold rooms, empty of everything but a desk and chair. I have pumped in rooms with windows whose blinds wouldn't shut all the way. I've had to figure out when a person with an office would be in meetings so I could use their office to pump. I've had to juggle my schedules and meetings around my pumping time. I've had to figure out what work I can bring with me to rooms that didn't have internet access. I've done a lot to ensure that I (and the other nursing women on this project) was able to pump my milk for my baby.
And I'm a lucky one. Everyone I work with, men and women, people with and without children, everyone supported me in this endeavor. Everyone worked to make sure I would have a place to go when I needed it, and that the place would NEVER be a bathroom or my car or my open cubicle. Even with this support and ability to find a place, it wasn't easy. It was a chore. It was sometimes painful. It would often disruptive of my work schedule.
But it was so worth it to me and my baby. I encourage all mothers to try to make it work as best they can. And I insist that all companies and employers make sure that nursing moms have the opportunity to make it work, and ideally make it even easy for them to pump. Not only does it feel great to have accomplished this feat, but the more women who figure out how to pump at work help it become more and more acceptable, which means that mothers returning to work can still provide what is the natural food and nourishment for their babies. And who wouldn't want that?
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Water as a Force of Nature
Before leaving for vacation, I had told the Pumpkin that we were going “to the beach.” I realized as we were leaving, she thought we were going directly to the beach. We quickly explained that we were going to the “beach house” where we would spend our vacation, making trips to the beach while we were there.
Although we got that cleared up, there was still a lot of build up about going to the beach. So once we were there (it’s only a 2.5-3.5 hour drive), unpacked and settled in, I thought I would take the Pumpkin to the beach itself for a little while, leaving the Pookie behind with Londo to continue getting settled in. One of my BFFs and her hubby and son (who is the Pumpkin’s age) were staying with us for the weekend, and they had the same idea. In fact, they may have had the idea first. But the point is that we all drove the 10 minutes or less to the beach to stick our feet in the sand and our toes in the ocean.
We didn’t bother with bathing suits, since we weren’t planning on getting anything but our feet wet. No towels or beach chairs or beach toys came with us. It was already 4:30 or so, and we just wanted a little time at the beach to be at the beach.
When we got to the path through the dunes, we kicked our shoes off and reveled in the feel of our feet in the sand. We hurried down the path to the beach, shouting out that we saw the ocean as soon as it was in view. The Pumpkin was laughing and having fun with her friend, as I was with mine.
In moments, we were in the surf, standing and running about in the edge of the water in our shorts and bare feet. I showed the Pumpkin and her friend how to run and tag the water with their feet. My friend and her husband splashed around with us.
I turned and took maybe two strides from my daughter to put my purse and shoes down in the sand, out of the way of the water. I kept my eyes on my fearless, adventurous daughter, and was just straightening to go back to her side.
As I watched, a second little wave crept up over another one which was receding. At the same time, my daughter hopped on one foot, turning, twisting, playful and having fun. The second wave was more forceful than it appeared, and my daughter was less balanced than she should have been.
It knocked her right over. Swept the one leg she was standing on right out from under her. Tumbled her onto her back. Started to pull her with it as it receded. Tugged at her, while she flailed her arms and legs, unable to get purchase on the wet, moving sand.
And it might have succeeded in taking her into the next wave, about to crash down. But I was RIGHT THERE. In the heartbeat of a second it took to knock her down and start to tug her away, I was there, grabbing her up into my arms. Into safety.
I’m not sure how to adequately describe how quickly it happened. From the moment I saw the her start to fall, I took two large strides and was pulling her up. And yet, in that short amount of time, she was knocked down, unable to get up and starting to be pulled into a very dangerous area of the water where all the waves crash. In a SECOND it all happened. But also in a second, I was there getting her up and comforting her.
Was it the force of an unusually strong-but-small wave? Was it that she slipped because of the shifting sand? Was she simply teetering anyway while she hopped and turned? I have a feeling it was a combination of all those. It was just one of those freak combination of factors that turns an innocent moment into something that could have been tragic.
It totally scared the CRAP out of BOTH of us. Do I need to tell you all what scenarios passed through my head in that instant? The scenes that keep popping into my thoughts, though I quickly push them out? The thoughts about rip tides and undertows and what if I had been more than two steps from her? I think it’s best I don’t, that I keep pushing those thoughts away.
She was crying, scared and so very upset. She didn’t know that the water could do that. That it could be so unpredictable, dangerous, a Force of Nature. We all quickly headed back to the car. In addition to being shaken up, she was also wet and cold.
I stripped her down, standing in the back of my Highlander. But we had no towels in either of the cars, no change of clothes other than the spare pair of her underwear I had in my purse. I was ready to rip my shirt off and drive back in my bra, so long as my child was comforted by being in clothes. Luckily, my friend’s husband had a jacket in the car, and my friend had a box of tissues. I dried her off with tissues, put on the pair of underwear and the way-too-big-but-dry-and-warm jacket, hugged her and quickly got her into her carseat.
On the way back to the beach house, she said things like she didn’t want to go back to the water or the beach. I was able to turn it around, so that she knew we weren’t going then, but would go back the next day. I played up how I would show her to “stand strong” against the water so it wouldn’t push her down and how to keep her feet from slipping when the water was moving. I told her she didn’t have to go back into the water if she didn’t want, but that Mommy (and Daddy) would always be right there with her to pick her up. Wasn’t I Right There? Of course! And we could hold her hand or hold her while we go in the water.
Thankfully, it worked. After a bath together to get the sand and salt off of her, she was talking about how we would go to the beach the next day and all the things that she would do. Even though the water scared her. And we did. We went back to the beach for full Days at the Beach 3 more times.
And although it was one of the scariest things in the world to me and her and although I hate to see my daughter scared of the water, this incident actually served a purpose. It instilled in her a healthy fear of the ocean. After she readjusted to being at the beach and playing in the surf, she enjoyed the beach, the sand, the waves and the ocean--but did not run into the water carelessly or fearlessly.
Although we got that cleared up, there was still a lot of build up about going to the beach. So once we were there (it’s only a 2.5-3.5 hour drive), unpacked and settled in, I thought I would take the Pumpkin to the beach itself for a little while, leaving the Pookie behind with Londo to continue getting settled in. One of my BFFs and her hubby and son (who is the Pumpkin’s age) were staying with us for the weekend, and they had the same idea. In fact, they may have had the idea first. But the point is that we all drove the 10 minutes or less to the beach to stick our feet in the sand and our toes in the ocean.
We didn’t bother with bathing suits, since we weren’t planning on getting anything but our feet wet. No towels or beach chairs or beach toys came with us. It was already 4:30 or so, and we just wanted a little time at the beach to be at the beach.
When we got to the path through the dunes, we kicked our shoes off and reveled in the feel of our feet in the sand. We hurried down the path to the beach, shouting out that we saw the ocean as soon as it was in view. The Pumpkin was laughing and having fun with her friend, as I was with mine.
In moments, we were in the surf, standing and running about in the edge of the water in our shorts and bare feet. I showed the Pumpkin and her friend how to run and tag the water with their feet. My friend and her husband splashed around with us.
I turned and took maybe two strides from my daughter to put my purse and shoes down in the sand, out of the way of the water. I kept my eyes on my fearless, adventurous daughter, and was just straightening to go back to her side.
As I watched, a second little wave crept up over another one which was receding. At the same time, my daughter hopped on one foot, turning, twisting, playful and having fun. The second wave was more forceful than it appeared, and my daughter was less balanced than she should have been.
It knocked her right over. Swept the one leg she was standing on right out from under her. Tumbled her onto her back. Started to pull her with it as it receded. Tugged at her, while she flailed her arms and legs, unable to get purchase on the wet, moving sand.
And it might have succeeded in taking her into the next wave, about to crash down. But I was RIGHT THERE. In the heartbeat of a second it took to knock her down and start to tug her away, I was there, grabbing her up into my arms. Into safety.
I’m not sure how to adequately describe how quickly it happened. From the moment I saw the her start to fall, I took two large strides and was pulling her up. And yet, in that short amount of time, she was knocked down, unable to get up and starting to be pulled into a very dangerous area of the water where all the waves crash. In a SECOND it all happened. But also in a second, I was there getting her up and comforting her.
Was it the force of an unusually strong-but-small wave? Was it that she slipped because of the shifting sand? Was she simply teetering anyway while she hopped and turned? I have a feeling it was a combination of all those. It was just one of those freak combination of factors that turns an innocent moment into something that could have been tragic.
It totally scared the CRAP out of BOTH of us. Do I need to tell you all what scenarios passed through my head in that instant? The scenes that keep popping into my thoughts, though I quickly push them out? The thoughts about rip tides and undertows and what if I had been more than two steps from her? I think it’s best I don’t, that I keep pushing those thoughts away.
She was crying, scared and so very upset. She didn’t know that the water could do that. That it could be so unpredictable, dangerous, a Force of Nature. We all quickly headed back to the car. In addition to being shaken up, she was also wet and cold.
I stripped her down, standing in the back of my Highlander. But we had no towels in either of the cars, no change of clothes other than the spare pair of her underwear I had in my purse. I was ready to rip my shirt off and drive back in my bra, so long as my child was comforted by being in clothes. Luckily, my friend’s husband had a jacket in the car, and my friend had a box of tissues. I dried her off with tissues, put on the pair of underwear and the way-too-big-but-dry-and-warm jacket, hugged her and quickly got her into her carseat.
On the way back to the beach house, she said things like she didn’t want to go back to the water or the beach. I was able to turn it around, so that she knew we weren’t going then, but would go back the next day. I played up how I would show her to “stand strong” against the water so it wouldn’t push her down and how to keep her feet from slipping when the water was moving. I told her she didn’t have to go back into the water if she didn’t want, but that Mommy (and Daddy) would always be right there with her to pick her up. Wasn’t I Right There? Of course! And we could hold her hand or hold her while we go in the water.
Thankfully, it worked. After a bath together to get the sand and salt off of her, she was talking about how we would go to the beach the next day and all the things that she would do. Even though the water scared her. And we did. We went back to the beach for full Days at the Beach 3 more times.
And although it was one of the scariest things in the world to me and her and although I hate to see my daughter scared of the water, this incident actually served a purpose. It instilled in her a healthy fear of the ocean. After she readjusted to being at the beach and playing in the surf, she enjoyed the beach, the sand, the waves and the ocean--but did not run into the water carelessly or fearlessly.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Question of the Week - Coming Back from Vacation
Did you all miss me? I was on vacation all last week! We went to the beach, which is my favorite place to vacation. I had only intermittent internet, and barely had time to even touch the computer. But that was a nice break for me as well.
I thought I would have time to write some posts offline, posts which have been percolating in my brain for months. And I did write one, which I will probably post later this week. But only one, not the half dozen or more I expected to write. Instead, I spent a lot of real quality time with my kids, my husband, and my parents, as well as my best friend and her family for half the week and my sister and her kids for the other half. It was a great trade.
I’m getting back into the swing of our regular routine. It always takes some time to do so, for me, Londo and the kids. I can’t even remember the last time we had a whole week vacation. Did I take a whole week with the Pumpkin when I was pregnant two winters ago? Possibly, but it could have been a long weekend. Other than that, it would have been the beach vacation two years ago (we didn’t go last year because I was only a couple weeks from my due date with the Pookie during our timeshare week, and I was not willing to chance going into labor while away from my docs and hospital). This was definitely the first whole week vacation since the Pookie was born and the Pumpkin started pre-school.
This week’s question of the week is:
What is the hardest part about getting back into your regular routine after being away from it for a long period of time (a week or more)?
I think for us, it’s probably the sleep, although the readjustment here is in large part to the allowances we had to make to all stay in the same room for a week. We had just been getting the Pumpkin to go to sleep by herself (that’s one of the posts I didn’t get to write yet), and the Pookie was doing really well sleeping through the entire night—and even when he would wake up and fuss, he would usually get himself back to sleep after a few minutes of fussing. Fussing that could have woken the Pumpkin sleeping in the bed with us.
So you see the issues. The Pumpkin was co-sleeping with us, and Londo had to lie down with her to ensure her going to sleep quickly and quietly. Meanwhile I nursed and rocked the Pookie into deep sleep to put him down, and I or Londo would quickly get up at any fussing to quiet him back down and get him back to sleep. These were big set backs, bigger than usual considering the progress we’ve had with both kids, which I will write about soon.
Luckily, our week at the beach is from Friday to Friday, so we had the weekend to help us get back on track in so many ways. The laundry is done, and just needs to be folded and put away. The dishes are… well… manageable, after cleaning out the fridge (holy smokes, there were some gross stuff in there!). We were able to go grocery shopping on Saturday and even make dinners Saturday and Sunday night! What a difference to have the weekend to help us get back into the swing of regular life.
What about you? How do you get back into your regular routines? Any tricks for the really hard stuff? What do you find the hardest about coming back to real life?
I thought I would have time to write some posts offline, posts which have been percolating in my brain for months. And I did write one, which I will probably post later this week. But only one, not the half dozen or more I expected to write. Instead, I spent a lot of real quality time with my kids, my husband, and my parents, as well as my best friend and her family for half the week and my sister and her kids for the other half. It was a great trade.
I’m getting back into the swing of our regular routine. It always takes some time to do so, for me, Londo and the kids. I can’t even remember the last time we had a whole week vacation. Did I take a whole week with the Pumpkin when I was pregnant two winters ago? Possibly, but it could have been a long weekend. Other than that, it would have been the beach vacation two years ago (we didn’t go last year because I was only a couple weeks from my due date with the Pookie during our timeshare week, and I was not willing to chance going into labor while away from my docs and hospital). This was definitely the first whole week vacation since the Pookie was born and the Pumpkin started pre-school.
This week’s question of the week is:
What is the hardest part about getting back into your regular routine after being away from it for a long period of time (a week or more)?
I think for us, it’s probably the sleep, although the readjustment here is in large part to the allowances we had to make to all stay in the same room for a week. We had just been getting the Pumpkin to go to sleep by herself (that’s one of the posts I didn’t get to write yet), and the Pookie was doing really well sleeping through the entire night—and even when he would wake up and fuss, he would usually get himself back to sleep after a few minutes of fussing. Fussing that could have woken the Pumpkin sleeping in the bed with us.
So you see the issues. The Pumpkin was co-sleeping with us, and Londo had to lie down with her to ensure her going to sleep quickly and quietly. Meanwhile I nursed and rocked the Pookie into deep sleep to put him down, and I or Londo would quickly get up at any fussing to quiet him back down and get him back to sleep. These were big set backs, bigger than usual considering the progress we’ve had with both kids, which I will write about soon.
Luckily, our week at the beach is from Friday to Friday, so we had the weekend to help us get back on track in so many ways. The laundry is done, and just needs to be folded and put away. The dishes are… well… manageable, after cleaning out the fridge (holy smokes, there were some gross stuff in there!). We were able to go grocery shopping on Saturday and even make dinners Saturday and Sunday night! What a difference to have the weekend to help us get back into the swing of regular life.
What about you? How do you get back into your regular routines? Any tricks for the really hard stuff? What do you find the hardest about coming back to real life?
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