A rocky place

One Year Ago Today

One year ago today....

I still can't believe this one worked. Holy shit.

The important things

Please tell me your favorite easyish vegetarian recipes, okay? We eat lots of beans and rice and make a big thing of vegetarian posole most weekends. But I need ideas. I have tons of cookbooks but I sort of glaze over, even with the easy stuff, b/c I hate the idea of spending the $ and time and then not liking the meal. I want tried n true, you know? And I don't love tons of onions/garlic, and don't like the stinky vegetables (broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage)...Anyone? Thanks.

Fantasy Me

Sometimes you hear about women who can't help but feel disappointed when their fantasy of having a baby is inevitably shattered by the reality of their screaming, imperfect infant. A real baby will always come up short when compared to Fantasy Baby.

I haven't had that experience. I haven't had many fantasies about my baby. The fantasies I've had about my child are mainly about an older child, and specifically, a girl--it's almost certainly a fantasy about redoing my childhood somehow, making it better. So as of now, no collisions between baby Lincoln and Fantasy Baby, mainly b/c I don't have a Fantasy Baby.

I had lots of fantasies about being pregnant, and the reality surpassed the fantasy--I loved it, I felt beautiful and powerful and strong. I was Super Pregnant Woman. What a treat to have the reality be better than I imagined.

Having a baby has been wonderful. Lincoln's been wonderful. But as I've written, postpartum life is hard. Not necessarily harder than I imagined, mainly because I didn't have a specific image in mind. What's hard is that I feel different than usual, more anxious and self-flagellating. I tend toward those modes anyway, and postpartum hormones have made it worse. I miss my bovine pregnancy calmness. I wish I could bottle those hormones! And physically I don't feel as strong and certainly not as beautiful.

Another piece, besides the physical/hormonal, is the fantasy of myself as a mother. I assumed I'd get pregnant easily because I looked the part--hips, boobs, etc. And I was (ahem, puke) "good with kids". I quickly learned that those assumptions were so misguided.

Because there was a relatively long delay between deciding to try to have a baby and having the actual baby, I had plenty of time for the fantasy of me as a mother to build. My pain about miscarriage fueled the fantasy somehow--how ironic, I thought, that someone who would be Such a Great Mother is unable to stay pregnant! My image of myself as a patient, creative, nurturing mother grew more solid and vivid with each loss. My indignation and despair were matched only by my certainty that once I had a baby, I would be the best mom ever.

Lincoln is here, finally, and there is no fantasy baby to lose, to mourn. There is, however, Fantasy Me that is haunting me, mocking me. I am not even a quarter as amazing as I imagined I'd be. I'm uncertain, hesitant, teary, spacy. S is much more confident and creative than I am. He rhymes, sings, makes little stories. He doesn't question himself when Lincoln fusses. He just tries a new approach, and if it works, great; if not, well, babies fuss.

He isn't a very fussy baby. I am reluctant to admit this because I fear it's tempting fate, but there it is--he's an easy one. Even still, he has his moments, and when he cries, I panic, wonder what I did wrong, what I should do. S just does something, and it usually works. I have a couple tricks, and they work every time. S says that I should keep in mind that one day, the trick won't work and he'll keep crying and that's okay. I haven't had to deal with it yet, so who knows how I'll react.

Last weekend we were out in the big city for the day/evening, meeting various friends. When we got home, he started crying but didn't want to eat and didn't burp. My mom asked if he had been changed recently, and I realized he hadn't. What happened was that he didn't poop all day, and we're used to him pooping often enough that he gets changed every few hours. He pooped/was changed around 1pm, and this was 10 or 11pm! I was so mad at myself that I hadn't thought to change him, even once he cried. He'd been fussing occasionally for a few hours, and of course that was why.

A couple of the friends we met up with are infertile, and I felt terrible thinking that I lucked out and got to stay pregnant and have a baby and didn't even think to change him for 9 hours, when they were still on the rollercoaster. Shouldn't someone who's struggled as much as I did know better? Shouldn't I be a better mom?

This isn't a plea for reassurance. I know moms are human and imperfect. But I thought I'd be more on top of it. I was a great babysitter, and my friends' kids loved me. Now I feel spacier, less focused, a little detached, even. Am I a little detached because I had to step back a little bit when the TTC was so hard? Is it just my usual anxiety and self doubt turned up a notch because of postpartum hormonal crap?

I find myself feeling inferior to S, envying his ease and confidence with Lincoln. I am mostly comfortable and relaxed when caring for him, but I rely heavily on S's presence. I can't stand the idea of him going out of town. Having him and my mom around after Lincoln was born and again this past couple of weeks over Thanksgiving was amazing. I love it. But I also find myself receding a bit, letting them take over, preferring their confident caretaking.

I also compare myself to a few friends, confident competent moms who don't forget to change their babies' diapers and who don't get overwhelmed by the thought of their husbands going out of town, or even to the movies. They don't have their husbands feed their baby bottles of breast milk every other night so they can get something like a full night's sleep. They don't accept as much help as I do from their husbands and moms.

And my mom--she is amazing--she talks to him nonstop and he smiles and smiles at her. She knows how to hold him so well, and has him do "tummy time". I try to watch her, and learn--and I learned so much during her 10 day stay when he was a couple weeks old. I know she's raised 2 kids and that's why she knows this stuff--plus she takes care of her stepgrandsons regularly. But I can't help but be intimidated by her confidence and know-how, her arsenal of Nana-tricks. How does she know it all so well? Practice and experience count for a lot, but she has an innate mom-ness that I assumed I'd have, that I'm fairly sure she had right away.

I imagined trusting my gut way more than I do, being more focused and playful. I read and hear about people playing with their babies, using special play mats and black and white patterned cards. I snuggle him and play with him on the bed, and we go on lots of long walks. But I don't do much structured play, and I find it really hard to remember songs to sing him, to make up rhymes and keep up nearly constant chatter to engage him.

Some of this is normal, I know, maybe a little PPD, maybe just fatigue. I don't know if there's anything I could/should do about it, other than remind myself that I know how to be his mom, that I deserve this even if I'm imperfect, that it's okay to be imperfect even when I wanted this for so long.

Mostly it's saying goodbye to Fantasy Me and letting the real me learn how to do this mothering thing, imperfectly and with great love.

Birth Story

Here it is...

[My situation was strikingly similar to the woman in the recent New Yorker article about modern obstetrics, if anyone read that--except that my labor started out more favorably and progressed more quickly, initially.]

Lincoln's birth story

On Thursday and Friday, 9/28 and 9/29, I had a lot of menstrual-type back pain, some brown spotting, and, for a few hours each day, pain that was like very heavy menstrual cramping every 15 mins or so. I was up most of the night on Thurs and Friday, b/c the pain woke me up with some regularity. On Saturday, 9/30, Lincoln’s due date, I went to acupuncture midmorning, and had a lot of pelvic pressure during the session. From that point on, I had mild contractions every 15 mins—they were more intense and distracting than regular heavy menstrual cramps, and had a distinct beginning and end.

On Saturday evening, S and I walked downtown, about a mile away, and sat outside at a cafe and had dessert. The cramping was getting more intense, but still manageable. I was having more brown spotting. On the walk home, around 9pm, I had to stop and hang onto S during the contractions. By the time we got home, we realized that This Was It. Although, for whatever reason, I did doubt myself, and told S “maybe it’s false labor? prelabor”, and he said “honey, you’re in labor now.” I don’t know why I second guessed myself at that point—it was pretty clear what was going on.

I got into the bathtub, which felt amazing. S started timing the contractions, which were about 10 mins apart. By now they were quite painful, an intense amount of pressure mainly in my lower pelvis but also my back and hips. I got out of the tub after maybe 40 mins. We started to get stuff together for the hospital and figured that sometime in the next several hours, the contraction intervals would come down to five minutes.

Well, as soon as I got out of the tub, the contractions started coming harder, and 5 mins apart. I forgot that warm water can slow things down. In order to get through a contraction, I got on my hands and knees on the bed and did a cleansing breath, then a deep breath in, then released it with a hum or moan. I didn’t know that was what would help, but that’s what I settled on, that’s what seemed to work best. S would encourage me during each contraction. Between contractions, it was like any other night—I felt completely fine, and was scurrying around getting things together (we had a bag packed, but needed last minute stuff, stuff from fridge, etc). I also used the in-between time to tell S what did/didn’t work during the previous contractions. Once he asked me a question during a contraction—not so good—and another time he made a suggestion—again, not good. I told him encouragement only, and told him what was helpful, physically.

By the time we left for the hospital, at 12:30am, the contractions were 4 mins apart. Earlier that day I’d talked with my mom who reminded me her labors progressed quickly, even the first, and that maybe I should go in when they were regular contractions, but maybe before they were 5 mins apart. But here we were...

It was so helpful having S time them, b/c he would give me a 2 minute warning before the next one so I could get in position on the bed. Otherwise I’d forget, strangely.

The car ride was hard, not being on my hands and knees (the car seat in the back seat didn’t leave enough room for me to hang out back there), just moaning. We got to the hospital at 1am, and went into triage. We filled out paperwork and then went into triage, where a nurse put a monitor on me and did an exam. I was at 4cm, 100% effaced, which delighted me. (At my ob appt the previous day I was 1cm, 60% effaced). She asked about pain meds, and I said epidural, ASAP. (I had no plan to try for an unmedicated birth, and was eager to get the epi.) She said she wanted to observe my contractions a while longer, then would contact L&D to admit me...she said she might have us walk around for a while if we needed to, to get the contractions going. But they were fine and strong and she said we could go to L&D as soon as they were ready. But I was in triage for about an hour, being observed, and I kept thinking, between contractions, that I had x number to get through before the epi. I was on my hands and knees hanging over the bed, which didn’t feel as good as being at home. By this time the back pain was intense and S was rubbing my back and I was rubbing my belly but that was harder to do with the monitors on.

I had S go find the nurse after an hour to see what was up and she came back and said we were headed to L&D. Thank god! I had a couple contractions on the way there—they were 2-3 mins apart by now. They got me settled in the room, got an IV started with some fluids, and after about 5 contractions, the blessed anesthesiologist arrived. After another couple contractions the epi was in, and after 2-3 more, I couldn’t feel them anymore. It was heavenly. And the epidural didn’t hurt or bother me at all. The numbing needle was odd, but not particularly painful to me. But honestly, at that point if someone had told me the only way I’d get pain relief was to have a finger chopped off I might have agreed to it.

At this point I was at 5cm and was quite happy. They pretty much left us alone after that and it was kinda cool, being with S in the room in the middle of the night, awaiting our puppy’s birth. The next time they checked me I was at 8cm, and this was only a few hours after arriving, so I was ecstatic. The L&D nurse, who was awesome, brought in the delivery cart and told me how excited she was that we’d be delivering on her shift, which ended at 8am, and how quickly I was progressing for a first time mom. She brought in the mirror and S and I talked about meeting our puppy at dawn. I was so happy that labor was going so quickly and smoothly—for some reason I thought it would, but I almost felt guilty with the quick easy progression. The nurse said she wanted my doc to come by soon and break my waters to keep the momentum going.

She checked me an hour or so later and, mysteriously, I was at 7cm. My doc came in, broke my water, and found a tiny bit of meconium, which meant a NICU doc would be at the birth. She also said that I was at 6-7, and that I was getting a cervical lip (swelling). They started pitocin to strengthen the contractions, and my epi started wearing off.

By now it was 8am and the nice nurse was off duty, replaced by Evil Nurse. I asked Evil Nurse to get the anesthesiologist—he told me to call for him when my epi needed “topping off”, and things were getting quite painful. I was having a hard time coping with the contractions, esp b/c I was stuck on my back and couldn’t get into a position that was good for me. She argued with me, saying I was feeling rectal pressure which was normal and good and couldn’t be relieved by the epi. I told her that I could feel all sorts of things I didn’t feel before, which meant it was wearing off. After some back and forth, she called him, he topped it off, and I felt great. She asked me “do you feel any different?” and I told her that I did. Ha.

Anyway, at one point 4 nurses rushed in and without talking to me pushed me on my right side, slapped an oxygen mask on me, then told me that my puppy’s heart had dropped and they “couldn’t find it” and they were putting in an internal monitor (which I really didn’t want). I thought by “couldn’t find it” they meant “no heartbeat” (b/c that’s what it means when the doc “can’t find it” during an early u/s...no heartbeat, dead baby, etc).

But they meant that the external monitor wasn’t picking it up. They found the heartbeat, which was fine, and they guessed the drop was from him grabbing the cord or something. Needless to say, I was terrified at that point and had a hard time recovering. S was shaken too. and I recall this as the time when it seemed like things weren’t going as well as they had been. I was crying quietly with the oxygen mask on.

The doc came in soon after that and talked with me about what happened, and said that they also put in an internal pressure catheter so they’d have a better idea what the contractions were doing. A couple times the puppy’s heart went down after a contraction which they don’t like, I guess, and so they took me off the pitocin.

My unmedicated contractions weren’t as strong as they could be, and the next internal check showed the cervical lip/swelling to be worse, making me only 6cm dilated, though the doc could easily stretch me to 10cm. The head was fully engaged, and then the doc noticed that the puppy’s head was in a side occipital posterior position—instead of the back/smallest part of the head presenting, the top/side of his head was at the cervix, and couldn’t fit through.

The doc started talking to me about a c section because a baby can’t come out vaginally with the head in that position. (in retrospect, I wonder why they can’t move the head in the uterus, the way they do versions on breech babies, but I guess there’s a reason...) Some babies have heads in that position but the vast majority of them move into the “right” position when the head engages. Not the puppy, though. He was locked in an unfavorable position.

She decided to let me go another hour to see if his head would turn, or if the swollen cervical lip would subside. They hoped that stronger contractions could turn the his head, and decided to try the pitocin drip again while watching the heart monitor to see if he would tolerate the stronger contractions. With the pitocin, the contractions picked up again, but again there was occasional heart deceleration after the contractions (nobody quite knows why this happens, many reasons? but the docs don’t like it). So they stopped the pitocin.

(At one point, we marvelled at how the birth had gone from unbelievably quick and simple—I had an epidural, an IV drip of ringers solution for hydration, and a catheter, this hospital’s standard with an epidural—to a more complicated situation. We decided to make a list of the crazy amount of tubes and monitors going into and coming out of me: epidural, ringers solution, pictocin, oxygen mask, intrauterine pressure catheter, internal fetal monitor, urine catheter, pulse oxygen monitor on my finger, BP cuff on my arm....)

After an hour I was still at 6-7cm, and the head was still in OP position. It was c section time. I cried a bit, partially out of fatigue—it was now nearly 2pm, and I’d been in active labor since the evening before, and had been up most of the 2 previous nights with mild contractions. Partially I cried b/c I really, really didn’t want a c section. I know most people don’t. But I said so many times before the birth that the only thing I really felt strongly about was not having a c section if at all possible—the recovery, the longer time in the hospital, potential for difficulty with breastfeeding, future risk of placenta previa, etc. Also, my pregnancy went so smoothly and felt so easy, physically, that I was sure that I could “do” a vaginal birth—I have a roomy pelvis and the puppy wasn’t huge, and the labor started out so well. I just knew I could do it, and wanted the chance.

But it wasn’t a chance that was given to me. The anesthesiologist came in to increase my epi for the section, and S was given his surgery wear. My legs were paralyzed at this point, which felt creepy. I also felt really, really sedated/out if it. and asked if they put anything in the epi besides the anesthetic/analgesic and they said no. I guess it was the fatigue mixed with the heavy analgesia. They wheeled me to the OR and S held my hand. He had to wait outside while they prepped me. When S came in, I was on the table, with my arms out to the side lethal injection style, and they were putting the drape up.

The room was bright and there were probably 10 people in there. The tone was jovial, and for some reason, part drugs, part fatigue, part relief that I’d soon meet the puppy, I don’t know...but I felt alright. And I shifted into stand up (in this case lie-down) comedienne mode, which I do when I’m anxious, I think. Made jokes about Dead Man Walking, etc.

They swabbed my belly and the anesthesiologist poked me in various locations to make sure I was numb. They told me that I’d feel strong tugging but no pain, and I wondered when they’d begin, and it turns out they already started—I asked when they’d start, and the said “it’s almost over—you’ll meet your baby in less than a minute!”

S and I were looking at each other, getting more and more excited. Once the doc said “there he is, way down there” and I said “You said ‘he’!!” and she said “I can’t see, really, I just said ‘he’”, and the other doc said something about “she” or “her”, and I complimented them on their good cover up. But I do believe my doc couldn’t see. I didn’t feel any major tugging, and no pain at all. I felt when they pulled him up—he was down pretty far—but not in an uncomfortable way.

Then I heard a cry, and there was a squalling, pink baby held over the screen in front of us. “It’s a boy!!!” S and I said at once, and they took him to the warmer—S went with him, and I tried to watch as they closed me up.

Once he was warmed and swaddled, they brought him back to me and I got to look at his face. He was crying and S was crying and I was crying and I don’t remember what I was saying but at one point I declared that I wanted to keep him, or something like that. “It’s Lincoln, it’s our baby Lincoln”, I also remember saying.

I also asked when they would know if anything was wrong with him—I didn’t get an amnio—and they laughed and said “now”, and that he was fine. I asked about his apgars, and the first one was 9, and I found out that the later one was also 9, so I was relieved. I was surprised that I was still so “in my head” that I was thinking and asking these clinical questions, but that’s me.

S carried him back to the delivery room, where he would have been born if I hadn’t needed a c-section. They wheeled me back there as soon as I was stitched up, and right away I had him on my chest and he latched on hard (and hasn’t stopped sucking since, it seems). That was a huge relief, as one of my big c section fears was delayed latching/delayed nursing/delayed milk production. (My milk came in on schedule and no supply issues. He was only down 1/2 oz from birth weight at his first ped appt, 4 days after delivery!)

Then we were left alone, the three of us, for an hour or so. Finally, our family of three, together. It was an amazing feeling, S hugging and touching me as Lincoln nursed, the music playing. S made a mixed cd “Classics for Puppy”, with some great American songbook type stuff. We just snuggled up getting to know each other with the soundtrack that Lincoln’s papa put together for the occasion.

I certainly was surprised by how the labor turned out, especially with such auspicious beginnings, but in the end it was fine, and our puppy came out so healthy, and it was, and is, such a relief to hold him in my arms after waiting so long for him to come to us.

Baby!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am elated to announce the birth of our son, Lincoln Kenneth (Our Last)!!!!

He arrived at 2:30 pm on Sunday, October 1st. Weight 6lb 7 oz, 19" long.

More details in the days ahead, but oh my god, he is lovely and wonderful and perfect and healthy and I'm doing great and S has been an amazing husband/father in the last few days and hab abs really do have babies and did I tell you what a little wonder he is?

Lincoln. He's here. Maybe it's not such a rocky place after all.

40 weeks

Dear Puppy,
We are so excited to meet you!
Please know that if I tell you that I hate you anytime over the next few days, I don't really mean it. Your mama has a foul mouth, too, and I might say some nasty things when you're being born. I heard this whole birth thing hurts quite a bit, so I am hereby absolving myself of any guilt for whatever utterances come forth in the process.
I hope the whole thing isn't too unpleasant for you, and I can't wait to hold you in my arms.
Next week at this time you'll be home with us, and that's something I can't really wrap my brain around right now.
Your papa made you a mixed cd of classic American tunes, and it makes me crazy with love for him.
We love you, and we'll see you soon!!! Godspeed, as they say.
Mama

39 weeks

Wow. My due date is in 3 days. Holy shit. Holy shit!

My mom had both my brother and me on our due dates, so I'm hoping I won't go too late. I feel some cramping and pressure, but my OB checks show nothing more than 1cm dilated, 50% effaced, and soft, and that's been the same for the last few weeks. I also know that you walk around 3cm dilated for weeks and deliver late, and you can go into hard labor with a closed, long cervix. So who the hell knows?? It's kinda like playing hot potato, never knowing when the music will stop. Or, in this case, start. It makes me a little bit jumpy.

And I'm in that TTC mode still of checking for signs/symptoms, wondering if I will/won't go into labor. I keep forgetting that going into labor isn't like being pregnant or not--it's not black and white. I will go into labor at some point, no doubt about it. So wild.

The hospital bag is packed, the house is clean, and we're ready to go. I can't wait to meet that puppy!!

Bright blue sky

It's drying up here, the monsoon seems to be ending. The sky is clear and bright again. We went on a hike early Saturday morning. The sky was so blue! I love the crisp angle of autumn light.

38.5 weeks. We have an eviction date set for October 4th if the tenant doesn't vacate before then. I had a lot of menstrual type back pain last week, and painful cramping, but it seems to have stopped. My mom had both me and my bro on our due dates, so no reason to think that the pup will be born any sooner than expected. But we're ready and excited and so eager to meet him/her.

To distract me...please share your favorite outfit/look (hair, makeup, clothes) when you were 15. Love to know these things.. Will share mine later. Also, "how did your labor start" stories are always welcome. Thanks.

Birds

I have a thing about birds, as I might have mentioned. They tend to present themselves at significant times in symbolic ways though surely I'm looking, as always, for meaning.

My usual worry about losing S has extending to worrying about losing our baby, and about protecting this little family. I try to practice some detachment, to remind myself that my job is to let go of this child, to let him/her find his/her way in the world. I can protect my child the best I can when s/he's young, and teach him/her what I can, and that's it. Letting go is so hard, already, and I've not even met this child yet.

Last week there was a fledgling dove in front of our house, in the desert hibiscus. The mom was right next to the babe, sitting calmly. When I was near, she flew away. So it's not like she was (or should have been) risking her life irrationally to protect her young. She just stood by. When I returned to the car, the baby scurried away from the bush into the middle of the street. The mom followed and sat next to the baby. I approached the birds and again the mom flew away, and the baby went back to the sidewalk. I try not to interfere too much with critters' lives, but the middle of the road just didn't seem the best place for the baby.

Later that day, the pair were settled on a rock set far back from the street. I liked their camouflage, and they seemed safe there, though of course my mind ran to cats, to raptors. All the mom could do is sit near her baby until s/he was able to fly. The baby startled when we opened the car door that evening and flapped its way underneath a prickly pear, which seemed a brilliant choice. Predators wouldn't be able to get in.

I haven't seen them since Friday night, and I'm trying to tell myself that it's okay. I don't know that the baby made it, but it's okay not to know. Birds everywhere learn to fly. Some are killed by cars and hawks and cats, I realize. But it's true that some make it, some fly and grow up and protect babies of their own. Loss is part of life, and I try to remind myself of that. But I also have to remember that some stories have happy endings. Sometimes we get what we want.

So Big It Makes Its Own Shadow